Don't Eat Quackers in Bed

This seems to be the week for wildlife! On Friday morning, about 6:30 a.m., Daisy the Golden and yours truly were at St Ferdinand Park in Florissant when we came across this family gathering of ducks and ducklings. Daisy was very good and didn't ty to terrorize them, but Mom and Pop Duck moved the little quackers to the pond shortly after just to be sure.

Daisy and the Turtle

Today was wildlife day at Sunset Park in Florissant. Daisy the Crazy Golden Retriever and I were out on a morning stroll a little before 6 a.m., and the entire area was alive with rabbits, squirrels, geese, and one critter we hadn't come across before. We were almost done with our walk when Daisy spotted a turtle sunning himself in the grass. His head was stretched out on his neck as far as it would go, but he quickly withdrew to his shell as the very excited pup raced up to him. He refused to come back out, so I was slowly able to coax Daisy away from him and let him go back about his business. Daisy really wanted to get nose to nose, so I'm glad he wasn't a snapper.

Physical Therapy

OK, so I've alluded to the fact that I've made some strides in recovering from my recent stroke. My neurologist feels I've improved as well, but decided to send me to physical therapy to work on my balance, and, hopefully, help strengthen my left arm and leg. She was also concerned that one leg was shorter than the other, and that it was contributing to my sometimes unsteady gait.

Luckily, my therapist was very laid-back and took a common-sense approach to my rehab. He explained that recovery was best served by first making sure I didn't fall and injure myself further. He also reassured me that my legs were both the same length. He designed some exercises to help my balance and strengthen my back, hips and legs. As I walked out on my first day, I thought rehab would be a cinch since the exercises were so simple. Simple didn't turn out to mean easy.

First, I overestimated my physical condition. Just a few weeks of inactivity, and a small stroke, had really reduced my strength. The exercises took only a little over half-an-hour to complete, but by the end I was pretty worn out. Is this the same guy who could bench press 200 pounds not all that long ago? I was now a 230-pund wimp.

Secondy, several of the exercises require me to lie on the floor. Not bad in itself, but as soon as I started, Daisy the 75-pound Golden Retriever decided I was inviting her to play. The whole time I was working one leg or arm, I was trying to arm wrestle a hairy version of Hulk Hogan with the other! The more I pushed her away, the more she charged back for more. By the time I finished, I was covered with sweat, fur, and dog slobber. Somehow, I don't think this is what my doctor had in mind when she said I needed some help in getting back to 100%.

The last part of my routine involves walking heel to toe and alternate high-stepping. To get enough room, and have a wall to help balance me, I moved outside along the side of the house on our carport. The whole time, I could imagine the other folks on the street wondering why their crazy neighbor was goose-stepping up and down his driveway like the Waffen SS.

By the time I finish rehab, we'll probably have to move.


wa

On the Road to Recovery?

Well, it's been a month since I suffered a brain injury due to stroke, and I guess it's time to pause and figure out where I started from and where I'm headed.

Four weeks ago, the left side of my body (really, it's as if someone drew a line straight down the middle, from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet!) was numb, my left arm was pretty much paralyzed, and my left leg was so weak I had to lift it into bed or into the car by using my right arm. To walk, I had to either hold onto someone else, or use a cane to keep from falling (which I did, spectacularly I might add, on several occassions).

Nightime bathroom excursions were pretty crazy, as I tried to get out of bed, navigate to the bathroom, and then find my way back to bed without falling, running into the wall, or bouncing off the mattress when I collapsed back onto it on my return.

Mrs Merc Man and Daisy the Golden Puppy didn't get much rest, what with catering to my every need or trying to pick me back up off the floor when I didn't quite reach my intended destination. Every teetering journey across a room and every attempt to get out of a chair required them to drop what they were doing and come to my rescue/assistance. On top of being depressed about my illness, I felt bad that I was wearing them out with worry as well. Gimlet, Froggie Girl, and Grandma Gimlet all pitched in to help, and as much as I appreciated all their support, it's tough to see your family stressing themselves with worry over a middle-aged invalid who didn't spend enough time taking care of his health. Somehow, I had to get better.

