Report from Pillville: The Echocardiogram

Bad hearts run in my mother's family. Both of her parents died of heart attacks when they were in their 70s. One lingered in a hospital bed, the other dropped to the floor. He was dead when he hit, my mother is fond of saying about her father. Her oldest brother died of a heart attack when he was in his 50s. My mom herself has had a pacemaker for years, and has been on warfarin to keep the blood from pooling in her heart. It's all worked pretty swell. She hasn't had a heart attack or a stroke--so I guess things have gone according to plan. She will be 90 in September.

I've seen changes in her in the past year and a half that she's lived with me. She grew stronger at first. Quit smoking. Put on weight. But lately she's slowed down. She sleeps more. She has more pain. Her blood pressure fluctuates sometimes causing nausea and headaches. Mentally, she's slower too. Last night she asked me how to spell my first name. Most mornings it's a crap shoot as to how she'll wake up feeling--too queasy for coffee? Neck pain? Back pain? Head ache? Too wobbly to fix her own breakfast?

Today she had an echocardiogram and has other heart tests scheduled as well this month. Then there will be a consultation with the cardiologist. The echocardiogram is the rorschach test of diagnostic tools if you're like me with a wild imagination and not a fucking clue as to what the image on the screen actually shows. One minute, her beating hear looked liked a malevolent serpent opening and closing its mouth, (Heart valve? Ya got me.) and the next, this guy in his little pointy hat was in there beating his drum, first one arm rising up to strike the drum, then the other.

And then later it was a weather map in there. Red, yellow, blue. Colors swirling around like there's a hurricane brewing in her heart.

The next test is a type of stress test sans treadmill where she will be injected with some nuclear substance or another after fasting for four hours and foregoing the morning coffee, after which she will be expected to eat a fatty meal that we have brought with us--or we can go out to McDonald's for an Egg McMuffin---hahahaha, after which there will be more testing. The whole thing lasts 3-4 hours. Fasting for the blood test a couple of weeks ago sent us off to the ER with non-stop nausea and a splitting headache, so I asked the receptionist if this particular stress test was ever done in-patient in the hospital. "If the doctor orders it," she said. 

"Then I guess I'm asking the doctor to order it," I said. "I don't think my mom can handle the fasting--especially if she needs her pain meds."

"It's only four hours of fasting," she said. "And we don't need to administer pain meds for the test." I explained that my mother is routinely taking oxycodone and can't function without it. That I was most definitely requesting that the test be done as an in-patient in the hospital. She gave me a form to fill out--a tad bit grudgingly. And a little hurricane began brewing in my own heart.

REPORT FROM PILLVILLE: The Pacemaker, the Flu Shot, and of course the Pills

lest I go insane...again

Things got crazy with the pillbox while my mom was sick last week. She got confused, and I had to unravel it all. It didn't help that one of the pills looked completely different from the way it used to due to the fact that we recently got a generic or some similar version from a new manufacturer. Also there are three round white pills--two of which are scarily similar, their distinctive markings visible only to super hero marksmen with bionic eyes. Hello, pharmaceutical industry? Colors are good. Think lollipops, jelly beans, sodas, popsicles! Haven't we been conditioned our whole lives to distinguish flavors of junk food by the color? Well, it could work with pills, too. I might even go so far as to make the color of the pill relate to its function. Years ago a doctor told my mother that Plavix would keep her platelets from sticking together. She still remembers it. How about making it red? And why not put a giant P on it in a contrasting color? Seems like the company making Loperamide (that's the yucky brown and yellowish-brown capsule) is kinda on board with that. 'Nuff said.

The pacemaker checked out fine this morning. Another couple years, the tech said. I'm thinking of a betting pool. We all throw in 50 bucks and wager on month and year that the thing quits. When it does go kaput, she'll have to have outpatient surgery to get a new one. Now that is an example of thinking waaaay too far ahead. Hereandnowhereandnowhereandnow. Okay. 

My mom got her flu shot at CVS after the pacemaker check, and we combed the store in a mad shopping spree with her 20% off coupon. Marketing genius. She got some pink lipstick called "Fruit Punch" and it looks great on her. We stocked up on Ricola lemon sugar free lozenges, which I admit to having a bit of a hoarding problem with. My mom bought a bunch of those tiny toothbrushes for between the teeth. I'm pretty sure she's hoarding those. And I threw in a bag of Peanut M &Ms-- an example of completely gratuitous but somewhat entertaining junk food color. I just might get myself a pillbox and keep it filled with those.

It's a beautiful day here in Margaritaville. Wind+sun equals lots of shimmering color.

Report from Pillville: the Podiatrist, the Cardiologist and Miracle Ear Part V, etc. etc.

The Podiatrist:
Doctor+ power tools-general anesthesia=thank god, I'm sitting down on a chair that has arms because I began to sway. My mom was a trooper, though. Corns removed on the outside and inside of little toes. Toenail fungus ground into near oblivion. Plus, I acquainted her with some spiffy new shoes from Arcopedico. I discovered what a miracle these shoes were for my backaches when I was walking to and from the train before I left the City of Angels. They're easy on the toes, too. Mom has the blue ones and the hot pink ones. I now have three colors--hot pink, orange, and green. The red ones are tempting....don't worry I can stop at any time. Uh, but what I really need is a pair of Arcopedico sandals...in some nice colors.

