Thursday, December 5, 2019

A Blessedly Ordinary December Fifth

It's that day.  Leading up to that day is a life time of days.  A life which should have had more time to live many more days.

I wish I could remember some other December 5th as vividly as I do this one.   Perhaps it would be one that came many life time days before.

It might be just an ordinary day.  Maybe a bustling morning. Everyone getting ready for school or work.  Joe would be up and dressed, pouring himself a bowl of his favorite cereal.
Jimmy would come into the kitchen and there would be banter between Joe and his brother.  "Stop taking my stuff."  "I didn't touch your stuff."  "Ma, can you make him leave my things alone."
I would be distracted by making lunches, calling for Jen to get up and get ready, thinking about that project at work that was overdue. 
I would say something like, "Come on you guys, let's get going here." hardly giving either of them a glance. 
After work, I would stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up something for dinner.   The meal could have been one of Joe's favorites.   Joe would have smiled when he sat down at the table.  Joe had the most precious smile.  It was a sweet shy smile. 

What if it that long ago December 5th were a Thursday evening and snow was in the forecast.   The kids would be all excited hoping for a day off from school and a weekend of snowmobiling.

The evening would be spent doing what we each would do every other ordinary Thursday evening.

Watching TV, listening to music, reading, strumming a guitar, yes even crocheting or knitting too.

On that December 5th I would not have woken up with an overwhelming sadness in my heart. I might not have even remembered what the date was. 

It would have been just a blessedly ordinary December 5th.

My son Joe passed away on December 5th, 2011 from colon cancer.  He was thirty-four years old.
He lived tens of thousands of ordinary days.  I am grateful for every one of them.

Thursday, November 7, 2019

The Mighty Pine - She Will Survive

Our little round 4 seater kitchen table sits in front of our sunroom window.  With chin in hand, through the slats of wooden blinds, the immediate eye level view from my chair is a wicker basket which is attached to the handlebars of my purple beach bike.  The handle of a yellow plastic fly swatter sticks out of the basket. Out of the corner of my I catch a glimpse of a brightly colored stripy patio umbrella.

If I lift my head slightly, my view changes and I immediately become mesmerized by the swaying branches and waving pine needle fingers from the old pine in the back yard.  The tree has grown so tall in its 20 year life, that from where I sit I cannot see the top of the tree.
A few years ago during a winter storm, the branches became so heavy with wet snow that the old girl's trunk began to lean, her roots desperately trying to maintain their deep hold in the wet cold earth.
The next day the storm passed, but temperatures had plummeted.  The skies were brilliantly cold blue.  The heavy wet clumps, still clinging to branches, had become icy crystals.
The high noon sun was warm enough to coax the snow off the branches, causing them to plop to the ground, sending showers of crystals up into the air like sprays from a fountain.
As her load began to lighten, the old girl tried to straighten her spine, urging her roots to pull her up.
I watched this unfold from my window seat and I could almost hear her majesty groan as each clump came crashing down.
By the end of the day the tree had leaned so far forward that we thought we had lost her.
Fortunately, friendly helping hands arrived with sturdy stakes and strong rope in hand.  The old girl was gently propped up and she survived.
Today on this gray November day, I am reminded of the struggle our dear pine endured.   I thought about how valiantly she fought to maintain her roots.  On that dark and stormy night I feared she had given up.
Today, as I sit in my usual spot, I stare out the window, contemplating my weariness. I flinch each time I move the wrong way because my aches are painful.
I lift my eyes away from the purple bike and towards the swaying branches of my lady pine.
I am hopeful for I know friendly helping hands will be there to gently prop me up and lighten my lode when my burdens weigh me down.

Sunday, October 20, 2019

I Have A Story To Tell - Part III - Frustration

We have had some fantastic fall weather so far.  Many sunny days, with brilliant blue cloudless skies and an occasional gray rainy day here or there.  Today is going to be one of the dreary and misty days.
If the rest of our life turns out to be like this fall's weather, I would be more than okay with that.

In September Ross was diagnosed with Alzheimers. Ross is still going through diagnostic testing which he should finish up this week.  Perhaps we will soon have more definitive answers.

I made a decision, with Ross' approval,  to write, in serial format, about our journey.  It will not be a daily journal, but more like on a need to write basis.

This post is the third in the series.

Today I need to write about frustration.

A little background information might help explain.  Ross is highly intelligent.  Just like his life, Ross' educational background was widely varied.  He proudly attended the Naval Academy.
After his second term, he realized the disciplined and structured demand of the military was not the life he wanted to live.
He went on to graduate from the University of Toledo in Ohio with a master's degree in math and computer science degree.
He found his calling in teaching high school students.  He had a special relationship with his students, who often confided in him, knowing he would be understanding and supportive, no matter what.

Ross and I have similar even tempered dispositions.   Perhaps it has to do with the fact that we both are the eldest of our siblings.  We had to learn early in our life to adapt, listen, and make room in our life for others. 
I believe because of our mild manners, we mostly continue to live an even keeled and calm life.
Of course we are facing something now that might probably be the most challenging of our lives.

Although our frustrations come from different challenges, and may happen on a daily basis, we seem to be able to work through our feelings by communicating in a calm and reasonable way.    Mostly.

Yesterday, we had an incident.

It began with a trip to one of the big box stores.  The kind where you need to show a membership card to get through the door.  Ross easily found his card, but could not find his credit card.   Since I had mine, it wasn't going to be an issue.

We did our shopping and went on home.   When we got home, Ross found his credit card in his way too small and crowded wallet. He then decided to sort and organize all of the items.  He started to make piles of the different items.  He put credit cards together, id cards together, insurance cards together, etc.

After that, he tried to count the various cards and items, over 20 I would imagine.

When he began to struggle with simply counting, his frustration began to build quite quickly.  In an unusual emotional display of what I perceived as anger, he insisted that I stop what I was doing (which was making lunch for us) to help him.

After a long week of many appointments and sleepless nights, I reacted in a not so calm way.

After a cooling down period, as we usual do, we came together to talk about what happened.

He explained how hurtful it was to realize that after a thirty-plus successful career as a mathematician he was struggling with simply counting.

I tearfully expressed the frustration I felt trying to remain even tempered and patient all of the time.

Today on this dreary, misty Sunday, I understand that we both need extra help with all kinds of things. But at this point when IT is still new,  I am freezing cold, in a state of shock immobility.

Monday, October 14, 2019

Rambling Through Monday

I feel like writing today.  Mostly, I feel like rambling.

Lately, I have started to wonder if I have any more stories left in me. 

Monday is change the bedding and laundry day.  We have several "not fun" appointments this month.  But, today is a free day.   I am thinking that I might try to record my knitting podcast today. (Joey's Scarf) That requires a lot of planning though.

Scary thing happened to me the other day.  I got a "ransom" note from a computer hacker.   What was upsetting to me was that the hacker knew my password.  Of course I ignored his demands and my computer didn't blow up.   I wanted to report it, but didn't know where to send my complaint.
I changed my passwords all over the place.  But wondered if the hacker knew my password, would changing my password prevent "hacker" from gaining all of my new ones?

