Welcome to the neighborhood, I think you’re going to fit right in

Last week, I got one of these cute door plaques for my front door.  20 years ago if my mom had asked if I wanted something crafty to hang on there, I would’ve said no thanks, door decor wasn’t my style.  What happened?  I got old, that’s what happened.

Anyway, I was going to get a nifty one of a human skull that said “NOT WELCOME”  (you know, for Halloween) but then it occurred to me I had a new neighbor moving in this week and I didn’t want to make a bad first impression.  So I got this wooden pumpkin instead.  I actually like it.

No one knows, but since my neighbor Lonnie moved out August 31, I’ve been a secret nervous wreck.  Who will my new next door be?  When you live in an apartment building like mine it’s very possible to hear your neighbor’s tv, music and everything else they’re up to thru your living room wall.

Back in April, a young maestro from the PMT Conservatory moved into the studio apt by the elevator on my floor.  Do I mind hearing him singing I am the Phantom of the Opera while I’m waiting to go downstairs?  No.  Do I want him singing in the apartment next to mine?  Hell no!

Do you remember my blog about the skinny little man on my floor, who lived here 5 weeks and complained about his apartment (because it got too much sunlight, for starters)?  I wrote about him here.  He pleaded with our landlord to let him move if an apartment became available in the rear of the building.  They told him he had to wait 6 months.

He finally got the chance a couple months ago.  The lawyer who lived down the hall from me announced he was moving out.  Skinny Man (Bob) signed a new lease that same day.  So what if the rent was $75 more per month.  So what if it contained no carpeting.  (Bob liked carpeting.)  So what if the all-white kitchen was too feminine for Bob’s taste.

So what if he was giving up a great neighbor, a quiet guy named Joel.  He’d get to live in the rear of the building!

Now—do you remember me writing about that lawyer?  His neighbor was a lovely young Afro-American woman, Chantilly.  (I wrote about both here.)   She likes to play music, have friends over, and have late night laughs—a lot.  Hey, she’s only 24 so that’s to be expected.  And it’s easy for me to say that, I don’t live beside her.

Bob does now, and he’s miserable.  He’s also stuck.  (Steiner said no more moves unless it’s out of the building.)  Walking away from new carpeting and a maple kitchen is one thing, but a quiet neighbor too?  That’s crazy!

So who was moving in next to me?  I didn’t have a clue.  And then this past weekend I heard a plop outside in the hall and when I opened my door, saw this in front of my neighbor’s door.

That’s a pretty welcome mat, and a good sign.  Guys come with loud music, loud voices, loud videogames but usually no welcome mats.  What if it was a woman over 50 too?  Would that be asking for too much?

I think luck was on my side.  Three woman soon arrived, all wearing work-clothes and said they were friends with my new neighbor Donna (who was on her way here with the movers, and running behind schedule). 

Bonnie, Lisa and Dina said she was 69 years old, low-key and did a lot of reading.  (Reading is good.)  They said Donna was retired, and wanted to live someplace “long-term and quiet”.  Better & better.

Donna finally arrived a couple hours later, and was polite but dismissive; I think she’s serious about maintaining boundaries.  I can dig it.  She has a gravelly voice and looks remarkably like Imelda Staunton from the 2004 movie Vera Drake.

Well, it’s been a couple days and all is calm.  Aside from some thuds and clatterings that first day, I’ve hardly heard a sound.  Donna I hope you enjoy your new home here and live beside me a long time. 

If you can outlive me, all the better.  I don’t want to have to go thru this again!  

Oh and for the record—I got that skull plaque after all.  It’s hanging in my bedroom for Halloween, we’ll see.  I don’t want to give Donna any ideas!

Photo of the Day: Dad, here’s me and here’s you, right before we’re 62

This is me (on the left) at the start of this summer, and Dad (with his granddaughter Drew) on the right, from 24 years ago.  Both of us are just a few months shy of our 62nd birthdays here.  Dad’s was July 1999, mine is next month.

