Here's to the Goils

Everyone should have some kind of clan to feel connected and several years ago me, my friends form Kindtree Mary-Minn and Eileen used o get together once a month to have a drink and bs about life.

Another friend of mine started a group for older women to look out for each other called The Bag ladies of the World (BLOWS). In a homage to that, I started calling the three of us “Goils” as a rebuke to grown women being referred to as girls. Eileen passed away but the gatherings grew to include more ladies who lunch, mostly from Kindtree.

I never had a real support group until later in life and so far it’s been a good excuse to get away from the house, have a drink and talk to someone.

Women have always formed kinship with other women to meet whether at the local well, doing laundry in the river or making a quilt. It’s a way to trade information, catch up on neighborhood news and health issues. It’s important in modern times, more than ever to keep those connections, they come in handy for survival of disasters personal and communal. We are social creatures and a phone or email is not the same as living interactions. Make a note gals and-- guys especially-- it’s good health to have a group you can share with and have a good time.

Here’s to The Goils.

Quote of the day

 Some things never change. . . don't even get him started on the music.

"The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers."

                                                                                    --Socrates
 

The Impatient Patient

Surgery is not for sissies and I was anxious about the experience. Having one’s gut cut open and fished around in is not on my list of enjoyable experiences but it had to be done. What I thought was a simple procedure I found out later was, in fact, a major deal. I managed some levity making car sounds as I was wheeled to the OR and gasped as I entered what looked like an over lit space ship. Lots of big lights and machinery.

“Choose a favorite dream Alisa,” I heard the anesthesiologist say as I drifted off. Two and half hours later I awake and sent to a nice room. I was met by a dear friend in full motorcycle gear including leather chaps as she had arrived on a Harley. Heather and a tall fellow named Jim were my assigned nurses.

“I specifically requested a cabana boy in Bermuda shorts.” I joked while I settled in. He understood the assignment and showed up the next day in a Hawaiian vacation themed shirt.

The staff was universally kind, attentive and it helped ease my painful state. Despite the drugs, I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. I was hooked up to an IV and monitor for oxygen/ heart rate in the most comfortable bed ever.

They are big on preventing blood clots and insisted on inflatable leggings that massaged my calves. I’m a fussy sleeper in the best of conditions so it was hard to relax when it felt like I was being loved hugged repeatedly by two large boa constrictors. Around midnight I asked they come off but there was no rest with interruptions for vitals check, blood draw and alarms from the gizmos going off.

I felt well enough the next day for a walk with Jim’s assistance, good thing too because I would have been lost in the maze of hallways and sameness. Big windows with seating offered views of the Mackenzie River on the east side of the building and Eugene on the other. Two floors below, amid the expanse of a gravel rooftop, was a brand new playground for the pediatrics ward which looked too safe to be enjoyed by kids. The hospital has a ski lodge vibe to it, and apparently the architect used to design them and knowing construction, I was not impressed with it’s quality. It seems nothing is designed or built well in this country anymore.

I met with the surgeon Dr. Clark and she wanted me to stay until I pooped but I was bored with nothing to do but wander the halls and cruise cable TV.

“Can I go home, please, please with sugar on top,” I pleaded like a child stuck indoors with a cold. She thought for a moment and relented. (The sugar on top did it I’m sure.) So I’m back home to continue my slow recovery, resting a lot and using the time to get more writing done. Stay tuned.

Medical Treatment as a Byzantine Ritual

 

So I have a hernia, that requires surgery and a stay at the hospital, nothing life threatening just annoying. But first I have been poked, prodded, scanned, asked a million questions and given extensive preparation instructions. Good thing it’s not an emergency or I would have died before filling out all the forms and signing documents. My advice, make a handy list of medications, people to contact, medical history, current information before anything happens cause you’re going to get asked a lot for it. The hospital is going overboard compared to years ago I had ovarian cysts removed at a private clinic, all I had to do was arrive on time and fifteen minutes after the anesthesia wore off I was out the door.

I guess they want the right info on the right person, God forbid they amputate the wrong leg or remove the liver and you die, these accidents have happened and keep me awake at night worrying. I am assured this surgeon is really good and has done this and all the testing is to make sure I’m sturdy enough to endure it.

Medical treatment requires a team to take care of this old, autistic patient. I’m getting help from an advocate and friends thank God, but there are a lot of moving parts to this I have to take care of too and the stress is tiring.

There is still the procedure, recovery, healing and hopefully insurance to cover it. I tend to be cranky when I’m in pain, well crankier than usual and adjustments are never easy. Getting old sucks and requires stamina to deal with the constant repairs to the old body.

I shall be out of touch while I recover but will give a full report later. Stay tuned.

What Walt Wrote