I find I am more peaceful when I don't watch/listen/read "the news".  But, then won't I be uninformed?
Will I have to rely on small talk about the weather or idle chatter at the next cocktail party?
By the way, I haven't been to a cocktail party in years, so I guess I don't have to worry about that.

I woke up this morning before daybreak.  I turned over and heard Ross stir.   He reached over to find my hand.   Although at times he may not remember my name,  I believe he feels soothed by my comforting touch, just as I do by his.

I finished knitting a sweater I have been working on for months.  I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride that I had finished it.   I am not happy with the fit.  But, boy did it come out nice.

Ross and I completed a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle.  Jigsaw puzzles are interesting.  As soon as it was finished I took great pleasure in decomposing it.  Oh, I took a pic first.

I don't want to do another jigsaw puzzle in forever!

These days,  I have time to contemplate the clouds via the sunroom windows.   Today the glimpses of blue give me the smallest glimmer of hope.

     She felt bone weary.  When she was a girl, her dear grandmother would say those words, and then sigh deeply.   At the time it made her think of a bent over skeleton,  gingerly walking with a cane.  As she watched her grandmother bustle about getting dinner ready for her flock, her grandma hardly looked like her imagined skeleton.
    She now wondered what had made her grandmother bone weary. 

A story...perhaps?

Thursday, October 3, 2019

Finding Happy Pink Moments

Today is a gray day.   Which is actually nice.  Yesterday, October 2, it was sunny and 93F degrees in New Jersey.  Today we might not get out of the 60's.  Which is also, actually nice.  The air is heavy today.  That's not so nice.

The heaviness of the air makes me feel like I can't catch my breath.  I've been feeling that way a lot lately, though.  Now that I think of it, weather conditions probably have little to do with that.

Can't catch a break, can't catch my breath.

You know how when you log into Facebook for the first time that day and FB tells you that you have "On this day" memories to look at?

And you know how when you look at those memories from all the different years, you sigh and nostalgically smile and go "Aww, ahh and ooh?"

That's because most FB memories are smiley ones.   I think that's a nice FB thing.

This morning my "On This Day" FB memories went all the way back to 11 years ago.  Photos of my mother's 85th birthday party.   I sighed and smiled and oohed and ahhed.

I haven't felt like doing much of that lately.

On a day like this gray heavy air day, it sometimes helps me to reflect on moments during the day when I have been mindful of happy or peaceful feelings.

Feelings of happiness and peacefulness make me think of the color Pink. 

Here are some of what I'm calling my:

"On This Day "Pink Moments

  • Feeling exchanged-smiles love.
  • Ross hugs.  He gives the best hugs.  They make me feel safe.
  • Rushing to get ready to leave, to be on time, suddenly slowing to stillness to silently study fluttering wings on the feeder.
  • Seeing a favorite caller-ID name displayed on my phone.
  • A Balanced check book.
  • Finding all the proper fitting lids for every lid-needing container.
  • Watching, (yes watching) a dozen pair of hand knit socks dry.
  • Finding the last piece to complete the outer frame of a jig saw puzzle.
  • The peacefulness of clicking and clacking my knitting needles.
  • TV binge immersion.
  • When a headache leaves.
  • The weightlessness of climbing into bed at the end of a weighty day.

Writing helps me to recognize there is still pink in my life.

What color are your "happy moments"?  Tell me about one of them.

Friday, September 27, 2019

You Have No Choice or Don't You?


Particularly during difficult times of my life,  I've been told "you have no choice".  Perhaps because the messengers were ones who I perceived to be authority figures, I believed, without question that it was true, "I had no choice."

Recently in fact, when someone said that to me,  I realized the ways in which my body instinctively reacted to those words.
Perhaps in an attempt to shut out the noise, my shoulders immediately contracted and rose up above my ears.  My eyes squinted tightly shut, while my fingers began to massage my temples anticipating the headache that would surely come.   My stomach began to flutter, shooing away my appetite.
My arms, legs and feet urged me to run, away.

Usually the "you have no choice" command is in response to an expression of frustration on my part.
"I don't think I can do this any longer" is what I might say.  Maybe that becomes conveyed to the messenger  as, "now you have to take over."

Maybe we both could have chosen our words more carefully.
If the "you have no choice" person  listened more carefully, they might  have heard that the fear in my voice was an expression of my lack of confidence in my ability to cope.
What if  I would have recognized that I was questioning my ability to cope and instead of saying that "I can't do this anymore" I would have said, "I can't do this anymore, without help."

A short time later that day, after hearing that "I had no choice",  I sat with chin in hand, staring out the window at the cloudless, brilliantly blue sky, the moon still visible in the middle of the day.

Perhaps the absolutely clear sky brought the clarity I needed to realize that, of course, I had choices.

I began to make a mental list of my choices.

I realized that "running, away" was a strong desire.  The more I thought about that choice I began to understand that I didn't want to run far.  But, a walk around the block, under the clear blue sky was a choice that might help me add other choices to my growing mental list of choices.

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

The Silver Haired Lady

The other day we had an unordinary amount of errands to complete.   By nature, I am not a list maker.  I normally organize in my head and so far have been able to retain and access my "brain list" at will.

With all of the life changes we have had recently, my mind is in constant motion, sometimes it seems it is on the verge of spinning out of control.
That's why on this day, I sat down with pen and paper and made an actual written list. Also, because we had to make several stops at locations in different directions, it made more sense to see everything in front of me.

All of the errands required interactions with customer service people.  That's what prompted me to write this piece.

Last weekend, on Friday, my washing machine stopped working.  Of course it decided to quit right in the middle of a wash cycle.   That meant that I had a tub filled with water and sopping clothes.  I tried to manually coax it along, turning the dial mechanism gently, click by click.  No luck.
Obviously, the first thing we had to do was pull out and ring out each piece.  Then we had to bail out a full tub, bucket by bucket.
Since the machine is 17 years old, I didn't even bother to call a repair person. No I take that back, I did call a repair person.  I chose this particular company because they advertised an immediate call back.  They also had an answering machine with a message promising a call back.
They lied.
Perhaps it had something to do with the message I left telling my tale of woe about my "boo hoo" 17 year old, broken washing machine.
We went to Home Depot and purchased a washer and dryer.  My dryer still works, but it is also 17 years old, so I figured why not.  The new units could not be delivered until eight days after the day we purchased.

Which brings me to the first errand.   The laundromat.  I haven't had to use a laundromat in a long time.  The last time was probably twenty years ago.   Besides having self service machines, this laundromat provides a wash and fold service.  I chose the wash and fold.  Ross and I dragged our four full laundry bags into the building.  The guy at the register rudely shooed us away, telling us the person in charge would be back in 25 minutes. 

