Aorta Day, 6 years later.

I didn't even think about it until the last day or so...but July 12 was the 6th anniversary of "aorta day."

Short version: in May 2010, I was running 290/180 blood pressure. The ER staffers were amazed I was walking upright instead of lying on a morgue gurney after a massive stroke.

Then, on July 12, that crazy-high pressure finally tore a hole in my aorta and tore the inner lining along the full length, all the way to where it branches to the left & right legs. Hurts like hell. First there's a horrible burning across the shoulder blades, then a feeling of metal bands constricting your body as the tear makes its way down. Everything goes haywire because blood flow is interrupted along the way--so your guts feel like they're knotting up (they're dying for lack of blood).

I did a week in the hospital . Lots of doctors, CT scans of the aorta every 6 months, on BP meds the rest of my life, a full-length aortic stent...and the physical fallout: swollen legs, get out of breath just walking out to my car, screwed-up sleep cycles, all permanent.

Long way of telling anyone reading this: KEEP THAT BLOOD PRESSURE CONTROLLED. I got "lucky"--there are two versions of aortic dissection. Mine goes down, away from the heart. The version that killed John Ritter goes toward the heart. Either one can kill.

Don't think you're too young, either. I was 42 when it happened.

(echoed to my Facespace page...)

Medical...bleah

When we left off in April, I was about to get the lower half of my aorta stented to reinforce its damaged lower end from a little below the diaphragm all the way down to the branch that leads to the femoral arteries and other piping below the navel.

No complications from that, other than losing all the improvements I'd made since the upper half was lined. Everything--the improved circulation in my lower legs that saw me lose a few pounds' worth of water weight, saw the swelling in my left shin and calf almost vanish in a matter of a few weeks (MASSIVE difference), had me walking better and feeling better for the first time in years.

Gone.

I was assured by the vascular doc's nurse that there wasn't a vascular problem.

Except that...there WAS. How else to explain a sudden reversal that immediately followed the second surgery?

Jet forward to this morning, when my new vascular doc (old doc moved to Texas) asked some questions about medical tests I'd had, the symptoms I'm having, and his answer was basically "We need to get you tested; this sounds like a vascular problem."

Imagine that.

He figures that one or both of the two big veins coming up from my legs and joining the Big Vein headed up to the heart might be pinched where the aorta branches to the legs. Makes sense to me: both of  the iliac branches are stented now, which stiffened them up and could be pressing against--and pinching--the veins against my spine, inhibiting return blood flow.

That is vascular.

So now I'm waiting to get scheduled for an internal ultrasound; a needle goes into a convenient vessel headed in a convenient direction. Needle's got a little ultrasound transducer. Doc can basically scan the length of both of the veins at that possible pinch point. If there's a pinch, he can throw a stent in to open the restricted area and get my tired-ass blood flowing again.

Tomorrow, dammit, I want it tomorrow. I'd settle for NOW.

This shit's old. Very old. I've gone almost a year with so little energy that I basically sit up on the edge of my bed and surf the Web on my old laptop because moving over to the desktop computer is too much. The laptop's so out of date (running Ubuntu Linux Heron from '08; can't even upgrade the copy of Firefox that's on it, can't install another browser) that in the course of the last 6 months it stopped being able to load Facebook, Twitter and Blogger. I end up reading a few political and news blogs and a few Reddit pages (AskReddit is usually entertaining), wear myself out, and go back to sleep for another couple of hours. I get over to the desktop every few days to handle email and all that. Today's one of those days.

I haven't had a solid 8 hours' sleep since the night before my aorta crapped itself in July of 2010. It's usually somewhere from 2 to 4 hours, wake up for several, and repeat. I'm getting REM sleep, but I don't know how the interruptions are affecting things.

The one thing I DID accomplish was eliminating my migraines. This is almost worth all the other crap and all it took was one of the meds I was already using. I stopped it for a few months to see if it would help with all the swollen leg and fluid-retention stuff. Nope, no effect there--but the gawdawful weekly migraines I'd been tormented by before Aorta Day came back with a vengeance. I was back to having my room utterly blacked out, no sound, no TV, no moving, no lying down. I was practically mainlining BC Powders, the only thing that would touch those headaches from hell.

Then I saw or read something about blood flow along the under side of the brain having something to do with migraines. I went back on those meds to see if there might be a connection. Three months along, the headaches are gone. I'd dance, but I'm too tired.

***

I don't really have an ending, here, other than being hopeful that I can finally get my legs back in order. I haven't been to a fort since 2011. I'm not counting Fort Point in San Francisco, since it was CLOSED. Not counting Fort Pike in Louisiana, either, since it was not only CLOSED but fenced the hell in to protect it from generating any tourism money for the state.