And slowly, things have gotten better. My left leg still wants to drag and/or turn under when I walk too much, but I can actually flex my ankle now and I haven't kissed the concrete in a couple of weeks. My left hand is no longer drawn into a claw, and I can actually grasp and hold things with it. I actually applied deodorant to my own underarms recently, and the improvement in the household atmosphere is akin to the sweet smell of success!

The left-side numbness is beginning to resolve, although it's replaced by a tingling, wake-up-from-sleep kind of pins and needles that feels just plain creepy.

The biggest pain is the overall feeling of exhaustion I've had since my illness. Simple tasks completely wear me out; just cleaning up can leave me wiped out for a couple hours.

So far, I'd give my recovery a score of C. I'm much improved over the last four weeks, but I still have a long road ahead. Unfortunately, the road is not lined with comfy couches, golden arches and ice cream sandwiches. Couldn't I just be 25 again? 35? 45? Hell, 55!

You Can Eat All the Green Vegetables You Want.....Gee, Thanks!

A big part of my wake-up call after suffering a stroke was having to accept the fact that I was going to have to change my diet. Fast food burgers, pizza, and the multitude of sundaes, sub sandwiches, etc, etc, that I dearly loved were now verboten if I was going to avoid diabetes.

Having high blood pressure, I also needed to eliminate as much salt from my diet as well, and I quickly became obsessed with reading food lables to try and find something that was good for me and also tasted like food instead of cardboard. Let me tell you, it don't come easy.

Nutrtion websites proclaim loudly that you can eat all the vegetables you want and still have a healthy body. Problem is, at least to me, is that I have yet to meet a carrot that tastes like french fries or a monster pizza. Even a bargain brand ice cream beats broccoli hands down, unless the green stuff is smothered with melted Velveeta.

Then there's the no-salt thing. I never realized how much of a salt-o-holic I was until I started doing without, and with the amount of sodium loaded into almost every prepared food, canned vegetable, bakery goods, etc, it's really hard to avoid overload. Even my favorite frozen pancakes hold more salt than the Dead Sea!

At the beginning of my quest to eat better, I thought the biggest challenge would be controlling calories. At 6 feet tall, I weighed 240 pounds the day I came home from the horse-pital (just some equine humor--it's close to the day of the Preakness), so to reach my ideal weight I needed to shed some 60 pounds of "relaxed muscle". After eliminating carbs (sugar and those foods easily converted to sugar in the human body), and salt, I wasn't going to have to do much calculating to control calories. In 3 weeks, I lost 8 pounds, and with what I've been eating, I don't miss food all that much. Eating to live is a great slogan, but a lousy aperitif.

All in all, I have to admit that my diet is a lot healthier today than it was before my brain exploded, but I'm hoping some lonely scientist somewhere is on the verge of discovering a pill that gives one the metabolism of a hummingbird and the blood vessels of a giraffe. You see tadpole, because of their looong necks, giraffes have very high blood presure to shoot blood all the way up to their pointy little heads.

In spite of all that pressure, they suffer no ill effects. Go Tarzan!!!!

Ahhh...the New Packard We've Heard So Much About

I read in the paper that Obama Motors (the car compny formerly known as GM) may import cars from China as part of its future comeback strategy. That got me wondering; how in the world can you be sure the car you're buying is really 100% American made?

Then it hit me! With Obama opening up Cuba to American tourists, why not allow us to buy up all those old, pre-Glorious Revolution vehicles caught in that time-warp in the Carribean?

Si se pude!(yes, we can!)

Drugs for the Drug Rep

As part of the hospitalization after my recent stroke (or CVA--cerebrovascular accident), my cholesterol levels (LDL-180, HDL-39, TGs-116) and blood pressure were found to be high. I was also checked for diabetes, and although my HbA1c (6.1) didn't classify me as a full-blown diabetic, it wasn't low enough to let me follow any diet I wanted.