Dad’s face is a bit more worn than my own, probably from his tobacco and beer; but he was married over 40 years, and raised 6 kids.  I’m sure that will age anyone.

I can remember not too long after this photo of Dad was taken, my sister Shawn called me at the office and told me Dad had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  I can still recall looking down at my shirt, feeling silly for wearing something with so many stripes and not even aware I was crying, until my coworker Lisa came over to my desk to ask what was wrong. 

Dad would be gone February 2001, 6 months after he turned 63.  

I guess I’ve just been thinking about it a bit lately, turning 62 and wondering what’s in store.  I hope it’s not cancer.  I’ve never been fond of the quote “like father like son”, now more than ever.  I feel like my life is just getting started… I wonder how my dad felt when he was my age? 

Anyway, that’s all I have to share today, I just wanted to put something new out there.  I’m heading to the senior center with my tablet (e-reader) after I post this, we’re dealing with a real heat wave and the Tiffany’s cooling system can’t handle temps 88F and higher.

I hope things are cool in your corner of the world, and thanks for stopping by.

 

I may be absent for awhile

You may not see me blogging or commenting on others blogs for a bit.  My way of living is so predictable, so routine that when life throws me a curveball, it’s hard for me to focus on typical, everyday things.

On Saturday, March 18 I was laying on my bed watching youtube videos on my tablet when I was assaulted by an offensive, oily smell wafting from the upper wall vent across from my bed. 

I didn’t have a clue what it could be—I’ve lived here for 6 years and I’ve never experienced anything like this. 

I opened a bedroom window to air things out, and went into the other room.  I could soon smell it coming from the livingroom vent too. 

I called my building’s maintenance and told them the issue.

Two men arrived Monday morning, both claimed they didn’t really smell anything “but you gotta understand, we’re in a lot of apartments every day doing a lot of sniffing”.  They suggested I try opening my windows and leaving them open for the day (which I did, even though it was only 28F outside).

At least the cold air was distracting; but when I got up Tuesday morning, and the smell was still coming in thru the ductwork, I called Steiner Realty again and reported no change.  When they suggested I try opening all my windows again, I raised a ruckus and said they better start looking at the heat/ac blower in my bathroom ceiling, for all I know it’s leaking oil.  Then I got dressed and headed to a doctor’s appointment.

I was happily surprised when I got home and found 3 men in my bathroom, with half of the ceiling removed.  They were replacing my apartment’s blower, and showed me the old motor and said it didn’t have a bad smell but was 15 years old and probably needing replaced soon anyway.  But there was no oil or anything.  The new motor rattles a bit (I’m hoping it calms down with time) but there’s no smells coming from it.  This smell wafting into my apartment thru the wall ducts only comes when the blower ISN’T running. 

For all I know, the young man who lives below me or the young couple directly above me are cooking or smoking meth, and I’m smelling it.  I don’t know what else this could be.  Steiner (my building’s management) certainly doesn’t have a clue.

My sister invited me to come down and stay with them for a bit.  I was thinking a couple days but she suggested longer.  That’s very generous of her (and it’s not like I have anything else going on) so we’ll see.  It will be nice seeing them.  And breathing some good air!

I hope everyone out there in Blogville is doing alright, and you can pardon my tardiness.  Thanks for listening (as always), take care.

Starting off the New Year with a clean slate—I mean clean colon (well, hopefully) UPDATE

Happy New Year, everyone.  Well, I actually started things off with some spicy pork, sauerkraut & potatoes earlier tonight, and now little else for the next few days.  That’s not by choice, I’ve got a colonoscopy coming up later this week, my very first one and long overdue.

I don’t expect anyone to remember this, but the day after Halloween (and my 61st birthday), I had gone to the ER with some burning pain under my right breastbone.  Thinking it was my gallbladder, they performed an abdominal ultrasound, which was a soothing, lengthy process but pricey too; it wound up costing me $400.00 out of pocket.   

