Please do not expect this blog entry to tell a smooth story or to make sense. I don’t even know what will flow out of my fingers as I type this now. I did not plan anything special for this post, nor did I intend to miss nearly two weeks of writing.
After mere days of tracking my sodium and “eating normally” as the dietician suggested, my constant lightheadedness and episodes of low blood pressure significantly decreased. My physiatrist (who is also a neurologist, you may recall) saw me last Thursday afternoon for my post incident follow-up. She’s excited about my approval for the service dog, sorry that I’m losing my job, has promised to buy Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money, and she and her nurse both appreciate the way I advocate for myself and try to do as much as I can to improve my body and my health.
Speaking of which, tracking food had led me to discover that when “eating normally” I was only getting 1500-1800 mg of sodium AND drinking 100 ounces of water in the humid, hot warehouse. I can only imagine how little sodium I was eating while sticking to “heart-healthy,” “low sodium” choices. And it might explain why I really love me a bag of salty potato chips.
The physiatrist and I had a lovely conversation about B-vitamins, apparently she’s low and had to start getting B12 shots so I mentioned that I sprinkled nutritional yeast on everything. She googled it and she plans on buying a jar.
The teenager also asked me to organize her bookshelf, a calming activity that brings me much satisfaction.
In a future blog, I hope to write The Saga of the Quail, now that the birds have gone home and I can no longer get in trouble for illegally housing game birds in a residential area.
Somewhere in the last two weeks I deadlifted 120 lbs– which is three-quarters of my current body weight.
And the “tube” to the outdoor kennel the teenager built for the cats has been popular.
She even put a cat door leading from the porch to the kitchen so the cats have access 24/7. Touch of Grey, our foster with a hysterical and sometimes volatile personality, has made the back porch/mud room her new domain.
I had a mental health therapy appointment and will have a job coaching session next week. Speaking of which, we are having a Women’s Outbound meeting at work on Monday and everyone is having their break after regardless of whether we normally break at this time. I’m guessing Stitch Fix has either decided our official end dates or they will be announcing more information regarding when and how we will receive this information.
We had a massive pot luck yesterday at work for our team and another roster, and I ate so much food I didn’t eat again for 24 hours.
As the threat of rain descends upon on, the Ackerman household has an announcement:
The Teenager and her uncle built our indoor cats a cat tunnel to the outdoor cat cage.
My food dairy
8 p.m. last night: about 15 ounces water that kept me up peeing until almost 1 a.m. 6:30 a.m.: tried to brew 26 ounces of Supercoffee with about 1 tablespoon of cacao with maca powder. Think I brewed the coffee super strong. Served with half and half 8:15 a.m. poured second cup of coffee, realized I hadn’t had any water yet, poured 12 ounces. 9 a.m. ordered an iced tea for my daughter and “had to try” the new 200 calorie coconut macaroon iced coffee at dunking (but I got decaf) and the new chicken and roasted pepper wrap. 9:15 another 8 ounces of water; dunkin arrives, coffee made with coconut milk. It’s too sweet it’s going in the fridge. 12:20 15 ounces unsweetened earl grey iced tea 3 p.m. trying to drink the decaf coffee from dunkin (finished it)– two everything bagel tortilla, avocado, roasted pepper and kale, vegan meat slices and nutritional yeast.
5 p.m. we went to Dairy Queen for an ice cream cake for the Teenager’s birthday. We got it through the drive through — and they didn’t have eight inch so we got a discounted 10 inch Oreo Blizzard Cake.
Imagine our surprise when we arrived home and the dog— whom we had not crated— had let herself (and two of the cats) into the backyard.
I think I’ve eaten two thousand calories of ice cream cake— and I gotta say I’m impressed. DQ makes really good ice cream cakes.
As many of you who read this know, I have had one helluva week. I took my car in for body work on Tuesday, only to arrive at work late to find out that Stitch Fix had made the decision to close our warehouse in October when our lease expires.
Then the Canadian wildfires transformed our daily landscape into an apocalyptic sepia-toned photograph.
My colleagues that drove me to and from work during those days commiserated with me about our hopes and fears about what our future holds.
Every book I’ve tried to finish for Parisian Phoenix Publishing this week has encountered bizarre complications that I am still sorting.
But last night my car came home early, nice and clean.
But then FURR Louise got adopted today so I took these photos to chronicle her last moments with me today.