The Cardiologist/the carotid artery and an echocardiogram of the heart:
"I've never had any tests like those before," she said.
"Are you sure? You have a pacemaker.....wouldn't they perform these tests before installing a box in your chest?"
Hmmm. Who knows? Maybe it's one of those past memory fragments that's just fallen away. In any event, now we await the results--the doctor will call if there's anything scary to report.

Miracle Ear:
5 appointments=1 working hearing aid. The only thing good I have to say about Miracle Ear at this point is that the technician who has been taking care of my mom and the her receptionist are the sweetest. There's a little hug fest every time we say good-bye. Really, these are nice, nice people. The hearing aid tech had tears in her eyes on the last visit when she had to break the news that one of the new hearing aids arrived not working. Hellooooo people, can you hear me? Floss, wear sunscreen, and take care of your ears. Hey, you with the ear buds and the music so loud that I can dance to it, turn it the fuck down.

The New Medication (Namenda): 
So far, so good. I've been watching and waiting. Yesterday, I heard a little freakout outside the laundry room (smoking area #2.) It was the first thing in the morning and I rushed downstairs, half gym clothes/half pajamas, to check it out. She had a ball of lint in her hand the size of a mouse. It startled her. But the same thing has been happening on the patio with spiders all along. She's always had a big reaction to things that scare her. I swear I can still see her and hear her screaming in our kitchen as she fashioned a dish towel into a sling the day my brother broke both the bones in his arm 45 years ago. Blood is even worse. I won't churn those waters. And the morning shortly after my high school graduation when she figured out I was pregnant? Oh, if I ever self-publish my book, you can read about it.
I asked her at dinner last night if she noticed feeling any different from the new drug. She shook her head. "Not at all," she said. But the only thing she was really feeling right then was the gin.
The real trouble is that whenever I want to think of the name of this drug...uh, I can't remember it. I got it now though....Amend+Namasté.

Bone Density and the Density of the Demeanor in Doctors' Office Staff:
Call to office #1: Hello again, you little bitch, I'm not asking for your first-born child, I'm just asking if you could ever-so-kindly double check to see if there is a bone density scan in my mom's records that maybe didn't get sent to her new doctor.
Call to office #2: Oh, hi, gosh thanks for calling me back so fast, wow, yes, please fax the scan to my mom's new doc. Oh, and you have some of the doctor's notes and you want to fax those, too? You have a nice afternoon, too.

The Calendar:
There's some white space in front of us. I told her last night that the only thing we have on the calendar for the rest of October and November is an appointment at Miracle Ear. Of course, that could morph into a series of follow-ups, but maybe not. "You might need to start going out to do other stuff," I said. "Fun stuff." She likes staying home, she said. Watching the birds, and the boats. Crocheting. And she has a stack of books that the man who loves me gave her for her birthday.
And yes, she should see a gastroenterologist. The Beano has been an utter failure. Flatulence and poor hearing is a comically cruel combo. My son laughs about it---says it's an awesome  way to proceed with life--giving up that bit of self-conscious propriety. He's got a point, but I'm not signing on to that yet. Farting just doesn't match up with those cute pink shoes.

Report from Pillville: the Pacemaker

"I need a pacebreaker," the man who loves me exclaimed some time ago. We were, no doubt, discussing our mortality or some related profoundly romantic topic.

My mother, on the other hand, has a pacemaker. Now that she lives with me, it's partially my responsibility to maintain her pacemaker, so off we went today to the cardiologist's office for a test with the guy from Medtronic. After offering my mom a seat and introducing himself, he proceeded to attach a box-like monitor to her chest. A few moments of studying a computer screen ensued, and then he proclaimed that the pacemaker was working just fine. And that it was only "pacing" at 1%. Which kinda makes me wonder why she needs a pacemaker. In any event, the thing is good for at least another four years. My mom will be 92 if she's still on the planet four years from now. Her pacemaker will be out of juice, and she will require surgery to implant a new one. I really don't have the energy or the desire to think very far ahead these days, but if I did, I might lose a little sleep over this one. Isn't there some way to just plug her into a charger?

It's young people who design these things, no doubt. Surgery? Sure! Then let's go out and party.

In any event, getting a pacemaker implanted is probably less tiring than getting a flu shot--or so it seemed today at the local CVS. Here's a clipboard. Stand here and fill out all these forms. Stand here some more, while I punch a jillion keys on my computer and wonder why something is not working.
I asked if there was somewhere my mom might sit down. Yes, of course,  there was an area with chairs--halfway across the store. And yes, bring the forms back to the counter. And yes, walk back over to where the chairs are to get the shot. The woman walks with a cane (and a lovely new English chestnut cane it is) for fuck sake. Slowly. And I doubt that she's the only senior to come in for a flu shot. Move the chairs, people. Make it easy. Is your mother in our system, the white coat finally asked me after several more minutes of tapping away at her keyboard after my mom had hiked over to the chairs. Does she get her prescriptions filled here? No, I said, but she buys her gin here.

And yes, that was why we chose CVS for a flu shot. 20% off on your next purchase!!! Well, that didn't go smoothly either, but in the end, thanks to a couple of diligent employees working the check stand, the saga ended happily. And we got an second 20% off coupon for the next gin run.

I arrived home feeling like I'd consider having a pacebreaker installed, but the smell of gin always cheers me up.