Still, they were able to study my liver, pancreas & gallbladder up close and detected no immediate problems, other than a fatty liver I already knew about and some scarring on my right lung (probably from my years of smoking).  They said I had a hard mass in my right abdominal wall that couldn’t be diagnosed via the ultrasound, and recommended I get a colonoscopy.  I told them I already had one scheduled for the end of February. 

Two days later, I got a call from the gastrospecialist’s office letting me know mine was being ‘reprioritized’ from routine (low-risk) to something more, and moved to the first week of January.  I’ll be getting it done at 9:00am Thursday, January 5.

I was told by Dr. Chopra’s nurse the following:  The doctor has also authorized a change to your prep.  What that means is, we’re going to double everything. 

Instead of 4 Dulcolax tablets and 2 liters of polyethylene glycol the day before you come in, it will be 8 Dulcolax tablets and 4 liters of the drink.  You’ll be on a clear diet and drinking the prep over two days, not just one. 

She went on to tell me this wasn’t uncommon, but not to be surprised if my pharmacist called and said there was a problem with my prescription.  (She was right, Rite-Aid Pharmacy called me the very next day and asked if I was aware I was getting double everything.  Yep.)

I’m a little nervous what that doctor is going to find (or not find), only because of recurring stomach pains I’ve been dealing with off & on since summer.  I already know I have polyps down there, back in 2016 when I was experiencing my first kidney stone and getting a CT scan, the nurse said “You have polyps in your colon, you know.” 

Good or bad, I didn’t know what it meant.

Is all of this too much information?  Have you ever gotten one of these?  My neighbor Opal is only 10 years older than me, but claims she’s had 3 and that she’s overdue for a fourth.  Excuse me?  Hopefully I can get this all behind me (no pun intended) after this week. 

I’m now around the same age both of my parents were diagnosed with terminal cancers, and while no one is ever ready for that, I just feel like I have all this living to do.

Alright, now I can’t get this song out of my head.  Happy New Year to everyone out there, and I will post a follow-up when I learn more.  Thanks for letting me share!

UPDATE: I went in for my colonoscopy this morning (Jan 5), and things went better than expected.  At the risk of sharing too much information my doctor reported that all looked good, aside from some internal hemorrhoids. 

He said they were small, non-bleeding and would cause more aggravation to remove than they’re worth. 

But there were no polyps, no suspicious tissue and I would not need another colon cancer screening for 10 years.  This doesn’t address the swelling and occasional pain episodes in my abdominal region, but it does give me peace of mind.  Thanks again for letting me share and all the wonderful feedback.

Thank you for all the well wishes, everyone

I got to (finally) read all the comments left on Monday’s post Wednesday morning, and they had me chuckling, nodding my head & even wiping my eyes a little throughout.  Thank you for the kind wishes & good thoughts everyone.

I got to Mercy Hospital pretty early Monday morning, met with my doctor, he explained what they were going to do—got my meds adjusted, walked on a treadmill & pretty much sat and read the book I brought along.  My birthday dinner was a turkey sandwich, boiled egg, bowl of tomato soup & square of lemon jello. 

(Where was that banana pudding I was promised?)

Everything went as planned, my heart rate & BP numbers reduced and stayed there, and Dr. Ahmed (my new PCP) wants me to return in a couple weeks for blood work for diabetes testing.  After that, I’m to call a number given to me for the hospital’s GI dept, to set up a colonscopy.

I left Tuesday morning around 10:30am, walked almost 2 miles from Mercy Hospital to Pittsburgh’s Cultural District (where my bus stop is to take me home).  I was dropped off in front of Rite-Aid Drugs, picked up my prescriptions, walked to my apartment.  And it would seem then like all hell broke loose.

The moment I stepped inside, my upper abdomen on the right side felt like it exploded.  It happened several times in July, and again this past Sunday night.  On a scale of 1 to 10 the pain is a raging 10, but usually dies down after 1-2 hours.  I’ve been assuming it’s my gall bladder.

I paced frantically, called my doctor’s office and told them what happened, they said if the pain didn’t abate then go to the Emergency Room.

