Given my love of history, I found it hard to stay away from a historical celebration of my new town. It’s not often you encounter anyone or anything turning 150. The actual anniversary was earlier this month on the 11th, but for some reason the two decided that today would be the official public celebration (although the town was encouraging everyone to ring a bell at noon on the 11th to memorialize the actual date). The weather wasn’t exactly cooperating, but the rain was rather light and so not that dissuasive to me from participating. The celebration took place in the Armory, which is a castle-looking building on Main Street. I have driven past the building many times and was always curious about it. It turns out to be a local event venue, seating about 200 people, so it’s a great place for speeches, meetings, weddings, etc. When I walked inside, I found a number of tables/booths established, each representing one of the many local concerns in the community. I went by each of these stations, taking pictures and pamphlets as I was interested. One of the first items to elicit that interest was a timeline of Harford County, of which Bel Air is the county seat. Just this tidbit of history was fascinating to me and further endeared me to my new local community. Next to the timeline were two pictures of the historic Hayes House, which is the first house built in the area, is currently undergoing renovation, and will open soon for the public to tour. At the far end of the meeting hall was a huge replica of the county seal along with some historical artifacts and a female greeter in historical dress to answer questions people might have. I confess I was surprised (and pleasantly so) to see the county seal containing the motto “At the risque of our lives an fortunes,” a snippet from the Bush Declaration, signed in Harford County well before the Declaration of Independence was signed in Philadephia and containing the same sentiments from the signatories of sacrifice for freedom. Having spent so much time already in the local library, I had to stop by the booth for the library, especially when they were displaying posters describing the history behind the library. Reading through the history of the place where I now live, I wondered about all of the history in the places where I have lived all over the country. They weren’t celebrating any 150-year birthdays, and not having some event like that which invites the public in to learn more made that history more difficult to access. That said, if I had really wanted it, I could have gone out and gotten it. My gratitude for the ease of that access for my new local community then came to the fore as I saw actual wooden nickels on display. They were from a centennial celebration of the incorporation of the town. I had never before seen wooden nickels, though I remember hearing about them years ago. Now with actual bona fide wooden nickels in front of me, I had to check them out and take a pic. I also had to check out displayed right next to the wooden nickels a commemorative plate made for the same centennial celebration. What I find fascinating about the plate is the collection of notable buildings from across the history of the community. I’m not a huge fan of architecture, but I do love history, and seeing this type of object makes me wonder about the connections that might be made in its use. Eating food off a plate like this could be seen as taking the history of the place into you as you consume your meal. Plus seeing the Oddfellows Lodge in the upper left gets that classic R.E.M. tune playing in my head: “Oddfellows Local 151 behind the firehouse, where Pee Wee sits upon the wall to preach . . . .” The celebration event was much more than was inside the meeting hall. After exiting the building, I decided to take a tour of the garden located on the side of the building. The garden contained a public chess/checker board which some young whipper snapper had constructed as an Eagle Scout project, a very worthwhile effort. I remembered by own Eagle Scout project and regretted the changes that Scouting has made since I was a part of it. I’d probably be more supportive of and more active within the organization today otherwise. Behind the garden is a huge courtyard area, probably used for public speeches back in the day. Behind that area is the back of the building, and here I found two interesting surprises. The first was an old-time fire truck, which looks to be about as old as I am, maybe a bit older than that. The second surprise was a trolley car dating back to 1915. I was invited inside the car. Up front is a driver section with a control dashboard that looks like something from 1965 rather than 1915. Behind the driver section is a seating area on one side that does look something from 1915 and a model train track display in the other side. The display runs the length of the trolley, so I couldn’t fit it all into one shot, meaning making another video. All in all, it was great event, and I’m glad I stopped by. I feel a greater sense of appreciation for my new community, a greater connection to it, and a greater desire to participate more in it. Yes, I am already volunteering a couple of hours each week, but I feel like I need to do more than that. I’m not sure what that will turn out to be, but time will certainly tell that tale.
