Dec 10, 2014

So here's the skinny...


and it's not me.  I had to get a new pair of jeans and threw them on to take Carole.  Unfortunately, those confounded long sticky labels that run down the leg proclaiming your size wasn't removed.  Hey people!  Here it is!  See my new size?  I left it on because I'm so proud of that higher number.  Isn't that what we always strive for?  A higher score?  What a putz.  That was our first laugh.  The second came when she almost flew out of the wheelchair.  I had to get a running start to get up that fricking hill in the parking lot and on the way, hit uneven pavement under a rubber mat.  I got quite a jolt and saw the back of her head come up about a foot while her body bounced forward.  I almost wet my pants.  I haven't laughed that hard since I got lost at the Ford dealership.  My husband asked why I didn't leave her at the door, get the car, and drive over to pick her up instead of struggling.  Oh.  Dumbfounded, I had no comeback other than "why would you even ask me that?"  That one usually confuses men and they shut up.
 
Next Wednesday afternoon, she will be admitted and have the surgery.  I found out that PVI ablation, typical for Afib, is not done in patients over 70.  So she will stay in Afib, have the heart's upper chambers disconnected from the lower, and another lead to help with efficiency.  Total dependency on the pacemaker.  If all goes well, she has an 80% chance of regaining her breath and not retaining fluid.  She is scared to say the least.  I downed a bag of Dove since we got home followed by an Ativan.  I guess these jeans won't be around too long.  The first 48 hours is critical and she may have to stay two nights.  Better yet.  It will take that long for her bedroom's bonfire to extinguish.
 
 


That's all I got.
As soon as I get the chocolate from under my fingernails, I may stitch a little.
 
Have a great day.
 
Thanks for listening!
 
 
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