Taking my grumpy ass to bed. :p

Medical Woohoo!, continued

Well, actually a bit of "non-woohoo" first: I had a CT scan on my aorta 4 weeks ago. They found a small leak around the upper end of the stent. I'm going in on April 6 to get the stents reinforced--almost a repeat of January's surgery.

Joy.

On the up-side, not only have I not regained any of the fluid weight that drained out of my leg while I healed up from that last surgery, both legs are emptying themselves of excess fluid the way they're supposed to thanks to the much-improved blood flow to my kidney and other innards. My legs are starting to look normal for the first time in years. Where I used to wear an 8-1/2 shoe before all the medical stuff started, I was stuck with cheap canvas size 12/13 shoes from the dollar store because no one else had anything I could stuff a hoof into. I've lost maybe 3 sizes on the right, 2 on the left. My lower legs are amazingly smaller.

Ten pounds total so far.

I've walked farther and better in the last three months than I've managed in nearly five years. First there was the 15 minutes spent at Lowe's getting a new bedroom door and doing it alone. Yeah, I got help loading the door onto a cart, but loaded it in the car, unloaded it at home, and maneuvered it into the house on my own without much trouble.

Haven't installed it yet. Got the flu a few days later, kept that for about a week, and haven't really felt like doing a damned thing since.

Still tiring easily, but not as badly as before.

Medical "woohoo!"

I'm all healed up from the two surgeries to reroute some pipes and shore up the inside of my aorta.

Gotta say, I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. Where I couldn't even take a shower without breaking it into stages with rest stops (room to bathroom, sit & rest, shower quickly, sit & rest, bathroom to bedroom...about 30 minutes), a few days ago I did it all in one round without sitting or huffing & puffing, all in about 15 minutes.

I made the 500 foot walk to a friend's house without having to stop and recover. Didn't crash onto the couch, either--though I did have to catch my breath.

My kidney doctor says my protein levels are much better, my other numbers very good, and he'll see me in a year.

My blood pressure is the lowest I've ever seen it. Still runs a bit high on the top number, but the bottom number is almost always below 100 instead of running between 105-118 all the time.

Say it, Homer:

More Med Update

T-6 days to deployment...

Here's a neat vid of the "AAA" stent/endovascular aneurysm repair I'm scheduled for. Liking the spacey-sounding terminology--they "deploy" the stents and anchor them. The stents look like cat hairballs on a stick before they're launched, though.

 Some surgical squick, though, for the squeamish...

Minimally-Invasive Repair of Thoracic Aortic Aneurysm


MUCH better than the aortic-replacement surgery shown at the beginning of the video, with as much as 10 weeks of recovery.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

In the meantime, the subclavian-carotid bypass went very cleanly and recovery has been speedy. The doc used medical Superglue instead of sutures or staples, so I've been spared wound care.

More pieces of the Medical Puzzle--BIG pieces.

Big developments, lately--all thanks to my right elbow screwing up in June.

I went to my doc about it in July; he sent me to an orthopedic guy. The appointment came up in August, more than a month after my elbow stopped being a problem. But that doctor sent me along to Occupational Therapy for my non-hurting elbow anyway.

Part of the routine there was "riding" an arm/leg machine, sort of a seated cross-country ski thing. I could run that thing on a low load for 15 minutes non-stop, something I'd never manage just walking. This led me and my therapist to think maybe I should get into lower-body therapy to try building my stamina and walking strength.

Back to the ortho doc, who asked me a few questions about the symptoms I've had when I walk or stand. He recommended that I go to a cardiologist instead: whatever my walking troubles are, they don't start with my legs. Find and fix the big problem and we'll deal with this later.

My regular doc set up a cardio referral. At that appointment this morning, the cardio doc said my heart's fine, based on an echo-cardiogram this morning and the stress test I took over the past two days (more about that next). He's got me set up for lung capacity/function tests next week, since that's the next big possibility in all the issues I've been having.

In the meantime, I had a followup CT in October to see whether my aorta damage had gotten worse.

It did. Now I'm going to need surgery to fix it. The vascular doc sent me in for a stress test to make sure I'm good for the surgery.

First half will be a carotid/subclavian bypass, where two arteries are moved over to tie into the carotid. Four weeks after, a stent will be run up from my thigh and placed to close up the damaged "pocket" that started all this medical stuff 52 months ago.

Pic of the Day: Asking for it.

Meet Dean. Dean's an asshole.

Here he is at the University of Arizona last year:

He's at it again, this time at ASU.

Just sayin'.

Legs.

