Avast Ye!

You can google pirate sayings.  Go ahead, do it.  Now you can add another language to your skill set.

Per usual, I have had a week from hell.  Mind you, I knew the Prokera Eye Ring procedure on Monday would be "uncomfortable", which is medical speak for hurts like hell, but after I rubbed my eye in the middle of the night on Wednesday, it went to "holy fuck Jesus, pull the hot poker from my eye or pluck it now".  An overdoes of ibuprofen didn't touch it, but thank God that Denny had his desperation stash of Vicodin.  That saved me until I ran out, then off to Urgent Care where I said, "Take my eye from me.  I have seen unspeakable acts."  They gave me more drugs, which was a pretty good response.  Two hours later, I had the hot poker ready to smite myself.  The Mister drove me to the ER at 3 AM and they said, no way, no how, I'm not touching it, we'll call your ophthalmologist.  Well hell, I would have done that, too, but knew he wouldn't answer.

We got home, I slept for about two hours and we drove to the doctor's office until it opened.  He took the contact out, gave me numbing drops and said, "Looks like you scratched your cornea."  He gave me drops to put in every half hour and I saw him again six hours later.  I was wearing a patch (which I should've worn at night, duh) because the light hurts my eye. I saw him twice on Friday, once on Saturday and will see him again on Monday because I need to be able to fly to Hong Kong for our cool SE Asia vacation.  I told him that a patch like a pirate would be okay for the cruise part, but he wasn't buying it.  Did I mention I got a typhoid shot on Friday, too?  Yeah, kinda like a mosquito bite at this point.

 

 

I did have a fun exchange with my buddy that has arranged our upcoming adventure.  She is used to my shenanigans, so she wasn't too surprised.  I believe that it was an epic text exchange, but probably because I'm still on drugs.

 



You're welcome.

Ring Around the Rosey

All is well.  I guzzled 4 liters of saline cocktail Thursday night and Friday morning.  Fortunately, the Mister was not present for most of the desired results.  It wasn't so bad, just annoying to have to keep going so often.

Upon arrival at Swedish, my nice nurse whisked me into a "private" room and covered me with warm blankets.  I asked if I could choose my color for the pedicure, at least she laughed.  I was not laughing when she couldn't find my vein, but one of her nicer associates stepped in and found one.  I waited for some time, enough to overhear three people surrounding me describe their last meal, medications and reason for being naked in a flimsy gown.  So much for HIPPA privacy.

I was wheeled into a truly private room for the procedure and told to lie on my side.  Too late, I realized that I hadn't drawn a smiley face on my hiney, but the doctor didn't seemed to be easily amused, so I'll save that trick for a more appreciative audience.  He asked how I felt and I replied, "Wide awake and ready for happy juice."  I thought he was going to go for it before we'd even had dessert!  The nurse reassured me and I watched her insert the sedative into my IV, thank God.

I woke up and the doctor came in with a diagnosis of hemorrhoids, oh joy.  But the best part were the pictures!  Just in time for my holiday cards;  a perfect little wreath for friends and family!

WTF?

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The Maine Idea

So of course, people want to know if we'll get another dog.  WE WILL NOT BE GETTING A PUPPY.  Let's be clear on that.  I would love to get an Irish Wolfhound, but they don't live long enough.  I would also like to rescue a senior dog or two, just to complement the average household age.  But I'd really like to get a Maine Coon kitty.  I've met a few and have always been impressed by their size and personality.  More dog like and quite friendly.

 The official description is as follows:

"The Maine Coon is one of the largest domesticated breeds of cat. It has a distinctive physical appearance and valuable hunting skills."  I'm thinking the Mister can train it to go hunting with him in the field.  You know, retrieve birds and claw fish.  They could bond and I'd be happy because yet another animal had a productive job and could earn their keep.




So I'm going to a cat show where I'm pretty sure women in suits and sensible shoes won't be running with these magnificent creatures all happy and frisky.  Nope.  They mean business and need to conserve energy for the hunt.

                                           I shall show you my hunting skills, peon.

Bye Woo

Why do we have pets?  I suppose the same reason we have children.  No, not because we got drunk and had sex.  Having a pet is a conscious decision to take on the absolute dependence of a being for that being's entire life.  That's huge.  They have no choice, no voice, just complete trust that you'll do the right thing.

So we did the right thing by DogGus and now we miss him terribly.  I can sleep in a normal position.  I don't wake up to a cold nose or a huge paw slapping the bed.  I don't have to stand in the cold and rain waiting for a dog to pee or poop and then wipe his paws.  I don't have to hunt for massive turds.  I don't have to pick up the lone tissue off the floor when he is mad. 

