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Behold the approach of the seven warning signs of Christmas

For the past several weeks I should have looked out for them. But today was when it really hit. I am talking about the seven warning signs of Christmas.

Now I’m not sure what all the signs are. But here I am on “Black Friday” — Really a horrible name for a day that is supposed gold for merchants who may finally get their books back in “black” — and here I was walking in Kroger earlier only to hear:

“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling,
Ring ting tingling too
Come on, it’s lovely weather
For a sleigh ride together with you … “

Such a wonderful song to hear where it has been cold enough to wear a sweater and a coat the last few days, only to get the shorts ready for another day or so.

Other signs abound. Commercials with Christmas music on TV. Santa Claus appears, though not ready for his IFR ride across the planet, at least the jolly fat man gets his lists together and gives them an initial once-over. Fat f***, I bet he doesn’t have Type II diabetes either. Ho, ho, ho.

Folks are out, shopping ahead of the crowd for their fake Christmas tree. As if the supply of faux spruces and firs will disappear, just as, did the old growth longleaf pines that once majestically stood over our deep pineywood lands in East Texas.

I can’t remember ever having anything but a real tree for Christmas when I was growing up in a small town in the boonies of Southeast Texas. Back in the day, property wasn’t all posted off to keep everyone away. The way things worked was that you went on the big forest tracts, most owned by the big timber companies, and you found a little tree to cut. It was the same as going hunting for squirrel, rabbit and even deer, when I was a kid. I’m not sure when it began, that the timber companies began leasing their land to sportsmen. That is, the land where they didn’t cut trees. And you just didn’t want to go on the timber company land for a tree anymore. You started worrying about things like trespassing. Or being hassled by a range rider, a private dick for large landowners who normally would just shoo you off the property on which you were trespassing. Some would hold you for the law. Some nuts would even shoot you.

My Daddy never had a chain saw. He always cut a tree with an ax, or a hatchet. I imagine if I went for a real Christmas tree, I would fell it with a chain saw. I’m too damn old and achy to cut down a tree with a hatchet

I am sure I will have to make a trek to some of the area shopping cities for work. But I have no interest in doing such for my own fun.

Anyway, the tell-tale signs are here. Can hear what I hear? Can you see what I see? Oh yes.

I had fun that one time I got to play Santa in a mall for a newspaper story. You know, a first-hand account, behind the scenes, an undercover account, the man behind the suit. But in the end, I had to go back and write a story about it. Ah, the damned quid pro quo again, taking me on a ride.

Oh well, ho ho ho. We’ll see more of these warning signs. Get ready for them. Have a good time. While you can

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A hospital stay is no excuse, but …

No blame can be cast toward WordPress (so far) relating to my absence here in the past week.

I was in the Houston VA hospital for a form of staph/strep skin disease. The hospitalization had more to do with the concern for my Type II diabetes than the particular or potential seriousness of the illness. It, the skin concern in an area which shall remain unidentified, was also painful. I won’t digress why.

Nevertheless, I am not yet near 100 percent so I shall concentrate on getting well. After all, I have a trip to the Colorado Rockies coming 10 days away. Hopefully I can figure out what to do about the inconsistencies of this blogging platform.

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You want to know what’s bothering me? Well, here it is …

This morning I woke early to catch a ride to the VA hospital in Houston. It was one of those 5 o’clock rising-type morns but luckily I made it back home after a five-hour round trip. That is really amazing considering how long it usually takes. This morning’s trip was for a test called an “EMG.” A definition of that term from the Mayo (Hold the mustard) Clinic:

 “Electromyography (EMG) is a diagnostic procedure to assess the health of muscles and the nerve cells that control them (motor neurons). Motor neurons transmit electrical signals that cause muscles to contract. An EMG translates these signals into graphs, sounds or numerical values that a specialist interprets.”

It wasn’t really a pass/fail type test so no No. 2 pencils were involved. I have had these tests before, one of which revealed I had a moderate case of carpal tunnel syndrome in my hands. This morning the EMG was taken on my legs and were conducted by the neurologist I have been seeing for more than a year for my lower back pain.

I had finally decided to once and for all have the VA determine what could be done with regard to my excruciating lower back pain that I developed several years ago. The diagnoses had jumped back and forth from a problem involving disc and bone spurs in my lumbar and sacral spinal regions. I underwent some three MRIs in as many years, all had noted no change in my discs. An early diagnoses had shown what was originally described as a rare condition called arachnoiditis. Subsequent examinations by doctors said not so much. But again, it seems as if we are back at that diagnosis. This time, according to my neurologist after my EMG tests this morning, it seems that my pain is likely compounded from what she, my neurologist, referred to as advanced neuropathy in my legs.