I met her adopter at our local Petsmart and it turns out she’s a talented and super animal-adoring journalist who recently earned a prestigious metro fellowship at The New York Times. By happenstance, I happened to subscribe to the Times last weekend, so perhaps I will see her work.
Louise is on her way to Hoboken, N.J., to live with an investigative reporter who works in Manhattan. She and her boyfriend are “cat people” who have every intention of spoiling her.
I hope Louise learns to love this young reporter, Erin Nolan of the New York Times.
Last night, after the representative from Susquehanna Service Dogs left, The Teenager and I went to Taco Bell because it was late and I was famished. Despite eating my meal and half of the teenagers– somehow I woke this morning extremely lightheaded and with a blood pressure of 110/60. The issue did not resolve until 5 hours later.
When we settled into the house last night, I noticed a wrapper on the floor.
“Hey, when did you get Nutter Butters?” I asked the Teenager.
Apparently, the dog had stolen them and eaten most of the pack. The dog just looked at us guiltily and wagged her tail.
And we had bought her a cheesy roll at Taco Bell.
I told some leads and supervisors about my service dog approval at work today and then when those closest to me had heard the news from me, I sent an official email.
It’s not my most eloquent work, because I’m utterly exhausted. It says, “I have been placed on the list for a service dog. It’s about a three year wait because they raise a puppy with my input for me. I don’t know what the next three years will bring— but regardless of whether I still work here or move on, I would like to initiate a conversation about whether a service dog would be considered a reasonable accommodation. Legally, it is considered reasonable if it helps me with my disability while at work, does not put any person or company interest in danger, and if the dog would be safe and not exposed to danger for its own welfare. The dog could help prevent falls and help me get clothes and other items out of the cart and off the floor.
We have a couple years to pursue this conversation and I have 2-3 years to raise the $5,000 to pay for the dog. So to have that investment pay off, I want to bring the dog to work.Also I am working with Susquehanna Service Dogs which is a very reputable and supportive program.”
One of the other people at work asked me what I would name the dog. I pointed out that I think financial donors get to name the puppies and so once I met my puppy and learned its name I would probably develop a nickname for it. He wants to know the potential nicknames.
I haven’t named a dog since the late 1970s. Preschooler me named our Old English sheep dog mutt “Cheezie” because she liked cheese.
And a local professional offered me a discount on his services so that I could use the extra funds to put aside for my service dog. That was super kind, and just goes to show that when you walk in the world with kindness and try to support those who support your community, that the karma comes back.
I came home from work and The Teenager had planted my flower from Southern Candy, exactly as I envisioned it.
I did some work for the publishing company, drank a cup of coffee and headed to the gym since I missed Wednesday having fallen asleep at 6 p.m. Andrew promised to go easy on me, because lately my blood pressure is high, my heart rate is low, and my blood oxygen keeps dipping to 94%.
I had a great workout, and even made it home without a fall or incident.
I shared my basic granola formula with Andrew, made salmon and couscous for dinner, and finished the gummy bears with The Teenager.
Being that it’s Friday night, I’m up a little late as The Teenager and I were talking about service dog gear, Gunnar kennels, and ADA service dog rule cards.
Then I came up to take my shower and Opie shot out of my room and Louise followed him. Louise is the tripod foster from Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab scheduled for adoption June 10. She hasn’t voluntarily left my room since I worked second shift. When the house was quiet at 1 a.m. she would normally follow me to the bathroom.
Despite waking yesterday 15 minutes before my alarm and falling asleep face down in my pillow as I tried to lift my phone off my desk to start my day, yesterday started as a decent day. It was slow, and everything seemed to annoy me. My body hurt, my heart rate and blood pressure seemed off, but my work metrics were good. Too good.
I was very thirsty all day, and ended up stepping away from my station three times during the day to use the restroom– which is not me– but my current symptoms include not being able to tell how urgent the signal to urinate is so waiting too long or not responding immediately might result in an uncomfortable outcome.
I returned to eating “real food” after a weekend of salty and sweet treats for my birthday, which made my body feel generally bloated and sluggish but had stabilized some of my postural issues.
And my hand, the one where the medical professional had done an exploratory IV last week, turned multiple colors that didn’t exist there over the weekend.
The coffee shop I had selected to meet Natalie Lowell of Exquisite Page turned out to be closed on Monday, as was my second choice, so she suggested the old familiar Terra Cafe. I had a lovely London Fog and the discussion flowed easily.
I learned along the way to the cafe that the Meet-and-Greet scheduled for FURR Louise for June 10 was actually a sight-unseen adoption, which makes me nervous with special needs cats and this one has been in my bedroom for two years and sleeping in my arms at night for at least six months.