I wound up calling 911 and 30 minutes later I was back at the hospital.  That’s me in that picture above, the nurse is wheeling my bed to the lab for a CT scan. 

(This time I grabbed my smartphone to take to the hospital instead of a book.)

They then took blood & urine, did a chest x-ray and took me upstairs for a very soothing abdominal ultrasound.  The radiologist said they detected no gallstones (which surprised me greatly) but saw inflammation in my upper GI, and didn’t know why.  There was no infections. 

When they recommended I pursue a c-scope, I said If that’s the same thing as a colonscopy I’ll be getting one in a few weeks, and they patted my head and told me I was free to go. 

Instead of making the 2 mile trek to my bus stop again, I called my friend Danielle who was kind enough to come and give me a lift home.

Once again, thanks for letting me share everybody.  And Kay if you’re reading this, I thought of you when I was in the ER and they kept trying to find a vein in my arm to take my blood.  Here’s how my arm looked Wednesday morning!    

 

I believe a mea culpa is in order…

In case you haven’t noticed, the blog I posted yesterday has been taken down.  (I actually wanted to remove it several hours after I put it online, but was unable to as we had a big storm here in Pittsburgh and lost our power for 8-10 hours.)

It involved the recent obituary of an unpleasant teacher I had 50 years ago (and all the unpleasant memories I had of said person).  

I didn’t mean for it to become such a negative piece.  I included another (male) teacher I liked very much, along with an example of my mom’s awesomeness back then—but it ultimately became too much a “poison pen” post.  

This IS a personal blog, and while I don’t think every post I write needs to be filled with sunshine & lollipops, I’d rather save all that bad energy for more constructive purposes.

To my friends out there who took the time to read my blog and leave those wonderful comments, and my sister Shawn who sent me a really terrific email about it, thanks so much.  I’m a lucky guy to know all of you.

 

Real time, real Monday, real mad—don’t get mad, get glad

I usually don’t start a blog until late afternoon Monday, after my laundry & weekly chores are done.  Then I sit on it overnight, proofread it Tuesday morning and get it posted by 9am.   

This Monday is different.  I jumped out of bed exactly one hour ago (the only day I don’t want to sleep in I do—why is that?) and put on a pair of sweat shorts, grabbed my laundry basket and ran down the hall.

Every floor in my apartment building has it’s own laundry room, one washer, one dryer, sink, folding table.   A calendar hangs on the wall where everyone is scheduled 4 hours to do their laundry.  Mine is Monday, 8am – 12pm. 

Anyway—I get down there, and on the washer is a handmade sign in black marker.  “WASHER IS BROKEN, SOMEONE SHOULD CALL SOMEONE.”  My face immediately gets hot.  If I knew who put this damn sign up, I’d fix them!  There’s a sign right above the washer & dryer that says:

For immediate service, call: 412-367-2222 – We answer 7 days a week

I stomp out of there and get halfway back to my apartment before I stop and tell myself to calm down.  I should just be glad someone bothered to hang an out-of-order sign.  I get into my apartment, make the call—I’m told someone is on the way.  I undress and head into the bathroom to take a shower.  And that’s when I notice the ceiling tile above my shower head is half-soaked with water and curved downward, ready to fall in.

(Thirty years ago they installed cooling units into all the apartments by putting them in the bathroom ceilings, then installed drop ceilings into the bathrooms to cover everything up.) 

From what I’ve been told, they’re not supposed to leak!  (I’m being sarcastic.)  Mine has leaked 3 times this summer.  In July they had to replace half the damn ceiling!  This is the fourth time since May.

I email the above photo to Nicole, my building’s maintenance manager.  I was almost hoping she’d call or write back with something snarky, but she couldn’t have been nicer.  She called me minutes ago and said she got permission to hire an outside service, she will accompany them here today.  

That’s great news--what was I getting so mad about? 

