I am back

Did you think you would never hear from me again? This blogging business is not easy. Naturally my regular life is a lot less action-packed than a stay in the ICU. My posts are clearly going to be less frequent. In addition, the subject matter will become far more diverse as I search for things to blog about. Bear with me...

Wednesdays are always packed. In my time zone, that was the day before yesterday...In any case, I woke up at 4:51. One would think that is absurdly early and roll back to sleep. In fact, I was almost late! The problem with Wednesdays is that I have to get a blood test, X-Ray and visit the transplant clinic. This seems pretty straightforward until one factors in the time constraints and fasting. I cannot eat past 11 pm the night before the blood work. In addition, I have to take my anti-rejection pills not more than 13 hours before the test. Of course, there is no appointment for the blood work. The clinic is also first come first serve. All of us are like rats in a cage...doors open at 7 am and off to the races. As if this was not complex enough (and you have not already fallen asleep in a confused stupor), Wednesdays are also the day that I take an osteoporosis (I am confident in my manhood) pill. It has a rather unusual regimen in that I must take the pill with a glass full of water and then remain seated straight for 30 minutes...

Getting back to 4:51, I naturally took Mortimer and Lucy for an early morning jaunt (those would be my dogs for the uninitiated, not my children).By the time business was done it was already 5:33. I had to take my pill and scan the net for 30 minutes. Now it is 6:03 and I need to gather the various paraphenalia needed for the clinic, pack a breakfast and perform the morning vitals. Time is really running now as I still need to hop the city bus to get to the hospital. I got on the bus and got to the hospital for 7:12. Not bad!

However, this was just the beginning. By the time I finished at the clinic and returned to my modest bungalow it was already 11:40. Wednesdays are also recycling days. As anyone who knows me will attest, one of my few obsessions is anal retentiveness. I just love dealing with garbage/recycling/composting. Not only do I hoard over the recycling I like to organize it meticulously so it takes as little room as possible.Walking the neighborhood on Wednesdays my blood tends to percolate as boxes are placed willy nilly instead of being crushed properly. What could take 1 bin winds up taking 2 or 3 as well as being sent 3 sheets to the wind...

Getting back to my point, I had to deal with the recycling and other sundries such as lunch for me and my 2 young ones. Once the dust settled, the clock was nearing 2pm. I had to get NJ to a diving class for 3 pm. Let me save that doozy of a story for another day...We arrived and I was wearing pants and a bowling shirt. Note to self: do not wear pants to an indoor swmming complex on an insanely hot day! By the time this wrapped up, and I got home it was 4:30. I had already been up just a dozen hours.

I was ready to attack dinner prep when Virginia returned from work. One look at me and she kindly took control of dinner. Wacky Wednesdays...you gotta love em!
See Ya
Jay

Hello again, my friends

Nothing like quoting the great Neil Diamond to start a post. It has been awhile. The break in blogging has not really inspired any new material. However, there are still things I have not discussed about my hospital stay so you are in luck.

One of the most discussed events of any hospital stay is the food. Some people love the food but most seem to find hospital repast to be below grade. Let me tell you, I know from below grade. I was extremely fortunate with my surgery. The breathing tube came out very quickly and before I even had a chance to worry about my diet, I was on solid food. Being Jewish, I requested Kosher meals and, to quote a popular Quebec expression, was quickly "accommodated".

Being drowsy and in a postoperative haze, I found the meals pleasing to the palette. As the epidural effect wore off and my taste buds reactivated, I found the meals to be not the best. This was not a surprising development as Virginia is an outstanding balabust (chef) while I enjoy my own simple cooking (think drowning all meats/poultry/marine life in various home made sauces).

My dissatisfaction continued until day 12 in the ICU. It was a Friday night and, appropriately enough, I was given brisket for supper. I do not posses the writing ability to describe meat that is "off", but this brisket was off the charts. It just tasted like a freezer. I could not eat more than 4 bites.Once again, I thought I was being picky.