Part of my discharge paperwork included prescriptions for Toprol XL 50mg/day for blood pressure, Lipitor 20mg/day for cholesterol, and Aggrenox 25mg/200mg/day to prevent blood clots. In the space of one week, I had gone from taking Prilosec OTC for occasional heartburn, along with the intermittent aspirin or allergy med, to becoming a walking advertisement for the pharmaceutical industry.

Everything was proceeding without fanfare until I developed an allergic reaction to the Aggrenox. Being the type of guy who can't follow convention, I didn't get the common side affect of headache. Instead, I broke out in hives, my lips swelled, and I got short of breath. For a moment, I marvelled at the irony of surviving a brain injury only to die from a medication reaction. After the episode passed, I called my doctor and ended up on the cutting-edge medicine called aspirin. Why didn't they think of that the first go-round?

As a drug rep, part of my job is to explain to physicians why the meds I represent are important, what type of conditions they treat, and provide infomation re side affects. It always bothered me that doctors would be reluctant to prescribe a drug a patient really needed because of concerns about side affects. In my mind, the benefit of preventing a heart attack (or stroke), far outweighed worries about a headache or upset tummy. Now that I was on the other side of the debate, I better understood the impact adverse events have on patients.

Lots of people end up on lots of medications, and every additional agent adds another risk of reaction, not to mention interaction with other meds. Patients who suffer a severe reaction may end up stopping all their teatments, especially when it plays to the human desire to ignore health problems in the hope they'll go away on thir own.

In my case, my numb left side, and limp left arm and leg were constant reminders of what had happened to me, and were ominous indications of what lay ahead if I didn't change my ways. So I'm taking my meds, praying they'll do their job, and thanking God someone was smart enough to invent them and give me the chance to avoid another event.

As for the HbA1c level, I was going to have to improve my diet to keep from progressing on to full-blown diabetes. But that's a whole story unto itself.

The "Home" Front

After spending a very long, sleepless Thursday night in the hospital, it was great to be back home with Mrs MercMan, Daisy the Golden Puppy, and Grandma Gimlet, who graciously offered to stay over and help us out during my fall from good health. I ate the best dinner ever and slept the sleep of the saved in my own comfy bed.

Saturday went pretty well, considering I was still awfully shaky on my feet and my left arm was darn near useless AND numb. I felt good enough on Sunday that Grandma was able to go home herself when Mrs MercMan's brother John came by to visit in the p.m. I guess I should have known that my recovery wasn't going to happen overnight, but such are the dreams of fools and the recently injured.

Monday morning, I got out of bed and limped into the living room to turn off the outside light and open the front window curtains. I had just flipped off the light switch and started to back away from the front door when I lost my balance and collapsed onto the floor. Next thing I knew, I had 75 pounds of Golden Retriever licking my face while I tried to figure out how I was going to get back upright. With Mrs MercMan's help, I finally got back on my feet and scuttled to the kitchen to lick my wounds and have breakfast.

After eating, I went to the bathroom, where I decided I should get cleaned up by taking a bath. You can probably see wht's coming. In spite of having just fallen after merely backing up, how am I ever going to be able to get in and out of a bathtub, especially with a game arm? Exactly. I was able to lower into the tub just fine, but after washing off, the real dilemma came when I tried to push myself up on the side of the tub. I was able to get my good leg under me, but when I tried to balance with my left, I toppled over the edge of the tub and crashed heavily onto my left side on the bathroom floor, just missing the vanity's sharp edges and still clutching the soap dish I had pulled off the wall in a futile attempt to arrest my spill. As I lay dazed and embarrassed on the floor of our teeny tiny bathroom, Mrs MercMan and the aforementioned puppy tried to open the door without smacking me in the head! Except for the pain, cursing, and damaged fixtures, it was like a scene from some slapstick comedy. By Monday evening, I had some vicious-looking bruises and was convinced I was bound to be permanently disabled if I didn't knock my brains out the first week I was home.

So far, my return to North County was less than a triumph.

