Are We There Yet?

As difficult as this trip has been, there have been bright spots of joy blended into the mix. I'll begin with those, then explain the current predicament and when we plan to return home.

We've spent time with our youngest son, his beautiful wife and their children—our grandchildren. I got real giggles from Aiden when I called him a "cheap date" at the frozen yogurt store. We met up there for an evening treat. Grandpa decided to buy for everyone, but Aiden is only four months old. He didn't get any. He was happily watching everyone enjoying their choices when I told him he was a cheap date, and he must have thought that was the funniest thing I had ever said. Laughing babies are such a blessing. Granddaughters enjoying frozen desserts are, as well.

It was more fun with a cold delicious bowl than I ever remember having before. By the way, I chose banana with miniature Reece's Cups on the top. From my point of view, it was perfect. We went from there to Target, where we walked around and the girls got to pick out their new backpacks and lunch boxes. They both wanted the same ones, so Ruth is going to have fun making sure each girl gets the right bag and box when it's time to leave home. Maybe she'll put names on them. Disney Princess bags and Tinkerbell lunch boxes won the competition in both little hearts.

Yesterday morning the local theatre had a free showing of How to Train Your Dragon. Neither of the girls had ever been to a show in public before, although they watch movies at home with the family. They did beautifully. John and I joined them, and Ben bought a huge bag of popcorn to share. It was a movie John and I had seen before, but it was much more fun with the girls. I was amazed at just how respectful and quiet they were. Kate isn't three yet. Ashley is just four. I figured their first trip to the movies would entail some hushed whispering about behavior. It never needed to happen.

Some memories are worth more than gold. Near the end of the movie, when things were getting really exciting, Kate reached up and kissed my cheek. I looked over and she smiled at me. I held out my arms and she climbed on my lap for the last ten or so minutes of the film. It reminds me of that wonderful old hymn... "Precious memories, how they linger. How they ever flood my soul."

These moments have kept us sane. We return to the home where my mom is dealing with deterioration and dementia. My step father is not doing well. It appears he has had new small strokes that effect his balance, and he can no longer walk properly. He keeps falling and wants no one to help but her. She can no longer leave the house. He won't cooperate with anyone else. He barely eats. Doesn't want the walker. Refused assistance from the nurses (2) and physical therapist who have come to the house to help Mom.

It's been a nightmare for her, and an exercise in frustration and patience for us. We can keep her grocery list filled. I can change her bandage twice a day while she heals from her surgery. I make sure she's not spending her energy on cooking or clean-up. I can lend an ear and a shoulder to lean on. What needs most to be done is beyond me. I cannot make her see the need for him to be in a care facility. I can't show her how emotionally fragile she's become without upsetting her more.

Big brother to the rescue. We'll leave for home Sunday after church. Pat and his wife will arrive Sunday afternoon. Already I know we've stayed beyond what is wise. I run out of my medications five doses before arriving home. It's the seizure medication that worries me most. I'll call my neurologist today and see if he can phone in a small prescription to get us home. The blessing, all problems aside, is knowing Pat & Betty will be here to support Mom. You can get a clear image of them. Think salt of the earth.

We can head for home knowing Mom won't be left alone to make impossible decisions.

Caretakers Have it Tough

Until you're in the same house for days at a time, it's impossible to realize how very difficult it is to be caretaker for a loved one who has dementia. There are the obvious problems, but there are hidden ones as well.

If you try to explain something to them and go beyond two sentences, they cannot remember the first sentence when you get to sentence three. Neither do they care. Trying to have a serious discussion with someone who sits there grinning at you with a "talk to the hand" look on his face makes me want to scream and slap. You can't do that. It wouldn't help anyway. It wouldn't work with a two year old, and it wouldn't work with a 97 year old with dementia.

The current crises, and of course we're having one or I wouldn't be up at 5 a.m. writing, should be classified as, "I won't do that. People will think I'm old." Again, when you're 97, why would you care? Your years should be counted as memories or milestones, badges of honor. Not demerits. He's decided that he can't use a cane. Physical progression of age has determined that he cannot walk without it. He grips walls and furniture as he makes his way through the rooms. Walls work quite well. Furniture tips over, pulling him down and crashing on top of him.

He's a big guy, well over six feet tall. My mom is about five foot two. She can't pick him up. He refuses help from anyone else. He has fallen three times in the last two days. Each time he swears at my husband, who "must have pushed me." After all, it has to be someone's fault, and can't be his. He won't allow my big strapping husband to assist him from the floor. He wants my little mother to do it.