Off to a false start already. So much for having an organized and numbered written list.  So we dragged our four bags back to the car to continue onto number two on the list which now became number one.

After we completed list number two/now-one, we headed back to the laundromat.   Once again we dragged our four full laundry bags into the building.   Having never been in the laundromat, I wasn't sure where we were supposed to go or what we were supposed to do.
There was a woman behind a desk. I guessed she was the person in charge. 
You know how when you are in a place and a circumstance that you've never been in before, how it takes a second or two to acclimate to the new surroundings?  That's what I was experiencing.  I must have hesitated a second or two too long at the door, because Ms. Im-in-charge impatiently motioned us to her.
The woman was weathered looking, with short spiky black hair.  I would say she was in her fifties.  She probably spent her days off, baking herself at the beach.   She had a raspy voice.  She probably spent her breaks smoking out back.
"They have to be weighed," she said in what I felt was a tone of exasperation.
Not saying anything, I looked around, to see if I could tell where I was supposed to put the bags.
She pointed to a wire basket which sat on top of a scale.
I picked up one of the bags and placed it in the basket.
"Uh, do you have any blankets or quilts in there?" she asked.
I told her that I did have a quilt in one of the bags.
She said that I had to take the quilt out because it had to be weighed separately.
Not remembering which bag it was in, I rummaged through all four until I found the quilt.
I won't bore you with the blow by blow back and forth conversation which followed.
But in essence, she was impatient with me, even after I explained that I had not "done this before".
The rest of the "list" sort of went the same way.

There was the young man at the grocery store, staring off into space, waiting for me to realize that I had to re-enter my debit card because apparently it didn't take it the first time.
"Do I have to reinsert my card?" I politely asked.
After getting no response from the kid, I said "Hello?"
He turned toward me, I think he nodded.
He also reprimanded me when I put a head of lettuce into the bag with the dairy.
"No, no," he said.  "That goes in the bag with the vegetables."

The last one I will mention, number 5 on the list, was to exchange a pair of pants at our local department store.

Even though I was the only one in line at the exchange/return "customer service" desk, The guy behind the desk was apparently in hurry. 
I had one pair of pants to return, and two to purchase.
He wanted to know if I wanted a store credit or "put it back on your card".
Huh?  I said to myself.  What is he saying to me?
He repeated himself, the exact same way.
I still didn't get it.  What did "put it back on your card" mean.
I wanted to return one pair, and then buy the other two, is what I kept repeating.
He finally said, "I can give you a store credit or I could issue a credit on your credit card for the return.
Okay, I finally said, "Credit my card and then put the other two pants on my credit card."

When I got home, exhausted from all of the running around and dealing with "people", I began to wonder if having silver hair has something to do with the way I am treated by customer service people.

Do they assume I can't hear, or comprehend?  And if that were the case, shouldn't they be more patient?

By the way, the clerk at the bank, was an older woman with a pleasant manner.  The woman who does our clothing alterations was very helpful.   The young perky waitress at the diner was cheerful and served us with a smile.

Sunday, September 22, 2019

I Have A Story To Tell - Part II - The Beginning

This is the story of Ross and my personal Alzheimers Journey
In case you missed it, click here for Part I.

Part II - The beginning.

People have been asking me this question: "In retrospect, when you look back, do you now recognize that Ross may have been struggling with any kind of cognitive issues?"

Of course it's true, hindsight is 20/20.  What I am about to relay to you is apparent to me now. At the time, though, I didn't give it much thought.

All during our marriage of 18 years, Ross was the one who paid the bills, balanced the check book, did our taxes, etc. Although I understood how to do that task, I left it up to him.

 About a year and half ago he began to spend more time at the computer.  He was having difficulty balancing the check book.   At first, I didn't pay much attention to it.   At some point, though, I would jump in to help him.  Although he never missed a bill payment,  I noticed there were some errors in the amounts he was paying. 

About a year ago, I finally had to take over the task of the finances.  This year, for the first time in our marriage, I had the responsibility of filing our tax return.

Also, during this past year Ross was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  We became so engulfed in tests, biopsies, treatment options and ultimately a regiment of hormone therapy medications and a course of a nine week, 45 radiation treatment schedule that the cancer became our main focus.

Ross has always been an excellent navigator, with a terrific memory of places.  All he had to do was visit a location once and he could remember how to get there the next time.   He could envision where on he was on the map in his head.   He knew which direction he needed to head for get to our destination.

I always marveled at this skill.  Mostly because I have no sense of any of that.
I became a more relaxed driver when GPS became readily available.

The first time I noticed his navigation skills were faltering was when we had to start going for his radiation treatments.  Even though the route was an easy one, he could not remember how to get to the radiation center.  He also had tremendous anxiety about the daily trip.  I attributed that to the stress that anyone who was dealing with cancer would have.

About a month after the completion of the radiation treatments,  Ross began to experience hallucinations.  Our first thought was that it must be a side effect of his meds or radiation.
I also knew he was due for an eye exam, so I figured  he was just misinterpreting objects that were not well lit.

I have to say that we experienced much frustration with our health care community, as we were shuffled from doctor to doctor.  With each phone call we were directed to someone other than who we were speaking to. 

Eventually, on a late Friday afternoon phone call to our primary care physician, he suggested Ross go to the emergency room. 

It was there, in the hospital, that Ross had all sorts of tests to rule out other things that may have been causing his difficulties and hallucinations.  Through a process of elimination, the diagnosis was declared by a neurologist to be Alzheimers.

I suppose the bottom line here is that Prostate cancer took up all of our attention and energy, which apparently clouded and hid the signals that Alzheimers was trying to send.

So that is the end of the  beginning of our personal Alzheimer's story.

Now we are in the middle.

Part III next time.

By the way, my blog can not only be about Alzheimers.  I will also be writing about all or any other things that  inspire me to write.

Please feel free to comment.  We gratefully appreciate all of the support and encouragement that your generous hearts are sending our way.

Tuesday, September 17, 2019

I Have A Story To Tell Part I

I have a story to tell.  I don't know where to start.  Normally it would probably be best to start at the beginning.  But the beginning to this story was sly and cunning.  She came dressed in familiar garb with only the slightest of costume changes.   
"Look over here," she whispered trying to get my attention brushing my shoulder with a gentle but firm touch.
Of course now, when I reflect back, back to the beginning, I realize she was not subtle or gentle or quiet. 
I know now that she had been grabbing me by the shoulders trying to shake me to an awareness that I did not want to see.
On Friday, September 13th, 2019 my beloved Ross was diagnosed with Alzheimers.
This space here, "Lynda Grace An Hour Away", has been my safe space.  It's where I come to tell my truth. 
I asked Ross if he would be okay with me telling our story on LGAHA.  He was kind enough to say yes.   
Ross not only always encourages my writing, he is my biggest fan and cheerleader.  "Do you know how good your writing is?"  he continually asks.   
He is the one I show my posts to before anyone else sees them.  I  intently watch his face as he thoughtfully reads each and every word.   He never disappoints.  "It's good, really good." he says.
That always makes me smile and makes me want to continue to write.
I'm not sure what paths our story will take. 
My hope is that you, my dear readers will be kind enough to thoughtfully read each and every word, and encourage me along the way.  My hope is that our story will help others who are struggling with their own stories.  My hope is that our story will inspire and confirm the spirt of what is our common human story.
Today I want you to know that Ross and I are able to continue to enjoy our life together. 
The next time, on the next post, I will reflect back to what I now know was the beginning and begin to tell our story from the beginning.

