I spent two hours working on a post. I was still not finished. And I lost it. I mean, I can’t find the damn thing!
My laptop has gone through some extensive changes upon its return a few weeks ago from HP. Probably the biggest change is Windows 10. Yes, I took the plunge and installed for free. So far, I like it much better than Win 8.1. That will probably change. But it does seem as if the operating system is more user friendly. One thing I must add about having had this machine repaired. I now no longer am paying for the PC and it is still under warranty. Excellent!
This disappearing act has nothing to do with Windows 10, of that I am pretty sure. I have lost my text several times before on my WordPress content management system used on my blog.
I was even unable to save a draft of what I wrote today. I will give you a hint though, I was writing about the Eagles. It was a mini-review of Don Henley’s new, so-called by some, “country album.” So far, of the three songs I have heard released and on his website, the songs kind sound like early Eagles’ tunes.
As well, I had intended to do a mini-review of the autobiography I read by former Eagles founder and guitarist Don Felder. It is called “Heaven or Hell: My Life In The Eagles (1974-2001.) The book, co-written by Wendy Holden, is kind of a tell-all type read of celebrities for which I have little fondness. But I found this to be a well-written memoir that travels through a lot of turmoil from the time of Felder growing up in Gainesville, Fla., to his rock star years and beyond. Felder had a teen life of playing in bands and also teaching the likes of Tom Petty the art and craft of guitar. The would-be Eagles guitarist also had teen friends the like of Duane Allman and Stephen Stills. All these future stars would bounce musical ideas around each other perhaps setting each other’s place into rock posterity.
I have not heard all of Henley’s new work, as I said, so I will not attempt to do a review. But I did really like the Felder book although one should have an open mind reading such a book.
Since I lost the previous text I have written, I will, as promised welcome you to the “Hotel California.” I hope the video doesn’t have to check out and leave eventually for copyright reasons.
It’s late afternoon and I feel as if I had worked today. I am talking about really working. I did put in two hours, but the Sec said we could take two hours off early for the upcoming Labor Day holiday. How generous.
I spent those two hours of work this morning trying to get my new “smart card” to work in my computer. The damn thing doesn’t appear very smart if you ask me.
There are a couple of things I’d like to say, but I feel like I am falling to sleep. So I wish everyone a happy Labor Day weekend to all, everywhere. Even if you don’t celebrate it — you need to celebrate. Labor Day good. Celebrate good. Cheerios good!
Ahh. Here I am with the television on and it seems Donald Trump is speaking. What is good about this scene? The volume is off.
Oh. Now there is a commercial. A firefighter is nonplussed because years of varied mouth abuse has left him with ugly teeth. Maybe it was all that firehouse food. Firefighter Bad Teeth goes to a dental implant place and afterwards he feels much better. I don’t know why.
The fireman guy looks 50-something. He should be ready for retirement. He can go on painting houses on his days off. Nothing wrong with that. My brother John was a painter. I worked with him some so I guess that makes me a painter. He paid pretty decently for a brother. Maybe I was only a painter’s helper. That’s better than being hamburger helper.
I actually painted a couple of houses by myself. I really hated doing that. Back to Bad Teeth. What does the fireman think a good smile will do? Will he use his dazzling smile as a beacon to find lost children in the city sewer system? Perhaps he will smile as a painter. His painting client will say: “That’s it. That’s the color I want. It’s off white.” The firefighter/painter says: “Damned dentists!”
Whoa. Back to CNN. Joe Biden is talking to a nursing student. Huh? Some reporter, who reminds me of Clark Kent, is speaking about something or the other. Now, back to the CNN desk. Here is a blonde. Wait, there’s a blonde. Everywhere there’s a blonde blonde.
Jeb Bush is on TV. Where have you been, Jeb? Jeb is also pictured with his Tweet, or is it tweet. Tweet, tweet. What do you want, little bird?. And heeerrree is Trump. Then it is back to Jeb’s tweet. Back to Trump. He’s looking grump(y). Grumpy Trump(y). Trump wants to make America better. Better than what?