I’m finally getting something done about my legs. For several years I’ve had poor circulation that’s puffed my lower legs and feet up and is causing some bad-looking discoloration and blistering from fluid collecting under the skin. I’ve gone from wearing size 9 sneakers to size 12 deck shoes–and on a bad day even those won’t fit. My doc got the go-ahead from Medicaid or Medicare for some kinky air boots and compression socks to clear this stuff up. These items also come with one (1) blonde and one (1) brunette to manage and maintain the medical aspects. I inquired about adding one (1) redhead, and it seems there already is one at the doctor’s office, but she doesn’t come to my house, so it doesn’t really count. The blonde lady says that my legs will be looking normal again within 3 months. Some of my walking troubles and even some of the chronic cough/congestion I've dealt with for several years can be traced to all this crappy circulation.

Fred Phelps Dies...I Catch a Cold.

That effing bastard.

I just got back from dominating--DOMINATING!!--my local CVS. Walked in like a boss, made the place mine.

Well, yeah, I leaned on my shopping cart a few times and limped, but I did all this without crutches.

Forgot to mention that, did I? Sorry. Been off my feet for most of the last 29 days. I've only been able to put weight on them without howling for a little over a week.

My vascular doc says that the root cause is poor circulation in my legs; the valves in the big vein aren't closing properly, so blood tends to pool at the bottom end of me, especially in my left leg and foot. Most of the time, it just makes walking a hassle. But every few months one foot or the other will start hurting in one area--the ball, the top, whatever. Within days it spreads across and then up and it's the worst pain I've ever had. Nothing touches it. If that foot's on the floor, I can't pick it up; if it's off the floor, I can't put it down.

Almost inevitably, a day or two after one foot starts this crap, the other one joins in.

It's been one hell of a month. My left one started aching Feb. 19th (Wed.); the right one joined in the following Saturday. I stayed in bed as long as I could. Lost so much strength in both legs that I had to use a walker. That was an entirely new dimension of pain, since I still had doctor's appointments to go to. Getting from my room to my nephew's car took 15 long, long minutes. Getting back in took 40.

After the second week, I started being able to use crutches. "B.C." powders started helping with the worst of the pain. I've never had this stuff last so long, a month. It's usually a week, several days on crutches and a few weeks building my leg muscles back up.

The vascular doc says I'm going to need air boots and compression stockings. He's already done treatments on each leg to block off some under-performing veins, but the others need all the help they can get.

After all the crutching around these last few weeks, tonight's shopping run was the first time I've gone without them or that walker. So, like I said, I dominated that store.

Labor Day repost: I Made the 1% Rich

Labor Day is a good time for a repost from October of 2011, in the midst of the Occupy! days.

According to that pizza-making idiot who wants to be president next year, it's my fault I'm not an entitled elitist rich raging asshole like him.

But actually, it's because of minimum-wage workers like me that he's an entitled elitist rich raging asshole. He didn't get there on his own, no matter what he wants you to believe.

No. His millions came because of waitresses and kitchen staff in his Godfather's restaurants, people who worked for whatever the company could get away with paying. His money came from regular people like me busting their asses for 40 hours a week, or maybe working more than one job.

I knew people like that in my last job, as a delivery driver for one of the national auto parts chains. I hired on in early 2007, working full time and getting a little more than $7 an hour. Because it was February, once my 90 day probation was done, I still couldn't get into the health plan, since enrollment only happened in January.

But their plan was utter crap; the one I could afford wouldn't cover much of anything. The one I needed was too expensive. I did without.

No raises for ANYbody. Most of the other drivers and counter staff who'd been there as long or longer than me hadn't gotten a raise in years. Every time someone brought it up with management, they'd get runaround, or told to talk to the district manager, who would just give more runaround and excuses.

But the store managers got their bonuses. The DM got his bonus. His boss got his bonus, and so on. Us non-management types got a share in the "store bonus," which was based on overall sales for that store. If your sales are down, you don't get the extra few bucks.

All the while, the DM was screaming that payroll had to be cut, no new hires, no overtime for anyone. This meant that everyone but the store managers got cut back to 30 hours or less and the stores were running on skeleton crews. Customers would complain--both walk-in and commercial--because there weren't enough people to handle the workload. There were only 4 people in my store in the morning: two drivers, one at the Commercial desk (selling parts to local repair shops), and the store manager running the front, alone, until the afternoon guy came in. This freed the manager to go do paperwork, make the bank deposit, and grab lunch. The Commercial side closed down at 5 pm, the store manager left, and the evening guy came in, leaving two people to run the store to close.

And so both walk-in and commercial customers would go to the competition, because the store managers couldn't do anything about it--can't hire anyone, can't bring extra people in to help--and so the DM would scream about getting sales up.

