Food and Weight: An Ongoing Journey

It’s Erev Christmas Eve

Posted on: December 24, 2013

Christmas Eve was my mother’s birthday. It was also the day my sister’s fiance had the stroke that killed him on the day after Christmas.

I just spent a week in Beth Israel-Kings HIghway Hospital for cellulitis. I woke up on Friday the 13th and couldn’t get warm. Coffee didn’t help, nor did getting under the electric blanket. I wasn’t at the shaking so bad I was dropping things stage, but with the heart defect, I figured safe was better than sorry, and had the roomie call 911. Apparently, I was running a fever of 102.8, which is pretty high, even for me. So the EMTs took me to the hospital. Unlike last time, I had a room by end of day, which was good. Roomie, my sister, and Naomi Moslow took turns sitting with me, which helped. The MRI came back okay, so there was no fluid in my lungs. Still, I felt pretty miserable.

This time, the nurses (with one exception) were all really nice. The only problem is that whenI came in, I needed some oxygen, and they chose to do that via a cannula. The cannula irritated my nose, and I kept begging them to take it away, but since the doctor had ordered it, it stayed — until I started having bad nosebleeds from the way it irritated my nose. Once they took it out, they kept monitoring my O2 levels, which were fine.

Anyway, I was in the hospital on intravenous antibiotics until Wednesday, when five different tries to get a vein didn’t work, at which point I was switched to oral antibiotics. I got out on Friday afternoon, came home, and went to sleep for a bit. When I left the hospital, I had a whole sheaf of forms recommending various nurses for the “Caught Being Great” program. That felt good.

I am feeling a lot more like myself now. While in the hospital, I caught up with my primary care guy. He agrees that I should have some say over how we treat the heart defect, since it is my body, after all. He also agrees with me that something is not right that the surgeon my cardiologist wants to use has rejected me as a poor candidate without ever having even spoken to me. We will deal with this in the new year.

Other than that, things go apace. I have writing to do. I got a winter jacket that proved to be nice and warm, even though fairly light. I am working on my professional website.

Roomie and I will be making Christmas dinner for somewhere between seven and ten people. It’s the one thing I can do on Christmas to make sure lonely friends are not lonely for a little bit, and that I can do something of value on a day when no one should be left alone unless it’s by choice. When I invited the ex, he asked if we would be doing a movie and Chinese food, the traditional way many Jewish folk in New York avoid the holiday. I told him no, but that I would order something in if it would make him feel better. He laughed.

I’m not particularly religious, although I do acknowledge being Jewish more by birth and by all the things I am not. However, the part of the world I have grown up in often looks at Christmas as a fairly secular holiday (yeah, I know, I didn’t say it made sense), and I grew up in a Christian neighborhood, so I have never had a problem celebrating both Chanukah and Christmas. When you come right down to it, I think that any chance to spread joy is probably a good thing.  This year, I am especially cognizant of how blessed I am when it comes to friends. So I am happy to be able to spread a little cheer, and I always love an excuse to cook for my friends, so this is a good thing.

Roomie and I made a shopping list already, and the ex took her shopping yesterday, so we have pretty much everything we need.

At least I’m feeling like myself again. I hated feeling helpless and hopeless.


2 Responses to "It’s Erev Christmas Eve"

So glad that you are feeling better and hope that your health issues can get resolved…how can they make a decision without seeing you…not getting that…I hope that your holidays are good ones and that the new year brings you peace and joy, Love, Carol

Heya Carol,

I don’t get it, either, and as a result, I’ve decided to fight what they want. I do not want a pacemaker and more drugs. They can take that and put it where the sun don’t shine. I want the damned surgery. I know it’s a risk, but it’s my freaking life at stake. At least I’m getting my “fight” back. That’s a step in the right direction.

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