The Hospital Stay

Once I had been diagnosed with a stroke, the hospital wasn't about to give me a couple aspirins and send me on my way. As a result, I spent a night in the hospital while undergoing some diagnostic tests to determine what caused the event to happen. This was my first overnight in a hospital since the day I was born, so I got to experience a whole bunch of "hospitalisms".

First off, there's no such thing as "hurry" in hospital lingo. Mostly, you lie in a very uncomfortable hospital bed while a parade of doctors, nurses, residents, and God knows who else come by to poke, prod, and take blood samples. This is epecially true during the night, when someone comes by every 3 or 4 hours to take temperature and blood pressure readings. In my case, my roomate and I had different teams caring for us, so we got double the number of visits day and night. Our room was right across from the nurses station, so we also heard every phone call, dropped clipboard, and loud conversation from the phalanx of nurses staffing the floor. Needless to say, we didn't get much shut-eye, and even when we did manage to fall asleep, someone came by to shake us and ask us for our name and date of birth.

Next, I learned that once you're a captive audience, doctors are going to run every test they can charge to your bill, usually without telling you in advance. You may be just starting to eat your imitation salisbury steak after fasting the last 16 hours, but if an order comes down for an ultrasound, MRI, or CT scan at the same time, you better hope the nurses will smuggle you in a sandwich when you finally get back to your room later in the evening.

Finally, once they decide to discharge you, all the attention stops. Don't get me wrong, I was ecstatic when I learned I was going home, but I left with a whimper, not a bang. My nurse had just gotten a bouquet of flowers delivered to the floor, so she ran into my room, rattled off my discharge instructions, and disappeared, leaving me pretty much on my own. I didn't even get my wheelchair ride to the curb. I limped my way down to the parking lot, dragging my left foot behind me while trying not to fall. If it hadn't been for Mrs MercMan, I'd probably still be sitting on a bench somewhere on the hospital campus! By the time we got back to the house, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself in addition to being totally wiped out. The one silver lining to the whole mess is my determination to get better and work hard to make sure this never happens again.

CVA--From ER to Recovery

Easter 2009 started out as a great weekend. I took Good Friday off, and spent the day relaxing with Mrs MercMan and Daisy the Golden Retriever. I even got to do a little woodworking, building a chinchilla bed for one of Gimlet and Froggie Girl's "doodles". We won't mention that I built it to the wrong specs, but it all turned out OK.
Easter Sunday, I enjoyed visiting with family and savoring our holiday meal. The only fly in the ointment was a little numbness in my left hand, which I wrote off to all the yard work/gutter cleaning from the day before.
Monday, I noticed I was also having a little trouble with my left ankle, which I again brushed off as hangover from the weekend. By Wednesday, though, I was limping badly, my left arm was now really numb, and I was unsteady on my feet. Finally, come Thursday morning, April 16, 2009, Mrs MercMan drove me to the Emergency Room of an area hospital and I was diagnosed with a "mild" stroke (or, as the medical folks call it, a cerebrovascular accident, or CVA). At 56, I got a wake-up call that I never saw coming. So much for over-confidence!
I've decided to document my experience, both to track my own recovery, and, hopefully, help someone else avoid my mistakes.

You Meet the Nicest People on a Honda (Generator)

One of the un-fun things about living in the North suburbs of St Louis is the constant potential for power blackouts. Seems like every time the wind blows, the snow falls, or somebody sneezes too hard, poof! go the lights. I believe Duracell will survive the current economic crisis and prosper just because of battery sales to North County. Even burglars in the area have had to resort to carrying those hokey hand-crank flashlights!
As a result, we have decided to take care of ourselves and get a whole bunch more guns. No, wait, I mean a gasoline-powered generator. Whew....sorry...force of habit. Anyhoo, last Saturday I ventured out to St Charles and purchased a 3000-Watt Honda generator from Harvester Small Engine.
This little unit is amazing. It's as quiet as Bill Clinton at an ethics hearing and super stingy with gas. It's not powerful enough to run the whole house, but it can protect us from freezing during a cold snap, and keep the brews and brats from spoiling after a Spring/Summer thunderstorm. Even Daisy the Crazy golden retriever likes it, although I suspect because she thinks it's a little refrigerator.