I ate a small snack. From there I went to the gym, where Andrew– despite our schedules keeping us apart for a week– put me through a brutal workout, which really wasn’t that brutal but it felt brutal, reinforcing the idea that maybe my recent health problems are just a ramification of being 25 pounds overweight and out-of-shape.
And then I had a good old-fashioned fall on the way home. The kind that scraped my hands and bruised my thigh and chewed up the flesh of my shoulder. After a conversation with my Apple Watch, (“Looks like you had a hard fall.” “I fell, but I’m okay.”) I headed home, my pride more battered than anything else.
The Teenager made an enjoyable dinner and I had a Hostess cupcake. I could have finished the strawberry cream puffs from Sheetz. Those were surprisingly amazing.
By the time I took my shower, my wounds stung and my left hand was trembling. My heart rate and heart rate variability were low, my blood oxygen was 97% and my blood pressure was high. I decided to write a small blog entry, but when I opened my computer I saw a message from Gayle.
The content led me to believe that I sent her the wrong edited file of Larry Sceurman’s Coffee in the Morning, and so I opted to go to bed. When I woke this morning, I had received the truest of all motivational messages from Gayle.
DO NOT SECOND GUESS YOURSELF
So when I get home from work today, I’ll have to check the file. When I have more wits about me.
While normally my self-confidence wavers, Gayle’s right. I do not second guess myself. I move forward often boldly in a direction without worrying about the consequences.
I’m not sure I feel better today. That remains to be seen. I had strange dreams last night. A toilet falling over while I was using it. Having unexpected and messy female troubles. And my favorite– sitting next to my father after dinner at the table as we always did. He would be smoking his cigarettes and perhaps having a cup of coffee. The Teenager and my stepmom were sharing cheesecake as if nothing were wrong, and not offering me any. And then I realized that my father is dead, and that The Teenager and my stepmom didn’t see him. He was there just for me.
And once I realized that, he was gone, and all I had left in me was to weep.
I had fallen alseep last night with tears in my eyes. And I woke with Louise in my arms and tears in my eyes again, but this time, with the strength to face a new day.
Today I slept in until nearly 6 a.m., waking only when I heard The Teenager rise and leave the house for her dog walk client. I laid in bed until almost 6:20. To me, that is the ultimate laziness as I usually begin work at 6:30 a.m.
It’s been another delightful birthday day of celebration. I started the morning with breakfast with some of my Stitch Fix crew, with Southern Candy arriving at Big Papa’s early to bestow the table with some decorations.
There were cards and laughter and Southern Candy ordered her regular biscuits and gravy only to discover the biscuits were not biscuits but English muffins. So much commotion ensued of the giggling and carrying on sort, making jokes about what to call biscuits and gravy that does not contain biscuits, because English muffins with gravy sounds gross.
We had a discussion about making our own biscuits and bringing them and comparing making biscuits with shortening versus lard.
I ordered a spinach, green pepper and feta omelet hoping that the vegetables would help heal the damage done by my weekend of caffeine, sugar, fat and grease.
That might be too much to hope for as my blood pressure was 116/96.
The next item on the agenda was to take FURR foster tripod Louise to a meet-and-greet event at the Phillipsburg Petco, where she behaved like a trooper (even if she did spill her litter box so she could hide under it).
I was able to finish the last set of changes to Coffee in the Morning by Larry Sceurman on the laptop while chatting with another FURR volunteer to happens to be the only person I know eagerly and reliably waiting for my next novel.
I came home, cleaned up my room and finished Netflix’s Queen Charlotte, which, as all the Bridgerton tales do, has quite the sentimentality regarding love and relationships.
I also ate a rather large “elephant ear” with The Teenager that Little Dog’s mom had procured.
I’m off to check my blood pressure, take my evening meds, pack a lunch, and decide on dinner. But I just may allow myself a birthday beverage– as my birthday weekend officially launched with a gin gimlet with photography Joan and her other half, Randy.
7:30 a.m., Wednesday, April 5: Yesterday I was discharged from hand rehab with John at The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation. My hand strength in my right hand is stronger than my left hand, so even though my pinky doesn’t quite have all the functionality it should, John thinks with proper use and exercise at home I can handle recovery.
As John said, implying that he could trust me to monitor and invest in my own hand health, “with everything you have on your plate, this is a mere flesh wound.”
Indeed.