We two drivers did an awful lot to help--checking in stock, putting it on the shelves, helping customers, re-stocking, putting up displays, answering phones, cleaning, anything and everything. I knew the system well enough to do parts lookups and run a register, run the test equipment (batteries, starters, alternators, ignition modules) and brake lathe, maintained the delivery trucks, maintained store equipment (I rigged up a drain for one of the air conditioners when its pipes got clogged up, re-stocked half the hard parts when the part numbers changed or new stuff came in), and other stuff that a "delivery driver" didn't need to do. This is assuming I wasn't out on a run, where I interacted with the customers, listened to their complaints about how long it was taking to get their parts, told them about the company's cutbacks, and asked them to call Corporate and give them an earful.

Basically--and this isn't an exaggeration--I did everything. Most of us in that one store could handle someone else's job and chip in, because we HAD to. Most of us were making about the same, without raises, with our hours cut, and we heard the same bullshit from Corporate--"More sales! Less payroll!"

We got a new DM in January 2010, the third one since I got hired. This asshole went on vacation in February, but not before showing everyone a sales brochure for his $50,000 boat. Nice.

He started shuffling people around. I got moved to the hub store, which warehoused more parts than the others. I was back on a 40-hour week, which was good, and all I had to do was make 8 circuits a day from the hub to two other stores and back. During one stop, I learned that the Company had posted record profits for 2009, $300 million. The Company guys simply gushed about it on the employee indoctrination information website. We were expected to gush, as well, because we're all one big happy family!

Record profits--but at the cost of cutting payroll hours, running stores with minimal staff, running off customers who weren't getting good service, freezing any raises...basically fucking us over for their big profits.

It was people like me who made that $300 million for the Company, people like me who made those sales and helped those customers, people like me who busted our asses so the Company assholes could enjoy their bonuses and record profits while we decided whether to pay the electric bill, the phone bill, or insurance this pay period.

Car broke down? Crap...got to juggle the bills around. Maybe one of the shops'll cut me a deal. At least I get a discount on parts.

Lights got cut off? They want HOW MUCH to turn them back on? Well shit, there goes that paycheck. Guess we're hitting Dollar General for mac & cheese, ramen noodles, and tuna sandwiches for the next two weeks.

But did you SEE the District Manager's new $50,000 boat?! It's got wells for keeping bait, it's got a cooler under this seat, a stereo...everything an entitled asshole could want! Maybe if we're productive enough, he'll let us buy some of the fish he caught on vacation while we were keeping his stores alive for him and earning him his next bonus!

Since the Aorta Fairy visited me last year, things have actually gotten worse for my former coworkers. No raises, payroll cut ever further, and the Company's entitled elites making ever more money.

No, we don't owe the fuckers any thanks for allowing us to work for them and bask in their light. They owe us for making them rich. They owe us better wages, better working conditions, some fucking respect for all the work we do to keep their companies going. Without us, their companies die and the money stops flowing. Without us, their customers go somewhere else.

They owe us the courtesy of keeping American jobs in this country, instead of sending them to places where people will work for much less than we will.

Fuck you, Herman Cain.

Failure in Florida.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but fuck George Zimmerman, his family and lawyers, and his supporters.

Charlie Pierce at Esquire says it in a more righteous manner:

The judgment, when it finally came, was a dull and predictable thing. Pictures of Trayvon Martin showing off on his Facebook page trumped pictures of him on the ground, blank-staring at the night sky, a hollow point through his chest, the way so many of us hoped they wouldn't, but suspected they would. It was hard at that moment, when the jury gave George Zimmerman back his gun, to remember that this trial wasn't supposed to happen at all. The Sanford P.D. was ready to hand Zimmerman back his gun with a fast shuffle until people got into the streets and suggested, loudly, that maybe the circumstances required another look. This is something that should be remembered now by all those sharp guys who talk about how the evidence cut both ways, and about how the prosecution overcharged the defendant, and about how well the defense mounted its case. There wasn't supposed to be a trial at all. In theory, George Zimmerman could have been back, standing his post, watching for assholes and fucking punks, the very next night, according to the original assessment made by local law enforcement. Instead, people who filled George Zimmerman's fevered definition of assholes and fucking punks roamed free, wearing their hoodies at will. The gated communities of Sanford have had to do without his watchful eye, and his ready aim, for longer than the Sanford police thought was suitable a year ago. I am glad the gated communities managed to survive the siege.

Medical Update

After chasing my vascular doc around for a few months, I finally saw him face to face a few weeks ago. Good news is that the aortic dissection is "stable" (he had me get a full-length CAT scan of the aorta back in April). All I have to to is keep my blood pressure under control to keep it from getting any worse.