If you would prefer to reach out to me, by e-mail you can do so here ""

Thank you, friends.

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

Move This Here and Put That There And Cozy Afghans Too

This weekend we had a tease of cooler weather.   I am happy to be living in a locale where there are definite season changes.   It's perfect for someone like me.  I tend to get get fidgety when things stay the same for too long.  I suppose it's the reason I frequently re-arrange my furniture.

I reflectively and mindfully understand that re-arranging things is a way for me to have control over something, while at the same time distracting myself from worrying about things that I have no control over.

An important factor that usually preempts a re-arranging episode is the acquisition of a new piece of something that I have to find a place for.    In a way, I suppose the acquiring of things is another example of a benign way to rearrange my "life".

I would describe the moods of acquisition and re-arranging to be obsessive and compulsive, respectively.

Ross will testify, in awe, of the many times he has left the house, only to come back to find a huge armoire moved from one room to another or the bedroom flipped all around.

The most recent rearrangement happened yesterday at 6:00 a.m.

There was a course of events precipitating this one, which I will attempt to describe.  It may seem rambling and have no context, but at the end it will all make sense.

I am an enthusiastically compulsive knitter and crocheter.  In conjunction with my hobby, I have joyfully acquired and accumulated massive quantities of gorgeous yarn.  In knititng/crochet lingo these yarn quantities are referred to as stash.

Most crafty people are constantly either oohing and ahhing over their stash or they are having extreme feelings of guilt.  It's a back and forth kind of experience.

For the past month or so I have been in the guilt stage of my stash.

I thought the best way to accomplish an effective de-stash was to knit and crochet blankets or afghans.   Blankets and afghans use up a lot of yarn.

So in two months I completed one afghan and am halfway through another.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that over many years I have knit or crocheted over 50 blankets and afghans.  Most of those have been given away as gifts.

I also have quite a collection myself.  Some are slung over the backs of sofas and chairs. Others are folded at the foot of beds.

I have come to understand that these creations, which have become a welcome part of our home,  provide comfort and warmth for not only us, but for many of our guests.
They are within easy reach and are often the first object the kids grab when they settle in to spend the weekend.

They trigger memories of my mom's last days when she stayed with us.  She loved our bright sunroom and would often nap on the sofa, covered up with an afghan that she herself had crotched.  That afghan, now lovingly draped over "her" sunroom sofa is a bitter sweet reminder of my mom.

As I worked on my recent afghan project,  I stopped now and then to admire the design of the stitch and the color choices I made.

When I looked at the individual blankets here and there around the room, I began to see them not only as comfort pieces, but as works of art.   It was then that I decided they should be displayed that way.  At that moment,  the compulsion to find a blanket rack kicked into high gear.

I began the search with our local second hand shop.  It was my lucky day because I immediately found a rack in very good condition.  I think I paid five or ten bucks for it.

But, I could only fit three blankets on it and I definitely have more than three.   It took me a couple of days to find another one.  Which I did at Goodwill.

Now I had two blanket racks displaying three blankets on each one.  But I had no place for them.
They needed a special place.

On a sleepless Monday, at 3:00 a.m. I began planning my furniture re-arrangement.  By the time I got up out of bed at 5:30, I knew exactly what was going to be moved and where it was going to be moved.

When I am in my re-arrangement mania, the adrenaline is pumping.   I can lift, haul, carry and push if necessary, heavy and awkward pieces of anything. By the time Ross got up that morning, I had moved around and or swapped two chairs, a lavender wicker desk with matching chair, a table, a foot stool and a storage chest.   I'm not quite sure I like the wicker desk in that spot.  I think it needs a piece of art on the wall above the desk.
I do like the blanket racks and the way they show off my creations.

I am content...for now.

 Are you a "re-arranger" or are you one who "likes things just the way they are?

Sunday, August 25, 2019

The What and The Why of It All

It's here I come when I am troubled. 

I often find that when I sit in front of my computer to write a post, I start with two intentional W's.
The "What" I am going to write about and the "Why" I am writing about the "What".

The What is normally straightforward.  It's usually an easy task to simply lay out the facts.
The Why, though, the Why takes more thought.   The "Why" may require more delicate handling.  I may have to prick my finger on a thorn or two before I am able to express the pain of the wound and ultimately be able to show you the beauty of the rose.

But today, the What and the Why seem to have switched roles.

Today the "feels" of the Why are eager to escape. They are wild, but hardly carefree. 

Today, the What cowers, hiding, in the depths of the thicket.

Saturday, August 10, 2019

There Is A Code For That... Or Is There?

A week ago Ross experienced  an unusual medical episode.  It happened mid afternoon on a Friday.
We weren't sure if was an anomaly or something that may reoccur.  I suggested we call Ross' primary care physician.

The call was picked up by the answering machine with the following information and instructions:
      "The Doctor's office is closed right now.  If this is an emergency please call 911."

I suggested Ross call one of the specialists he sees.   That office did pick up the phone.  We explained what Ross had experienced.   The receptionist determined that since Ross wasn't having difficulty with that doctor's particular proficiency, we should call his primary care physician.
We told the receptionist that the primary care physician was not in the office.  She suggested that if we felt we couldn't wait until Monday, we should go to the hospital emergency room.

We tried another one of  Ross' speciality doctors and we were told the same thing.

Our health insurance has a service called "Nurseline".   The nurse would be able to give advice about who you should call if you are unsure about which type of physician you should contact based on the symptoms you are having.
We told our "story" to the first "nurse".  She listened to the whole thing and then explained that she wasn't a nurse.  "I only handle insurance claims," she said.   I can transfer you to the Nurseline.
A pleasant woman answered the phone.  I asked if she was a nurse.  She said yes.
I told our "story".  She said, "Would you like me to set up in-home nurse care?"
I was confused because what we were describing would not have required in-home nursing care.   I told her that we thought we were talking to someone who could direct us to the type of physician we should be contacting.   She said, "Oh you want the Nurseline."  I'll transfer you.

We finally did speak to the nurse from the "Nurseline".  She told us to contact our primary care physician.

And around and around we go.

I called our Primary Care doctor first thing on Monday morning.   I asked if Ross could come in that day to see the doctor.  The receptionist asked why he wanted to be seen.   I admit I was being a little vague, on purpose.  I thought Ross would feel more comfortable speaking confidentially with the doctor.
"He's just not feeling right," I said.   She pressed for more details.  I finally told her that it was a follow up visit to a recent emergency room visit.  Which it kind of was.
She told us that the earliest Ross could be seen was Friday.
"If you feel he needs to be seen before then, I suggest you go to the emergency room."

