I was extremely impressed when I got a phone call from the 911 center. A woman had been assigned to follow up with me, double checking our address, and making suggestions for better marking our right-of-way. That’s a service I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get in the big city.
The second step of my plan to track down a solution to my worries concerning Richard’s emergency care was to visit the EMS ambulance service. The director of the EMS gave me as much of his time as I needed to plead my case, and had the first responder coordinator sit in. They made several suggestions for making Richard’s medical information obvious to whoever arrives on the scene.
The director has an uncle who received a liver transplant, so he had some knowledge of what we’re up against in terms of special knowledge required for post-transplant medical care. The first responder coordinator lives in Coker Creek, so she has knowledge of our logistics issues for expedient transportation off the mountain.
The next step will be the EMS director talking to the medical air lift helicopter director, and me contacting the director of the private subscription air evacuation service serving Coker Creek. Meanwhile, my concerns are driving Richard to distraction. I think he may rather be dead than have all this attention focused on him. Too bad for him, I don’t feel the same way.
Whenever I talk about the situation Richard involuntarily rolls his eyes and purses his lips. I told him that I saw those eyes rolling and asked if he’d like for me to get him a pair of mirrored sun glasses so I wouldn’t see it. He did like this idea, but I let him know his pursed lips would still be a tell. I offered to give him a big paper bag to cover his face when I bring up these issues. He likes this idea, as long as I give him warning before speaking.
The big problem with that is he’d have another excuse for not hearing a word I said. As my granddaughter Miya says to her brother, “I see your mouth moving, but all I hear is ‘Blah, Blah, Blah , Blah, Blah’.” Or, he might be silently slipping into sleeping while I think I have his rapt attention. Poor thing, I’ve taken to emailing him my worries. Maybe that’s why his computer began shutting down on a regular basis; I melted the hard drive.
I love email communication. I never feel guilty about anything I email to someone. I figure they can read it or not. I also figure they can wait until they’re in the proper frame of mind before reading the missive. It’s great therapy for me; I can get the worry off my mind while it’s still fresh -- like when it awakens me at three in the morning. The recipient has all the time in the world to respond – or not.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Medical Miracles and the Mountains
Josie’s working on a project for me. Adam, who is a policeman, had offered to introduce me to the 911 dispatch team. We’re trying to work out some accommodation for future emergency care for Richard. I invited us over to Adam and Josie’s house for lunch; we’d bring the lunch. We had leftovers of pork tenderloin with apples and cranberries and Brunswick stew. I gave Adam a choice, and he chose both. So, both it was.
We ate the pork over white rice with sides of Josie’s yummy homemade apple sauce and cranberry compote. Even though both Camille and Adam had requested the Brunswick stew alongside the tenderloin, I opted for stowing the stew in Josie’s refrigerator for a future feast. We still had some of Rachel’s ricotta cookies with cherries, so we served these for dessert.
Once we finished lunch, it was about time for Josie’s afternoon siesta. Richard headed over to drop stew and cookies off to Jack and Mamie while I ran the roads with Adam to the dispatch center. The initial reaction of the director upon being told that Richard had a heart transplant and lived in Coker Creek was a bit disconcerting. “Why would anyone with a heart transplant move to Coker Creek?” I admitted that we were still in shock from losing our home in Hurricane Katrina when we made the choice, and that I was beginning to share her doubts about how prudent our choice had been.
Although we didn’t get all the answers we need there, we did accomplish getting one goal. The director of the center flagged Richard’s address as having a post-heart transplant person in residence. She then suggested that I talk with the EMT director.
Mountaintop Mary used to be an EMT in her former home state. She’s looking over the medical records we keep in our freezer for the Air Evac service. I asked her to review the information on Richard’s special medical needs, and prioritize the information from an EMT “need to know” viewpoint, so that we won’t have a repeat of last week’s mistakes. She had told me that having Richard’s address flagged by 911 may be a possibility. I was very pleased when the dispatch director offered to do so with no prompting from me.
I know it would break Richard’s relatively new heart to have to move from the holler. Although I’d be sad, I found out a long time ago that the only losses that I can’t recuperate from are the losses of my people. If I lost Richard, I’d soon lose my Coker Creek neighbors because I would never have the courage to live alone anywhere, much less in the deep dark forest.