It's still bad, running from the top of the arch all the way down to the iliac branch. It's just not getting any worse (at this point, that would mean dissecting back toward the heart, which is what killed John Ritter).

It'll never heal, either. That's the big one for me; I'd been led to believe that it would.

That other embarrassing medical issue hasn't come back, so that's something.

In the wake of the San Francisco trip--or, the "Hiking the Airports of The World!" tour--I'm even more convinced that my leg troubles are from the aortic dissection. Now it's time to get out the anvil gun and get my little collection of medical specialists to listen.

Grounded, Pt. 3: Embarassingly Simple!

This is one of those times I'm glad my car can't talk, let alone laugh when a big, complicated problem boils down to something stupidly simple.

The X-11 has earned some laughing rights. Maybe she's just being nice to me because I'm kinda slow, like the time I ran out of gas just a few yards past a gas station...and coasted the damn car a quarter-mile downhill trying to get it started.

Ha, ha.

Or how about the time I tried to start her up, got nowhere, did some testing and decided that the fuel pump was bad. When I tried to replace the pump, I ended up breaking several bolts in the exhaust system, which is inconveniently in the way of the pump. Ended up having to replace every bolt in the engine end of the exhaust. Got the new pump in, got the exhaust system bolted in...and still had the same problem.

Turns out it was a couple of bad fuel hoses. A couple of bucks' worth, compared to 6 weeks' work and too much money.

Hah. Hah. Hah. Goddammit.

Now, I'm slowly putting things back together after trying to find an electrical fault. For all the circuits under the dash, there's a single common ground, a black wire with a ring terminal that's bolted to body metal (One Ring Terminal to Rule Them All!). I've got the dash in the back of the car, car guts all over the floorboards and back seat, I've gone over every wire and connector, pored over wiring diagrams, sat in the driver's seat and stared at the mess I've made, looking for that damn ground, and all this time it's been right there, dangling from the wiring harness.

Some previous owner screwed around under the dash and ended up bolting the ground terminal in the wrong place: a metal bracket that doesn't touch any other metal in the car. Might as well have left the battery disconnected.

All this time, the only ground for everything under the dash has been a skinny wire and crappy terminal from an aftermarket power radio antenna kit. When I pulled the old radio to try running wire to a newer one, the tenuous connection was broken--and everything either stopped working or freaked out. The air conditioning fuse self-destructed (must have been an impressive burnout).

All this because one wire got put in the wrong place years before I even had the car.

Hee, hee, hee, hee. I'm dyin' over here.

Road Trip: The "If You Want It Done Right..." Tour

Back in November, I got a line on an X-11 engine just northeast of Atlanta. The guy only wanted $200. I thought about it for a few days, trying to figure out how to get it to Pensacola.

I could take a bus up, rent a U-Haul or something, and drive back.

I could risk driving the X-11, but with the clutch making scary noises on the last road trip, I didn't see that happening.

I could try making the run in the Tracker, which has been sitting more than driving in the last few years. I've been running around in it the last month while I try to find an electrical problem in the X. I couldn't see the little critter making it close to 800 miles, even after it's been from New Orleans to Jacksonville over several runs. The engine needs a complete rebuild and some machine work, the brakes have been locking up (note to self: don't drive in salt water anymore), and it needed tires.

I finally bought the engine in late January and emailed a sort-of acquaintance to see if he'd be willing to make the 180-mile round trip from his place and hold the thing for me. I emphasized that it needed to be picked up "yesterday," time was a factor, gotta be done soon. I'd pay for his gas and time. He agreed, saying he'd try the "beginning of next month."

The beginning of February came and went, with no word from him. Once the middle arrived, he wrote saying he'd be headed up "beginning of next week." This was three weeks ago. There's been another "beginning."

The guy I bought the engine from wrote me March 4, wondering when the pickup was going to happen. Neither of us had heard from Mr. Pickup. I decided that I was going to have to do it myself--the seller needed the engine out of the way and had it hanging on a borrowed chain hoist.

Dammit. "If you want it done right, you gotta do it yourself."

The X-11 is still offline; I haven't found the electrical problem, the clutch is dodgy, and she needs a couple of tires out back. Fast and fun, but that clutch could strand me and I can't walk to Atlanta.

That left the Tracker. The engine's more dodgy than the X-11's clutch. I did a partial rebuild in 2007, but the thing needs a new crankshaft, main bearings, con rod bearings, maybe an oil pump, water pump...the cylinders are only a few thousandths of an inch from needing to be bored out--and then it'll need new pistons and rings. The only thing that doesn't really need work is the head, which I rebuilt in '07. There must have been a pound of carbon crusted on the pistons and valves.