I wasn’t expecting to do this today when I got up, but some switch inside of me got triggered this morning, and I decided to make this experimental recipe for creamy corn chowder that I had assembled. I had no idea how well it would work out, assuming it worked out at all, nor did I know if it would really make chowder. To me, soup with its runny liquid base is on one end of the spectrum, on the other end of the spectrum is stew (which properly made is thick though it runs a little), and in that sweet spot in the middle is chowder — not liquid like soup, but not as solid as stew. Of course, the part that made it easy for me to decide on a whim that now was the moment to make this was its preparation in the slow cooker. The slow cooker is one of my best friends in the kitchen (and should be so for everyone, I think). For most things, you just dump everything in, set it, and forget it until it is time to eat. And the smells it places in your home are just fantastic! This recipe was no exception. Here’s what I put into my 2-1/2 quart slow cooker for this recipe:
Initially, I put in all the dry ingredients except for the bay leaf. Then I added each of the wet ingredients and stirred until everything was more or less evenly distributed. Finally, I added the bay leaf on top, covered it, and set it to cook on low for 4 hours. After 4 hours, I came back, removed the bay leaf, stirred everything together so that it would once be even, and served it with some natural wheat bread. I call it natural because it doesn’t have all the preservatives and other chemicals that most of the junk bread in the bread aisle has in it. It turned out to have a very good flavor, which was wonderful. I was happy to have developed a vegetable-centric recipe, as I need more convenient ways to get more vegetables into my diet. That said, when I make this again, I will be making some changes. First, the end result was more like soup than chowder, so to thicken it, I will reduce the chicken broth to one cup and hold back the flour and milk initially. About a half hour before the dish is done, I’ll mix the milk and flour together separately, and then pour that mixture into the slow coker, stirring so it gets more or less evenly distributed. That should thicken it up into more of a chowder and less of a soup. Second, the flavor as is in this first attempt was really good. I could sense that part of the reason for that was the smoked paprika. The portion of smokiness it imparted was just lightly, however, so I want to double or maybe even triple the amount next time so I get more of that smoky flavor coming through. Third, the wheat bread I served with the soup was a nice addition, but I’m thinking that some cheddar biscuits might pair better, especially if I have actual chowder and not just soup. The aftermath of my hospitalization a year and a half ago forced me back into the kitchen in search of recipes that would help promote my recovery and avoid pain (which eating the “wrong” things would quickly bring). I still have some trouble, though to nowhere near the extent it was when I left the hospital. But it did bring some healthy habits into my life, and experimenting with and developing recipes like this one have reintroduced me to the joy I once had being in the kitchen. It’s good to be back in there. Not long after moving into my new town, I felt the need to give back to the community as a way of getting to know it better. While in this context, I happened upon the website for the Harford County Historical Society and saw that they were in desperate need of volunteers. I love history, and I thought this would be an enjoyable way to follow the prompting I had to give back to the community. After meeting with the society director and one of her associates, an elderly gentleman named Walt, I was assigned an independent project based on my needs with my schedule (or rather the schedule that I presented). That project aims to digitize the collection of oversize documents, Walt showed me his process for creating and naming the digital files, which, being an engineer, I quickly improved by developing a more efficient procedure. Speaking of which, when Walt gave me my training for the project, he asked if I knew anything about computers. I instantly thought, “Well, I’m an engineer, so I hope I know something.” But in that second before responding, a decision confronted me. Would I respond with something smart? Or would I pretend to be ignorant? Or would I just pretend to be a hot shot know-it-all? I settled for something more in the middle: “You could say I’m a little familiar.” Now I go in once a week for a couple of hours to scan oversize documents. The documents aren’t in any specific order, so I’ve gotten a glimpse of all sorts of things from the 18th century on. For someone who loves history, this is a pretty posh job. Today, though, I