Coker Creek has many retirees moving in from major metropolitan areas. Most of them take for granted that there are great trauma and emergency units within a short driving distance. Whatever accommodation can be made for individuals with special needs because of the major medical miracles of today can only increase the value of their lives in their dream homes in the mountains.
We ate the pork over white rice with sides of Josie’s yummy homemade apple sauce and cranberry compote. Even though both Camille and Adam had requested the Brunswick stew alongside the tenderloin, I opted for stowing the stew in Josie’s refrigerator for a future feast. We still had some of Rachel’s ricotta cookies with cherries, so we served these for dessert.
Once we finished lunch, it was about time for Josie’s afternoon siesta. Richard headed over to drop stew and cookies off to Jack and Mamie while I ran the roads with Adam to the dispatch center. The initial reaction of the director upon being told that Richard had a heart transplant and lived in Coker Creek was a bit disconcerting. “Why would anyone with a heart transplant move to Coker Creek?” I admitted that we were still in shock from losing our home in Hurricane Katrina when we made the choice, and that I was beginning to share her doubts about how prudent our choice had been.
Although we didn’t get all the answers we need there, we did accomplish getting one goal. The director of the center flagged Richard’s address as having a post-heart transplant person in residence. She then suggested that I talk with the EMT director.
Mountaintop Mary used to be an EMT in her former home state. She’s looking over the medical records we keep in our freezer for the Air Evac service. I asked her to review the information on Richard’s special medical needs, and prioritize the information from an EMT “need to know” viewpoint, so that we won’t have a repeat of last week’s mistakes. She had told me that having Richard’s address flagged by 911 may be a possibility. I was very pleased when the dispatch director offered to do so with no prompting from me.
I know it would break Richard’s relatively new heart to have to move from the holler. Although I’d be sad, I found out a long time ago that the only losses that I can’t recuperate from are the losses of my people. If I lost Richard, I’d soon lose my Coker Creek neighbors because I would never have the courage to live alone anywhere, much less in the deep dark forest.
Coker Creek has many retirees moving in from major metropolitan areas. Most of them take for granted that there are great trauma and emergency units within a short driving distance. Whatever accommodation can be made for individuals with special needs because of the major medical miracles of today can only increase the value of their lives in their dream homes in the mountains.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Carpe the Cash
This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Not with Richard – we already have a beautiful relationship – but, with my baby sis Camille. I never “got” Camille when she was growing up. I could make most of my other siblings howl with laughter, but not Camille. She’d just sit in her little jumpy seat and study me with her solemn brown eyes. As a toddler, she was very fond of following our mother around. How boring! I was six years old when she came along. I had school and other adventures to pursue.
By the time Camille became a teenager, I was an adult with a husband and house to tend. We entered each other’s lives for short periods over the years, but with Camille’s military service related relocations, her many years of education, her career, and her own husband and child rearing responsibilities, we never had time to explore our adult relationship. I have, however, heard over the years that I’m “just like Camille” – and it never sounded like this was a good thing.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that Camille is smart and funny and cute; and she’s also deeply interested in becoming an arts agent. I have long been a patron of the arts, and have toyed with the idea of expanding my small publishing company to include promoting other arts media. Now that we live in a cradle of creativity, it seems like the perfect time to make that move.
I’ve been in business for myself several times and have managed businesses for others. One thing about which ‘m absolutely positive is that it’s not smart to have a business with one person wearing too many hats. If you’ve ever seen a plate spinner, you know what happens if the entertainer takes a misstep – all the plates fall and break into a bazillion pieces. Richard is my perfect domestic partner and household business partner. I don’t want him to wear too many hats, even though he does have a super large skull housing his super active brain. Besides, he has his own interests including production of a favorite family toy.
Camille’s fortunate enough to work a four-day week, and her daughter is grown and in college. Both her husband and her mom-in-law are extremely talented painters. Camille loves to travel, possessing the same Gypsy blood that courses through my veins. She also has an inquiring mind, an MBA and an adoring domestic partner in her husband David.
I’ve always believed in employee/management partnerships. Bill Gates built his empire on this same concept. Who better than the people whose talents and value systems I’ve drawn to me on a personal level to pair their talents with mine in a business venture?
