Thursday, February 12, 2009

My intention today was to bring you up to date on spring baseball training which begins this week with the reporting of pitchers and catchers.

But the harpies of the sports press and the hyenas of the television camera will have none of that. They are having their “fun” with news that Bret Favre, an “indecisive” football quarterback of immense fame whom, I am proud to say represented my home state for 17 years has decided to retire. 

Favre says he will not play anymore for the rest of his life.  “Sure, he’s retired.” The harpies  say, “Until August maybe.”

But God Bless Favre and his indecisions. Some where deep inside, Bret wants to play although his aging body suggests differently.

Like so many of us oldsters who felt the gnawing once we gave up the career, Bret’s a hero, no matter how many interceptions, how many losses, how many sacks, how many critics. He still wants in the game. HE WANTS TO PLAY.

Once he retires, he will never do that again. It doesn’t come around again, not for him, not for any of us.

But it wasn’t Bret Favre I wanted to talk about today. I wanted to tell you more about those pitchers and catchers and spring training. I’ll do that tomorrow.

Wednesday February 11, 2009

I have good days and bad days. Bad days are those in which just about every ounce of energy has left the building, shortness of breath becomes painful, thoughts of heart attack are frequent and I am content to lay most of that day in bed. 

I look out the windows to dark shapes on the streets, few porch lights, a passing car. I have been awake to greet the morning newspaper carrier. Last night I watched fog loom  and recalled the numbers of movies I had seen over my life when fog and mystery were the topic. When I grow weary, I find some comfort in a lounge chair but I do not sleep there..

I have the company of two police scanners and listen fascinated through the late evening at car chases, license plates being checked, homes being checked for prowlers, an ambulance call, whispering undercover cops following a suspicious drug deal—all into the night.

On Christmas Eve, I was so engaged in late night scanner listening I decided to see how many calls police would have to respond to in the last half hour before Christmas Day.

Like a miracle, the scanner grew quiet about 11:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve and remained so through the first 15 minutes of Christmas morning. I remember marveling at what was fully 45 minutes of  Peace on Earth.

Monday, February 9, 2009

I know I have promised not to dwell in this journal on the many discomforts of my diseases on the assumption that any such conversation might make me sound like a whiney old man. But now I have to tell you about dry mouth.

No one of my discomforts is as unpleasant as dry mouth, the result of disease and diuretics I take to prevent fluids from forming in my stomach and legs.

I am “a man in the desert,” gasping and longing for moisture.

Doctors are reluctant to reduce the diuretics because they fear liquid pools more harmful than extreme thirst, although I have asked,

Dry mouth will swell my tongue or cause it to stick to the top of my mouth, affect my speech, closes the throat, and make it difficult to breathe or swallow. It can cause extreme confusion and is a way of life for me all day and all night.

Diabetes has made my feet, ankles and legs dry and scaley and causes itching.

Doctors offer over-the-counter medicines as a solution, but they are difficult to apply and leave a bad aftertaste for many hours. Their effectiveness is questionable. 

Instead, I have sought solutions on my own. I find sucking a simple ice cubes the best way to gain moisture, relaxing and comforting quickly both the swollen tongue and closed throat. For deviation, I have re-discovered orange, grape and root beer popsicles as treats from my youth.

I chew hard candy, splash cold water in my face and mouth, lubricate my feet and ankles with a soothing skin conditioner. I drink cold power aid over ice cubes.

While I have become aware as to how bothersome dry mouth was, I was unprepared for the experience that made me realize that it was dangerous as well.

That realization struck when a large molar from the back and left of my tongue suddenly fell into my mouth. Only days later small portions of a second molar came loose, broke apart and fell into my mouth. Then an entire 4-set bridge fell from its place in an upper gum.

A retired dentist friend of mine gave me some answers. Increased dry mouth and the absence of saliva as a protective cover, had cause my gums to release hold of the teeth and loosen the molars . None of my doctors had mentioned this in the numbers of interviews we have had in the period of my treatment. It never became a topic of concern—ever.

That’s why today I found myself in a dental chair and my regular dentist a new member of my treatment team. Today he successfully capped the broken molar and a week ago he replaced the bridge to its prope place.

A gold-filled molar at the back of my mouth, was not replaced and today I learned that the gold  had earned me a $46 credit on my recent dental bill.   

Tomorrow—I learn bad news at the University Medical School