On Monday she'll call a visiting nurse. She's afraid to take him out of the house without the cane he refuses to use. She can't even continue sending him to the Senior Concerns adult day care center if he can't walk without falling.

We'll be here another five days. It's not enough. She refuses our offer to stay. She needs more support than a visit can provide. No wonder I'm not sleeping. There are no easy answers for a caretaker. Apparently there aren't any for a daughter who lives so far away, either.

I'm Now Decorated for Christmas

If you know me, this post won't surprise you. John called Ben this morning and had him help bully me into going to the emergency room, which he had bee unable to do since last night when I flew from the edge of a suitcase to the closet door, nose first. I insisted on going to church first, since we were lighting the advent candle this week.

It's a good thing I wasn't supposed to sing, like John thought I was, since I couldn't breathe, let along play the guitar. My right hand got mashed as well, along with my back and neck. I hit hard. I couldn't see any sense in going to the emergency room. I had gotten the bleeding to stop, after all. Wow, there was a lot of it, too. I put ice on it. What more could anybody else do?

Here's what they could do. They could do a cat scan of my head as well as ex-rays, and tell me that although I didn't have a skull fracture, I did have a broken nose and a concussion. Then they gave me some medication for the nausea which was getting progressively worse because blood was still dripping into my stomach. That's what the doctor explained. So I can't take aspirin for the headache, but I can take my good headache tablets that I keep on hand for migraines. The other pains will go away eventually.

He also approved our going on the trip, and gave us seven pages of instructions for care and warning signs—when to pull off the highway and look for another emergency room, in other words. I was also told that within two days both eyes would most probably be several shades of black, yellow and purple.

"I know why this happened," I told him. Of course, he was interested in that. "From the time I was very small, I was extremely proud of having the smallest nose in my family. I don't think God takes kindly to people being very proud of things they didn't do anything to deserve."

The doctor, of course, disagreed. "I don't think He's that petty. Was there an ancillary reason?" (Yes, he actually used that word. Maybe he was trying to see if my vocabulary had been scrambled.)

"Well, there was a suitcase on the floor that I didn't see in the dark," I admitted. He laughed and told me that he was willing to bet that was the reason, and not my first guess. He then told me I wasn't to walk in the dark anymore. Ever. For any reason. He was actually a lot of fun.

John put the suitcase back on the bed this morning, and I filled it tonight. Now we can leave for Louisiana in the morning. By Tuesday night (weather cooperating, of course) we'll pull up with the trailer in front of Jeremy and Elisha's home. Ready or not, here we come. And I won't walk in the dark...

Quick Update

Two days after I had the epidural on my back, we got in the car to drive to California. It wasn't the best timing, but that couldn't be helped. The epidural did help. It didn't help as much as I hoped, but made it so I'm much more mobile than I was. It looks like I'll either be seeing my old back doctor while I'm here, or having back surgery when I get home. I haven't decided yet, but the option is available to see my good old doc for another epidural here. The doctor who did the last one said it might be necessary.

We hit town the same time as a heat wave. I understand there's one going on in Colorado as well, though, so I shouldn't say too much—except that I'm more comfortable at home. And we do have cheaper electricity, so we keep it cooler. Is that enough?

The music for Pastor Stan's welcome back service at St. Matthews went well, I think. I got applause just for standing up and walking to the mic. That's never happened before. It made me feel very welcome, and it also kicked my sense of humor into action. I almost said, "Thank you," and turned to sit back down again. The only thing that kept me from it was seeing so many new faces in the congregation who didn't know me and would have no idea that I was joking. It's great working on the music with "Staniel" again. (Think lion's den...)

Sunday after the early service John and I will be driving to Lake Isabella until the night of the 29th, when we'll return to Newbury Park so we can be ready to greet the kids and grandkids as they start to arrive the next day. These two weeks between the welcome service and the kids' arrival have been the limbo caused by our not wanting to drive back and forth from Colorado twice in a month—not at the price of gas these days. We'll have absolutely no internet at the lake, and I'm not sure there's even a hot spot, but we'll look. It would be nice to put something other than a quick update soon.

Make God Laugh

Last night I laid out my plans for the blog. God is laughing now. Or maybe He's not. I'm not sure this time. I refer to the adage that if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.