With that, I had my last session of rolling and smashing silly putty and twirling balls in my hand. Really, hand therapy is not that far from children’s play. As an adult, there’s not enough activities that involve silly putty.
After a weekend of high blood pressure, my body suddenly feels low– and my blood pressure is on the low side, even after coffee, and I’m light-headed and feel as if my blood sugar could be low, despite snacking on a slice of fresh pizzeria pizza (I found that real pizza versus Dominoes or frozen varieties does not have the sodium and preservatives that impact my numbers) when I took my evening dose of Lopressor. I ate breakfast, and that helped some, but not enough. I also had an 8-ounce glass of water.
So, as my primary care doctor is signing off on me returning to work on Monday and we’re still waiting for my cardiologist’s report, I’m terrified that something might happen today. But I don’t want to manifest my own misfortune. It’s interesting to note that today was supposed to be my first day back to work, but I still have physical therapy during the day this week, and I felt better knowing my cardiologist should have the info he needs by then in case we need to make adjustments to my treatment plan.
The manufacturer of the Zio sent a push notification to my phone that they received my device and will have the data to my doctor soon.
My left hip, according to my physical therapist, was tight Monday, and now my right hip is giving me issues, the kind of issues it often has when compensating for the left hip.
I should have taken a shower last night, but I thought it would be nice to shower in the morning, but then I remembered I have physical therapy and the gym today… but I might have to take two showers today. I need to see if I can shake this feeling of brain fog and lightheadedness. By then, it will be 8 a.m. and I can call my doctor’s office. They are next door to physical therapy so maybe one of the medical assistants can take my blood pressure. Because my neurologist would be mad at me if I ignore this.
8:20 a.m. After a hot shower and exposure to The Teenager’s work drama– not being able to get into a client’s house to feed the dog– my blood pressure is now high. So I don’t know whether to call the doctor or not. I put on my sports bra inside out and my shirt backwards.
8:30 a.m.I called the doctor’s office. They won’t let a nurse or medical assistant take my blood pressure because they would like a doctor there because of my history. I have an 11:15 a.m. appointment, directly after my physical therapy, with one of the residents, I think, because it says my doctor’s name but that’s not what she told me. But it usually shows the resident’s names so we’ll see.
9 a.m. I decide to play with the Stitch Fix style algorithm before leaving as I only have a couple minutes. This will be important later… because brain fog. That was another symptom I’m struggling with– I put on my sports bra inside out and my shirt backwards.
Brief interlude while I am thinking of it. My hospital EOB came yesterday, as did updates as to some of my other medical visits. It’s obscene to see the battle between medical providers and private insurance companies. When did this become an acceptable model of business? The hospital charged my insurance company almost $18, 500 for one day of services. The insurance company pays a pre-negotiated rate of $2,500 and I get bill about $300.
In a similar fashion– the medical office billed the insurance company for the resident who so patiently spent 30 minutes removing three stitches from my face. It was itemized as “surgery” and the provider billed $66, of which the insurance company paid $13. And left $1.50 for me. So this poor resident, who worked her way through medical school and had to dig the stitches out of my scabby face, isn’t even worth $30/hour?
9:40 a.m. I arrived at Physical Therapy to sit and read my book until my appointment. Yesterday, I finished Susie Bright’s How to Read/Write an Erotic Story and I have every intention of finishing Suzanne Mattaboni’s Once in a Lifetime today.
10 a.m. or there-abouts: physical therapy with Jimmy, instead of Eric, because it’s Eric’s birthday, and his colleagues suggest that this might not be his first thirtieth birthday. I am also informed that the goal today is to poke fun at Eric as much as possible because he’s not there to defend himself.
Summary of Physical Therapy: I worked hard and found myself pushing and having good balance despite the issues with my quasi-lightheadedness. As usual, my left side is tighter than my left, but I notice as the day goes on my discomfort on the right seems to be correcting itself.
I also told my physical therapist about The Institute for Hand and Upper Extremity Rehabilitation and my mallet finger that I did last year, right before Easter. I explained how I ruptured the tendon pulling my socks off. He’s now afraid to take his socks off.
10:40 a.m. I stop at the car to update my notes and drink some water. This massive Audi SUV is parked next to me, requiring that I turned sideways to slip into my car. I take my blood pressure: 122/71.
10:50 a.m. I walk down to the primary care office, and finally put the facts together that between the physical therapy office and the family practice, there is a pediatrician. That’s why I always hear screaming children though the wall. I use the rest room and open my book.