got a special treat. Several different projects are in the works at the same time, and one of those projects must involve historical objects, because I see different objects set out around the oversize file cabinet where the documents I am scanning are kept. Today I saw an actual old-time telephone. The telephones that I grew up with as a kid are already museum pieces, so to see something that was an actual museum piece when I was growing up was really cool. Even cooler was being able to touch it. It’s not often you get to touch a real piece of history like this, so I thought that was a special unanticipated treat. Looking at the back side of the phone, I saw holes for screws, and instantly the engineer side of me wanted to take over. I wanted to find a screwdriver and open the thing up! I didn’t, of course, but it was awfully tempting. Looking out the window from my seat by the scanner, I saw a fantastic view of the national and state flags waving outside. The photo I snapped didn’t really capture the vibrancy of the flags waving motion, so I made a short video. Overall, I feel very blessed to have this special gig. It doesn’t offer a paycheck, but the pay it offers is well worth the time I exchange for it. I’m glad I was able to find it! It’s not surprising that my neighbor decided to make noise (through playing loud music and other high-volume activities), but it surprise me he started so early today. So I decided to do something that I had never before done — just get in my car and go get breakfast somewhere new. I have visited a new place to breakfast before, but never on a whim; it has always been planned out in advance. The new place is one that I had passed by a time or two or three — the Sunny Day Café in downtown Bel Air, Maryland. I love breakfast, so a new place to catch a bite of breakfast easily makes my list of places to visit. But this place tots itself as “voted best breakfast in Harford county,” so naturally I had to check out the claim. And since I am verifying that sort of claim, I had to make sure that my favorite breakfast item, a.k.a. biscuits and gravy, was a part of my meal. To this “side dish” I added scrambled eggs, home fries, and turkey sausage. It took a while to get my order out, which is fine since that probably means that they were fixing it fresh. But was it worth the wait? I’m not sure. Something about the turkey sausage was off. It didn’t taste right. I’m not sure if it was the blend of spices wasn’t quite right or if there was something wrong with the meat itself. Whatever it was, it just tasted off, and given my previous experience requiring a stay in the hospital, I decided not to eat both sausages. The eggs wee fine, but the home fries were very bland. Good thing I had the gravy; it was the perfect complement that the home fries really needed. The biscuit was okay. It was essentially an old-time powder biscuit. I don’t mind that so much, since the gravy paired well with it. But I do prefer biscuits that are flaky and flavorful in their own right. Again, good I had gravy, gravy, gravy. The price was about what I would expect for a local joint. If everything about the meal had been downright fantastic, I would say it would be worth the price. But if this is what passes for the best breakfast in the county, I should set up my own shop. It wouldn’t take much effort in my kitchen to snag that prize. Still, for an impromptu visit, not bad. I give it 3 stars. Few would dispute the idea that Abraham Lincoln was one of the greatest US presidents. A racist assassinated him on April 14, 1865. Seeing the anniversary of that fateful day just around the corner, I thought it would be best to remember Lincoln by returning to the scene of the crime. And so I planned a visit to Ford’s Theater in downtown DC today. I have to admit that I turned out to be a bit more adventure than I anticipated and yet not enough. Let me explain. The day began with a drive into downtown DC, which I try to avoid because many of the streets have a higher probability of confusing me, even with the GPS app on my phone (although I do confess the app does help some). I considered taking the Metro instead, but somehow it seemed that I would actually save time by driving in myself and parking at a nearby garage. So this morning I took off and headed into DC. The morning was cloudy, overcast, and very windy when I left. By the time I arrived, the sun was starting to come out. Apparently the parking garage I chose from the options I saw online did not materialize, or at least I didn’t see it anywhere in sight when the GPS app said, “You have arrived at your destination.” Like I said, the app helps out some. I thought the best thing to do would be to keep driving; surely another one must be nearby. After driving a few blocks and not seeing anything, I turned right, went down a block, and then turned right again. At the next light that stopped me, I repurposed my GPS app to find any parking garage. Then I saw one just to the left. I quickly turned in, and after a short conversation with a confused attendant, I found myself going further and further below ground within tight spaces to find a parking space. The maze I had to go through to get out of the building was even worse, but eventually I surfaced. With 10 minutes to go before my tour started, I consulted my GPS app and was misdirected around the corner. I should have just walked straight ahead and crossed the street at that corner.
