Trouble is, they all sound fulfilling, don’t they? Trouble is, the longer I wait to pick one project, the less I’ll be motivated to get anything done. Therefore I’ll just make my decision and be done with it. I want to get started on #2 and nibble at #3 concurrently. It’s called multi-tasking. Woo-hoo!
It’s 11 p.m. Thursday night and at the moment we’ve got a wild and noisy thunderstorm ushering in our first official cold snap of the season. The low tonight will be 44° … significantly colder than anything we’ve seen since last winter. (It was 92° here yesterday.) Sam is asleep on the sofa and I’m just a few feet away in my hospital bed keeping busy with the Howdygram. However there’s a high-beam flashlight lantern nearby just in case the power goes out and Sam has to connect me to a battery-powered oxygen concentrator. It’s always something.
My schedule today took some unexpected twists and turns. Due to feeling like crap this morning — including a low body temperature and a solid case of chills — I asked Sam to cancel the C.N.A. scheduled at 1 p.m. to give me a bath so I could take a nap and warm up. At 1:30 I saw a new hospice R.N. for a routine checkup. She was a sweetie, and my vital signs were all quite good today: oxygen level 97%, heart rate 82, blood pressure 102/60.
Sam and I also spent the entire day waiting for the hospice pharmacy in Fort Worth to deliver my regular 15-day Hydrocodone prescription refill. This has been a steady battle every two weeks since Accord Hospice started running my life in May 2018. It’s always the same bullshit. Sam texts my nurse to request a refill, the nurse chases the doctor for his signature, the doctor drags his feet because state and Federal authorities are cracking down on opioids, and I’m stuck running out of pain medication because the Three Stooges can’t get their shit together!
Look, I have no problem with the government reining in bogus “pain clinics” that hand out opioids for chronic backaches and stiff shoulders. BUT HOSPICE PATIENTS ARE DIFFERENT … and I’m sick and tired of going to battle every other week for the same stinking prescription I’ve been taking for more than ten years. It’s just wrong on so many levels.
Steve and Therese are staying nearby with friends. The wildfire is 0% contained, however, so there’s no way to know how long they’ll have to stay away from home.
I’LL BET YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT I’M PSYCHIC. This afternoon, for no reason in particular, I started wondering whatever happened to Joe Giudice, the idiot Mafia wannabe and sleazebag husband of Theresa Giudice from “The Real Housewives of New Jersey.” Joe finished a four-year prison sentence back in March but has been in an ICE detention facility waiting to find out whether or not the Feds would deport him to Italy. (Joe never became a citizen, and convicted felons are usually deported after they serve their time.) So … I decide to Google “Joe Giudice” and found out — ready for this? — HE WAS OFFICIALLY DEPORTED A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO and is on a flight back to Italy while I’m writing this paragraph. Holy shit, people … I’M CLAIRVOYANT!
In case you’re wondering, Joe was convicted on 39 counts of mail and wire fraud, bank fraud, bankruptcy fraud, failure to file income tax returns and being an ignoramus. His wife and four daughters are refusing to go to Italy with him because Theresa has a solid career as a loudmouth asshole on “The Real Housewives of New Jersey.” Incredibly, she’s already advertising for a rich second husband.
Good luck with that, Teresa. You’re such a prize.
Thank you for reading this.
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