Still, he pulls strong, doesn't burn much oil, and gets 35 mph on the highway when he's in a good mood. Starts right up on its 6-1/2 year old battery even after sitting (ignored by an X-11 driving bastard) for months.

Two used tires...top up coolant, add Stop Leak...load up...wire up a cheap stereo...head out at 10 am. I screamed along with Chris Cornell in Audioslave and Soundgarden...top up coolant...took 4 hours to get to Montgomery (no need to rush)...top up coolant...another 90 minutes and I'm in Georgia...top up coolant...do I smell Republicans, or is that just cow pastures?...several pauses along the way, buy more coolant, top up, look for leak and hope I can outrun it...finally hit Atlanta sometime after dark...spend half an hour with several hundred other cars using I-85 as a parking lot...wonder about coolant level...it's around 8 pm by the time I get to Roswell and the Atlanta Hotel. Ten freaking hours.

Compared to the Ashtray Hilton, this place was palatial! A small fridge and microwave, a stove and sink. King-sized bed. Clean, and not even a whiff of ashtray. I only saw one roach the entire night.

Of course it was on the third floor, but there was an elevator, so my messed-up legs and back were saved a lot of walking. I grabbed a luggage cart and emptied the Tracker of anything of value, anything that could be stolen, right down to the jack handle. Took the coil wire so it couldn't be started. Left it unlocked and the rear window unzipped.

Plopped into the most comfortable chair, watched "House" reruns, and crawled into bed by midnight, but my farking cellphone woke me up at 2:30 to let me know it was now 3:30 (Daylight Savings)--and tired as I was I couldn't get back to sleep until 7. I wanted to be up at 8. Watched the last hour of "The Invasion" (Nicole Kidman, Daniel Craig) and an old "Law & Order," read a car magazine, and failed at sleep.

Dammit, again. Up at 8 (man, did my legs ache), go looking for the luggage cart (almost right where I'd left it a few hours before)...load the Tracker...top up coolant...let's get this over with! Find the seller's house, load the engine, hang out with they guy and his father...don't wanna drive. I stall. Finally left at noon, their time.

The way it's squatting makes me look fatter.

Holy crap, was the Tracker skittish with 400 pounds of iron engine out back. I could feel the back end waddling every time I made a turn or hit a bump. I-285 South was a minefield of potholes and sunken pavement that had me imagining the Tracker's back end bottoming out, breaking a spring, and flipping that engine over the back seat and into my lap. The random 24 mph gusts coming from the south didn't help. All the way to Montgomery, those gusts whacked the Tracker's nose and nudged it toward the emergency lane. Once I got past Montgomery, I was headed more southward, so the gusts were hitting from the right and pushing me toward passing semis. I stopped every few hours, topped up the coolant, dumped the rest of the Stop Leak into the radiator, and kept hoping I could outrun the leak. I didn't bother with the radio the entire way back South.

If the coolant problem was the drama on the way to Atlanta (every road trip needs drama, whether it's an ashtray-scented motel or a kid's plastic playhouse that self-destructs right in front of you at 65 mph), my idiot body's refusal to go back to sleep was the drama for the ride south. I was running on maybe 3 hours' sleep by mid-afternoon, and of course I couldn't sleep anytime I hit a rest area or parking lot, just while I was roaring along at 65 mph, holding onto the wheel with both hands to keep the damn Tracker from whipping sideways, and just blinking only to find the Tracker headed for the emergency lane. It only got worse once I hit Highway 29 South, the final leg of the trip, the last 40 miles, all in the dark. It was 9ish when I finally peeled myself out of the Tracker for the last time. Man, did my legs ache.

Ten hours up, ten back, little sleep, $90 or so in gas, $32 for the hotel, $24 for the two gallons of coolant, $100 for the tires, a quart and a half of oil, cramped hands from gripping the steering wheel...if the engine had been a plain-Jane "X" engine instead of a high-output "Z" I'd never have bought it, let alone made a run to get it. The only difference is a somewhat hotter cam, domed pistons, and bigger valves. It's only good for 20 horsepower over the stock 115, and I've already got one in the X-11, but I can freshen the "new" one up and have it ready to drop in when the "old" one is ready for a rest. Or I could drop it into the Tracker (the front end, this time) to almost double its horsepower and halve its gas mileage!

I've also got a 4-barrel carb and matching intake for it. All I have to do is make an 822 mile round trip to Inverness, FL, and back....

No. Effing. Way.

Medical stuff.