Rejoining the line, I followed along down very tight and steep steps into the lower portion of the building where a museum is housed. I know some people like taking lots of pictures of the exhibits inside museums, but I’m not one of those folks. Something about me just feels it’s somehow uncouth or just downright wrong. My attitude is that if you want to see what is inside a museum, then go see it for yourself. What’s the point of the museum otherwise? I did make an exception — OK, I made a few exceptions. First, I saw this fantastic framed document in the gift shop that I just felt I needed to capture about the similarities between Lincoln and Kennedy. I did not before realize that these two American presidents had so many similarities, some of which are just downright uncanny. Lincoln’s Rules of Conduct was also on display, though like the previous document was also out of stock (making me feel a little more easy about taking photos). But the exception that really baked my bagel was Booth’s deringer pistol, or rather I should say a replica of Booth’s deringer pistol. All the promotional material for Ford’s Theater, and as can seen even the display in the museum, touts the displayed object as the actual pistol Booth used to assassinate Lincoln. The photo I took is a little blurry, but it is clear that what is on display is not Booth’s deringer but a plastic replica made from a mold fashioned with the actual murder weapon. It’s nice to “touch a piece of history,” but I would prefer that piece of history to be real. Of course, I don’t blame anyone associated with the museum for not displaying the actual piece; if I were in charge, I wouldn’t have it out on display for anyone to put their hands on. But neither would I be touting a replica as the real thing. Outside that one exhibit, what I saw in the museum is well worth the trip to see. Lots of exhibits that were very educational. After seeing everything, and taking my time to do so, I learned that I misunderstood the tour description. I thought that everything I purchased with my ticket would take 30 minutes to run through. No, the 30 minutes is just the museum. So after that half hour, I followed folks in line up the stairs to the actual theater area. I went upstairs another level to find a seat in the balcony area with a good view of the box where Lincoln saw his last theatrical performance. The public doesn’t go in there, and it’s clear to me why, so I’m OK just to be in eyeshot of it. After a few minutes, a park ranger appeared on stage and began a history presentation about the events surrounding Lincoln’s final days, which was educational but also kind of creepy since the stage was all set for the current run of Little Shop of Horrors. I regret not recording the presentation. Even an audio format would have been engaging after the fact, especially since it was filled with all sorts of interesting tidbits that I did not know previously. A lot of good the presentation did, though, because as I write this I can’t remember any of those interesting tidbits — more reason why I regret not recording it! So if you plan a visit to Ford’s Theater, going out of your way to attend a tour with the ranger talk is a definite must. Following the ranger talk, we all shuffled out to the street, which was behind the old-time doors I had stood in front of when I was in line at the very start. People began filing across the street for a tour of the Peterson house, and another long line awaited me. This one took much longer to get through — a whole 45 minutes! — mostly because the space inside being so small only 15 people at a time could enter. But eventually I did get inside. The actual room and bed where Lincoln met his end were interesting to see and are the last things seen inside the house. A walkway then leads you to stairs with an interesting quote on the wall. I was so impressed with the quote that I decided to snap a photo. I think the quote speaks for itself. Between the bottom of the stairs and the outside street is a final exhibit room with the highest stack of books I have ever seen in my life. I tried getting it in a photo, but it was so big that I couldn’t fit it all into a single shot. So I made a quick video. As I bibliophile, I just couldn’t stop geeking out over this “Tower of Books.” Once out on the street again, I had to get back to my vehicle. I wanted to linger longer and check out on of the nearby restaurants; there was a Greek place serving “yeeros” and a French café that both looked intriguing. But I had told the parking attendant earlier I needed only 2 hours, and my 2 hours were just about up. Getting out of DC was a bear, and I saw that it would have been much better to take the Metro, which I recommend for anyone visiting the theater. Overall, though, I don’t regret going. This is a definite bucket list item that is worth every minute. And since the theater is still being used as a theater (it wasn’t always so), I may have to go back some time to see a play in the house that Lincoln loved to visit.