Wow! Now there is one blonde, one white and one black. Hold on! That’s one white, one black, and one blonde. Is it the Mod Squad? No it’s only Gloria Borger. Isn’t she a brunette? “G.L.O.R.I.A. Gloria!” Sing it Van. Back to politics. “Trump Should Speak English,” that is what it says below Gloria. It’s “Developing Now.”
Isn’t the problem Trump is speaking way too much English?
Now another brunette speaks. Where did she come from? And what is that she is sitting on? Why it’s a book. Actually, it’s a book of poems and she handed it to me. It was written by an Italian poet from the 13th century. And this is where we are. Sitting here, with the TV on and the sound turned off — all tangled up in blue.
How many among us have heard the expression: “When it rains, it pours?” Everyone, even those in Botswana I would think, has heard it. One might be excused for asking: “When it rains, what pours?” Or perhaps others might wonder “When what rains, what pours?”
I could guess with a fair amount of certainty that the adage didn’t originate with Morton Salt’s PR team around the time World War I began to break out. I must confess the Morton Salt girl always flashed some pretty legs. Of course, one must think that one who goes ga ga over inanimate girls’ legs must be a true perv.
Regardless of where, why and when the “When it rains, it pours,” expression originated most would agree the adage generally strays from the subject of water.
Many use the expression that whenever something bad happens, it may often lead to bad occurrences times two or three or 44. The saying could mean those who experience drought will find a drought-ender that wipes out entire valleys with flash flooding. And there are times when something good happens, one may receive too much of a good thing.
Now, I didn’t have to spend 180 words for an introduction. But I did. And I hope it might help illustrate how something good may lead to something too good.
During the mid-1990s I began using the Department of Veterans Affairs for health care. Then and on into the 21st century I had insurance and had no copay to see a doctor and only $4 per prescription copay,
When my last cervical spine and fusion surgery took place in 2001 I was very fortunate that many of my pre-op tests and doctors’ visits were handled at no charge by the VA. I only paid some $1,000 out of pocket due to reaching coinsurance levels. The surgery itself had a pretty hefty price for the three hours on the table. A piece of hip was harvested and was used in the fusion that also employed a titanium strip. I spent about four days total in the hospital due to a bladder infection. I should have been released the day after the surgery.
I now believe the extra hospital stay was caused by some nurses trying to jam a catheter into Russell the Love Muscle one too many times. The guy who became my urologist was called to the hospital. That physician confirmed my suspicions as to what caused the unwanted and unneeded malady. When I confronted the hospital on the procedure, the doctor denied his previous statement. The prick! No pun intended.
But let’s back up just a little. I had a non-VA neurosurgeon do my operation. He was very talented. He stopped my hand from becoming numb and the surgery held off the pain for about five years.
Yesterday, an attractive physical therapist speaking with what sounded like some European accent expressed amazement at the surgeon’s handiwork. An incision of less than an inch in a fold of the front neck was made for the procedure. The physical therapist could not find the 14-year-old incision site. The scar made from a cervical laminectomy in the early 90s is still visible. That scar runs from the bottom of my neck, downward about four inches.
On an odd note, even though I could give my neurosurgeon high marks for his work in my 2001 operation, his office staff were all pretty much bitches. I may have to revise that latter opinion, however. I had read that the doctor who did such great neurosurgery was sued by a staff member due to his alleged sexual overtures. I try to give people a fair shake.
The reason I went to a non-VA neurosurgeon was because I was told it would take six months before I would see a VA neurosurgeon. And as luck would have it, I was called by the VA and was told there was an early opening to see their guy. It was scheduled for Aug. 8, 2001. That was the day I underwent Anterior Cervical Disc with Fusion surgery with a civilian neurosurgeon.