11 a.m. My doctor’s assistant takes me back to the exam room, and confirms that I will be seeing my doctor. She’s the same person I correspond with through the portal, and who fills out all my paperwork with the patience of a saint. She doesn’t weigh me and this disappoints me because I think all this healthy eating has resulted in a smidge of weight loss.
If we’re honest, I feel silly. My head still doesn’t feel right, but I’m fine… I mean I’m going to be cautious but it could be so many things: blood sugar, blood pressure, the beta blocker, allergies or even the pollution from the major industrial fire a mile away yesterday or heck even stress… but the neurologist said… Everyone in the office, including the doctor, reassured me that I did the right thing since no one wants me to fall again.
My blood pressure was 120/77, which is pretty darn close to my car reading so that proves that my monitor is reading my blood pressure accurately and the presence of the doctors does not cause my blood pressure to increase.
Alpha Books J Journal
11:10 a.m. the assistant leaves and I open up the final pages of my book. And I finish it in five minutes.
11:30 a.m. the doctor arrives. He sees my Alpha Books J journal in my lap and starts asking questions. Then he asks why I am there– that my chart just says “high blood pressure.” I explain that no, it’s actually lightheadedness that started with low blood pressure but hasn’t abated since my blood pressure returned to normal levels, and that the neurologist made me promise not to ignore symptoms like lightheadedness.
I explain that I got out of bed a tad clumsier than usual, after ten minutes of trying to force myself up despite 9.5 hours sleep, and I just attributed it to stiff cerebral palsy legs. But as I went downstairs and turned the lights on, I realized I was a tad lightheaded.
I poured a glass of water, took my blood pressure and my meds, and made a cup of weak (for me) coffee and finished my water and had fruit and toast.
I pass the doctor my list of blood pressure readings and tell him my first of the day was 102/68, followed by 108/65 an hour later.
He peruses the list I gave him and asks, “do you have some fancy blood pressure device that takes your blood pressure every hour?”
“No,” I say. “I’m just neurotic.”
He chuckles. “It’s not bad,” he says. “It gives me data to work with. I have patients I can’t get to take their blood pressure once a day.”
“I know you’re going to ask me what happens in certain situations, so I just want to see if I can anticipate the questions so I have the answers. Like there’s definitely a difference when I eat pizza from the local pizzeria that uses real ingredients versus Dominoes.”
He mentions I should track my pulse. I told him I look at it when I take my blood pressure because the neurologist mentioned it but I haven’t written it down. I haven’t noticed anything. And I didn’t tell him about the symptom diary I started. But I did come home and add heart rate to my iPhone tracking info. I really need an Apple Watch. Okay, I want an Apple Watch, but I refuse to consider buying one until my business computer is paid off and I replenish my savings and pay off the credit card bills I ran up during this hiatus from work.
He performs some basic exams, and has the nurse take my blood pressure lying down, then sitting, then standing up. If the low pressure is caused by gravitational pull on my body, or something like that, my blood pressure will drop as I quickly force myself upright.
My blood pressure spiked (142/100) suggesting that I tensed, which I did, because the sudden movement made me feel like I was swaying. And I braced my muscles, afraid I might fall.
So, the next test in our journey through Angel’s recent career as a face-diving professional, is to half the dosage of my Lopressor. My doctor thinks he found a note made while I was in the hospital that the IV medication made me dizzy and that’s why they switched me to the oral tablets. I don’t recall this, but a lot happened that night… so I asked The Teen much later, and she said no, my memory is correct. I read the note the doctor found, and I believe, though I could be wrong, that the real problem is doctors have no skill at writing and this leads to misinterpretation. Ooooh, maybe I need to start a “Clearer Writing Styles for Doctors” workshop.
And since my echocardiogram was perfect, and he reviewed it there with me, but I’d already read it, he wondered if the beta blocker was necessary at all (ironic since he was trying to get me on blood pressure medication for the last two-plus years) and/or if the Afib was an isolated incident. I dispute this theory, because I had two unexplained, nearly identical falls within two weeks.
My doctor reduced my beta blocker in half, which meant I had to remember to go buy a pill splitter because I already have the tiniest pills I ever saw. And he also suggested taking some sort of hydration beverage into my bedroom– a G2 gatorade or a Propel– to drink before getting out of bed.
And he closed with something like, “these are the kind of things I have to tell my patients who are 70 or 80, but unlike them, you’ll listen.”
Then he asks, “when is your next appointment?”