This is some journey I’ve started, which I detail with my previous posts on my first visit to an emergency room and my surgery and subsequent discharge from the hospital. I didn’t choose to have pancreatitis, and yet at the same time I did. The instigating factors like diet, excess weight, not getting sufficient and regular exercise, not keeping myself sufficiently hydrated — I made choices over the years with all of these. Well, pain has a way of changing your perspective on things. I’ve become serious about those instigating factors I just named in a way I never was before. I thought I was serious before, but the truth is I wasn’t. I never attacked those issues with the same type of determined action as I have the past several days. I started by doing some research on pancreatitis and the diet that promotes recovery. I was right to suspect that the advice I received to eat smaller meals of non-fatty foods wasn’t quite complete. Apparently this is not something that resolves itself in a day or two. It often takes months and sometimes years for the pancreas to heal completely. There is no magic drug or procedure to heal the pancreas. The pancreas must heal itself. To help the pancreas do that, I have to reduce the demand for the normal function of the pancreas as much as possible. The pancreas provides two things for the body. First, the pancreas provides digestive enzymes to aid digestion. When the stomach can’t handle the job of digestion, which it typically can’t when high amounts of fat are present, the pancreas steps in to lend a hand by providing digestive enzymes. The passage of those enzymes through an inflamed pancreas causes pain, so I can avoid pain by avoiding high-fat foods. This is also the reason for eating smaller meals. Too much food at once means the stomach can’t handle the job, and so the pancreas steps up to help. The pancreas can heal itself, but it must be left alone to do so. In addition to digestive enzymes, the pancreas provides insulin, so anything that will spike blood sugar is out. I’ve actually weened myself off a lot of sweets over the years, so this is not much of a problem for me (though I’m not certain how I will celebrate my upcoming birthday, but that’s a different story). My bigger problem is the high-fat foods. My absolute favorite food to eat is sausage biscuits and gravy. I could eat that all day every day and not get tired of it. And then there’s all the things you can do with cheese. I absolutely love cheese. But now, there’s no more pizza, no more lasagna, no more cheddar sausages, no more bacon cheeseburgers — and I just said bacon. There’s so much you can do with bacon, including eating it by itself. Now that’s all out. I’m reminded of something my grandfather once said. He said, “The only thing better than butter is more butter.” I agree completely, but I also accept the need to refrain while I’m in recovery. And I don’t know how long it will take. It’s not all bad, though. When I look at my new low-fat, low-sugar diet, what I see is roughly 80% of the diet I’ve been moving myself towards before pancreatitis took center stage. I’ve been moving in slow increments mostly because I didn’t want to give up the foods that now are completely off limits because now my body will not tolerate incrementalism. Now I have to be all the way there and nowhere else. That wouldn’t be agreeable if I had to be this way forever. But I won’t be, or at least that is my intention. Yes, this recovery period will be slow and long. But it will also end. And when it does, I will keep the diet I’ve developed because of it and slowly add an occasional delight, like biscuits and gravy or pizza or a bacon cheeseburger or butter on homemade white bread. But for now, the time is to hunker down and devote myself to healing. And it’s more than my pancreas that needs a long recovery to heal. My pulmonary embolism will not heal any time soon. That’s going to take months of blood thinners and more movement every day during those months to increase circulation in my blood vessels. And who knows what else may be lurking inside of me? This past week I’ve been tracking my weight and noticed I’ve been losing 1-3 pounds a day. In fact, I’ve lost around 25 pounds since my first visit to the ER a little more than two weeks ago. At present, I’m not greatly concerned about the weight loss because I’ve been trying to lose weight for a long time, and now it’s going. Granted this isn’t my preferred method of weight loss, but it’s going all the same, and I’ve got plenty left in store for this to continue over the next couple of weeks. That said, a part of me does wonder whether this weight loss is a leading indicator of some other health issue that I’ll need to add to the mix. We will have to wait and see. One thing I have quickly learned from pancreatitis is the need to take