Posted on 07/01/2025 10:08:18 AM PDT by DollyCali
I’ve always been impressed on how you’re able to figure out what is going on with your body. And even better, you know the treatment. Is it easier to get medications in Papua than here? I mean, things that require a prescription here you can get OTC there?
16 months, wonderful! That’s a miracle, along with his health returning after the doctors had given up on him. I’m sure your good cooking had a lot to do with it. I’m tempted to drive to North Carolina for some of those things you prepare.
Freepmail your way
Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize that in the midst of all the physical trials you lost your husband. I’m so so sorry. I think stress and grief can definitely have an impact on our physical state.
I’d love to have that bed too! If I could get it in a grey tabby color, that would be even better.
I don’t always know what is going on. There have been many misdiagnoses. It used to be we could get many drugs OTC here, but the laws have been changing.
The shingles diagnosis is just a guess. I think it was an educated guess since I had shingles previously. And I did not expect Mike to be able to get the acyclovir w/o a doctor visit.
I don’t always know what medicine to get. But, the internet is my friend. I try to avoid the “elementary school” sites like webmd.com, but look for more scholarly intel. I check sources, backgrounds, etc.
As for today’s treatment, I was able to get some solid sleep last night. I wasn’t awakened by that burning stabbing pain. I still have some pain this AM, but it is slightly more diffuse. This weekend’s pain was quite focused to one place.
A good night sleep is worth its weight in gold. Old saying and ive always wondered how much a good night’s sleepnweighs
Just maid Jef street tacos. He doesn’t want lettuce or tomatoes so it’s just the beef, greated cheese. (I use Tillamook ) and chopped sweet onions. I made a decent sized pan of Mexican rice. It’s pretty decent if I do say so myself.
Hope y’all have a good evening. I’m gonna watch a movie before I do dishes or any cleaning that way I won’t be crashing as soon as I finish with dishes, maybe watch two movies and forget about the dishes tonight.
Chances are excellent they’ll still be there in the sink in the morning.
see y’all in the tomorrow
shrek
I know I have spoken about my son before. Many years ago he flipped a Toyota Truck end over end and really messed up his back. It is a wonder he wasn't killed then. Then years later he stepped into an open ditch that the city had dug and didn't put anything around it, so in the dark he stepped off into this deep hole.
His back is really screwed up. He had that radiofrequency ablation done years ago. It lasted about a week like MsBEHAVIN said hers did. The surgeon would not do surgery on him as he is a smoker and the surgeon said it would not heal.
So what does every doctor do when you have pain? They put you on "Hydrocodone". That helps for a while so they keep upping the dose and upping it more and more. What happens then? You become addicted. Then because of the addiction they take you off of Hydros and put you on "Suboxone" which is a snythetic opioid. That is to wean you off the Hydros, but it supposedly also helps for the pain. But the pain relief only lasts for awhile.
So whats next? Lets add "Gabapentin." the drug that started out for those who had seizures but became the mircle drug for everything. That only helped for awhile so now they start upping the dosage on that. Plus as he became more aggitated and anxious they put him on anti-depressants. Three different ones.
Several years ago he was diagnosed with Asbestos in his lungs then later with COPD but he was doing ok until after the covid vacines and the booster. His wife is a Democrat and believed all the hype, plus she wanted to go to Europe and they couldn't without the vaccines. Then he started having to use Oxygen at times now it's 24-7.
Since July of 2024 he has been hospitalized six times. Three times he was "Intubated" and three times put on a "Bi-Pap". On October 25 of this year when he was Intubated for the third time the ER and ICU doctors said they didn't believe these episodes were caused from the COPD they said COPD would cause him to keep gasping for air and he is not. He gets to where he is almost completely not breathing. They "finally" determined the cause was from the COMBINATION of "SUBOXONE" and "GABAPENTIN." He was on 3,200 mg (extremely high dose) of Gabapentin. In January of this year his "NEW" primary care doctor, (because the other left) questioned the amount but did nothing further about it and went ahead and refilled the RX.
Google search: "Gabapentin and Suboxone can be prescribed together by a doctor under close supervision, but this combination carries significant risks because both medications are central nervous system (CNS) depressants. Combining them without medical supervision is dangerous and can lead to severe side effects, including coma and death."
The Hospital doctors didn't cut him back on the Gabapentin they said it would have to be his "Primary Care" doctor. Trying to see a doctor is not easy. His wife cut him back to 2400mg.