I thought I was in quite a bit of pain when I got to the physical therapy office. Going through my mind repeated since yesterday was a prayer of gratitude that I had this double appointment. Relief was in sight. Physical therapy isn't always exactly pleasant while it's in progress, but it really works. When I walk out of there I always feel so much better than when I limp in.

And then there was today. We were running late, so I took the stairs, not the elevator. I could hardly stand up straight when I came through the door. They took me back immediately. First Jami worked with me. When that appointment was done, Ashley took me in for an hour, and even kept me about ten minutes over. I was feeling better than I'd felt all week—even after the last appointment. We discussed the upcoming week's schedule while I struggled to put the cast back on. I was still sitting on the therapy bed.

Can you just feel the other shoe getting ready to fall? I went to swing the leg with the heavy air cast off the bed without supporting it properly. I tore something in my back that connects to my right hip. I can no longer pick up my right foot.

I went home, medicated myself and went to bed. I just got up and I'm getting ready to take another pain pill. I'm allowed to take 1-2 every 4 hours. Believe me. I'll be taking 1 every four hours until bedtime, and then 2. I've got ice packed on my back and hip right now, and when I lie down, I'll switch back to damp heat. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I won't be going anywhere. Maybe I'll be up long enough to write about Venice. John's on his own for dinner. I'm having Crackerfuls.

Hours Later:

My back has calmed down enough so that I can tell where the real pain is coming from—the hip. I'm beginning to wonder if I either broke or cracked something in my hip. I guess I'll be calling my regular doctor tomorrow morning. I wonder if he works on Saturday. I've never thought to check before.

My Complicated Week

I'm running late with my last Venice blog, and tying up the trip home, but this last week has been spent dealing with physical therapy and and pain while I handle the effects the air cast has on my back and hip. It hasn't been pleasant, to say the least. I've spent a little time limping around the house feeling guilty about the laundry backing up and the blog not getting done. I have spent hours in physical therapy, though, and gone to a short writer's class on self-editing, which I needed for my novel.

The only thing of real interest we did was today, when we met up in Denver with friends we hadn't seen for nearly 25 years. We just reconnected with them online, and found that they had retired to Colorado Springs, not much further South of Denver than we are North. We met on the steps on the Capitol Building, had a quick tour, taken in slow motion by a guide who was very understanding about my mobility limitations, and then took the free shuttle to the mall area where we had dinner at Swing Thai.

I'll get photos up for that soon, too. The only other interesting thing that I've done, other than take long hours lying down rotating ice and heat on my hip and back, was to play guitar and sing for both services at church last Sunday. That went very well, as far as the music went, but by the time I got home, I was wiped out—happy, but exhausted and in too much pain to sit at the computer and think about photographs and memories.

This too shall pass. I'll get back to the trip, because it's what I want to share so badly. I have a double PT session tomorrow, and it'll be over early, giving me time to start a blog before I cook dinner. That's the one thing I've managed to keep up, since John depends on me for that.

So if you've been watching for the final Venice photos, I apologize. They're coming. Just not tonight.

Walking on Air Casts

As I read over my travel blogs, it's obvious that I'm fairly obsessed with the number of stairs I needed to climb to get to the places we saw. Was it all worth it? Oh, definitely. That's what my podiatrist asked me, too, before fitting me for the air cast yesterday, and admitting to me that he would have been right beside me, making the same decision. Some things are worth the pain, he agreed, and consoled me that I didn't do any permanent damage to my foot. I didn't do it any favors, though.

Anyone with plantar fasciitis knows that you're told to "take it easy," and I didn't do that. I did my exercises, took the anti-inflammatories while they lasted, and kept going. Now I'll be in the cast for a minimum of three weeks. The good thing about this contraption is that it comes off at night and for showers. The bad thing is that it makes my right leg longer than my left, so my left hip and back, already in pain and inflamed from the arthritis, is going to take a beating.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, let me recommend the benefits of therapeutic massage. I had my second session a couple of hours after being fitted for the boot. My hour turned into 75 minutes, and I've pretty much decided that there are people who will do that for you in heaven. You just won't be in pain when in starts. My hip still hurts, but my back barely does. I'm getting used to walking with the air cast, and it's awkward, but but manageable.

Hopefully, in three weeks when the good doctor next examines my foot, he'll be telling me I don't need another one to three weeks with it. That is a possibility I'm aware of, but using the power of positive thinking to reject.