one day at a time. One moment you could feel you’re doing fine, as I did earlier this week, and then the next you have another pain episode followed by fasting for a day or two and then starting over again on a liquid diet. It’s hard to see what or even if anything is coming over the horizon. So you have to focus on what you can do with what is right in front of you today and trust that all will somehow work out for the best. And so I follow the advice of Rocky Balboa at the end of Rocky III — “Just keep punching.” I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am to be out of the hospital. On the one hand, I’m very grateful for the care I received, but on the other hand, it started to feel more and more like a prison, especially after the surgery. The surgery itself went well, or so I am told. I don’t remember a thing about it. And yes, there was just one surgery, not two, as originally planned. Monday morning I’m half starved with diarrhea getting prepped to go, and the surgeon decided to have another MRI scan. Apparently, he had a second look at the first image and thought the stone might have passed through me over the weekend. So I had a second MRI and kept starving in case it showed the stone was still there. While I waited for the results, I couldn’t help but notice something humorous. I’ve been having different nurses rotate through each day in taking care of me, but I noticed that today, which is Halloween, one of my nurses is named Chucky! You can’t make this stuff up! I had to take a picture because I knew that otherwise no one would believe me. By evening, the MRI results came back negative, which meant I was then rushed the second surgery on the following day. Seeing as I how I had just been starved through diarrhea to prep me for a surgery that was not going to happen, I wanted to wait a day to give my body a chance to recover. But the surgeon refused to wait. He wanted in the very next day. I had just a small bowl of broth that night and then not allowed anything as part of my surgery prep. Personally, I’m glad I don’t remember anything about the procedure itself. I remember being placed on the surgery table surrounded by several individuals who each then began prepping individual parts of the body for the procedure. The anesthesiologist really did his job well, because I lost consciousness while they were prepping me and did not regain it until sometime after I had been placed in the outpatient area. As I awoke, I noticed a feeling of cleanliness in my abdomen, a really good feeling from that part of my body that I had not felt in many years. Then the anesthesia wore off completely, and I felt pain from the incisions. The doctor had made four small incisions just large enough to insert his tools and remove the gallbladder without cutting me wide open. And they hurt like the dickens. The staff didn’t know what to do with me being in so much pain that they just put me to bed to let me sleep it off. But there were two problems with that approach. First, as I would discover later, getting up and moving around as much as possible after the surgery helps keep the area from getting stiff. And was I ever super stiff the next morning! Second, I was already malnourished not having eaten anything since the night before, and that was just a small bowl of broth, the only thing I had to eat that entire day. How anyone can expect the body to recover without proper nutrition is beyond me. But hey, I never went to med school, so what do I know? I soon learned that wasn’t to be my only challenge. The incisions in my abdomen made it painful for me to move my diaphragm, so in order to breathe without pain, I had to focus on using my chest for each breath. The result was a very sleepless night. I could close me eyes and try to rest, but even two shots of morphine (oh, do I love morphine!) Wasn’t enough to take all the pain away. I did manage to snooze some, but I was never really out. The doctor who came to follow up with me the next morning became very angry when he learned about my condition. I was supposed to have been moving around after surgery not to mention fed. If that were the extent of my problems, I would have been a much happier man, not least of which because I would have been discharged that day. But such was not to be. I found myself with severe breathing problems. Simply standing up out of a chair or taking a few steps would leave me out of breath as though I had just run a mile. I know I have exercised-induced asthma for years, but this was something else entirely. And the doctor treating me had no answers. By later that evening, there still weren’t any. While the doctor and nurses assembled to discuss how to proceed, my dinner was sat in front of me out of reach across from the bed where I was confined. Here I was hungry after my ordeal waiting on the staff to figure things out. Eventually the doctor came in with no answers and began interrogating me. She seemed to think my difficulty breathing was related to COVID vaccines. I had been tested twice for COVID while in the hospital, and neither test came out positive, so