Ritenour 28 Hazelwood East 0

Mrs Merc Man, a proud Ritenour High School alum, has reason to be extra proud today. Last night, her football Huskies trounced the visiting Hazelwood East Spartans 28-0.
The Huskies dominated both sides of the football, with big plays on offense and a defense that kept East on the ropes all game long. After several tough years in the Suburban North Conference, Ritenour is rapidly gaining respect after wins over Pattonville, Riverview Gardens, McCluer North, and now Hazelwood East.
So, enjoy the day all you Ritenour faithful. I won't even mention the fact that my alma mater, Hazelwood Central, defeated the Huskies 35-15 on September 20. That just wouldn't be right.

McCain picks a "Babe"!

Just when I think the Republican Party has doomed itself to failure in 2008, John McCain makes a brilliant pick for his running mate, and continues to hammer the Democrats like he was the second coming of Ronald Wilson Reagan ("Ronaldus Magnus").
Sarah Palin, governor of Alaska (that's about as far from Washington DC as you can get!), is a Pro-Life (actually living the Pro-Life ideal), pro-drilling, pro-hunting/fishing NRA member who championed political reform in her home state.
Instead of picking another Beltway Blowhard like Joe Biden, McCain has found a conservative candidate who has fought against wasteful government spending and the old-line politicos who maintain the status quo. Suddenly, a lot of conservatives (me included) who were leery of the GOP ticket are almost giddy at the very real prospect of beating the socialist messiah, Barack Obama, in November. USA! USA! USA!

Tony Stewart comes home to "Shiverlay"!

Awesome news for race fans! Two-time NASCAR CUP champion Tony Stewart is leaving Joe Gibbs Racing and the #20 Home Depot Toyota Camry to form his own stock car team. The new team, Stewart-Haas, will field two cars next season, including an entry driven by Ryan Newman, late of Roger Penske Racing. This will be Tony's first attempt at managing a NASCAR team, and it will be a tough road, but with two talented drivers and solid sponsorship, odds are his new team will succeed on the Sprint Cup circuit.
Tony's new car, a Chevy (or "Chiverlay" as we red-state rednecks call them) Impala SS, will wear the #14 on its doors in honor of Tony's motorsports hero, A J Foyt.
In off-the-track news, Tony has donated $1,000,000 to help finance the construction of the second Victory Junction Gang Camp
in Kansas City, Missouri.

Daisy and the Evil Rocker/Recliner

In some earlier posts, I wrote about Daisy the Golden Retriever and her fear of mylar balloons. It turns out our hyperactive hound is also terrified by the machinations of the rocker/recliner in our living room.
A few days ago, after mowing the backyard, I took off my socks and draped them across the back of said rocker/recliner. Daisy, of course, thought it would be great fun to retrieve my socks and give them the chewing/slobbering they so richly deserved. She jumped into the chair and grabbed the socks, but before she could get back down, the rocker component kicked in and froze her in mid-exit. Not being able to figure out why this inanimate piece of furniture was now swaying back and forth, she sat immobilized for several minutes until I stopped laughing and held the chair still while she slid out of it. Although she still steals socks, and other pieces of clothing, whenever the situation presents itself, she's now giving the rocker as wide a berth as possible.

Locked and Loaded!

The Supreme Court of the United States finally got one right. In a 5-4 decision, the Court struck down the Washington, DC, handgun ban that punished law-abiding citizens who wanted to defend themselves against criminals.

Even more important, for the first time, the Supremes recognized an INDIVIDUAL'S right to keep and bear arms. Although it seemed painfully obvious to anyone with half a brain, gun owners were understandably nervous that an institution that in the past has found an unrestricted right to kill babies in the womb and the right of terrorists to sue in US courts might not find the Second Amendment even when it stares them dead in the face!