Not until August, I reply. He looks to me in disbelief. “I want to see you before that.”
And he sends a note to the cardiologist that he reduced my beta blocker and asks him to review the data from the Zio patch. The same Zio patch that just returned to the manufacturer yesterday.
I mention I will see the cardiologist May 5, if that matters when scheduling our next rendez-vous.
“I want you to check in in the next couple days,” he directs me, “and I want to see you next week.”
“How about April 20?” I ask. “It’s in the middle of now and April 5 and I already have to take the day off for some CT scans at the hospital and physical therapy.”
I’m going back April 20, at 8:30 in the morning, to meet with one of the residents. I didn’t think to check which one.
12:10 p.m. I leave and head to my friend Maryann Ignatz’s house to bring her some books she ordered and visit.
2 p.m. CVS. The computers have gone insane. I don’t think this will impact me as I peruse the aisles. My list is simple: a better lotion for scar care, an electrolyte drink, a blood pressure monitor, and a pill splitter.
Now, I have a borrowed monitor and I’d rather have an Apple Watch connected to a wireless monitor cuff…
And the only thing on the list today I need right away is the pill splitter.
So I find one for $8.49 and I have a 40% off coupon that expires today. I also find Propel dry powder packets that go into a water bottle– I think $3.49 for ten packets. On Amazon, the already constituted Propel Water in the same flavor costs $8.38 for 12 bottles, which is 70 cents a bottle or twice the price. I even placed one of my reusable water bottles by my bed, and I picked one with a screw-on lid designed for my bike so it’s less likely to spill.
The blood pressure monitors start at $62, and the $62 one provide $10 in Extra Bucks, but I don’t want to spend that much now.
And the only lotions “better” than the ones I have at home start at $10 and the ones specifically for scars are $20.
And on top of all that, the system doesn’t really register my Extra Care card, so it says I was logged in, but it didn’t use my coupon.
I never pay full price at CVS.
And we’re not going to talk about the fact that they were sold out of jelly beans.
3:30 p.m. I make a run to the bank and take the dog for a trip to Dunkin’ for Munchkins. Oh, and the teen. I eat too many jelly munchkins, drink a cold brew and eat one of their salty processed sandwiches, their completely not-a-Grilled Cheese with their sun-dried tomatoes. Not worth the money I paid. My blood pressure does not change. I cancel the gym for tonight because I still don’t feel stable.
I come home and I cut a pill. The Teenager then insists she can do it better and that I’m sloppy.
vegan tofu salad with lime dressing and cucumbers
4 p.m. I spend some time with my cockatoo, and tend to some self-care details and start laundry.
6 p.m. The Teen and I make salads with tofu nuggets and romaine and cucumbers. The Teen devours heaps of romaine and cucumber. With a homemade fresh lime dressing.
I mention to the Teen that KFC has nuggets now.
“Really, Mom?” she protests. “You expect me to eat tofu after mentioning KFC?”
And then I proceed to drop the knife several times while chopping vegetables. I’m amazed I still have all my toes. Brain fog is so real.
6:45 p.m. I text the neurologist just to update her.
7 p.m. I place my last load of laundry into the dryer and find a half pill of my beta blocker on the table.
I call the teen’s name.
“Did I not take this with dinner? Did I miss my mouth?”
“I doubt you missed your mouth,” she reassures me. “It probably just slipped out of the bottle.”
“I could count them,” I say.
“And if there is an even number, you fucked up,” she says.
It was an odd number.
7:30 p.m. I finally retire to my room hoping to start a new book as part of my pre-bed, no screens ritual. I make the bed, feed the cats, put my Propel packets in my drawer and organize my lotion (for scar massage on my finger and my face) and my water bottle. But first I have to finish this blog entry. And I notice– to my chagrin– that somehow this morning I changed my next Fix from May 18 to April 18. Hopefully I can change it back before the stylist grabs it, because my charge card needs to take a little vacation from my wallet until I rebuild my rocky finances.
And that, friends, was my day. Louise the Tripod is snuggled against me, kicking me with her back feet and snoring. I still need to give the bird water, make my Propel, brush my teeth and massage my scars. So, if you think I’ve been over here partying during this short-term disability leave, I have not.
Minerva is the last foster cat from the second litter of kittens we fostered for Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab. Her brother, Mars, is The Teen’s foster fail. I can only assume their siblings Jupiter and Vesta lived happily ever after. Our Roman Pride of kittens.