March 13  marks 14 weeks since all the "fun" began--hydrocele surgery, an abcess and fever and 10 days in the hospital (and a second surgery to fix the abcess), 3 and a half weeks of antibiotics dripped into my arm (2-1/2 of those after I was out of the hospital), and 10 weeks (so far) visiting the Wound Care Clinic daily, then tree times a week, and now once a week. The remaining injury is a few millimeters across instead of inches.

A lot to go through to be rid of a mostly cosmetic (but still humiliating) problem.

My kidney doctor says that whether or not my remaining kidney can handle the iodine contrast dye, as long as I only get one CAT scan a year to monitor my damaged aorta it should be fine. There's not really any choice, since it's one of a few ways to see the damaged inner lining of the aorta.

I got that scan--contrast and all--a few days ago and will see the vascular surgeon next week to see what he thinks should be done. I really don't want it to be surgery. All I know right now is that it's "stable."

Ain't Dead Yet.

I went in for a routine check-in with the Medicaid-approved county doctor Wednesday. Getting there was too much of an adventure.

I hopped in the X-11, all ready to roll. The engine made a few turns, slower and slower...and then nothing. Since I'm not driving the car as much as when I was able to work, the battery tends to lose its charge over several weeks. I was already running late, but I knew what was coming next.

My little '92 Tracker isn't doing so well. It starts right up, but the front brakes freeze up for lack of exercise. I tore them down and greased them a couple of years ago, but keep forgetting to do it again--until I need to drive the damn thing.

I hopped in the Tracker. The front brakes took a few seconds to let go, but they were still dragging as I got on the road. After a few miles of that--and me having to keep it in third gear so the engine could overwhelm the dragging brakes--the brakes suddenly freed up. I was still seeing wisps of smoke rising from the front wheels at every red light.

I really, really need to get working on that. There's a lot of stuff I need to do, both on the Tracker and on the X-11. I used to be Johnny On the Spot with this shit, before all the medical crap got in the way. Now I don't even know where my goddamn tools are and can't exert myself. Don't want to zip that aorta further open.

I was relieved, though. I'd been imagining crawling the whole way--halfway across town--at 35 mph, in third gear, and missing my appointment. Now I was cruising along in 5th. Still running late.

Got to the clinic. There was a big banner covering the entrance, directing patients to an alternate location a few blocks away (though I didn't know it was that close). The clinic was heavily flooded a few months ago. Took maybe 10 minutes to find the new location.

My left shoe decided that it was time to lose its sole while I was looking for the right doors to go through (I picked the wrong ones and went all the way through the wrong building looking for the admissions desk).

Finally found the right place, did all the signing in and waiting. As it turns out, all the crap I went through to get there was worth it.

My cholesterol and blood sugar are good, liver's good, remaining kidney's working fine. I'm supposedly going to be getting referrals from this doctor (everything has to go through him) for a CAT scan (to check how my aorta's healing up) and for a visit to the urologist (to finally--FINALLY!--get rid of that humiliating hydrocele I've had for three years).

Anniversary Time Again...

Made it to another July 12, my second since the big Aorta Meltdown of 2010.

I started out with a 40% chance of making it 10 years with the dissection; wonder what the numbers are for the next 8 years?

I do feel a lot better than I did in the months after it happened. Still have the mobility issues, high blood pressure, swollen feet and lower legs, sensitivity to heat, and fatigue. Still got some memory and cognitive stuff that makes me wonder whether the high BP did some damage.

I'm 14 months past having a carcinogenic kidney removed--the culprit in most of my problems, since it was driving the high blood pressure that popped my artery.


Good thing I'm not dependent on Republican scum like Dave Dreier and his buddies in the house who voted for the 33rd useless time to "repeal" the Affordable Care Act. Dreier the Death-Panel Dirtbag apparently thinks "let them die" is a good approach to health care:

“While I don’t think that someone who is diagnosed with a massive tumor should the next day be able to have millions and millions and millions of dollars of health care provided, I do believe there can be a structure to deal with the issue of pre-existing conditions.”

All my treatments have totaled much less than millions of dollars. Maybe $200,000, maybe a little more. Maybe I should apologize to Dreier for the imposition; it took a lot of nerve for me to grow that tumor in my kidney without thinking of people like him and their desire to save medical expenses at any cost, even that of a life. I fed the damn thing, cultivated it. Should have named it David.

I've made it two years IN SPITE of fucking Republicans and their psychotic desire to kill off any sort of health assistance for people who can't afford it. The hospital was a huge help, with its Compensated Care program that handled most of my bills for the first 7 or 8 months. I made it into Florida's  Medically Needy Medicaid program only to have it jerked out from under me within 3 months (Governor Scumbag doesn't think kidney cancer and a torn aorta make me sick enough; but then, he doesn't think a huge tuberculosis outbreak rates keeping the state's only TB hospital open). For the last year, I've been on MediPass, going to a county clinic as needed.

