I have been to the V.A.Hospital, and I have enrolled. My initial evaluation of Hearni, the Hernia, has been moved up twice by me, due to the pain, and on the 27th of this month, I will finally see a surgeon and set a date for the operation. The pain moves around my abdominal area & I fear other abdominal wall weaknesses may be leaking with more of the same. A fear that I hope the surgeon will dispel upon examination. But I can no longer tread head at all, as I did in the past. Even the mildest of gaits, ruins the day of, and the day after the most calm of exercises. And more often than not, as of late, daily, Herni gives me considerable pain as I try to take it easy, and wait out the system.

Ah! The initial trip to Indianapolis to start the ball rolling. I have found a V.A. service that provides van transportation to & from
my nearest small town to the hospital for appointments. I had arrangements all set up & was ready to go out the front door to meet said van, when Bubba changed his mind about letting me go solo. The driver had called me on the eve before and advised me to pack an overnight bag, in case I was admitted. Although, I felt this precaution to be strongly akin to going over board, I, by and large, tend to do as I am told, so I did. The sight of me heading out the door with a packed bag put Bubba in a bit of a tizzy (as did the sight of me packing to visit Mark & Kim on the trip that never was did materialize earlier in the month). He told me to truck on down to the meeting point & tell the van folk that he would be taking me up. News they accepted less than gracefully, but I thought it to be way cool, in a "knight in shining armor" kind of way.

What he didn't tell me is that he was dead-tired with body aches, and a headache, and a weak feeling all over his body. What he didn't tell me is that this was his first day of a terrible bout with the flu.

After we finally found our way through the maze of hospitals on "Hospital Hill" to the V.A.'s front door, he dropped me off at the entrance, so he could go find a parking space. Almost an hour and a half later, my enrollment business was finished, and I called his cell only to learn he was STILL looking for a parking place. As the weather was turning from rain to sleet to flirtations with hail, we took refuge in a nearby Comfort Inn parking lot to await my late afternoon appointment. He never mentioned his flu symptoms. Miraculously, we found parking when I returned for my 3:00 p.m. appointment, as most clinics close at 4:30, and the place was starting to clear out. Once inside, he waited by my side without complaint.

When my name was finally called, the guy who took my vital signs told me that seriously, I had made his day. I wouldn't give up asking until he told me why...my smile, my response that "my life is good" and my "thank you , very kindly", when he had finished with his preliminaries. He told me that even the smile was a rare commodity in a V.A. hospital. Hmmmmm-I had taught myself those other two clever comebacks a few years ago, and now, they are second nature, and I know why I taught myself to make them second nature-they are a part of the me that I aspire to be. Good for me!

Well, I saw a nice doc who called in another nice doc, and I cannot think of one of the medications that I am currently taking that they do not want to change or eliminate entirely. Clean slate...well, I am willing to try...for free or almost free medical care (as last year's income was below $9,000) I am willing to try just about anything. This will involve riding the aforementioned van for 160 miles round trip every visit and a whole new method of medical care, but I think I can roll with it.

Come 4:15 pm, we headed for Bubba's truck through the cold rain & snow & sleet. He warmed it awhile and scraped the windshields before turning on the windshield wipers, one of which, immediately broke. I couldn't believe it when he told me he had a spare lying in wait for occasions just such as this, then he went back out into the storm and replaced it. He was shivering when he returned to the warmth of the truck's cab, and by then, 4:30 traffic had turned into 5:00 rush hour, and it took us a good 15 minutes before some kind soul allowed us to enter the bumper-to-bumper parade crawling past Hospital Hill. 1/2 hour later, when we had finally cleared the big city with it's big city traffic, he ventured his verbal guess that he might have the flu.

Turns out he was right...he had contracted a kick-ass flu that at one point had him asking me, only half jokingly to go get his rifle, and to please shoot him to put him out of his misery. We were both sure that I would catch it next, but as I had a flu shot in the fall, and it appears to have covered the brand of flu Bubba brought home, I didn't catch it. Headaches and hernia pain-pinches I got, but mercifully, that flu passed me by. That flu or one like it, has hospitalized at least 3 older folks that I know of, but I am willing to bet money (and I am not a betting woman) that Bubba still won't get a flu shot next year. But believe me, if possible I will inoculate myself against future flus, whenever possible.

Bubba is content to have me take the van in the future, except of course when that surgery date finally rolls around...then, he is taking the day off to stay by my side. We really ought to get married.

My mother continues to float further and further out into her dementia-laden space. I cry often, when I think back upon how bright and intelligent she used to be, but it is what it is, and I straighten up and recover pretty quickly until the next time. I miss my father more than words can say, and I cry often, but again, come around more quickly than in my recent past, as again, it is what is.

I told my therapist, Cecile, that I had a theory regarding my flirtations with minor depression. I am in pain, and thus my brain is not secreting the serotonin it usually does when I am in better spirits and pain free. She told me that I was one of the most well-adjusted people that she knew, and maybe I didn't need to see her anymore. I am not yet ready to go on without her, but I feel I can safely procrastinate visits until this hernia problem is over & done. I feel that I will want and need her support when I tackle interviewing for my next dead-end job. I just want to enjoy my day and come home with some minor feelings of accomplishment. I have no delusions of grandeur. A woman has to know her limitations, or so said Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry about a man...Anyway, visits with my Mental Health Therapist appear to be drawing to an end all too soon. Go figure.

I have been an avid, dedicated fan of Stephen King for over 20 years. I gifted myself his "Duma Key" in hardback, when I saw how big the book was, and knew from experience that waiting for the paperback would only make the book harder to read due to it's lengthiness. Oh, good for me! I love this book! I cannot wait to finish it, so I can start to re-read it with my fever to finish it, at least somewhat abated. And you know, it is the strangest thing...Stephen King wrote that following his accident, his painful recovery could only be appeased by writing..."more powerful than any pain pill," he wrote.

"Duma Key's" main character is an artist who finds that only painting quiets the pain he suffers after an traumatic accident that only Stephen King or painful reality could imagine. Then, there is me. This hernia is nothing to be taken lightly. The pain often awakens me in the night. But when I read or write, I forget about the pain. I forget about my sorrows. I live the book. Indeed, my love of reading has proven to be a strong and powerful friend. Long may it reign-my mother loved it, too.

And now, back to the book!