Every month or two, I take Minerva and usually someone else to keep her company to the Meet the Cats event at the Phillipsburg Petco, because it’s a quieter and smaller event than the organization’s usual pre-adoption mixers at the Petsmart in Lower Nazareth Township. It’s a different state and a different crowd.
Mars and Minerva spent almost six months in various habitats — Petco, where one volunteer couldn’t read directions and got bit by Mars; then Petsmart, and then the other Petco in Phillipsburg because everyone thought they would do well with the coordinator there. And they did. And we did. But they spent too long in pet stores which made Mars unflappable and social, while Minerva became shy and nervous.
So they came home. They are both soft, cuddly tuxedo cats.
And when the same person who cared so well for them two years ago asked if Minerva could return, I said yes.
I was told a family wanted to meet her today, so I went to Petco to warm her up before they arrived.
It became apparent very quickly she was happy to see me.
And after a lickable treat, she became downright flirtatious with the young man/teenager feeding her. He had never had a cat before and the two of them seemed to have quiet souls. He pet Minerva for 45 minutes, and then she made eyes at the mother and soon came out for proper greetings.
It was a friendly, charming side of Minerva I’ve never seen around strangers before.
And when we started to leave, she followed us to the end of her enclosure, hollering, as if to say, “Hey! You can’t leave without the cat!”
Minerva is the perfect first cat. They sent a text saying they are heavily leaning toward adopting her.
And they go to the same vet who already treats Minerva. My fosters will always have a home with me, but I have long believed that Minerva needs more quiet predictability in her life to blossom. A teen who enjoys video games in his room is the perfect companion for Minerva, and she’s a low maintenance cat with no baggage.
The mom asked me why she had been in foster so long– as if she had to have some secret flaw. But she really doesn’t. Her flaw is she hides, and she hates loud places so she doesn’t “show” well. She’s merely been overlooked.
I’ve been sipping strong coffee for about 90 minutes now, munching pistachios as I take my morning beta blocker. I have been trying to get my meds to 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. I don’t want to take them at the time I get up for work, because who wants to wake at 4 a.m. on a day off? The hospital gave me them at 9:30… but in the evening I’m usually asleep by then and working on a typical day. 8:30 a.m. is my morning break at work, so that would make sense from a practical point of view, but it would also mean having a snack at 8 p.m. and not getting to sleep until 9 which means the most sleep I will ever get is 7 hours. 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. sound ideal because I usually arrive at work at 6 a.m. and have a small breakfast and 6 p.m. is dinner.
But today I slept until 7.
Oops.
But when I got downstairs, my legs felt persnickety and my blood pressure was perfect if not a little low– so I went ahead and made the strong coffee. And I took my baclofen for the first time since before I went into the hospital.
One of the generalist’s at the hospital thought the baclofen might be causing some of my issues. Which makes this a test? Maybe?
But this is not a post about my Zio heart monitor or my scabs slowly crumbling down my face, though those things are fun. My gash is healing rapidly and well. I wanted to talk a bit about my weekend and what’s up with the publishing company.
Many of these thoughts will be further explored as part of the Parisian Phoenix blog and Substack newsletter. We’ve migrated from Mailchimp to Substack for better visibility and the prospect of building more paid resources and services for writers and readers. If you didn’t read this week’s recent release, check it out here.
Friday night, a journalist friend and her partner came to visit. I had planned to go visit her, but this close to my hospitalization I wasn’t sure driving on the highway by myself for an hour was a good idea. They have also been involved with cat rescue, so she’s offered some support on realigning the cat book. I’m helping her (I hope) with some of her goals and we’re both trying to help people find ways to publish their books.
My unsolicited submissions pile is growing rapidly.
Meanwhile, the dog is keeping an eye on me.
In the afternoon yesterday, I visited my “office” at Panera where our photographer Joan touched base with me regarding her activities at the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group conference this coming weekend. She’s not fooling me– I know my friends are doing wellness checks.
But I had the most amazing meeting with the duo behind Echo City Capers, and we have a handshake agreement to launch some projects together which will allow Parisian Phoenix Publishing to kickstart Parisian Phoenix Kittens with a second edition of an Echo City Capers Jr. book, a children’s book from Darrell Parry (and maybe someday a puzzle book/older kid story– hint hint Darrell) and perhaps event a story in the vein of Eric Carle from Larry Sceurman.
It’s thrilling to watch a simple “let’s introduce ourselves” coffee meeting can explode into ideas and mutual support.