Last week was my “3 doctors, 3 days in a row” appointments.  I was expecting my PCP’s replacement to be the sour, condescending Doctor Ahman, but was greeted with a lovely Lebanese woman, Doctor Nevratiti.  I told her it’d be easier to call her Queen Nefertiti  and she laughed and told me to go right ahead.  My God, she even looks like a Pharoah’s wife!

The rest of the visit didn’t go as well, unfortunately.  All the weight I lost last summer (when my TMJD was at it’s worst and I was unable to chew for 4 months) I’ve gained back.  My high blood pressure has been recategorized to Stage 2 Hypertension, and I am going from one medication, 2 pills daily to 2 medications, 5 pills daily.  Carvedidol (doubled) and a new drug, Amlodipine.

I asked if this was a 3 month thing, and Queen Nefertiti asked where I got that idea.  I said “Well uh… my urologist put me on a 3 month regimen of Tamusolin.”  She said no, no—I’ll be taking the hypertension medication the rest of my life.  Bummer.

And finally, speaking of bright ideas… yesterday while looking at Youtube videos on my tablet, I was surprised to see one labeled:

Watch Rachel Maddow Highlights: August 20th | MSNBC

I thought “Should I watch this?  I love Rachel but she does get my dander up… “ 

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her show though, so I said what the hell and watched it on my TV, pretending I had cable news again.  Rachel was criticizing Fox News for telling its viewers to ingest LIVESTOCK MEDICATION to prevent Covid; more specifically, Ivermectin—a horse dewormer.

Apparently, those loyal viewers of Tucker Carlson, Sean Hannity & Laura Inghram were doing just that, too.  It wasn’t curing or preventing covid, but if they had worms…

Y’know, I thought this would anger me but truth be told, I laughed about it the rest of the day!  

I hope everyone has a happy FOX-FREE Monday! 

 

 

It happens

Well it’s good to be home, I just walked in the door 25 minutes ago.  Still, I wish I wasn’t here.  This past Saturday I went to bed at my customary time, 12:30, but woke up a couple hours later, with my right side & groin on fire.  I walked around my apartment for a couple hours, hoping it would calm down.  When it didn’t, I called 911 and said I needed to go to the hospital.

They asked if I had a preference, I said Mercy Hospital, they’d know what to do.  He asked me if I had an idea what this could be, I said kidney stones (my last attack was 15 months ago) or maybe appendicitis. 

When we got to the hospital, Mercy wasted no time moving me to a bed (I was getting pretty loud by then) and stuck a morphine drip in my arm. 

The doctor came in, very kind, and said he’d read the notes from the ambulance driver and wanted to give me a CT-scan.  He said the radiologist thought it sounded like a urinary tract infection, but the doctor was convinced it was kidney stones, multiple ones.

Sure enough, a half hour later my doc told me he won that bet, it was in fact 3 stones, in various places with one “90 percent home” in my groin and blocking my urine.  He saw my belly was distended from retaining fluids, told me i needed a catheter but he didn’t want to do that, was afraid it would “aggravate the other stones” and cause further distress.  He said they were all passable (not requiring surgery) and just needed time.

They kept me there all day Sunday, then checked me into the hospital Sunday night.  I asked my nurse if I was staying until all three stones had passed, she said “No, the doctor is worried about your crazy high blood pressure.  You’re on medication for that, right?  Do you take it regularly?”   I wearily told her yes… ulp.  On Monday they must’ve taken my pressure 20 times. 

I was awoken early this morning and told I was being sent home.  I did protest a little, said I’d only passed one stone and wasn’t ready to go, but they said the others could take days.  They warned me I’d be experiencing ‘some discomfort’ once my morphine drip had worn off (darn it, love that stuff) and gave me a couple meds to take the rest of the week (oxycodone and Flomax).  

I haven’t exactly had a good history with opioids, I hope I don’t need them.

Anyway, sorry if I shared too much here—and to my blogging friends, I’m sorry I haven’t been around to read or comment on your latest pieces.  I turned off the comments here so people won’t feel obligated to say anything, I’m going to go lie down.  For now, the end.