THERE ARE PROBLEMS WITH MY MAIN CATHETER CORD
By late afternoon Sam was noticing problems with my main catheter cord — the piece than runs from a connection near my inner thigh and empties into the catheter bag that hangs from a hook on the bench near my feet — when all of a sudden my pee begins flowing in the wrong fucking direction ... upwards from a mysterious blockage of foamy sediment. I honestly don’t know any other way to describe this, except to say that my pee was heading up the tube ... not down!
STELLA NEVER TOLD US SHE’D BE LATE
… even though it was already obvious by 5 p.m. No call, no text, no nothing. Lousy customer service like this drives Sam over the edge. He absolutely hates it.
SAM CALLS THE HOSPICE ADMINISTRATOR
At 6 p.m. Sam calls Bea to ask if Stella is still planning to come over, because we absolutely need a nurse here ASAP to figure out what the fuck’s going on with my catheter and replace a malfunctioning cord fast.
STELLA SURFACES AT LAST
She finally calls a few minutes after 7 p.m. to let us know she’d been having car trouble. I’m not sure we believe her, but regardless … she says she’ll be over “sometime tonight.”
STELLA SHOWS UP AT 8:45 P.M.
Know what? This is the same issue we had a few months ago! I’ve got a broken catheter, and my nurse comes over empty-handed … WITHOUT A REPLACEMENT CATHETER KIT. Jesus! Who does something like this?! We were fit to be tied.
THERE’S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT … JUST BLOCKED KIDNEYS
Stella looks at my busted catheter cord, tells us we’ll “probably be okay until tomorrow” because my pee isn’t really moving backwards too fast, and she’ll try to get a catheter kit from the hospice office on Tuesday and come over to change the broken cord. However, if I begin to experience “severe abdominal pain” we should call the main number at the hospice immediately because it means that my bladder can no longer empty itself and my kidneys are blocked. (WHAT THE HOLY FUCK!?) And then when I ask Stella what time she’ll be here tomorrow morning, she says: “No, not in the morning. Probably in the afternoon.” Naturally! She’s not doubled over with blocked kidneys … I AM!
SAM TO THE RESCUE
Over the last few months Accord Hospice has stocked our home with an enormous variety of first aid and general medical supplies — bandages, wound wash, gauze, antibiotic ointments, surgical tape, and so on — enough products to open a chain of suburban pharmacies. So while Stella is still warning me about “severe abdominal pain” and backed-up kidneys, Sam actually finds an extra catheter kit on a shelf in the study closet. Stella reluctantly agrees to stay an extra 10 minutes to replace the malfunctioning cord … and I don’t have to worry about 18 hours of severe abdominal pain.
WE’RE FED UP
I want to slug somebody with my cane. I told Sam I want to report this situation to my hospice administrator because it was so outrageous and unprofessional, but he’s trying to talk me out of it. Now I’m trying to talk him out of it. Stay tuned, okay?
By late afternoon Sam was noticing problems with my main catheter cord — the piece than runs from a connection near my inner thigh and empties into the catheter bag that hangs from a hook on the bench near my feet — when all of a sudden my pee begins flowing in the wrong fucking direction ... upwards from a mysterious blockage of foamy sediment. I honestly don’t know any other way to describe this, except to say that my pee was heading up the tube ... not down!
STELLA NEVER TOLD US SHE’D BE LATE
… even though it was already obvious by 5 p.m. No call, no text, no nothing. Lousy customer service like this drives Sam over the edge. He absolutely hates it.
SAM CALLS THE HOSPICE ADMINISTRATOR
At 6 p.m. Sam calls Bea to ask if Stella is still planning to come over, because we absolutely need a nurse here ASAP to figure out what the fuck’s going on with my catheter and replace a malfunctioning cord fast.
STELLA SURFACES AT LAST
She finally calls a few minutes after 7 p.m. to let us know she’d been having car trouble. I’m not sure we believe her, but regardless … she says she’ll be over “sometime tonight.”
STELLA SHOWS UP AT 8:45 P.M.
Know what? This is the same issue we had a few months ago! I’ve got a broken catheter, and my nurse comes over empty-handed … WITHOUT A REPLACEMENT CATHETER KIT. Jesus! Who does something like this?! We were fit to be tied.