Not much of a believer in karma, but I sincerely hope that every one of those useless, evil wingnuts has their fortunes reversed and they end up worse off than I am right now. They need to learn some humanity and some humility.

All in all, I'm doing well enough. I won't be running (or walking) marathons or much of anything physical (no lifting more than 30 pounds, no stress, and like that), but I've got busy stuff I can do. I'm surprised that I haven't spent much time being depressed (those few times have been when my knees or feet keep me trapped in bed...very dark thoughts, then). I can still pay my own bills and (most importantly) I can drive the X-11. I'd be in a really bad place, for lack of that one bright spot to focus on when shit gets dark.

Can't condone this preacher's lifestyle.

Brain-dead wingnut preacher preaches that parents should "punch" their "gay-acting" kids and break their limp wrists. When the Internet rises up in wrath and tells him to STFU, the cowardly knee-crawler whines that he was only kidding.

Right.

I'd rather have my kid grow up gay (and happy) than grow up a stupid wingnut. I'd really think I'd failed as a parent if one of mine voted *spit* Republican, let alone chose the preacher lifestyle.

Most of the tags are for preacher-boy.

Link Dump: Trayvon Martin

Just posted a "link dump" covering the Trayvon Martin killing over at the Kook Blog.

It's amazing what an utter shitstorm of racism Martin's murder has brought into the daylight. Newt Gingrich and his fellow wingnuts used it as an excuse to attack and slime President Obama and even his Attorney General, Eric Holder.

The usual suspects jumped all over Trayvon, blaming him for his own murder (if he hadn't dressed like that, he wouldn't have been shot--standard conservative "victim's fault" boilerplate, echoing their reaction to women who are raped) and rushed to defend the shooter and his Dirty Harry approach to neighborhood protection.

This being Florida, I don't really hold out much hope for Zimmerman being convicted on the 2nd Degree Murder charge, not with the idiotic "stand your ground" crap ol' Jughead Bush gave us.

Life in a cage

Zoos are depressing. I don't like to see animals mewed up in cages. I understand why it's necessary, though, when a bald eagle has lost most of a wing, for example. It's the more humane choice.

Doesn't mean I have to like it, especially when I see myself in a cage.

For more than 18 months I've been trapped in a body that doesn't work right, relying on a handful of pills to keep my blood pressure from blowing out my aorta or popping arteries in my brain. I can handle most of the day-to-day crap, such as diuretics that have me running to the bathroom like clockwork and leave me thirsty as hell. If I don't take them, my feet and lower legs swell up.

I'm having trouble with the lost mobility, though. I fucking hate it.

From Day One after my aorta self-destructed, I haven't been able to stand for more than a few minutes at a time or walk more than a few hundred feet without having to sit. Something as simple as taking out the trash leaves me winded; going to one of the "big box" stores is such an ordeal that I won't go unless I can get in and get out quickly. Even then, once I make it back to my car I sit there wheezing and panting for several minutes--on a good day. On a bad day, it's the same, but I can barely move my legs to drive the car.

Forget about going to Fort Pickens or the others. That's the worst part. I haven't been back to Pickens since last February.

I've been trying to tell various doctors that there's a blood-flow problem with my legs, starting at waist level. They all tell me to exercise. "Take a walk around the block."

Around the block? I can make it to my friend's house down the street--on a good day. After 18 months, that's still as far as I can go before my legs give out. It's not getting any better.

I spent a few days last week visiting my nephew in central Georgia; we went to a little park called Dauset Trails, which has a modest zoo and meandering trails and boardwalks. I spent most of my time either sitting on benches and resting or walking--or tottering--to the next bench. I glanced at the otters, stared back at a pair of glowing green eyes in the dark black bear hideout, felt sorry for the eagle that could no longer fly, and concentrated on making it to the next bench along the trail. I ended up parking myself on the last one while the others went off to look at deer and antelope.

By the time we made it back to the car, I was ready to lie down and not move for a few days.

A couple of days later, we went to a big indoor flea market; my nephew had told me about a vendor who sells die-cast cars (Hot Wheels, Matchbox, etc.). I wanted to see whether the guy had any Johnny Lightning Citations. Just like at the Trails, I spent a lot of my time walking for a minute or so before heading for the nearest bench. I couldn't stand long enough to look through all the cars, but he didn't have a Citation. Also like the day at the Trails, I found a chair in the food court while the others went off shopping.

This shit is past old.