what would that have to do with any of this? Hungered, I became more irritable as the doctor’s dead-end conversation with me continued. At length, she suggested I take a Xanax, which only irritated me even more. After the doctor left, I had to admit to myself I really was anxious. It was all understandable. I just wanted to know what was happening to me and no one had answers. Plus I was hungry. So my first step in calming down was to eat my dinner, which one of the nurses was kind enough to warm back up for me. Then I played some relaxing music on my phone, meditated for a while, and then did some writing in my journal. A nurse came in to take my vitals and administer the Xanax, but I stared her down and intimidated her into keeping that away from me. My drug-free approach was sufficient for me to calm me down. The next day I began one test after another, and in the end the results were conclusive. I have deep vein thrombosis (DVT) from a blood clot in my left leg. At least a portion of that blood clot broke away and traveled to my lungs, covering both of them with a pulmonary embolism (PE). Apparently pancreatitis wasn’t enough for me. My theory is that the stress of the events before, during, and after surgery dislodged the blood clot in my leg to travel up to my lungs. The doctor of course takes a different view, one that absolves the hospital of any wrongdoing. Whatever the mechanism, the treatment plan is the same. I’ll be on blood thinners for 3-6 months for the PE, which totally freaks me out considering I could die from a simple cut or a knock to the head. I also need more movement, since spending so much time sitting in front of screens promoted the DVT to begin with. The idea is that over time with thinned blood and sufficient movement the clots will dissolve. Treatment for the pancreatitis is different. All I was told is to eat smaller meals and avoid greasy food. That’s not a lot to go on, so I’ll be doing my own research to get more specifics. But it’s not like they ever gave me much to go on. Here’s another laugh. The morning of my last day in the hospital I finally got a menu. All my meals had been chosen for me previously. Only now when I am about to leave do I actually get to pick my meals. I selected some nice herb-crusted chicken and vegetables for lunch. Why I didn’t get to pick any of my other meals during my stay I’m not sure. One thing is definitely for sure. As I followed the nurse out of the hospital and breathed clean air outside the building, I felt an immense freedom. But now the longer road of recovery can begin, and I started by driving myself home.
Life just hit me a hard one. A couple of days ago I began having an incredible abdominal pain like I had never before experienced. I wasn’t sure where it came from. It seemed to die down towards evening, so I thought that perhaps I could sleep it off. I had no idea what I was thinking or dealing with. I awoke in the early morning with the pain just as strong as ever. It was a debilitating pain, but it was certainly more than a mere annoyance or irritant. I looked at the clock and wondered if I could stand it for another 3-4 hours until the clinic opened, because that would certainly cost less than the emergency room. But it didn’t take long for me to choose the emergency room. Accordingly, I got dressed and drove myself to the nearest hospital. My first visit to the emergency room taught me, among other things, that no one working in the emergency room has any sense of emergency. Unless you’re bleeding profusely or crying out in agonizing pain, they’ll “give you a number” which they don’t tell you and then get to you when they get to you. I have to say, not ever witnessing anything like this for myself, I was a little taken aback. The benefit of the early morning hour is that there weren’t that many others waiting to be seen, so it didn’t take long for a doctor to assess me. I did have to wait for blood work and a urine sample, but all the doctor needed after that was some answers to some very brief questions, which I happily answered. The resulting diagnosis was pancreatitis caused by gallstones. My gallbladder would need removal. I spent the rest of yesterday in the ER being moved between two different rooms until I could get the admitted into the upstairs room I now occupy. I’m not sure how this is going to pan out. And I certainly never gave much thought to my pancreas before any of this came upon me. But apparently it’s quite the essential organ. The pancreas produces digestive enzymes to help with digestion in the stomach and intestines. It also produces insulin to help manage blood sugar levels. But if it becomes inflamed, that inflammation results in the abdominal pain I experienced earlier for the first time. The leading cause of inflammation in the pancreas is excessive drinking. Alcohol causes a narrowing of the bile duct in the pancreas, which limits the amount of digestive enzymes that leave the pancreas at one time. Those that get held back end up eating the pancreas, leading to inflammation and pain. I’ve never had a drop of liquor in my