I suspect the receptionist was pressing for us to state a more specific reason that Ross wanted to be seen was so that she could find the proper code to check off on the insurance forms.

Of course if we thought what Ross experienced was an emergency, we would have sought immediate care.

I remember, not that long ago, if the doctor was not available in the office, the patient would be able to leave their phone number and the doctor would return the call.

I also remember, maybe a little longer ago, when the doctor would agree to meet you in the office, during off hours.

I understand and appreciate the fact that there have been incredible advances in the science of medicine.

What I don't understand and do not appreciate is the fact health care seems to be driven by whether or not you are in or out of "network", whether or not your insurance is accepted and whether or not "there is a code for that".

By the way we did see the doctor on Friday.  He is a good doctor.  We like him.  He was reassuring and we felt much better after he spent time with us.

Sunday, July 28, 2019

On A Hot Sunday Afternoon in July

On A Hot Sunday Afternoon in July

As you can see Weatherbug is reporting the type of weather that keeps us indoors.  Anyway, Ross is feeling a little under  the weather, so it's just as well.

We are watching a series we have discovered called "A Placed To Call Home".

We're finding it interesting enough.  I believe there are six seasons.  So we are spoon feeding them, a few episodes at a clip.

I have started a new type of crochet craft.  I used to enjoy doing this many years ago.   It has since gone out of style.
No one uses doilies any more, do they?

A few days ago as I was attempting to de-clutter my clothes closet, which also doubles as my craft closet, I came across a group of  vintage crochet instruction pamphlets.  I had stashed them away in a dark green Rubbermaid tub with an impossibly difficult-to-open top.   Which is why I rarely go into that tub.
The intricate designs of the lacy doilies and table clothes piqued my interest.   I saw them in a new light, as pieces of art, really.

I am the type of person who can easily get obsessive.  Which is what I did when I decided I was going to crochet the "Pineapple Merry-Go-Round Doily", featured in the photo there.

I knew I had a ball of crochet thread somewhere in the closet.  I knew this because every time I got in the closet de-clutter mood, I would come across this ball of thread and debate with myself as to whether I should toss it out or not.  I was pretty sure I always voted to keep it.

I began to furiously rummage.  After fifteen minutes of an on my hands and knees session of  opening bins,  pulling out, and pushing stuff aside, I emerged from the closet, flushed, hair standing on end, with my treasure tightly clasped in my sweaty little hands.

Now all I needed was a very thin steel crochet hook.
I knew I had a stash of them.  I acquired a least 50-75 of these hooks over the years. Back when I was into the doily thing, I made sure I had every size I needed.  I also purchased vintage ones at estate auctions.
So I reluctantly went back into the now turned upside down craft/clothes closet.

As I was hunting around I pulled out an old sewing chest, again one I purchased at an estate auction.  I was sure that's where I kept the hooks.  When I opened up the chest, though, it was empty.  That's when I remembered that I had sold all of my steel crochet hooks on eBay.  That would have been about a year ago, the last time I did a craft/clothes closet de-clutter.  Apparently, the hooks lost that keep/throw out vote.
In my heated obsessive state, I was determined, though.  I must have kept at least one, I thought.
After I checked every possible junk nook and cranny, I found one in the coffee cup/pencil holder on my desk.  I guess it was one I couldn't sell.

See how tiny and thin these hooks are?

I was all set to go.  The closet would have to wait to be re-straightened and decluttered.

I started working on this doily three days ago. The pattern is total mind control and I have immersed.
It is extremely challenging.  I refer you again to the tiny hook.
I have restarted instruction number 9 at least a dozen times.   But today, today I conquered instruction number 9.   I whizzed through 10, 11 and 12.  I'm not sure what challenges "lucky" number 13 is going to bring.  But I say bring it on!

Tomorrow is Ross' last radiation treatment.  Hopefully, he will feel okay and will be able to go.

We are both relieved that this part of his treatment is over.   I can't say it flew by, because that's not how it felt.
I would describe it as each day floating by, the days blurring one into the other.

So far I've managed to maintain an even temperament, only feeling an imminent breakdown a minimal amount of times.

So, in case you haven't guessed by now, that's what the total immersion, obsessive doily making is really all about.  I don't think about cancer when I'm attempting a triple crochet cluster shell with a picot on top.


Wednesday, July 17, 2019

A Life Curve Ball and CBD

July 17, 2019

As we head into the rest of the summer, Ross is seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  He has eight more treatments to go.  YAY!   Aside from the tiredness, he's feeling well.

I've had a birthday and we celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary.

One of the things I have struggled with throughout my life is anxiety.  Having read a bit about the wide range of symptoms which can be attributed to anxiety, I would classify what I deal with as "manageable".  By that I mean it doesn't affect my life on a daily basis, but is more likely triggered by stress levels caused by life's curve balls.

Since we are currently in the midst of one of those curve balls, I have been wondering what I can do to manage the anxiety and stress.

Which brings me to today's topic.  The "miracle" of Cannabidiol or more commonly known as CBD,

According to an article in the Harvard Health Blog:

"CBD is commonly used to address anxiety, and for patients who suffer through the misery of insomnia, studies suggest that CBD may help with both falling asleep and staying asleep.
CBD may offer an option for treating different types of chronic pain. A study from the European Journal of Pain showed, using an animal model, CBD applied on the skin could help lower pain and inflammation due to arthritis. Another study demonstrated the mechanism by which CBD inhibits inflammatory and neuropathic pain, two of the most difficult types of chronic pain to treat. More study in humans is needed in this area to substantiate the claims of CBD proponents about pain control."
I've been toying with the idea of trying CBD for a few months.  During that time it seems as though the availability of CBD has become more widespread.
There are flag signs outside of all sorts of stores and shops advertising CBD.   It seems as though smoke shops were the first to bring CBD into their inventory.  Since I don't smoke (any kind of anything), I was hesitant to wander into one of "those" kind of stores.
Recently I noticed that our little local party store was flying the CBD flag outside of their shop.
When we entered the store, I wondered which aisle would contain the shelf holding the CBD products.
Party hats?  Balloons?  "Over the Hill" paraphernalia?
The woman behind the counter obviously noticed my furrowed brow and unsure demeanor.
"Can I help you find something?" she asked.
She was a friendly sort, introduced herself as "Patty" and was quite willing to tout the benefits of CBD.  Which, by the way, the various products were locked in a small cabinet on top of the counter.
Before I go further, I must tell you that I have been quite skeptical about the miraculous efficacy of CBD.
So, Patty had quite a job ahead of her to convince me.
But, Patty told us of a personal experience she had which led me and Ross to walk out the door with $100 worth of CBD products.