I’ve started small, with Richard and Jack. I’ve been approached by several other budding writers to represent them. I have a wide range of visual artists that I’d love to represent. With energizer bunnies like Camille and my journalist/editor friend Susan in my corner, it’s time for us to move boldly forward and Carpe the Cash.
By the time Camille became a teenager, I was an adult with a husband and house to tend. We entered each other’s lives for short periods over the years, but with Camille’s military service related relocations, her many years of education, her career, and her own husband and child rearing responsibilities, we never had time to explore our adult relationship. I have, however, heard over the years that I’m “just like Camille” – and it never sounded like this was a good thing.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that Camille is smart and funny and cute; and she’s also deeply interested in becoming an arts agent. I have long been a patron of the arts, and have toyed with the idea of expanding my small publishing company to include promoting other arts media. Now that we live in a cradle of creativity, it seems like the perfect time to make that move.
I’ve been in business for myself several times and have managed businesses for others. One thing about which ‘m absolutely positive is that it’s not smart to have a business with one person wearing too many hats. If you’ve ever seen a plate spinner, you know what happens if the entertainer takes a misstep – all the plates fall and break into a bazillion pieces. Richard is my perfect domestic partner and household business partner. I don’t want him to wear too many hats, even though he does have a super large skull housing his super active brain. Besides, he has his own interests including production of a favorite family toy.
Camille’s fortunate enough to work a four-day week, and her daughter is grown and in college. Both her husband and her mom-in-law are extremely talented painters. Camille loves to travel, possessing the same Gypsy blood that courses through my veins. She also has an inquiring mind, an MBA and an adoring domestic partner in her husband David.
I’ve always believed in employee/management partnerships. Bill Gates built his empire on this same concept. Who better than the people whose talents and value systems I’ve drawn to me on a personal level to pair their talents with mine in a business venture?
I’ve started small, with Richard and Jack. I’ve been approached by several other budding writers to represent them. I have a wide range of visual artists that I’d love to represent. With energizer bunnies like Camille and my journalist/editor friend Susan in my corner, it’s time for us to move boldly forward and Carpe the Cash.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Messes and Memories
A lovely way to spend a day,
We both slept in very late,
Then puttered to get some simple things done;
This may be our ideal date.
Richard replenished our firewood,
While I stored the Christmas tree.
When it came to the packing the village scene,
Richard agreed to help me.
It’s nice to reclaim our space,
And our slower pace in life.
I’m not sure Richard knew what would happen
When he chose me for a wife.
As I stroll around each room,
Putting things back in order,
I find a sock that may be my grandson’s,
And toys of my granddaughters.
Some to store and some to mail,
The things may be packed away.
The bills are paid. The dust has now settled.
The memories are here to stay.
We both slept in very late,
Then puttered to get some simple things done;
This may be our ideal date.
Richard replenished our firewood,
While I stored the Christmas tree.
When it came to the packing the village scene,
Richard agreed to help me.
It’s nice to reclaim our space,
And our slower pace in life.
I’m not sure Richard knew what would happen
When he chose me for a wife.
As I stroll around each room,
Putting things back in order,
I find a sock that may be my grandson’s,
And toys of my granddaughters.
Some to store and some to mail,
The things may be packed away.
The bills are paid. The dust has now settled.
The memories are here to stay.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Richard's Rolling Again
Well, the truth is, Richard ran errands while I took a long sigh of relief. Richard said that he needed to get out for a while to begin having some regular activity. He is always concerned about avoiding “illness behavior.” This may be how he gets himself in so much trouble.
The little cat that had shown up in our shed was limping and biting at her back paw. Because his immune system is compromised, Richard can’t take a chance on getting scratched by a cat. And that cat wasn’t letting us check her paw without a whole lot of hissing and scratching. We decided it was time to take “Slate” to the Monroe County Animal Shelter.
Gypsy had taken to chasing “Slate” which probably wasn’t the best thing for the cat’s injured paw. Buster had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with this interloper who got wet food while he only gets kibble. And “Slate” was obviously used to being a pampered princess, rubbing up against our legs every time we were on the porch, and attempting to make herself an indoor pet every time the door was ajar. Since we still needed toilet paper, Richard volunteered to go to Wal-Mart for our provisions and a dowry of cat food to leave at the shelter with the cat.