Fortunately, President George W Bush was able to appoint two justices who actually believe the Bill of Rights means what it says. The real surprise was Anthony Kennedy, who is now the swing vote and power broker on the Court. While I'm pleased that Justice Kennedy ended up on the right side of this decision, I still shudder whenever he starts talking about using rulings from around the world to help decide US Constitutional Law. Thank the Good Lord for Roberts, Alito, Scalia, and Thomas, and their respect for the people of the United States.

It's kind of ironic that the two Bush Presidencies have produced 3/4 of the Court's "Original Intent" wing. For all the Liberal lampooning of the "Bushies", they sure got the better of the Lefties on this one.

To the gun store!!!!!!

Daisy, Baby Bunnies, and the Evil Balloon

Today, Daisy the Golden Retriever found a nest of Baby Bunnies in a clump of irises in our backyard. Mrs Merc Man and I don't think she would deliberately harm the little cottontails, but she's so inquisitive (nosey, actually), we're afraid she might step on them while trying to sniff them.
On my last post, I mentioned how frightened Daisy is of the mylar Father's Day balloon that Gimlet and Froggie Girl gave me last Saturday, and we decided to use it as a defense against Daisy squishing one of the little ones hidden in our flowers.
We put a small wire fence around the perimeter that's spaced just wide enough to let mama bunny in, but keep large dog noses out. We then tied the mylar balloon to the fence, and, Ta-Da!, instant force field protecting baby bunnies.

We hope the balloon holds out 'til the babies move to a more secure location.

Whoever heard of a dog with a balloon phobia?

Daisy and the Evil Father's Day Balloon!

Poor Daisy. As part of my Father's Day present, Gimlet and FroggieGirl got me a mylar balloon with the Simpsons on it.
Unfortunately, Daisy viewed it as an evil presence and did everything possible to stay as far away from it as possible. Later that night, well, actually early next morning, Daisy awoke and saw the evil balloon hovering over the kitchen table. At 3 a.m. Mrs Merc Man and I were awakened by the frantic barking of a very excited Golden Retriever. We finally got back to sleep after Mrs Merc Man put the balloon out of sight.
We've decided Daisy's future as a guard dog might be in doubt. She would come in handy if we ever get invaded by Hallmark, though.

I'm For McCain

Well, the primary season is over, and Barack Obama is the Socialist--uhhhh---Democrat Party nominee for President of the United States.
Although I have some significant differences with the Republican from Arizona (on immigration, climate change, and campaign financing), he is far and away the preferable candidate to the junior senator from Illinois.
John McCain will support our military, and not surrender to our enemies. With the danger the US faces from rogue states like North Korea and Iran, I don't want to entrust the nation's security to a "community organizer" who believes he can negotiate with terrorists who murder Americans.
Obama proposes a Marxist economy for America, and if you doubt that point, just read the transcripts of the Congressional hearings with oil industry executives. The Demo-Rats actually threatened to nationalize the oil companies, as if the leeches in the House and Senate could produce a drop of gasoline or a single cubic foot of natural gas. They can, however, create a lot of Bravo Sierra.
Give the Jackass Party control over our economy and our health care system, and we'll be a second-rate power with a second-rate future for our children.
That's why I'm for John McCain for President of the United States.

Another Home Improvement-$$$$$$

In the never-ending saga of imitating the famous TV show, our very own (This) Old House added another episode to our recent string of major repairs. Since last Spring, we've water-proofed the basement, upgraded the electric service, and removed a couple of big trees in the backyard.
This week, our 21-year-old furnace decided it had had enough, forcing us to replace it, the attached electronic air cleaner, and the matching A/C unit. The company that did the work, Averill Heating and Air Conditioning, did a super job, and had the whole thing done in about 4 hours!
The unit is pretty high-tech, which means I don't understand all the stuff it does. The electronic air cleaner is so state-of-the-art that it actually subtracts money from your bank account whenever it's activated, and the outside unit looks like R2D2 from Star Wars. The only sound your can hear outside when the A/C comes on is "Luke, I am your father!"