1 of the 3 anti-depressants they have him on is "Escitalopram (Lexapro)" Google search: "Lexapro (escitalopram) is a prescription antidepressant medication belonging to the class of drugs known as "selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors" (SSRIs). It is used primarily to treat major depressive disorder (MDD) and generalized anxiety disorder (GAD)."
"Serotonin syndrome" "Symptoms are generally grouped into three categories and can vary in severity:"
Mental Status Changes Anxiety, agitation, restlessness, confusion, and disorientation. Autonomic Hyperactivity Rapid heart rate (tachycardia), high blood pressure, fever (hyperthermia), sweating (diaphoresis), shivering, and diarrhea. Neuromuscular Abnormalities Exaggerated reflexes (hyperreflexia), muscle twitching (myoclonus), tremor, muscle rigidity, and incoordination."
WHICH HE HAS ALMOST ALL OF THOSE SYMPTOMS
He was last hospitalized on November 19th and came home on the 22nd. The hospital has now lowered his dose of "Gabapentin" from the 2400mg down to 1200mg.
Back in November of 2024 the hospital started him on "WELLBUTRIN" which also helps in quit smoking. He did quit until around May of 2025 when he caught his wife still smoking. She had a heart attack in 2023. They replaced the Mitro Valve and put a Defibrillator in her. She stopped smoking for awhile but got pissed off at him so started again. So when he caught her he did the same. She said, he said, he is done for sure.
So now all we can do is pray and wait and see if he can finally come out of all of this.
Then to top it off on Thursday I went to go get my blood work done and this was taking place just 7 houses up from me. They had the road blocked for fear of a gas leak also. If I had left just a few minutes earlier I could have been the object of this probably DUI/DRUGS person and not the house. 
About the only happy thing I have now is watching the baby Squirells that showed up in my Arborvitas this fall. I bought a bag of un-salted shell on peanuts and have been watching them eat some and then bury some in my lawn and planters. I also bought me a bird feeder hoping to get some Yellow Finches but no luck on that yet. I did see a black and brown one for the first time today at the feeder.
I haven't painted anymore but hope that soon life won't be so depressing and I will get back to it.
I think of all of you all the time. Take Care everyone.
Awww do you have gray tabbies?
I have one. And a flame point Siamese. And one that’s a tabby that she’s more brown. Oh and my new stray is a gray tabby. So I guess I have two.
P.S.
I almost forgot this was apparently going on also.
“2,500 FBI & ICE Agents STORM Seattle Hospital Drug Network — Seize Tons of Narcotics | US Military”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DC2gp9emxSw
You are in my prayers. (((((Spunky)))))
Oh goodness sweet friend…what a nightmare
We both know when our kids hurt, we hurt also
You’re very knowledgeable Re drugs n interactions
My word he’s been overprescribed bigly IMHO
Severe illness puts a lot of strain on a marriage also
I’m so sorry Spunky. Your son has been through so much.
Please check in when you can! I don’t know if you changed your contact info- I left a text and email to check on you
I’m glad you’re enjoying the baby squirrels - I’ve never seen a baby , they must be precious
I lie to my boss every single day.
I’m 72 years old. I’m a deacon at my local church, I pay my taxes, and I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket. But for the last nine years, I’ve been running a “scam” right under the nose of the corporate management at the Second Chance Thrift Store.
If they found out, they’d fire me before I could hang up my apron. But I don’t care. Because in a world that loves to strip people of their pride, I’ve found a way to give it back.
My job is simple: I sort the donations. I tag the jeans, the heavy winter coats, the work boots that still have a few miles left in them. Most customers don’t look at me. To them, I’m just part of the furniture—an old man with arthritic hands and reading glasses, pricing items that smell like mothballs and other people’s memories.
But being invisible has its perks. It means I see everything.
I see the single mothers calculating the price of school shoes against the price of groceries. I see the veterans staring at suits they need for job interviews, checking their wallets, and walking away.
And I remember the boy.
It was mid-November in our rusty little town. The wind was already cutting through the streets like a knife. He walked in wearing a hoodie so thin I could see his t-shirt underneath. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Skinny, shivering, with that guarded look kids get when the system has failed them one too many times.
He went straight to the coat rack. He found a heavy, navy blue parka—brand name, down-filled, barely worn. It was priced at $25. A steal for regular folks, but a fortune for him.