Arachnoiditis is when the arachnoid, a membrane that surrounds and protects nerves of the spinal cord, becomes inflamed and leads to scars that “stick together.” The condition can cause tingling, numbness and burning pain in the lower back and legs. Also:

 “Some people with arachnoiditis will have debilitating muscle cramps, twitches, or spasms.  It may also affect bladder, bowel, and sexual function.  In severe cases, arachnoiditis may cause paralysis of the lower limbs.”

Sounds lovely doesn’t it?

As for cures? Well, there aren’t any. Sounds even better, right? Actually, the medical world treats the symptoms mostly with pain management.

Neuropathy is, according to Mayo:

 ” … a result of nerve damage, often causes numbness and pain in your hands and feet. People typically describe the pain of peripheral neuropathy as tingling or burning, while they may compare the loss of sensation to the feeling of wearing a thin stocking or glove.

 “Peripheral neuropathy (as it is commonly called) can result from problems such as traumatic injuries, infections, metabolic problems and exposure to toxins. One of the most common causes is diabetes.”

Yes, I have diabetes, type II, and yes I am trying to keep it in check. But my neurologist says even if I keep my diabetes in check it doesn’t mean my neuropathy will go away. This condition, too, is mostly just treated for symptoms which is probably most annoying beyond pain in my condition is mostly numbness in my feet. I shouldn’t wear flip flops in order to prevent feet injury which can turn into something serious due to diabetes, but I do. Often I can’t feel if the flip flops are on my feet. The same goes for socks.

There are a lot of treatments for neuropathy. I am taking a couple of drugs for its treatment. One is neurontin a.k.a. Gabapentin and the other is Lyrica. The pain in my feet is pretty well controlled most of the time. My doctor is adding a lidocaine cream for my feet. But for either malady, there is nothing that can really fix me up.

Surgery is not usually indicated for arachnoiditis and may do more harm than good. My neurologist explained this morning that, most often, the attempts to remove the nerve endings that become stuck will cause surrounding nerves to become stuck.

The no-surgery option comes after also having a “drive-by” diagnosis yesterday by a VA neurosurgeon by telephone who clearly sounded as if he had something else better to do. I mean, every neurosurgeon I have ever seen was live and in-person and who usually gave me a thorough examination. Oh, but not this one, he was so good he could stick a copy of the radiology report up to his temple like the Johnny Carson psychic character “Carnac the Magnificent.”

Oh, and I can’t forget the bulging disc and other problems which have had me taking methadone for severe neck pain over the past seven or so years.

All of which brings up a quiz. Which is the correct question?

–Are I f***ed?

–Am I f***ed?

Well, either answer seems pretty appropriate. It is just of matter whether you want good language or a proper prognosis.

What’s for the future? Well, pretty much the same, for now. I will soon take a look at just how I can live financially with a disability retirement. That is pretty much what I have to figure out right now.

So that is what’s up with me right now. That, and rummaging around the pantry to see what is for supper.

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There are good eats at the end. Trust me. You’ll gain a few pounds.

It’s the weekend. Time to cut a rug. Or cut a tree. Or cut a big ol’ piece of pe-can pie. That reminds me. A week or two ago I had an appointment with my neurologist at the VA hospital in Houston. I stayed the day before at a hotel near the Texas Medical Center, where my hospital is located.

During that trip I managed to meet up for lunch with my good friends from Missouri City. That is a suburb of Houston, I suppose you’d call it. It is right next door to Southwest Houston, in Fort Bend County.

It’s been quite awhile since I’ve seen my friends Tere and Marcy. We all went to college around the same time though not exactly together. Maybe my friend Tere will let me write about how we know each other someday. If she does, maybe I will let me write about it. It’s been a year or more since we’ve all seen each other though. And I really like their company. They are some enjoyable ladies whom I am proud to call friends.

With that said, we met up for lunch that day before my appointment. We had not exactly decided where we were going to eat. Actually, we had not decided at all as it turned out. It was more like let’s go to this place and we ended up going to a place next to that place. Ultimately we chose a Pappas Bar-B-Q near Reliant Stadium, also near where I was staying.