THERE’S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT … JUST BLOCKED KIDNEYS
Stella looks at my busted catheter cord, tells us we’ll “probably be okay until tomorrow” because my pee isn’t really moving backwards too fast, and she’ll try to get a catheter kit from the hospice office on Tuesday and come over to change the broken cord. However, if I begin to experience “severe abdominal pain” we should call the main number at the hospice immediately because it means that my bladder can no longer empty itself and my kidneys are blocked. (WHAT THE HOLY FUCK!?) And then when I ask Stella what time she’ll be here tomorrow morning, she says: “No, not in the morning. Probably in the afternoon.” Naturally! She’s not doubled over with blocked kidneys … I AM!
SAM TO THE RESCUE
Over the last few months Accord Hospice has stocked our home with an enormous variety of first aid and general medical supplies — bandages, wound wash, gauze, antibiotic ointments, surgical tape, and so on — enough products to open a chain of suburban pharmacies. So while Stella is still warning me about “severe abdominal pain” and backed-up kidneys, Sam actually finds an extra catheter kit on a shelf in the study closet. Stella reluctantly agrees to stay an extra 10 minutes to replace the malfunctioning cord … and I don’t have to worry about 18 hours of severe abdominal pain.
WE’RE FED UP
I want to slug somebody with my cane. I told Sam I want to report this situation to my hospice administrator because it was so outrageous and unprofessional, but he’s trying to talk me out of it. Now I’m trying to talk him out of it. Stay tuned, okay?
Incidentally, I’M HAVING TROUBLE EATING SOLID FOOD … it’s that swallowing issue again. A couple of days ago I couldn’t tolerate two bites of Kirkland’s canned chicken and half a Pillsbury Grands biscuit, and it all came back up on me over the next three hours. And yesterday I couldn’t eat a stupid can of Campbell’s French Onion Soup because it tasted bitter and medicinal. (Come to think of it, it always tasted that way.)
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The Howdygram would like to say “buh-bye” to charismatic superstar Burt Reynolds, 82, an adorable screen presence that dominated movies and TV for more than 50 years. Reynolds died of cardiopulmonary arrest — i.e., a heart attack — on September 6.
Reynolds received an Oscar nomination for his portrayal of porn director Jack Horner in Boogie Nights (1997) and was the number one box-office attraction for a five-year stretch starting in the late 1970s. He also sparkled in many action films (usually doing his own stunts) and in romantic comedies like Starting Over (1979) with Jill Clayburgh and Candice Bergen, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1982) with Dolly Parton, Best Friends (1982) with Goldie Hawn, and The Man Who Loved Women (1983) with Julie Andrews.
In 1972 Reynolds gained notoriety when he began a well-publicized relationship with Dinah Shore and posed naked for Cosmopolitan’s April 1972 centerfold. (I bought that month’s issue.)
He was Hollywood’s top-grossing star every year from 1978 through 1982, equaling the longest stretch the business had seen since the days of Bing Crosby in the 1940s. For instance, in 1978 Burt Reynolds had four hit movies playing in theaters … AT THE SAME TIME.
Reynolds was married twice. First to British actress Judy Carne (famous for appearing on NBC’s “Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In”) from 1963 to 1966, and then to Loni Anderson from 1988 to 1993. Anderson was the hilarious, voluptuous blonde on CBS’ sitcom “WKRP in Cincinnati.”
It’s been an unexpectedly lazy Tuesday around here. Although I originally thought I wanted to get up off the chaise today and sit at my computer for a few hours, actually I’ve done nothing except eat and sleep, which is usually all I ever do. I did have a culinary “a-ha” moment today, however. Tonight for dinner I asked Sam to make me a bowl of Stove Top Chicken Stuffing with gravy and a jar of Green Giant whole mushrooms. However I laughed out loud when I saw the dark brown gravy in the measuring cup, at which point Sam had to admit that he accidentally nuked a can of beef gravy instead of chicken. But you know what? I really couldn’t taste the difference. The beef gravy was fine!
And now it’s time to publish this post and do some reading. My cousin Bobby sent me a couple of PDF “dispatches” I’ve been anxious to read from his recent adventure to Azerbaijan. He initially sent them in Word format, which I couldn’t open because I don’t have Microsoft Word installed on my either of my Macs, so tonight’s PDFs were a welcome sight indeed. And when I finish reading Bobby’s documents I’ve got to get busy answering a few emails. Four, actually. This could be a very productive night.
Thank you for reading this. If you’re interested in the Alamo I feel very, very sorry for you.
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