That little meeting went two hours and when they saw our physical books, they were pleased. They immediately saw the love and attention we give to our titles at Parisian Phoenix, and without even meeting Gayle yet, I think they “know” and trust her.
I ended my afternoon romp with a visit to Larry, to deliver some publicity materials and give him and his wife, Barbara, a copy of Thurston’s book.
When I left, I felt like my blood sugar was dropping. I found a cherry Pop Tart that the Teenager had left in my car more than a year ago and came home and made a lovely lamb dinner. (The teenager saw lamb and potatoes in the skillet and immediately claimed the leftovers.) My blood pressure was high, but it was also time to take my beta blocker.
Finally, I slithered to my bed– exhausted, when I didn’t even do much– in great anticipation to finish Katherine Ramsland’s I Scream Man and Echo City Capers YA Graphic Novel printed in Canada, Who Turned the Lights Out?
I was so tickled and delighted to read the wit, the humor and the “smarts” in this little volume, which the type is uniquely done and the paper quality gorgeous. It made me very sad to put the book down to sleep.
I haven’t had much time this week to eat, or rest, or even go to the gym, so I haven’t had time to read books, report on podcasts, or blog. And that’s a shame because I’ve seen some silver linings recently.
My friend in the hospital is doing well, and the staff on the cardiac floor seemed appropriately mortified at how her case was mishandled on Sunday. That doesn’t fix the long-term damage to her heart, but at least now she has the team to move her care forward in the future. And our coworkers have paraded into her room literally one after another, including her direct supervisor who turned up before she had emerged from the ICU. That makes me proud to be part of the team with whom I work.
She’s coming home from the hospital later today.
I visited my friend on Thursday evening, and again Friday after work. The Teenager had a dinner party and game night planned for the evening. My job was to stop and augment the alcohol offerings. I still need half-and-half after running out last week. Three trips to the store have yielded no such milk product. I have had tea. I have had terrible coffee at work. I have drunk my peppermint tea black. And I have resorted to, with great desperation, coffee with two percent milk. My father preferred his coffee with milk, and it’s something I just can’t adjust to.
I stopped at the new Weis market in Bethlehem near the hospital, purchased several single-serve-type bottles of various wines and a cold six pack of Sweet Baby Jesus chocolate peanut butter porter. I love a good porter or stout and DuClaw’s Sweet Baby Jesus is a solid one, though not as smooth as Samuel Smith’s Organic Chocolate Stout. That is my favorite.
I also grabbed a half gallon of Weis-branded ultra pasteurized half and half, dated March 23. Let me skip ahead to this morning and alert you that my half and half, after I freshly popped the seal, was spoiled. But, at the time of my arrival home, I felt like a successful warrior queen.
The Lovely Teenager and I received a package from Stitch Fix yesterday with our Freestyle goodies. You can see the unboxing here: (The Teen is wearing a Stitch Fix sweater from a recent fix.)
The Teenager invited a couple over for dinner and invited more friends to join us for Ransom Notes, a blend of Cards Against Humanity and a magnetic poetry kit. I didn’t take any photos of the evening, as I was distracted laughing, enjoying a beer, and socializing, something that has not happened nearly as much as it should. The Teenager expertly prepped and executed a menu of homemade mac and cheese, steak, and air-fried asparagus, with box brownies for dessert. Knowing one of our guests was vegetarian (and relieved he was not vegan), she prepared one very large standard mac and cheese, based on the recipe from the never-let-you-down Betty Crocker Cookbook. But being the carnivore and bacon whore she is, she made a second, smaller mac and cheese with bacon.
When your bird is distressed by all the commotion in the house, you show her what is happening. Photo by Joan Zachary.
Conversation flowed freely. The Teenager’s father arrived next, bearing the essentials for rum and Cokes. Our artist friend Maryann Riker followed with some Yellow Tail. Somehow Uno became the first game as choice as poor Maryann had never played this classic.
Brilliant photographer Joan Zachary arrived next with her partner, who immediately made friends with The Teenager’s extra long cat Oz. Joan joined us for a round of Cards Against Humanity, and did impressively well for her first time playing. I did not win a single black card. But I laughed my ass off.
And it was Uno we returned to to end the night, never quite reaching into the box for Ransom Notes. I guess that means we may need to host another game night.
Also, my cat Fog has been sleeping with The Teenager against his will. But they seem to be developing a relationship. Meanwhile, foster tripod Louise has permanently become my snuggle buddy, sleeping in my arms every night.
Angel Ackerman 