As we were going inside, or perhaps as we were choosing to eat at Pappas, I told my friends I had eaten there long ago. As it turns out, I was wrong. I may have eaten at Pappas somewhere. Hell, they’re all over Houston, not to mention the Pappas Bros. Steakhouse, Pappadeaux Seafood, Pappas Burger and more, under the umbrella Pappas Restaurants all originating from a Greek family. Some of the family ended up in Houston selling beer coolers. Now the company is comprised of 8 different restaurants in 80 different locations in the Southwest, South and Midwest.

I didn’t know all that when I thought I had been there before and wrongly told my friends. I have been to Pappadeaux, located just down the highway from me here in Beaumont. No, I was thinking about another family which run the Goode Company.

The Goode Company Barbeque on Kirby Drive in Houston was the place I was thinking about. I rode there in a limo one night with some friends, one of whom was to be married the next day. I think our party lasted longer than the wedding did. Nonetheless, we pulled up outside and had some barbecue that night back in the last century. The barbecue was good. It was all good.

I have since been to the same good Goode barbecue place as well as the nearby Armadillo Palace, another of the Goode label. A very spiffy little bar and grill it is. In 2011 I would be made to move my pickup within the establishment’s parking lot so a limo could pull up. Inside the limo was some member of the Baltimore Ravens, who had beaten the Texans that next day. I should have just waited until I was finished with my meal. Or, until security came.

Before I get too way off track, as Tere, Marcy and I were checking out of Pappas we happened to notice these almost-larger-than-life desserts for sale. One was a cheesecake. The other a Pe-can pie. I bet five people could have eaten that pie. About one-fifth of that thing looked scrumptious. My blood sugar levels spiked just looking at them. We did not eat the dessert. We probably put on three pounds just looking at it. Just so you know, a whole pe-can pie is $13.95. You could probably feed a whole North African village with one.

I wrote all of this, just for the ending. Happy weekend.

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Hitting myself up with a needle gives me the incentive to stay healthy

These days I try my best to keep from a regular routine of insulin shots. My PCP, or primary care provider, said a half-dozen months ago that I was on the edge of requiring insulin. I didn’t like that idea too much so I worked and dropped my weight by about 15 pounds and lowered what is known as my A1C level. The A1C is the HbA1c, or glycohemoglobin, test. Says the Nation Institutes for Health:

 “The A1C test is a blood test that provides information about a person’s average levels of blood glucose, also called blood sugar, over the past 3 months … The A1C test is the primary test used for diabetes management and diabetes research.”

The normal level is below 5.7%. Over 6.5 percent is diabetes. My level during my last check was 7.1, which was down from 7.4%. My goal is to get it to normal. You got to have a goal.

What really drives me to keep my A1C at sane levels isn’t all the really bad things that can happen to you from diabetes. I have peripheral neuropathy, caused by diabetes, which makes it difficult to feel my feet. My feet can also hurt like hell, feeling as if someone is shooting you in the foot with a nail gun. I have the pain in my feet controlled pretty well with medications. That is good because I have a lot of other pain to deal with. There are much worse actions diabetes can cause: blindness, gangrenous skin tissue requiring amputations, death, to name a few. But it is the desire to not have insulin shots several times daily the rest of my life that drives most of my activities designed to keep my diabetic numbers in check.

I don’t fear the shots or the pain. I have been giving myself monthly B12 shots for about five months. My doctor says she wants me to take B12 the rest of my life. The injections are not painful or if they are the pain is like a nanosecond long or shorter. Usually it is pain free cause I jab it in my arm and cannot feel the needle. The shots are a pain in another way.

The juice in the vial always wants to come out real-ll-ll-y slow.  It could give Heinz ketchup a run for its money. I always worry about getting bubbles in my syringe and hitting some pathway through my blood stream that would cause an aneurysm. Of course, you have to sanitize with alcohol wipes beforehand. Wipe the top of the vial. Create a sterile field on your arm. Then I have to go check to see if my arm is bleeding after I give myself a shot. So far it has usually taken about 10 minutes from start to finish to self-inject with B12. It was longer that that when I first started “hitting up.”

The reasons I take B12 is more complicated than taking the injections. The easiest way to explain the need for the shots is that I have a B12 deficiency, supposedly.

Naturally, I want to be as healthy as possible for as long as possible so I give myself the B12 injections and watch my diet and blood sugar levels as well as the old A1C. But shots are what give me the incentive to try and stay healthy. Getting older requires higher maintenance, just like your classic car. I don’t know if I would say that I am a classic though. I know some folks who would say that. And I know some people who would argue like hell with you about such a statement.