The next morning my old friend Stephanie came to visit. She asked if I was getting Kosher meals. I replied naturally but expressed mystery as to their origin. Usually these meals come from a caterer who leaves his label on the box should you want to use them for any future party occasions. The only label on my meals was a stamp from an organization called The Jewish Community Council of Canada. Stephanie proceeded to pick up her jaw from the floor. She claimed that the organization had disbanded at least 5 YEARS AGO. Isn't that special?

She had to be joking. She must be confused. I psyched myself up for a tasty Saturday night meal. I opened the package to find a salmon steak. What could go wrong with salmon steak? As it turns out, plenty. You know the greasy black skin at the bottom of the fish? It was at one, completely indivisible from the rest of the salmon. How to describe the texture of the fish? Think of knocking on wood and that should give you an adequate idea of how the salmon felt and sounded.

I was done with the Kosher meals. I had regular hospital food the rest of the way and found it to be absolutely divine.

Hello again, my friends..

Nothing like quoting the great Neil Diamond to start a post. It has been awhile. The break in blogging has not really inspired any new material. However, there are still things I have not discussed about my hospital stay so you are in luck.

One of the most discussed events of any hospital stay is the food. Some people love the food but most seem to find hospital repast to be below grade. Let me tell you, I know from below grade. I was extremely fortunate with my surgery. The breathing tube came out very quickly and before I even had a chance to worry about my diet, I was on solid food. Being Jewish, I requested Kosher meals and, to quote a popular Quebec expression, was quickly "accommodated".

Being drowsy and in a postoperative haze, I found the meals pleasing to the palette. As the epidural effect wore off and my taste buds reactivated, I found the meals to be not the best. This was not a surprising development as Virginia is an outstanding balabust (chef) while I enjoy my own simple cooking (think drowning all meats/poultry/marine life in various home made sauces).

My dissatisfaction continued until day 12 in the ICU. It was a Friday night and, appropriately enough, I was given brisket for supper. I do not posses the writing ability to describe meat that is "off", but this brisket was off the charts. It just tasted like a freezer. I could not eat more than 4 bites.Once again, I thought I was being picky.

The next morning my old friend Stephanie came to visit. She asked if I was getting Kosher meals. I replied naturally but expressed mystery as to their origin. Usually these meals come from a caterer who leaves his label on the box should you want to use them for any future party occasions. The only label on my meals was a stamp from an organization called The Jewish Community Council of Canada. Stephanie proceeded to pick up her jaw from the floor. She claimed that the organization had disbanded at least 5 YEARS AGO. Isn't that special?

She had to be joking. She must be confused. I psyched myself up for a tasty Saturday night meal. I opened the package to find a salmon steak. What could go wrong with salmon steak? As it turns out, plenty. You know the greasy black skin at the bottom of the fish? It was at one, completely indivisible from the rest of the salmon. How to describe the texture of the fish? Think of knocking on wood and that should give you an adequate idea of how the salmon felt and sounded.

I was done with the Kosher meals. I had regular hospital food the rest of the way and found it to be absolutely divine.

Sleepless Nights

I am not sure what it is about life that leads us to become cranky individuals. I can remember being a wee one (was it the mid-80s?) at my Zaidie's side listening to his 2 main gripes; sleeping and driving. He could not sleep and let me know it. In addition, he also hated driving downtown. His saving grace in his downtown commute was that the parking lot attendant ALWAYS saved him a spot in the lot. Man, he must have gotten some good coin...

Not surprisingly, I entered the sleep deprivation phase some time ago. I worry about the store, the kids, Virginia, the precious pooches, the dust ball situation. I am just slightly neurotic. In addition, my booming cough went on regardless of my waking state. In a foolish fit of optimism, I postulated that post- transplant, with little coughing, I could get a good night's sleep.

