THE AGONY OF DA FEET
Now that I have a healthy new heart and kidney, you might think that I am charging up and down hills, walking miles at breakneck speeds, or running up stairs like a young kid. I wish. I think I have mentioned in the dim past that I have great new parts in a somewhat shopworn body. A lot of the stuff that was iffy before the transplant are still iffy now. I am having some serious dental ($$$) work (thanks for nothing, weak-ass dental insurance), I am still a well-controlled diabetic, my hearing sucks (huh?), and now my feet have decided to lay down on the job too.
I had a touch of neuropathy for a while, but it went away. Neuropathy is due to deterioration of nerve endings usually in the feet or hands, in my case caused by long-term diabetes. It causes tingling, feelings of numbness or pain. Additionally, I started having a lot of pain in my heels. This was attributed to my famous flat feet, as documented in the Trib some time ago.
I now have the custom-made ($$$) orthotic inserts for my feet, and the results are mixed. Depending on what shoe I wear, it still hurts more often then not. Dr. S., my esteemed podiatrist, says to push on since he thinks I am not used to them yet. So I am valiantly trying to do that. It does make me walk kinda like a duck, even more than my usual gait which (have you noticed?) is already hilarious. If I had huge goofy shoes on, it would look like a circus clown's walk.
The neuropathy was addressed by my endocrinologist, and she prescribed Neurontin. So far I have not seen a major improvement despite a dosage increase. But again, I trudge slowly along hoping it gets better.
WARNING: UNFULFILLED EXPECTATIONS AHEAD 1/4 MILE....1/8 MILE....1/16 MILE...1/32 MILE...
We were unceremoniously summoned (what sort of ceremony do I want, anyway?) to the Cath Lab last Thursday, this time for the periodical right-heart cath. Again it was necessary to harvest a small chunk o' heart for a biopsy, and to measure pulmonary pressures. As I create this masterpiece you are now reading, I knoweth not what the results are for rejection, as determined by the biopsy. I did immediately find out my pressures were higher than before, which were intensely high already. Crap.
We anticipated a short process, and a quick getaway from The City on a busy pre-holiday outward commute. We arrived at admitting once again at 7:00 am, and also again I was the first case. Likewise, the Cath Lab was virtually deserted, as there were only two other customers. Hah, we thought, in and out pronto.
After the procedure, I was happily strolling back to the holding room, anxious to get outta Dodge. I walked past a room where several people appeared to be sitting around, kinda kickin' it on a slow day. Up jumps one of them, waving at me, and I recognize him as Dr. S., one of the cardiologists who have treated me in the past. "Hey, wow, you look GREAT. How ya' doin'?" he exclaimed as we shook hands. Then he becomes serious, and tells me my pulmonary pressures are fairly scary. He offers me a choice between admittance for treatment, or trying a home-based remedy. Hey, Ruth and Walt didn't raise no fools, so I sez "Hmmmmm....lemme think for a minute. HOME please!".
The Pulmonary Pressure Home Game would take "a few hours" to fully hatch. So instead of bombing over the Bay Bridge before all the boats, motor homes and lurching Volvos loaded with camping gear on the roof, we were allowed to either sit in the waiting room or wait in the sitting room. I can't recall our final choice, but whatever it was, it allowed us to read and/or play with our laptop, our phones, ourselves...whatever. As a result, we did have to sit behind a trailer-toting pickup with NRA and "Jesus Saves, But Moses Invests" stickers on the back as we left town. A last-minute decision to change course ( avoiding the always-horrible I-580) took us directly to Blackhawk and an early Mexican dinner, so it actually didn't end up too badly.
A QUIET YET DELICIOUS THREE-DAY WEEKEND
We have often been afflicted with car trouble on three-day weekends, way back when I had stoopid cars and motorcycles. It is really not a concern any longer (Hey, I got all Hondas now, doods) but old habits die hard. So we pretty much stay close on those weekends, and this was no exception. We did have a nice invite from Jen and Paul Schnurr for a BBQ on Sunday. It was extremely enjoyable, definitely no lack of high quality food or drink, in the great Chaw/Schnurr tradition. OK, It's a Moss tradition too, so sue me already.
We hosted Robin and Patrick on Monday, luring them with hope of our now-famous version of Margarita-marinated Shrimp Tacos. And whatever margaritas weren't marinating shrimp wound up in tall, salted glasses for immediate consumption. Except for Yours Truly, who enjoyed a Coke Zero or two. I slaved over dinner and dishes, but these days, that's what I am all about. As they often say on American Idol, "you made that (dinner and dishes) your own, Dog". Indeed I did.
PARTING SHOTS
Our outstanding Photography Editor, Cheryl Moss, is placing a photo of our excursion to the Monterey Motorsports Reunion. The purpose is to hype you all up about the submission of this and many other pictures, expertly taken by Transplant Trib Chief Photographer Allen Chaw, for consideration of inclusion in the 2011 Heart/Lung Transplant Calendar. Please do NOT start a campaign on Facebook or Twitter (I am not Betty White), and I beg you not to phone, email, or snail mail any UCSF Transplant Team members on my behalf. They frankly don't care, they are making the call all by their own selves. We will know the answers sometime in October. Perhaps I can obtain a huge quantity of these beauties, and pass them along to you for a very attractive price. But probably not. I think it is one per transplant, but I got two transplants, so I should get two, right? Or is there a 2011 Kidney Transplant Calendar? I will have to get back to you on that one (as Sarah Palin lamely said to Katie Couric).
Well, that is it, I have reached the federally-mandated limit of BS that I am permitted to dump on you (ewwwwww). So it is with a heartfelt (get it?) "Hi Ho Silver, and Away" that I take my leave.
Bob/Irv
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