Category: Personal

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A JARRING CARD, OF THANKS

In my life, I cannot have enough notecards to suit various needs of expression.

Lately, due to an unexpected illness, I value thank you cards (handmade by moi, whenever there’s time) to send to a colleague or even a stranger, to say thanks.

This latest creation is a variation of something I made several years ago, and for lack of a bright idea now, decided to “recycle” with a limited new version. This always gets a warm giggle from recipients.

Tells me that there’s always a need for a jar of thank-yous.

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RECOVERY LIFE INCLUDES UPS, DOWNS

You might recall that when I was in Queen’s Medical Center two weeks ago, I surmised that a hospital was like a hotel for those with broken souls.

Now at home in recovery mode, this broken soul has an updated observation: Recovery life is like a movie, or perhaps a documentary. It’s not quite a lights-camera-action motif, but there are moments that could be mildly cinematic.

First, I must share that I finally had a haircut yesterday after being tardy for more than two sweeks. You know you need a trim when there’s far too much growth above the fenders, and the body wave appointments that my hair resembled a weed patch like the overgrown grass at any city intersection.

So Lucil obliged with a trim, since my regular ‘dresser Tootsie was not available. Oh, such bliss. It was a photo op that I neglected, so did a selfie upon returning home.

This would have been ample “news” for the day, but overnight, I had another “moment.” At around 2 a.m., I was getting off the bed to go to pee (man, I go three times or so a night, with a walker to boot), when I rolled off the bed (we don’t have hospital guard rails) and landed flat on my face and shoulder, luckily not squishing a network of tubes and bags collecting drips from the abscess from my liver and my gall bladder, the reason I was hospitalized.

Ouch! In retrospect, I thought of the TV commercial where the lady fell at the foot of the stairs and could not adequately yell for help.

Luckily, my wife Vi heard the noise when I slid onto the floor in the darkness, and it did take a minute or so for me to catch my bearings and attempt to lift myself up. But I couldn’t; I had no strength to stand up, so Vi had to help lift me onto the side of the bed, so I could breathe and recover to properly head to the bathroom.

When I was done, Vi brought me an ice pack to place on my face to minimize bruising, if any.

Now, this nocturnal “action” clearly was a bigger issue than a haircut, and part of this life-as-movie anecdote. Could’ve made this a “camera” moment, but the iPhone was elsewhere recharging. It is what it is.

Recovery requires patience, since everything is in go-slow mode. Take your time on the walker, to avoid falls. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, since there’s a handful of meds to take morning, noon and night.  Boring, but again, it is what it is. Oh, there are twice-a-day draining of those unfashionable drip collectors to measure and document the oozes from my liver and gladder. Somewhat disgusting, but I’ll have these procedures till the well runs dry. Meaning pau drip, pau wearing these bags and cords.

My daily routine is, alas, routine. After I awaken, I have a cup of coffee, read the morning paper and USA Today, and watch “Today” and switch to CNN for an overview of the world. The Maui wildfires are still on the agenda, and Idalia’s wind and water fury in Florida and the East Coast grab the headlines.

Breakfast Is unexciting: English muffin, croissant, or oatmeal, with sliced bananas or cubed watermelon (a favorite, when I was in Queen’s).

Of course, news is routine, too … there’s the daily update on Trump’s litany of court cases and his customary “I am innocent” laments, between the real news, like another attack in Ukraine.

This leisurely sked enables me to resort to one of my hobbies, making hand-made notecards, to write thank-you’s for courtesies and kindnesses from friends. Plus, I try to create new versions of my aloha shirt cards.

Retirement enables time to reflect on good gestures and kind people. I spent some time yesterday writing gift donations to my favorite theater groups to mail today, since the fall season and special shows are in the offing in the days, weeks and months ahead. While Maui’s victims are needy and need kokua, global donors have responded, so we can’t forget the arts groups here that need support, too.

And have hand-written messages on self-made cards to a batch of wonderful friends who’ve offered comfort and warm support over the past weeks.

Admittedly, none of the aforementioned would be worthy of  the stuff of movies, but in my imagined reel world, this is the nature of the momentum and mundane doings during  my recovery.

I should add that I’ve had some Zoom doctor visits, with a few more forthcoming, and a few in-office doc  visits, too, along with clinic visits and in-hospital testing. The beat goes on.

And I trust I won’t fall of the bed again. That would be a nightmare…

Further, did you get the last preventive shot at CVS Longs? If and when you do, you’ll receive a $5 coupon for future use when you spend $20.  A good deal. …

So this rambling movie in my mind still is not over. Hey, films are not done in a day or two…

And that’s Show Biz. …

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SERENITY, AT A TIME OF NEED

Nature always has a way of calming the soul.