Apparently, Patty also has anxiety issues.   She also had been leery of CBD.  Her partner, Fran, though, was a proponent and advocate and swore by it.   But Fran could not get Patty to try it.
One day, Patty's father was rushed to the hospital.   Patty has extreme anxiety when faced with illness, hospitals and especially elevators.  All of which is what she would have to immediately be able to cope with.
In the middle of her panic, as she cried to Fran, that she would not be able to handle any of it, Fran said to Patty, "Open your mouth!"
She put a drop of oil under Patty's tongue and according to Patty, she immediately  started to calm down.

I thought, okay if it can work for Patty, it should work for me.

I bought the Gummy Bears.  Since Ross talked about pain in his neck, she pointed out the the cream would work well.  We got that too.
Patty told me to take on every morning, like a vitamin.   She said, "You don't have to wait for tomorrow morning, take one when you get home."
Which I did.
Here is what I experienced.   I immediately felt a strange sensation in my limbs.  Arms and legs.  I also began to get nauseous.   I  became jittery and irritable.  Perhaps the jittery and irritable feelings happened because I was upset about the other sensations.  I don't know.
I finally had to take an Ativan (tranquilizer) to settle down.
Since that first time, I was willing to try again, but with a lower dose.  I cut the gummy into quarters.  A quarter of the gummy did not seem to have any effect, good or bad on me.
I have not tried again.
Ross has yet to try the cream.

Now, every evening I take about a 1-1/4 mile walk around the neighborhood.  I listen to a book while I walk.  Currently I am listening to "Commonwealth" by Anne Patchett.
After my walk I settle in for some TV viewing and knitting.  I am working on a scrappy afghan.

Walking, listening to a book and knitting seem to be the "miracle" remedies I need to quiet the anxiety and stress of this latest life curve ball.

Have you tried any of the CBD products?  Have they worked for you?

Sunday, June 30, 2019

The Rest of The Story - Our Mini-Vacay in the ER

The ER
The last week in June has been the week that our family spends in Ocean City.  To accommodate the thirteen of us, we rent a couple of houses for the week. It has always been one of my favorite times.

This year because Ross has to have daily radiation treatments for his prostate cancer, we couldn't stay for the whole week.   We decided we would book a room at the nicest hotel in OC for the weekend.

Our reservations were for Saturday and Sunday night.

We had a nice day on Saturday, got in a little sun time at the pool and visited with the family at their rental in the evening.

Ross woke early on Sunday not feeling well.  We decided to head home.  Fortunately, we only live 45 minutes from OC.

A few hours after we got home, Ross' symptoms became more concerning.  Enough so that I called 911.

Our local EMT, emergency services are excellent.  Two ambulances and a police officer came within minutes.

They determined that what Ross was experiencing was not life threatening but recommended an Emergency Room visit.

This is where the real story begins.
We got to the hospital at 12:30 p.m.

Emergency room time is different from normal time.  It surely slows down in an emergency room.

There is a sign in each cubicle stating the times that one should expect to wait.  For instance, standard blood work and run of the mill X-rays might take one to two hours before results are known.
It's a three to four hour wait if you are having a CT scan.

I guess the emergency room Public Relations people thought that having an "expectation sign" posted would make the patients more patient.

Trust me, as the hours and hours go by, the sign becomes less effective.

I have a feeling that everyone reading this has had experience with hospital emergency rooms.

The mere fact that one is in a hospital emergency room is certain to bring on anxiety.

Over the years, one of the things I sadly have had to learn when dealing with medical situations is to be a patient advocate.  That also goes for times when the patient has been me.
I question everything.

For instance, before a diagnosis was specifically made the nurse came in hauling vials of medicine.
"I have your medications Mr. G," she cheerfully said.
"What are you giving him?"  I asked.
She rattled off the names of the medicines.
"What are they for?"  I asked.
She told us and I asked Ross if he wanted to take them.  He declined.
I must explain here that the medicines were for the symptoms Ross described.  Pretty much over the counter stomach soothers.
The point I am making is that the nurse was going to administer these medicines without explaining what they were why they were being given.
"I got the order from the doctor,"  she explained.  As if that was the only explanation we needed.

It's at this point that our story becomes scary.

I think by now it was about 3:00 pm.
The nurse came in with a cup filled with liquid.  She extended it to Ross and told him that he needed to "drink this".

"The doctor has ordered a CT scan," she told us.

"Why?"  I asked.

She explained that the doctor thought he saw something suspicious on one of the routine X-rays and wanted to get a more detailed picture.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you the stomach dropping, heart stopping feeling we experienced at that moment.

We asked to speak to the doctor.   A half-hour later he popped in.

He convinced us that the CT scan was necessary.

The time frame for a CT scan is this:  One hour after the patient finishes the drink, he is taken for the scan, then it takes 2-3 hours for the results.

The waiting was hard. 

After about 90 minutes the ER doc came in and explained that what he suspected was indeed true and he had ordered a surgeon to come in.  It would take about two hours for the surgeon to get to the hospital.   Then he left the room.

As you can imagine we were in shock, tired, and trying to digest what we were just told.

We asked to speak to the doctor again.

"Sorry, but he left." we were told.
Apparently his shift was over and another ER doctor, Dr. Galapos (not his real name) was then assigned to Ross.

Dr. Galapos came in to explain the condition that Ross had and depending on the severity, what the possible treatments might be.

I asked to see the CT scan results.

What happened next is still unbelievable to me.

A few minutes later, Dr. Galapos came back into the room.

"I've cancelled the surgeon," he said.
He went on to explain that the CT scan report indicated that Ross did not have what the original ER doctor suspected.

I was baffled.  No, more than that, I was relieved but furious at the same time.

Apparently the first ER doctor was in such a hurry to leave that even he didn't have the patience to wait for the CT scan results!

But, because one of the symptoms that Ross originally described could be heart related, Dr. Galapos still recommended that Ross stay for 24 hour observation.

By the way, Ross was feeling fine at this point.  All of his heart tests were negative.

We agreed for one reason alone.  Ross' cardiologist, Dr VJ would be in to see Ross the first thing in the morning.

Ross finally got into a room at 8:30 p.m.   Exhausted and hungry, I left to go home.

Dr. VJ did see Ross first thing in the morning and cleared him for release. 

By the way before the paper work was done and his IV removed, two people came into the room with orders for additional testing.  I had to explain that Ross had been released.  After verifying with the doctor they apologized and went away.

Need I say this?  Be your own patient advocate!

Aside from an occasional bout of anxiety, Ross has been doing okay. 

This is how I prefer to remember our weekend.

Thursday, June 27, 2019

I Had A Keratin Treatment and I Love It!

Update on my Keratin Treatment

In a recent post titled "Because I'm Worth It" I wrote about the protein treatment I was going to get on my hair.  The treatment is commonly known as Keratin.  As I wrote in my post, Keratin is supposed to bring youth back to your hair.  Smooth it out and eliminate frizz. 

There are two versions of the treatment.   A full and a mini or express.  I opted for the express version for two reasons.
First was the cost.  The price of the full process is about twice what the express costs. 