I sure wish I still could.  RIP, Hirsch's Believe You Me, aka Gus.  11/3/2005-10/18/2016

Slap That Pig

It has been a very stressful day with DogGus staying overnight at the Vet.  He needs intravenous antibiotics.  He was so sad when he saw me leaving, even though there were two kitties wandering around him while laying on the bed they provided.  I know he needs to be there, I just hate thinking of how upset he must be.  With that said, the Mister did not fail in his subtle amusing ways to cheer.  He's pretty funny as a normal guy;  give him drugs and he is all out. 

When Stu da 'Phew was little, he would say funny things, which I wrote down (and consequently blogged, to his delight).  I wrote down today's Misterisms:

He was looking at Facebook and started cussing.  I asked what was wrong and he asked, "Do they make you buy emojis?"  I shared a picture of a baby pig playing with a pit bull and he muttered, "Somebody needs to slap that baby pig". 

I've been attempting to make him drink more water by mixing selzer with juice.  We were on the way to Urgent Care today when he said, "We need to save the fizz."  I said, "What are you talking about?"  He replied, "I worry about the half can of selzer."  Wow.

Also, on the way, he told me that he was able to shower, but the body soap was really slimy feeling.  I asked him what he used and he told me the name of his body lotion.  I said the lotion wasn't made to be used as soap.  He was very insistent that there were lotion soaps.  I told him I know, he has some in the shower and I will get you some more.  He turned to me and asked, "Is it that Oy Vey stuff?" 

I believe he meant Oil of Olay.

He Pooped!

The marvels of modern medicine do not come without price.  Man and dog are suffering from irregularity.  Mister can deal with it.  DogGus cannot.

I stopped the Gabapentin last night with the hopes of his gaining coordination.  Just as the windstorm of the century started up, he lifted his head and started howling.  Then, he got up and came into the family room to lie down.  That was the most movement on his own since Wednesday.

Because I had to monitor the Mister's Vicodin last night, lest he overdose because he lost track of the number and time, I was up most of the night.  Changing out ice packs, getting water and petting DogGus.  I wrangled DogGus out the door at 2 AM when he became agitated and Mister asked where we were going.  I told him Dog needs to poop, just sit there.  So I'm supporting this big assed dog to the pavement and its pouring rain and super windy.  I have my shorty pajamas and raincoat on and am saying, "Good boy, go poopies, c'mon, good boy" and supporting his butt at the same time.  Finally, just as he goes, all the outside lights come on and the Mister is standing outside in his panties.  The barn lights are on, too, and Tori comes screaming to the fence to let me know she's starving, damnit, it's 2 AM, after all.  DogGus decides to lay down and I'm yelling at Mister to go back in the house.  He wants to know what I'm doing, so I scream, "He pooped!"  The Mister visibly brightens and yells, "He pooped!  That's good, right?!  He pooped!"  I so hope the noise of the storm muffled him.  The whole yard was as bright as day.  I gave the barn residents a snack to quiet them.

DogGus is perkier today, but still not able to stand up.  He's back to the vet tomorrow to see if different meds are required or if he's just too weak from pneumonia.  Oy vey.

The Time Has Come

Yes, it is time.  Why now?  Well, why indeed.  Probably because the coloring books are not working as a new hobby;  I keep losing my 50 cent pencil sharpener and then I can't color with my favorite colors and then waaaahhh...

Also, it is a good time to complain.  DogGus is old and has pneumonia.  Antibiotics are helping that, but he also has arthritis and the Gabapentin is causing loss of coordination and extreme drowsiness.  He is supposed to get up and move to expand his lungs, so that's not happening.  A few times a day, I put a bunched towel around his hips and lift his big ass up to move or go outside to pee and hopefully poop.  He usually can eliminate, but then lays down on the wet ground.  I would make the Mister do it, but of course, he's old and injured and in the way, too.

He has been so gung ho in Mazama with farm chores and splitting wood and killing bees that he has torn his bicep.  He drove back with the horses and had pain that night, not sleeping.  Yesterday, the went to his primary doctor who prescribed Vicodin, but that didn't touch it.  No sleep last night, even with the pot I gave him.  He went to urgent care and received more drugs.  He drove himself and when he got back, it was obvious that the drugs had kicked in.  He told me that he could put a "moist compost" on his arm.  He knows I hate the word, "moist", so he kept saying it.  I said that all I had was warm horse poop, but that was close to compost, so it would have to do.  It was lost on him, so I decided to turn to my faithful blog audience for meager appreciation.

The third fun event is the STORM OF THE CENTURY.  Oh, the terror, oh, the humanity that will suffer.  At least it is a diversion from Chump.  I do appreciate the Mister and his Captain Safety ways now.  We have full gas tanks, an automatic generator, food and water for three months and now, loads of pain pills.  I guess life doesn't suck too much when you have an abundance of essential stuff.

When the power goes out, we shall be comfy warm, with lights and books and be able to watch our collection of DVDs.  The best, shining, brightest news of all is that I found, "The Essential Duck Calling Guide", which we can now practice together as the winds howl and buffet our safe space.

Welcome back, y'all.