Latest Flight & Health News

This is just a quick post to update everyone who might be interested on the latest news on my health and our flight to Amsterdam. Today's flight of the same number corresponding to our flight on Thursday is in the skies, scheduled to land in Amsterdam on time in less than an hour, 7:35 a.m. their time. This sounds very promising for our chances of arriving as scheduled, God willing and the volcano doesn't blow in the wrong direction...

I spent an hour with my wonderful physical therapist today. If you're in the Loveland area, you really can't beat Rebound Sports Physical Therapists. Jami, the therapist I was lucky enough to get, saw me limping in and checked me over. She had one of the assistants pack my back and neck in hot, wet and heavy packs, and then worked on getting me as pain free as possible. I can't believe how much better I feel than I did before I went in there. There are times when a good physical therapist is better than a doctor.

Ice or Heat After a Fall?

Oh, look! A short cut! Famous last words. I had gone down the hall to use the rest room before doing the sound check in church this morning. We still had nearly an hour before the congregation would arrive. I was singing and playing my guitar (country Gospel) at both services. As I returned from the ladies room, I noticed a sign on a side door that said "Audio Room" which happens to be in the very back of the sanctuary, and exactly where I needed to be for the sound check. What it should have said is "Big Step."

Although I love my trifocals, since they allow me to really focus at all distances, the one thing they don't allow me to do is focus on my feet. My feet are far away, relatively speaking, but the bottom of my glasses are for close-up viewing. I went through that door, hit the step and went flying. Luckily it was my right side that took the brunt of the fall, since if I had wrenched my left wrist like I did the right one, I wouldn't have been able to hold the strings tight enough to play. I also tore open my right knee and got a big goose egg on the back of my head. (Yes, somehow I managed to hit the back of my head on a metal components cabinet.)

So I've been using ice, which I've been told since my childhood days of being called "Stumble, Fumble and Fall" that it's the proper thing to use for the first 24 hours. After that, you switch to heat. And I'm dealing with the fact that many places on my body that didn't hurt twelve hours ago are chiming in now. I guess I'll be visiting Dr. Bohm tomorrow. He'll know what to do with me. He always does.

If I were a horse, someone would have shot me by now.

On Crowns and Kings

This hasn't been our best week, and it just started. Actually, you could say it started last week. On Thursday John broke a crown. It happens to be on one of his "anchor" teeth, which holds his dentures in place. Since we leave for Europe in just over two weeks, we need to rush through the necessary dental procedures to get him fixed up so he can eat and smile. He's not smiling now, I can tell you.

Turns out he needs to have at least one root canal, possibly two. They're sending him to an endodontist, which is a root canal specialist. We've been to three appointments so far, and tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. (yes, that's p.m.) we finally see the endodontist, about an hour from home, and hopefully he'll get right on it and not say, "Well, I'll examine you tonight and we can do it next week." If he does that, I'm not sure how much eating John will be doing on the trip. (Got a blender, Ruth?)

Meanwhile, I developed severe plantar fasciitis in my right foot and moderate (same diagnosis) in the left, so I've been going to physical therapy twice a week. I have an eye appointment Wednesday for the glaucoma testing, which must be done every three months because of the anti-seizure medication I have to take. It's a known risk. I'm not quite half done with the baby blanket I'm working on, and haven't done the hat or booties yet. I really wanted to get that in the mail before we leave.

I still haven't found my camera's download cable. We've got either a doctor's appointment or dental appointment every single day this week, and then we're getting hair cuts as well on Friday. I feel like that old commercial, product unknown, where the guy is sitting at his desk talking on the telephone.

"I can do that," you hear him say. "I can do that. I can do that. I can do that." Then he hangs up and looks at the phone and says, "How am I going to do that?"

Healthcare Bill Homework

Like many Americans, I sat in front of the television and watched what I considered the debacle of the vote on the House Floor as Obamacare was shoved closer into law. It was handled with secrecy and back room deals, enough pork and promises to shame the country, and probably bankrupt us.

Here's your homework. Call your doctor. Ask if they plan or will be able to stay in business if this plan, as it appears to be moving forward, is enacted. Please don't stick your head in the sand on this one. You have a senator. They have a phone number and an email address. It hasn't passed the Senate yet. If we do nothing, it will be law by Tuesday.