Amy, the hair stylist told me that the express would probably last at 6 weeks.   (The full lasts a couple of months and takes twice as long to apply.)

Second, I wasn't sure I would be happy, so I figured the mini would be a good trial.

When I wrote that post I had not yet gone for the treatment and had posted "before" pictures of my hair.

Before Pictures

I had the process done (along with a hair cut) and I highly recommend it!  It definitely made my hair softer, smoother and eliminated the frizz.
Amy suggested that I buy shampoo and conditioner specifically made for Keratin treated hair.  That was an additional cost, but the products should last for months. 

Here are a few "after" pictures.

Last weekend Ross and I thought a little get-a-way was in order.   We booked a hotel room in a NJ beach resort a little ways from where we live. 

It didn't quite work out the way we hoped. 

Yes, there is a story.  More on that in the next post.

Tuesday, June 18, 2019

Because I'm Worth It!

I've decided to obsess about my hair.  It's interesting how easily I can distract myself from my current reality.

I let my hair go gray (or is it grey?) about four years ago. While I did it strictly for practical reasons, I fell for the kindnesses I received from various people who gushed about how beautiful my hair looked.

The practicality of not coloring my hair is two-fold.  First,  I don't have to take the time to get a touch up every three weeks.   Speaking of that, I came to realize that if I didn't have that touch up every three weeks, the streak of gray along the roots was too obvious to fool anyone into thinking that chestnut brown was my natural color.
I did not like the mess of doing my own at home. Anyway I wasn't doing such a good job of it.  So I would get it done at the salon.  This brings me to the second practical reason of letting my hair go gray.  It gets expensive.

First Time Application
*$65.00 & Up
Retouch on 4-6 weeks
*$60.00 & Up
Retouch w/ Blow Dry
$70.00 & Up
Retouch w/ Haircut and  Blow Dry
$80.00 & Up


About the same time that I stopped coloring my hair, I also let it grow a little longer than I had been wearing it. 

That was a savings too.  Not as many trips to the salon to get a hair cut. 

Reading about why our hair grays is pretty depressing. 

Science of Grays
Your hair follicles have pigment cells that make melanin, a chemical that gives your hair its color. As you age, these cells start to die. Without pigment, new hair strands grow in lighter and take on various shades of gray, silver, and eventually white. Once a follicle stops making melanin, it won’t make colored strands again.
Gray hair is thinner than hair with natural color because its cuticle is thinner. Your hair needs that natural protection from water, ultraviolet rays from the sun, humidity, chemicals, and heat styling. Without that barrier, your hair loses water. So your gray will feel dry, fragile, and coarse.

My hair is more white than gray.  It is definitely dry, fragile and coarse.
Lately I have been giving serious thought to cutting my hair short and dying it a color.

I was talking to Judy, the woman who does my nails, the other day.  She told me that, "You should absolutely color your hair!"
"Get it cut really short and spiky," she said.  "And, oh, get some really funky glasses too!" she said.

  While Judy was going on about what I should do with my hair, I envisioned something like this:

Judy's alternate suggestion was more interesting to me.  She told me about a treatment I could get which would "make you have teenage hair!"
My ears perked up at that.
"Really?"  I asked.
She assured me, "It's wonderful!" she said.
"I get it done all the time," she said.
I think she saw the puzzled look on my face as she caught me looking at her hair.
"Oh, I am due for one," she said.

The treatment Judy told me about is called Keratin
Keratin is the protein in hair that makes it strong and lustrous. It tends to be weaker in curly and textured hair, which can result in dryness and frizz. Keratin treatments are a game-changer for people with tough-to-tame locks. Performed in salons by professionals, the treatments coat the strands with the protein to make them smooth. Some treatments make hair pin straight for months, while other formulas simply eliminate frizz. Choose the right keratin treatment for your hair type and styling needs to get the most from the smoothing wonder.

I'm interested.  I mean, come on!  Teenage hair! 

I've made an appointment for Thursday to get this miracle treatment.
By the way, it's not very practical.

Brazilian Keratin Treatment

Brazilian Keratin
*$300.00 & Up
*Prices may vary according to hair length, and thickness.
Up Charges are based on extra time, perm and kits used
(includes shampoo, conditioner and style)

Oh, no, I'm not paying $300 and up!   I getting the mini-keriten, which is only $145! 
To have teenage hair!  Come on!
As L'Oréal says, "I'm worth it!"

My Before Photo

Stay tuned.

Saturday, June 8, 2019

Keep Your Chin Up

A year ago I  stopped doing what was my regular exercise routine.  My now neglected regular exercise routine consisted of participating in a one hour weight bearing, aerobics class, three times a week.  

Each Monday, Wednesday and Friday, at 8:30 a.m., a group of about a dozen 60-80 year old women meet in the community club house to lift, march, dance, bend, stretch and mostly huff and puff for about 60 minutes.  The class is led by a 57 year old, very fit, very perky, energetic likable woman. 

Until a year ago, I diligently attended this class.  
I'm not sure why I stopped going.  It wasn't a gradual cutting back.  No, I just stopped going.
I came up with one excuse after another.  I blamed it on my aching hip or my chronic plantar fasciitis.  
I said it was more enjoyable to get up out of bed when I wanted to.  I loved spending the morning leisurely lounging around with my tea for as long as I desired.  Perhaps, I just ran out of steam.  
When I gave it careful consideration though,  I thought about the timing of when I stopped going.        
It was then that I realized it coincidently coincided with the passing of our little Maltese Rico.    
When that thought popped into my head, I brushed it away.  No, it couldn't be that. 
I mean I was sad to lose Rico after having him for nearly 18 years, but I didn't feel what I would describe as typically depressed.
But now, I realize that my self imposed cocoon hibernation was a form of grief.
Last week I went for an annual physical exam.   I wasn't surprised at my weight gain.  Leading the sedentary life style that I was now leading, of course there would be weight gain.   My blood pressure was a little elevated.  Again, not surprising.  
But what did surprise me, though, was the result of my bone density test.  It showed that I have Osteopenia.  

     "Osteopenia is when your bones are weaker than normal but not so far gone that they break easily, which is the hallmark of osteoporosis."

Having Osteopenia didn't surprise me, I've had it for years.  The astonishing thing about these latest results was that the Osteopenia has improved since my last bone density exam.  I suddenly understood that my aerobic, weight bearing exercise class was benefiting me much more than I realized.  

Because of our current circumstance (described in my last post "Did you ever have...") I am not available to attend the 8:30 aerobics classes.
Our community has a beautiful fitness center.   We also have a fitness trainer available in the community to help with one-on-one training.
I met with her last week for a one time, get me going session.
She helped me set up a routine, which I can easily manage.   
Ironically, unbeknownst to her, the best advice she gave me was more meaningful to me than just a physical benefit.   
As I was worked with the free weights, she told me to keep my chin up.  A couple of time she would reach over to tilt my chin upwards.   She told me that looking straight ahead with my chin up would help improve my posture. 