Richard also agreed to run by the library to deliver more copies of Jack’s book. Jack and I have set up a fundraising program at the library, donating two dollars to the library for every book ordered through them. We offer this plan to schools, libraries, and several other area non–profit organizations.
As I puttered around de-Christmasing the house, I fielded phone calls. Mamie called looking for Richard to come fix her fuse box in her guest apartment. Jack checked in to see if we were improving. I spoke with two of my nieces, and my baby boy. Camille called to check on Richard’s progress and to reschedule a business meeting that we had postponed due to Richard’s illness.
Camille is considering using her relatively new MBA degree to assist me in my publishing and arts promotion business. Camille is also an RN, so maybe she can explain to Richard the importance of taking care of himself so I don’t have to hand him over to the horrors of hospitalization again.
I can now look out the window and see the mud path our guests beat to the front-yard fire pit. Until now, it had been covered in snow. I never thought I’d think mud is beautiful, but I prefer it to being icebound. Richard is rolling in his Bronco II again, more slowly than usual -- which is really, really slow -- but at least he’s rolling. Gypsy is again riding with Richard and getting her daily requirement of belly rubs.
Camille is coming, and Christmas is mostly put away. Richard refilled the bird feeder, so our bird friends are back. Things are certainly looking up around here.
The little cat that had shown up in our shed was limping and biting at her back paw. Because his immune system is compromised, Richard can’t take a chance on getting scratched by a cat. And that cat wasn’t letting us check her paw without a whole lot of hissing and scratching. We decided it was time to take “Slate” to the Monroe County Animal Shelter.
Gypsy had taken to chasing “Slate” which probably wasn’t the best thing for the cat’s injured paw. Buster had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with this interloper who got wet food while he only gets kibble. And “Slate” was obviously used to being a pampered princess, rubbing up against our legs every time we were on the porch, and attempting to make herself an indoor pet every time the door was ajar. Since we still needed toilet paper, Richard volunteered to go to Wal-Mart for our provisions and a dowry of cat food to leave at the shelter with the cat.
Richard also agreed to run by the library to deliver more copies of Jack’s book. Jack and I have set up a fundraising program at the library, donating two dollars to the library for every book ordered through them. We offer this plan to schools, libraries, and several other area non–profit organizations.
As I puttered around de-Christmasing the house, I fielded phone calls. Mamie called looking for Richard to come fix her fuse box in her guest apartment. Jack checked in to see if we were improving. I spoke with two of my nieces, and my baby boy. Camille called to check on Richard’s progress and to reschedule a business meeting that we had postponed due to Richard’s illness.
Camille is considering using her relatively new MBA degree to assist me in my publishing and arts promotion business. Camille is also an RN, so maybe she can explain to Richard the importance of taking care of himself so I don’t have to hand him over to the horrors of hospitalization again.
I can now look out the window and see the mud path our guests beat to the front-yard fire pit. Until now, it had been covered in snow. I never thought I’d think mud is beautiful, but I prefer it to being icebound. Richard is rolling in his Bronco II again, more slowly than usual -- which is really, really slow -- but at least he’s rolling. Gypsy is again riding with Richard and getting her daily requirement of belly rubs.
Camille is coming, and Christmas is mostly put away. Richard refilled the bird feeder, so our bird friends are back. Things are certainly looking up around here.
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Delirium-Induced Ditty
The snow and ice have finally melted. What a relief! I drive myself crazy when the only person I have to talk to is me. You know the old saying, “Just don’t start answering yourself.” Who else is there to answer you when you’re icebound with a sick person? I’m reduced to cabin fever induced delirium.
Hi ho Hi ho,
There’s no more ice and snow;
Me and my van will fulfill plans.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To the carwash I will go;
Wash off the dust and stop the rust.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To the post office I’ll go;
I’ll mail Nick’s cake that I did bake.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To Sav-a-Lot I’ll go;
I’ll get supplies and other buys.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To the library I’ll go;
I’m on the hook to bring Jack’s book.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
Then to the bank I’ll go;
I have a peck of uncashed checks.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To Mamie’s I will go;
I’ll go see Jack when I get back.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
There’s no more ice and snow;
Me and my van will fulfill plans.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To the carwash I will go;
Wash off the dust and stop the rust.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To the post office I’ll go;
I’ll mail Nick’s cake that I did bake.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To Sav-a-Lot I’ll go;
I’ll get supplies and other buys.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To the library I’ll go;
I’m on the hook to bring Jack’s book.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
Then to the bank I’ll go;
I have a peck of uncashed checks.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Hi ho Hi ho,
To Mamie’s I will go;
I’ll go see Jack when I get back.
Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho Hi ho.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Courage to Cruise
What a wuss I am! There are people who live and work in places that have several feet of snow and ice to get through all winter, and I’m scared to drive down my street. What’s the worst that can happen? We don’t even live on the side of a cliff or the top of a mountain. It’s hard to fall far when you live in a holler. So what if I go into a slide?
My van is over ten years old with over two hundred thousand miles on the odometer. It has a dent on the driver’s side front quarter panel from a hit-‘n’-git driver in Sav-a-Lot parking area. The driver’s door bottom trim sports a big boo-boo from a propane tank bouncing along the interstate highway and stopping on me. I wear a seatbelt and have airbags, so how much harm can befall me?
We’ve got a long way to go to melt the snow with Adam’s latest weather report of 14.4 degrees. We won’t starve, no matter how frozen the holler gets, as our three freezers and two refrigerators are always stuffed to frozen food avalanche capacity. We keep a full pantry, and even have food stored under our bed.
The weather reports say that by Saturday we’ll be warm, but there are some things that just can’t wait that long. We’re down to a partial roll of toilet paper, so I’ve gotta work up the courage to cruise down to some store.
The problem for me is that when I’m scared of doing something, I shut my eyes, and hold my breath, and go really, really fast. This is not a good plan for ice driving. I know there’s a Ford commercial where a blind man drives a car, but I think it’s generally best to see where one is going, especially on ice-slicked mountain roads.
Richard grew up in Massachusetts, delivering baby chicks in all manner of weather. Ice driving doesn’t faze him, except for his worry that someone not as cautious as he is will be coming from the opposite direction on the road. If he feels up to it today, maybe I’ll ask him to go on the provision run. I’d want him to take the van because it has a lower center of gravity than his Bronco II, and he’d mourn the loss of his trusty twenty-year-old steed if anything happened to his ride. But then, I’d worry until he got home because I’m also afraid of being home alone after dark. Sometimes I wonder how I ever ended up in the woods.
My mantra for today will be, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can,” like The Little Engine That Could. Oh, heck, maybe we’ll just ride to town together, visiting a few friends on the way…
My van is over ten years old with over two hundred thousand miles on the odometer. It has a dent on the driver’s side front quarter panel from a hit-‘n’-git driver in Sav-a-Lot parking area. The driver’s door bottom trim sports a big boo-boo from a propane tank bouncing along the interstate highway and stopping on me. I wear a seatbelt and have airbags, so how much harm can befall me?
We’ve got a long way to go to melt the snow with Adam’s latest weather report of 14.4 degrees. We won’t starve, no matter how frozen the holler gets, as our three freezers and two refrigerators are always stuffed to frozen food avalanche capacity. We keep a full pantry, and even have food stored under our bed.
The weather reports say that by Saturday we’ll be warm, but there are some things that just can’t wait that long. We’re down to a partial roll of toilet paper, so I’ve gotta work up the courage to cruise down to some store.
The problem for me is that when I’m scared of doing something, I shut my eyes, and hold my breath, and go really, really fast. This is not a good plan for ice driving. I know there’s a Ford commercial where a blind man drives a car, but I think it’s generally best to see where one is going, especially on ice-slicked mountain roads.
Richard grew up in Massachusetts, delivering baby chicks in all manner of weather. Ice driving doesn’t faze him, except for his worry that someone not as cautious as he is will be coming from the opposite direction on the road. If he feels up to it today, maybe I’ll ask him to go on the provision run. I’d want him to take the van because it has a lower center of gravity than his Bronco II, and he’d mourn the loss of his trusty twenty-year-old steed if anything happened to his ride. But then, I’d worry until he got home because I’m also afraid of being home alone after dark. Sometimes I wonder how I ever ended up in the woods.
My mantra for today will be, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can,” like The Little Engine That Could. Oh, heck, maybe we’ll just ride to town together, visiting a few friends on the way…
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