If you didn't watch and listen, be warned. If you're on Medicare, it's being cut. If you're on Medicare Advantage, it's being eliminated completely. If this bill is passed, your health care will be overseen by the IRS. Yes, that's correct. They're going to have to hire something like 15,000 new IRS agents to oversee your healthcare. If you like how they handle your taxes, just think how wonderful it will be when they are in charge of deciding what tests your doctors can give you.

Do your homework. I'll be hoping for lots of comments. I feel sick and scared. I have great insurance, and we pay an awful lot for it. I don't like how much we must pay, but at least I know that when we're sick or injured, we can get the care we need. This bill ensures the rights of everyone to free healthcare, and that includes illegal aliens. That's right. Don't take my word for it. The bill is online.

And want doesn't it have it it? Tort reform, interstate commerce to enable people to get a better deal, breaking up the insurance companies ability to overcharge within their own little world. There's so much that needed to be fixed with this, the world's best health care system. How long have I been worried? Look back at my old blogs. I started with humor. I tried music. I try to keep my blog lighthearted, but tonight I just don't feel lighthearted. I'm discouraged and I'm disgusted.

Shame on you, Congress.

Hypnosis and Smoking

Every single time I've quit smoking, even when it lasted over six years, which I considered quite successful for me, rarely would a day go by that the craving didn't sneak in on me a time or two. It might be caused by stress or worry, excitement or boredom. Someone might yell at me and I'll feel the need. Something bad happens in the family or our country...

I'd heard on television that hypnosis can make all the difference in the world, as long as you really don't want to be a smoker. Hypnosis, of course, can't make you do anything you don't want to do. Therefore, they can't make you stop something you don't want to stop, like smoking. But I figured if I'm already not smoking, and I just want to make it easier to stay that way, this should be a great way to make the unconscious stop nagging me to fail. It's not the nicotine. It's not the habit. It's the emotional binding that's never been cut.

The clinic I went to has a 90% success rate, and that's with people who walk in the door still smoking. They're so sure they're going to change this habit for you that if you go back to smoking, they'll give you a second session free of charge. Well, I'm still not smoking, but it's no easier than it was the day I walked in there.

So what does that tell me? Other than I had a very bad day today and I feel like complaining to the world. I feel like failing. I feel like smoking. It's a good thing, right now, that I live way up here in the foothills where I'm a long way from a convenience store.

I'll admit one thing about hypnosis, though. Because of the expense (and don't ask—I'm not going to admit how much I spent) I'm too cheap to fail now. So maybe it'll work in a round-about fashion. Over-all, though? I'm not impressed. I was looking for a magic bullet to make me stop wanting. My will power is fine. It's the won't power that lets me down.

Healthy Pain

Praying tonight over dinner, I had to offer some serious thanks that what I'm feeling is just pain that will eventually diminish.

We noticed the absence of a familiar face around the neighborhood last night. Darrel is one of the first people who welcomed us to our new home. He's been living up here with his wife Betty longer than almost anyone else, and everyone knows and appreciates him. In fact, he's the one who bought and operates the road plow that keeps our local roads cleared after each snow fall.

He and one of his sons came out and cut down one of our trees that died before we moved in, because we asked if he knew someone we could hire when we returned to move in. It was a potential fire danger. We came back to find that they had cut it down and chopped it into firewood for us. He's just a perfect neighbor.

When John called his house last night to see what he was up to, Betty let us know that he's been in the hospital for the last two weeks, in intensive care, after surgery for pancreatic cancer. That pretty much coincides with my hibernation with the broken rib, so I haven't been walking around seeing and talking to people. We had no idea.

We drove into Fort Collins today to visit him, and it was a blow to see him looking frail and sad. He's always so full of life and mischief. He insisted there was nothing we could do for him or Betty, but we can pray. We can visit and hope. Also, seeing him made me stop and think. There are so many kinds of pain, and mine is the easy kind. It's just physical.

Recovering From a Broken Rib

If you do break a rib, the doctors will tell you there's not much they can do except give you pain medication and caution you to be careful, and remember to "breathe through the pain." If you don't remember to breathe deeply enough, the consequences can be pneumonia, which will certainly multiply your problems. When I broke my rib, I planned on three weeks of recovery. That's what they told me to expect.