Thanks to the genius invention of Willis Carrier, our modest bungalow is equipped with central air. Thus, sleep should come easy despite being in the middle of a heat wave. Some factors have intervened. Sunday called for a trip to Plattsburgh. This is excitement enough for most but considering I have not been out of the country in 2 years, you could add another layer of adrenaline. I took proper precautions by absolutely exhausting myself all day Saturday and taking a sleeping pill. After an hour of limited tossing the sweet gift of sleep was bestowed upon me.

Remember the transplant? One of the pernicious side effects is its impact on the digestive tract. Not to get profane, but I used to be an extremely fast Eliminator. This is no longer the case. So...at 2:13 Sunday morning, I felt the urge. Being the middle of the night, I headed downstairs to do my business...no success. I tossed, turned, worried and before I knew it, it was 3:30. Finally, the situation passed, if you catch my drift. Needless to say, sleep was done like Tiffany.

By the end of yesterday, I was exhausted. I had been up from 2:13 until 10:45. I went to sleep with Mortimer curled right up to me. He is a blanket come to life. He has a light coat and the approximate weight of a good blanket. The blessed joy of sleep arrived in minutes until...

1:47 when my nasal passage was assaulted by an odor so vicious I almost pined for a cup of skunk juice. Lucy's posterior was adjacent to my bed position. It was so overwhelming that I leaped to my feet, grabbed my phone and used the flashlight app to find the inevitable source of the odor. It was my lucky night, no midnight doggy gift, just a permeating waft of Lucy's gaseous stomach.

Sleep arrived but was defeated by another canine foible. As I mentioned, our modest bungalow does have central air but the master bathroom does not. For some unknown reason, Mortimer felt compelled to sleep the latter half of the night in the middle of the bathroom floor. My depth of sleep being no deeper than a single ply of generic tissue, the rush of hot air startled me. In addition, the bedroom was flooded by the dawn light in the bathroom. No matter, it was already 4:58.

The Perks of a Double Lung Transplant

It delights me to say that I have really enjoyed my lung transplant experience. Sure there were a couple of bumps along the way like a pneumonia, and the night I had a really crazy psychotic trip Sure I lost all semblance of dignity for a brief period of 13.5 days when I could neither wash myself, nor deal with any evacuated material. But this is a tiny price to pay for a new lease on life. The really incredible part of my recovery has been my brush with fame.

It all started with Frank Deford. You know the guy who wrote for Sports Illustrated forever, who started The National (the first national sports newspaper), the man who lost his daughter Alex at the age of 8 to Cystic Fibrosis. This is a man of substance, dignity and so you are probably wondering what does he have to do with me? Well, my good friend Melissa notified Frank about my condition and even though I am pretty sure he has a full schedule and I am a total stranger, he still found the time to send me a get well email. Not only was I flabbergasted, but I immediately wrote a warm response never expecting to hear from Frank again. Wrong! He replied to my thank you email within 3 minutes. That was A) amazing and B) slightly clingy so I ceased further communication.

The next celebrity that I shared a word or 2 with was Bob Costas. Yes, THAT Bob Costas! However, the hour is late, the details many and bedtime draws near so that will be for another post.

Upon my discharge, I thought my brush with fame was over. In fact, it was just starting...I came home from the hospital to receive a personalized letter from no less an esteemed figure than the Right Honourable Stephen Harper. Yes folks, the current Prime Minister of Canada found time, in what must be a busy day, to drop me a dozen lines wishing me a speedy recovery, congratulations and that I remain in their thoughts.Apparently my friend Dr. J. informed the Prime Minister about my condition. This just about made me cry. I am not bashful in the least. Stephen Harper will go down as one of the PMs in Canadian history. He is a hero of mine in that he says what he believes and does it. People complain that politicians are spineless and govern by polls. That is what makes Stephen Harper so refreshing. I will need to get that framed.