It was only until the last couple of years that I started seeing specialists at the VA without having lengthy waiting periods.
It seems I have some specialist appointment every month or so. This afternoon I was called by the pulmonary department of the Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center in Houston to see if I needed oxygen during the day. This is only after having to change two appointments scheduled within a week of each other with the Sleep Lab. One of those is to fit me with an oxygen appliance for my CPAP machine to help me stave off sleep apnea. I will go to the first appointment but not the second one because I haven’t taken a vacation in two or three years. It has been so long I can’t remember.
The physical therapy I am going through is at a local non-VA center that the VA will pay for. Other than liking this nice lady’s hands on my neck yesterday, not much has helped me now in the two weeks I have spent in physical therapy. I am given 40 visits. I don’t know how that clinic will take to the fact that in late October I am taking a week off. I am going somewhere. Just where yet I don’t know. I do have two places in mind. If one falls through, I will try the other. Both are with old friends, one who lives about 800 miles whom I have seen every now and then in the past 30 years. The other, who lives about 350 miles I haven’t seen in about 35 years. I keep up with him now on Facebook. I call the other friend probably once every month or so.
I am glad the VA is finally making more specialists and specialized care available to vets, even if the provider is outside the VA system. If we could see actual specialist each time, without having to specifically ask for them, the situation would be much better.
So often I will go to a specialty clinic and see a resident, or a specialist in training. I don’t mind it depending on the reason for my visit. But if I want to see a specialist in particular I don’t want to see a newby MD or DO who is working his or her ass off trying to become a specialist. Most residents with whom I tell understand. The others, well, they aren’t in my wheelhouse.
Oh, I’ve already made this meme much longer than I had planned. But last night I started having bright spots in my left eye once I turned off the lights. And I began having floaters in my eye, they remain today. I called the VA Tele-nurse, who is one of the really bright spots (pun intended) in my socialized care. The floaters may be something associated with age and eyes. Or the floaters and the bright spots which I noticed after turning my neck to the left, might be something more. Time, and, oh yes, another medical visit, will tell. Hopefully.
When it rains, it certainly pours. But we’re not talking water.
Just Monday I started physical therapy. I didn”t plan it. I suppose one never plans it. The VA is paying for my therapy through its Veterans Choice program which allows veterans, in certain cases, to receive non-Veterans Affairs providers. In most instances the program might allow vets to be seen where VA facilities are too great a distance. In my case, the therapy was set up here because it would cause too much of challenge physically and professionally to attend physical therapy several times a week some 85 miles away in Houston.
I think this is maybe the fifth time I have had physical therapy. I’ve had it mostly for my cervical disc problems. Last year I had therapy for a month after arthroscopic surgery to repair a meniscus tear in my knee.
I have to say that I have never had successful physical therapy. It may make me feel better as I walk out the door or maybe for an hour or so. In my case over the first two visits so far, I have felt much worse than I originally felt. I am receiving treatment for my neck pain after two neck surgeries over the past 20 years. I also am getting treatment for a back pain that may or may not be caused by an inflammation of a spinal membrane called arachnoiditis. And as I have to repeatedly say, “No, it isn’t something caused by a spider bite.”
A physical therapist who, did something or other to me yesterday, said a muscle in my back is causing my problem. That may be but that is now three diagnoses for my lower back pain and the first by a non-doctor who is forbidden by law to diagnose medical conditions.
I had a visit with my podiatrist today at the Houston VA, some four months after I had hammertoe surgery. All is well there at least. I told Doc that I was a reluctant patient in physical therapy. He told me to give it a shot. That is what I am doing.
But as I told my DPM, I have to weigh the pain I have from physical therapy with the pain I have been having in my neck and back. Right now, the pain increase I have from physical therapy is outweighing the original pain. That cannot go on for too long, no matter how generously I am being treated by the VA.
Oh, if you don’t see my writing here very much in the next few weeks, it will be due to someone deciding to “improve” my health and well-being.