So I had these tiny clip-art images of trees, rivers, and the countryside.

Nope, not local stuff, but nonetheless green and keen, though somewhat deliberately muted.

Enough here for me to put together a bunch of cards.

The mood fit my current status, of recovering from an illness.

Serene comes to mind.

Enjoy….

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QUICK NOTECARDS TO SAY THANKS

A few days ago, I felt a creative urge, so completed two dozen informal thank you cards, to send to friends, colleagues, and family to express mahalo and appreciation for the kind gestures while I was hospitalized at Queen’s Medical Center.

I would have wanted to spend a bit more time on these notecards, but I wanted to send out quick Wild Cards notes to acknowledge the courtesies and niceties.

This works, for now.

Thought I’d share….

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I WAS BROKEN AND NEEDED FIXING

A hospital is a hotel for broken bodies, I’m discovering.

When you check in, you leave your attitudes and anxieties outside and forget about your worries and embarrassments! Toss out modesty, too~

And oh, no underwear allowed, too.

I’ve been in Queen’s Medical Center for a week, not by choice but necessity, and I’m blessed with having a team of 10 or so  doctors monitoring my situation, with supported by a very devoted and helpful staff of nurses.

I was broken, and needed fixing.

The day I was wheeled in via an ER ambulance on Aug. 11, I didn’t realize the cause or seriousness of the health; the doctors helped solve the mystery through X-Rays and Cat scans. The problem:

I developed abscesses in my liver and gall bladder and the treatment included draining both gooey messes.  Now, when I go home, I will still have drains next to my right rib cage. Surgery to remove the ball bladder might be an option, but will have to wait.

Patience  and perseverance will be required, since treatment and healing have to best buddies to resolve this problem.

A hospital also is like an opera and a drama. There’s a lot or orchestrated treatments and roles, with blood  drawn and tested, and a chorus of liquid drips, including antibiotics.

The roles are plentiful and varied, most performed by a corps of nurses, both male and female, who arouse you in the wee hours to dispense your meds, or bring you extra blankets amid frigid nocturnal corridors.

In theatrical terms, they are dressed in chic work uniforms in stunning hues, from black to baby blue, from purple to dark green, from hot pink to olive green, and more.

Last night, the hospital’s fire alarm screamed for an hour and 10 minutes, the second day for this fire drill faux pas to happen. Life moved on like nothing happened.

There was a fella down the hall, I could only hear, not see. Mostly during the evenings, he would moan a mantra probably only he could understand.

There are many house rules; you don’t get to decide what you’ll wear, so yep, the noble hospital gown, with backside open to show your derriere, is the only garment you wear. So you get used to it.

if you cannot walk normally, buzz for your needs. In my case, a therapist on my team mandates I use the walker to go to the bathroom, or move from bed  to a chair for meals. I cannot eat meals in bed; the logic being, I need to regain my awareness of the need to re-evaluate my life at home.

On several mornings, he’d visit the room and we’d walk the walk in the corridors together, engraining in my mind how to properly navigate  with the walker. The secret: with arms on both sides of the device, your legs and body must be close to the front of the walker, the best way to avoid a fall. He asked how many shows I saw in New York, and he couldn’t believe it.

My doctors clearly have bright minds and know how to put the puzzle together. You know the old adage but not being to read a legible doctor’s prescription? Kinda true; there’s a daily chalk board of sort lists the daily nurses attending to me; the docs scribble instructions  in shorthand, I can’t fathom what’s what.

OK, this is a revelation. The hospital has no shower in the rooms, so nurses wipe you down, with brisk moves like they’re washing a car, from top to down there. I cringed a bit, the first I had this bath. Now, it’s part of my daily routine.

I’ve eaten more heart-healthy meals since becoming a patient. You can order breakfast for lunch or vice versa, but I highly recommend the Angus on a bun with lettuce and cheese, the chicken jook, the chicken salad sandwich, and the roast park. Fruit faves: watermelon and pineapple, and have not yet a veggie salad I like. Forget the bagel, bad!  The waffles can be had with low-cal syrup, and the wedge of haupia is ono. But skip the so-called ice cream; like bad ice cakes on a stick, but an assortment jello and puddings fulfill a sweet tooth. You order in advance, but even with a late, you’ll get it anytime.

So an update; I’ve not crossed that bump in the read yet, so I’ll likely be bedding here for another two daysl Around here, you take one step at a time, one day at a time. There can’t be a tomorrow if there’s no today or yesterday. Every day matters…

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