Who could be left after Deford, Costats and Harper? That is a pretty impressive trio...Well, watch out Liberal readers, members of the far left and anybody else....because I got a letter from George W. Bush. Yes, the man who preceded Obama found time in his retirement to write to me. People who know me, or know of me know how much I liked George Bush. In fact, my fondness for W. once resulted in a mildly uncomfortable New Year's Eve party. We were a group of 12 at a fancy dan joint called Biche Aux Bois. You have to dress to the nines and they have got all the cutlery laid out just to give you a hint of the atmosphere. When can an entire New Year's Eve party go by without talking politics? Naturally, the subject of Iraq came up and one thing led to another, someone impugned George Bush's integrity beyond my tolerance level and I called my good friend Sascha a fu..king idiot at a pretty audible level. Things between us are better now...That tells you how much I like W. Again it blows my mind that people of this caliber found time to write to me. This is just some of the inspiration that continues to fuel my recovery.

Adventures in Glycemia

I am definitely old school. I love my AM radio band, I gladly wear socks and sneakers and I have little, if any, idea on how to text messages. Naturally, I bring a John Wayne type attitude towards pain i.e. it does not exist. There are very few things that get to me at a visceral level. I have just a couple of exceptions.

Cheese cuts to the heart of the matter. It is all a matter of taste but just about every type of cheese makes me want to hurl. In fact, many cheeses are off-limits to lung transplant survivors. My condolences to those individuals. About the only cheese I adore are Kraft/Migdal orange slices, particularly those slices wrapped in plastic. Those seal in the fresh taste as well as the 5 cups of milk in each slice.

Needles petrify me. It probably is an odd thing for me to say considering I have had 100s of needles recently not to mention rolling up my chest like the blinds in my room. I do not shout, squirm or spasm in a frantic way when I get a shot. I just need to look away. This coping mechanism has worked delightfully until now...

You see, now that I am on such fantastic anti-rejection drugs like Prednisone, Prograff, and Cellcept (don't they sound delicious?) there will be a profound effect on my sugar levels. I eat no candy, no pastry or anything else sweet. The sweetest things I eat are Sun-Maid raisins (always look for the lady wearing a bonnet for your freshest raisin supply) and Rougemont apple juice. There is not much to cut out of my diet.

Upon being discharged, I was given the most basic lesson in taking my sugar level. The basic problem is that I need to load the needle and then watch myself give me a needle. This is highly agitating. Sometimes the prick is too small and I have to start all over again. Thus far, I have needed to take my sugar level 6 times but have had about 12 other useless pricks. The success rate has got to improve. Incidentally, anxiety, neuroses and frustration over blood sugar reading is not the best marital aid just in case you were wondering....

Tale of the Tape

The reality of being out of the hospital and returning to my modest bungalow has hit me full on. My daily to do list is lengthy. As soon as I wake up, I need to take my weight, blood pressure, pulse and temperature. Stepping on the scale was the first thing that hit me upside the head. When I entered the hospital I was in my full flyweight 123 pound form. Today, I weigh 110 pounds. That's right, I lost 10% of my body weight in 19 days. Anyone looking for a weight loss program?

Once the vital signs are done, I need to do a breathing test with some new fancy Dan device. It is on order and there is just enough room left in my bedside desk for it. The box is chock full of plugs, machines, guides and notebooks. It is lucky Virginia converted some vintage office furniture into convenient jumbo-sized nightstands. What a gem!

Once this brief routine is completed and I am fully recovered, it will be time to walk the dogs and have a hearty breakfast. I must eat quickly as I need 2 hours before I can take my anti-rejection pills at 8 am. If you are thinking backwards, that means I need to be finished my medical routine, walking the dogs and breakfast by 8. The days of getting up at 5am continue....terrific!

During the day I need to get my rehabilitation program done, do some exercise and observe my pill schedule religiously. Once I get this stuff done,then I just need to do everything else that life requires.

Each day will pretty much go like this except for clinic day or blood test day when a monkey wrench gums up my schedule as I cannot take any medicine or have any food until I get my blood work done. This only happens about once every 4.5 days at the beginning so it is not like it is complicated...