It's been three weeks since the doctor told me that, and I'm finding that there is a slower recovery for people who get chest colds. Every time I would cough, it seems the rib would say, "Okay, let's start the three weeks over." I finally stopped coughing, and figure there might be light at the end of the tunnel. I haven't spent so much time sleeping since I was a teenager.

I'm also wondering if age is a factor in this long healing process. I know it's a factor in asking for more pain medication. I don't want to ask, and I'm down to a couple of little pills left, and that's just because I rationed them the last few days. I guess I should call tomorrow. I could use another few days. I'm thinking about it.

Dealing With a Broken Rib

Perhaps I should have titled this post, "What Not To Do With A Broken Rib." The number one thing I would not recommend doing is coming down with a chest cold. Every cough, sneeze and wheeze feels like it's pulling that stupid rib apart all over again.

John is a big fan of soap and water. I'm a proponent of hand sanitizer. When he came down with a head cold just days after I broke the rib, I asked him to please use the hand sanitizer. "Sure, okay." I know what that means. It means, "Don't bug me. I'll do what I want—it's good enough." Thanks for the cold, John.

Other things you probably don't want to do while you have a broken rib include very simple stuff—like breathing. Breathing is good, though, and that's the reason they no longer bind your rib cage when you have a break. People stopped breathing in deeply enough because of the bindings. Like the pain isn't going to stop you? (Just breathe through it or you'll get pneumonia, the doctor said.) Ouch. That would be fun.

Climbing stairs isn't much fun because the legs are connected somehow. It's complicated. Everything you move seems to connect to that rib, pulling it the wrong way. Is there a right way? Bending over is difficult, but getting back up is almost impossible. Luckily nobody is aiming a camera at me while I use walls and chairs to return to an upright position after retrieving something I've dropped on the floor. It's easier when John's around, since he'll gladly pick things up for me. Unfortunately, he's been hiding in his HAM room downstairs pretty constantly since we got home. Maybe he comes upstairs while I'm sleeping. I've been doing a lot of that since I got sick.

Between the pain pills and the first chest cold I've had in at least four years, I think sleeping is a miracle. I'm not a good sleeper usually, but this week? Wow. I'm setting new records. One thing I've noticed about sleeping (and pain medicine definitely adds to this) is that it really cuts into a person's reading and playing time. Every time I get out of bed I expect to be healed. Mind over matter. I think I'll go back to bed and check again in about six hours...

Dr. Bohm in Loveland—One of My Blessings

I had my regularly scheduled visit with the good Dr. Martin Bohm today for my annual checkup. Until I arrived, he wasn't aware I had broken a rib last week, but he didn't miss a beat. If there's a better internist in the area, I would be surprised. I've been going to Dr. Bohm for four years now, and no matter what health problem I've faced, he's proven his ability to understand and treat me with patience, professionalism and understanding. I never feel rushed. He asks all the right questions and really listens to my answers.

I was really pleased when he responded to my embarrassment about how I was injured. He told me that I would be amazed at how many patients he treats who had accidents in the bathroom because they sat down in the wrong spot at night, missing the seat altogether, or hitting the edge and falling off. I'll admit to having thought that no one before me had ever been that stupid. It really did make me feel better, and I realized then that he has a gift for saying the right thing, putting me (and my husband when it's his turn) at ease.

He was a little disgruntled when he saw how many of the 20 pain pills I still had left from the emergency room visit five days ago. He let me know that if I had taken them "as prescribed" I wouldn't have had more than one or two left, if any. Why didn't I take them? I was obviously in a lot of pain. I explained that I was afraid to run out. He told me that the ER doctor had given me enough to get me to my own doctor. He'd take care of me, but I needed to get in front of the pain, not ride on it. I think this week will be better. One to two tablets every 4-6 hours will give me much better relief than the one tablet every ten hours I've been allowing myself, supplemented with aspirin.

He also is really good in the answering questions department. How long am I going to hurt like this? Within about three weeks the rib bones should start sticking together enough to stop rubbing every time I move, which is where the majority of the pain is coming from. The more carefully I move now, the sturdier the "glue" will hold and the pain will start to diminish from that point onward. It won't be overnight, but relief will come. Straight answers are so welcome!

One final word about Dr. Bohm. When he left the room and one of the medical assistants was in there with me, I said something to the effect that I thought he was just a great doctor and a wonderful person. She turned around a flashed me a beautiful smile. "He's also the best boss a person could ever have." So he's not just a blessing to his patients.