I realized that I do that often.  When I walk, I look down, not ahead.

Keeping my chin up is good advice, especially now, for more reasons than one.

Saturday, June 1, 2019

Did You Ever Have One Of Those Days?

Did you ever have one of those days?

I'm writing this on Saturday, June 1. 

Part One
On Thursday as I was going about, doing my usual morning routine of making the bed, throwing some laundry in, etc, I suddenly saw a flash of light out of the corner of my right eye.  It literally looked like a streak of lightening.  That was weird, I thought.
A couple of seconds later, I began to see these black string like things in my line of vision.
Thinking I had something hanging from my hair, I kept brushing my hand across my face. 
I looked in the mirror, I didn't see anything, but the stringy things were still there. 
Okay, there must be something in my eye.  A piece of dust or something.   
I asked Ross to take a look.  "Nope," he said.  "I don't see anything."
After a few minutes the stringy things subsided.  I still had one, though hanging out in the corner of my eye.
I chalked it up to stress, not sleeping well the night before and feeling more tired than usual that day.
We went about the business of the day.
When we were settled in after dinner, for the heck of it I decided to look up my symptoms on the internet.
I googled "eye problems". 

I came across this article from "WebMd" which fit my symptoms exactly:

Detached Retina

What Are the Symptoms?

A detached retina doesn't hurt. It can happen with no warning at all. But you might notice:
  • Flashes of light
  • Seeing lots of new "floaters" (small flecks or threads)
  • Darkening of your peripheral (side) vision
If you have any of those symptoms, contact your eye doctor immediately.

That last sentence sent me into a panic.   Contacting my eye doctor immediately was not an option at 7:00 p.m.  I did actually try to call.  The message on the answering machine told me to call 911 if it was an emergency.  The office would be open at 8:15 a.m. the next day, Friday.
At 8:15 on Friday morning, I talked to my eye doctor's receptionist and explained my symptoms.  She asked if I could get there right then because the doctor was only going to be in the office until 10:30.  First of all, the doctor's office is 30 minutes from our home.  Second of all,  Ross has his radiation scheduled for 10:00.  It seemed more important to me to make sure Ross got his treatment.  
I asked the receptionist if she thought I could wait until Monday to see the doctor.  She told me that actually the doctor doesn't deal with retina problems and would just refer me to a retina specialist. 
So, let me digress for a moment and reflect on that.   Why did the receptionist ask me to try to come into the office when she knew the doctor would not have been able to treat me?  I'm glad I didn't attempt to make that trip.
Okay so back to the story.   I called and made an appointment with a retina specialist for 2:00.  As I was scheduling the appointment, I asked the receptionist if it was necessary to see someone immediately.  She said, "I would suggest that you do."
That threw me into full anxiety mode.   Cause that's what I do. 
But, before my eye doctor appointment we had to go to Ross' radiation session at 10:00.  
Part Two
We headed to the radiation center at our usual time.   Traffic was light.  We were making good time.  In fact we were probably going to be a little early.   
The radiation center is on the east side of the highway on which we  travel.   But we first begin our travel on the west side of that highway.  Therefore, once we get to the location of the Radiation center,  we have to make a jughandle u-turn to get onto the east side.  
As we approached the traffic light where the jughandle is located, we discovered the traffic light was not working.  This is normally a busy intersection and it was this day.  With the traffic light not working, it was chaos!  Cars going in all directions, drivers not knowing when to stop and when to go.    
While we were in the middle of the round-about, cars were coming from all directions. We were all trying to merge and get into one of the three appropriate turn lanes.  As Ross was inching over to the center lane, I heard the crunch. 
My immediate reaction was "Oh, no!"  I threw my hands up and covered my face.  I asked Ross if he knew who hit us.  He said he did.  "It was that black car.  She's behind us screaming at me."
I told him to keep moving.  There was no way we could stop in the middle of all the traffic.  '"She'll follow us," I said.
We managed to get out of the jughandle,  and we turned into the parking lot of the Radiation center. The woman in the black car followed us.  We pulled into a parking spot.  She pulled in next to us.  She rolled down her window and continued screaming at us.
"Are you freaking kidding me!"  "You hit my car!"  "You hit my car!"
She was driving a large black Infinity SUV.  Sort of like this:

We drive a four door sedan.  Sort of like this:

I rolled down my window. and said, "Sorry, but we have an appointment there," pointing to the building with the sign which clearly states, "Radiation Onconology". 

She sort of sputtered, and I could see the humanity in her began to take over to tame the shrew.  
Ross, in a his typical way, very calmly and in a soft voice said to her, "There's no need to yell."
I chimed in with, "Cars can be fixed."
As an aside here, based on the damage to both cars, she had damage to the headlight on the driver's side.  We had damage all along the side of our car on the driver's side.  I do believe she hit us. 
But, since the damage was of only a scraping type, there was no jolt to either car, which means none of us experienced any kind of physical injury,  Ross and I were not going to argue with her about who hit who.
As we waited for the police to arrive, I noticed that people were hanging outside the building.  I told Ross he should go in to check in.  When he came out he said the electricity was out.  That meant that the radiation machines were not working. 
By this time Lynn, that was the screaming woman's name, had completely calmed down and began to apologize to us.   
She said that she doesn't normally act that way, but she had a lot of errands to run that day.  And she was going to be late for a lunch date she had with her sister.   
<sigh> Poor woman.  (sarcastically).
The police officer was quite understanding.  He wrote up the police accident report and didn't issue any tickets.
After the officer left, Lynn asked if she could give us a hug.   
By the way, I did happen to mention my upcoming appointment with the eye doctor because I probably had a detached retina. 
By the time it was all over, I kind of felt sorry for her.  She must have felt awful at the way she screamed  at this white haired couple, he with cancer, she with a detached retina. 
We went back into the center.  The electricity had just came back on, but now they were backed up with their own traffic jam of patients.  They told us we could wait, it would probably be an hour.  They said we could skip this session and it would just be tacked on to the end.  In other words Ross will still be receiving all 45 treatments. 
We decided we needed to leave, go home and relax a bit before my eye apportionment.

Part Three 
I going to be brief here.  I do not have a detached retina.  But what I do have is:
Vitreous Degeneration
What is the treatment for vitreous degeneration? In most cases, vitreous degeneration does not affect eyesight, but certainly may be annoying. There is no good treatment for removing the floaters. Surgery to remove the vitreous gel from the eye is reserved for more serious problems, like a detached retina. That is because the surgery can have complications. We recommend that people try to learn to see around their floaters. The floaters usually settle to the bottom of the eye like the snow in a snow-globe and stop being as bothersome as time passes. The brain also gets tired of looking at a floater all of the time and starts to ignore it. You will always be able to see the floater again if you concentrate on it, or if you are looking into the sky or another very light background. 

It's something to keep a check on.  

The moral to this story is... well I know what I learned.  How about you?