I watched him from the corner of my eye. He held the sleeve, feeling the warmth of it. He checked the tag. His shoulders dropped about three inches. He didn’t groan, he didn’t complain. He just carefully put it back on the hanger and started walking toward the door.
My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t just hand it to him. I’ve learned the hard way that charity tastes bitter to people who are trying to survive. If you offer a handout, they feel small. They feel like a project.
So, I grabbed the coat and intercepted him at the counter.
“Hey, son,” I called out.
He froze, looking ready to bolt. “I didn’t steal nothing.”
“I know,” I grumbled, putting on my best grumpy-old-man act. “But I got a problem. This coat here? It’s got a defect. Zipper sticks at the bottom. Store policy says I can’t sell ‘damaged’ goods for more than three bucks. You got three bucks?”
He looked at me, confused. “The tag says twenty-five.”
“Tag’s wrong,” I lied, peeling the sticker off. “I’m the inventory manager. I say it’s three bucks. You want it or do I have to toss it in the bin?”
He hesitated, searching my face for the catch. Then, he dug into his pocket and pulled out three crumpled dollar bills.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ll take it.”
He put it on right there. He zipped it up—perfectly smooth, of course—and stood a little taller. He didn’t look like a shivering kid anymore. He looked like a young man who had made a smart purchase. He looked protected.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Store policy,” I muttered, turning away so he wouldn’t see my eyes watering.
That was the beginning.
Over the next few years, the “Store Policy” became my secret weapon.
When Mrs. Miller, a widow living on Social Security, needed a new toaster but only had $5, the $20 model suddenly had a “dented cord” discount.
When a young father needed steel-toed boots to start his first construction job, I invented a “Tuesday Morning Workwear Clearance.”
I kept a ledger in my head. I’d pay the difference out of my own pocket when the drawer count didn’t match, or I’d mark items as “unsellable/discarded” in the system. I was terrified of getting caught.
Then, one afternoon, a woman in a cashmere scarf caught me in the act. She watched me sell a pristine baby stroller to a terrified young girl for $10.
After the girl left, the woman approached the counter. I braced myself, expecting a lecture or a threat to call the manager.
Instead, she slid a folded $100 bill across the glass.
“For your... inventory errors,” she said, winking.
It rippled out from there. Quietly. The regulars caught on. They never said a word aloud. They’d just buy a $5 trinket, hand me a twenty, and say, “Keep the change for the next time the ‘system acts up’.”
We built a secret economy based entirely on dignity. We weren’t giving handouts; we were leveling the playing field.
Last Tuesday, the bell above the door rang.
A man walked in. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a crisp EMT uniform. He looked confident, solid. He walked the aisles with purpose, but he wasn’t shopping.
He came straight to my counter.
“You’re Arthur,” he stated.
I adjusted my glasses. “I am.”
He smiled, and suddenly, I saw the skinny fourteen-year-old boy in the shivering grey hoodie.
“You sold me a navy blue parka ten years ago,” he said. “Told me the zipper was busted.”
I felt my face heat up. “I process a lot of coats, son.”
“The zipper wasn’t busted, Arthur.” He leaned in, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I knew you were lying. Even back then, I knew. But you didn’t make me beg. You let me buy it. You let me be a customer, not a beggar. You let me walk out of here feeling like a man.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“I’m a paramedic now. I save lives. But I don’t think I would have made it through that winter without that coat. Or without knowing that someone actually gave a damn.”
He placed the envelope on the counter.
“There’s $500 in there,” he said. “Use it. I know your ‘store policy’ is expensive.”
I tried to push it back, my hands shaking. “I can’t—”
“It’s not for you,” he said firmly. “It’s for the next kid who comes in shivering. Make sure his zipper is broken, too.”
He turned and walked out, head high, into the autumn sun.
I’m 72 years old. My back hurts, and my feet swell after a long shift. But I have the best job in the world.
We live in a country that tells you your worth is tied to your bank account. We tell people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, even when they have no boots.
But I’ve learned something powerful in this dusty old store: Dignity is more important than charity.
Sometimes, helping someone isn’t just about giving them what they need. It’s about how you give it to them.
If you can help someone while letting them keep their pride—if you can help them without making them feel small—you don’t just feed their body or warm their back. You save their spirit.
So, I’ll keep lying. I’ll keep bending the rules. I’ll keep making up policies that don’t exist.
Attaboy
Yes, two of them. For some reason I always end up with the grey or silver tabbies. I love all cats but I guess like their color.
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