Home is Where the Bed Is

The pass across the Rockies leads from my brother's home to ours. Since another big storm was coming in, we hastily packed and headed home yesterday, arriving just before five o'clock last night. My rib wasn't happy, but I was smiling as I walked into the house like an old woman. It's always good to be home. At least now that we live here it's good to be home. I guess our roots were always here. We just had to find them.

I'll admit I didn't unpack last night—or yet this morning, coming to think of it. I checked email and phone messages, and made a few "we safe at home now" phone calls. Then I took one of those modern marvels called a pain pill and went to bed really early after a very few bites of dinner. (Thanks, Betty. She sent us home with dinner—her famous Boston Butt, all set to reheat for a fast meal and just about zero prep time.) Some people eat when they're sad, sick, hurt or depressed. I'm the opposite. I tend to sleep.

One of the phone calls I returned made me laugh, though, which really did hurt. It was from my cousin Mary. Let me remind you that we've been here over four years, with Mary living in Denver, just an hour away, and we've never yet managed to get together except when we both visited Wisconsin at the same time. Go figure. The last time we tried was the day she and Earl decided to come up on the day we were leaving for California. They're coming today. Maybe I'll get dressed after all. Perhaps she'd like to empty a suitcase or two while she's here. (I hope she's not reading this...)

One of the things she told me was to hug a pillow against my ribs if I laugh, cough or sneeze. Afterwards I wondered if she realized the broken rib is in my back. It's hard to hug a pillow back there. My arms don't work that way. I'll have to ask her to demonstrate for me. Still, it will be good to see her. She's one of my Aunt Cookie's kids, and a more fun group of cousins I've yet to imagine. They're the kind to call with important information, like a new phone number, and ask, "Have you got your crayon sharpened?"

My mother had a saying: Never a dull moment. I'm keeping up the tradition, Ma.

Visiting the ER in Rifle, Colorado

If you need an emergency room, I don't suppose you could find a better place than Rifle, Colorado—unless you're near the McKee Medical Center in Loveland, Colorado. I'm intimately familiar with just how great that one is, too. They treated me quickly, professionally and gently. They were very nice, sympathetic and thorough. Who could ask for more? They even gave me food with my pain medication.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I did manage to break a rib. It also appears that one of my kidneys is swollen, but all other tests were negative, so no blood in the urine means the kidney will be fine once the swelling goes down. I hit hard, huh?

I was told not to go skiing (an easy enough instruction to follow, since I've never skied before) or do anything stupid... well, I promised not to ski, and to do my very best on the 2nd part, which made the good doctor laugh for some reason. I was being serious.

It's well past time for another pain pill, my first since leaving the hospital room, but Betty's going to feed us first. Everyone's being good to me, and there have been relatively few snide remarks about how I was hurt. Relatively few. Most of them from relatives. Oh yeah. Everyone here is a relative.

70% of All Home Accidents Happen in the Bathroom

Here's something that happened during the wedding trip that I intentionally failed to mention. The first night at the Grand Desert, an absolutely fabulous time-share where Pat and Betty so generously arranged for bride and groom, best man, and parents of the groom (us) to stay, along with them, I had "a bit" of an accident.

I actually hate to admit what happened, and I've tried to pretend it was going to go away by itself, but now that it looks like John will be taking me to the emergency room in Grand Junction tomorrow, I'm going to admit my stupidity. I got up during the night to go to the bathroom. That's a typical, normal thing for a sixty-something year old person to do. What I forgot, I guess, was just how big these rooms are. The bathroom was no exception. I turned, doffed my PJ drawers and sat where I thought the throne was.

Suddenly I was on the floor and my back had been slammed by the porcelain beast. I think I have a semi-permanent "Toyo Toto" bruise, and my tail bone, back, neck and shoulder really hurt, but I wasn't going to ruin the wedding for something that I thought was so stupid—and minor.

Four days later, though, and the bruise is beginning to fade, but I'm concerned about the dramatic increase in pain right next to my spine, just above the right side of the waist. It's gotten bad enough that I'm now having trouble breathing and doing little things like walking and raising my arms. I'm no doctor, but it seems like the pain should diminish with the bruise...shouldn't it?

I'm pretty sure I'll feel better just knowing what's going on inside me. I've always said I have an American Express Medical Degree. "This is your body. Don't leave home without it." Anything else I leave to the professionals. I do know I'm pretty tired of hurting, though.