life, so my pain, the doctor theorized, likely comes from gallstones. Gallstones blocking the bile duct can block the flow of digestive enzymes, which then leads to inflammation and pain. Obviously the gallbladder needs removal. As if that isn’t enough, an MRI image taken yesterday appears to show a gallstone in the bile duct itself somewhere between the gallbladder and the pancreas. Thus, I will need two surgeries: the first to remove the gallstone, and the second to remove the gallbladder. The gallstone will be removed with a procedure called ERCP. A doctor will insert an endoscope down my throat, into my stomach, and from there travel up the bile duct to remove the gallstone. Then I can have the gallbladder removed. Removing the gallbladder will be an important step toward preventing future pain, but for the present there isn’t a magic solution. The pancreas can heal itself, but it must be given time and space to do so. That means lowering the demand on the pancreas as much as possible. I’ve been on a liquid diet so far and uneasy with the antibiotic the doctor gave me to prep for surgery. It has nausea as a side effect, which the doctor says affects only 2% of people. I guess I’m part of that 2% because I’m super queasy inside. I’m also uncertain about the future. But I intend to take everything one at a time and deal with each as best I can, working in the hope that all will be well in the end. No, I’m not talking about that wonderful Eddie Money song (though it most certainly is playing my head right now). I’m talking about Crumbl Cookies! If you don’t know Crumbl Cookies, then you should really check them out. My sister, who I still contend makes the best cookies on the planet, introduced me to this very close runner-up in the cookie making world. I thought she was talking about a local place, meaning something local to her. But when I checked out their website, I saw that they are in almost every state across the country, including my own! Each store offers chocolate chip cookies plus a rotation of other flavors that change with each week. All the store have the same offering each week, which is great for me to compare notes with my sister. And these are BIG cookies, about 4" or so in diameter. And they’re so good, which is why I feel fortunate NOT to live close to one. My first visit was a few months ago, and then a couple of days ago I made my second visit. All I can say is WOW. Actually, I have few more words than that. Lemon Poppy SeedI’m not one for lemon cookies, unless they come from Crumbl! Of course, their website (first picture) makes it look better than what it actually is. I didn’t see much of that lemon creme center in my cookie, but it still tasted outstanding! Raspberry Cheesecake This one was just heavenly, although there didn’t seem to be much frosting on top of the graham cracker cookie I got. The raspberry puree also slide off the cookie during the drive home. That’s a not a huge deal, but I have made a note for the future. French Silk Pie This cookie is aptly named. It truly is like eating a miniature French Silk pie. Of the three cookies I purchased, this one most closely matched what the website showed.
Now, let’s have one item clearly understood. I never eat an entire cookie all in one setting. They’re totally that good, but I don’t need all those extra calories, especially when they’re from sugar. So I usually cut off a quarter or sometimes less — just enough to give me a little taste of sweet goodness. Plus it makes the cookie last longer. That said, I noticed something on the website that made me do a double take. The Lemon Poppy Seed cookie has only 120 cal? Raspberry Cheesecake 170 cal? French Silk Pie 150 cal? There’s no way! Looking further on the site I found this quote: “Calorie counts are per serving. Serving size varies based on product.” Hmmm . . . what might that mean? I little more digging, and it all made sense. One serving is 1/4 cookie, at least for the three that I bought. That makes a lot more sense, and it redoubles my dedication to eat only a quarter of a cookie at a time. It’ll be some time before I go back, how much I couldn’t say. I’ll be checking out their website every week to get keyed on the new rotation for the week. Barring the appearance of something that looks so good I just have to get it, it’ll probably be towards the end of the year when I go back. Talk about de-railing a diet! As I said, I’m glad I don’t live close to Crumbl. But when I go, there’s no way I’m getting just one cookie. They’re just too good! If you’ve been keeping track wit my posts, you might think I’m ready to report I have found a new advisor. Yeah, I wish! But what I have to share is for me still a major accomplishment. Like many people, I’ve been struggling with weight loss. I spend way too much time sitting in front of screens. In an effort to move more and contribute to my weight loss efforts, I’ve been establishing the habit of walking in the morning before breakfast. I started with 10 minutes. Then when that became easy, I added an extra 30 seconds. When that became easy, I went to 11 minutes. And thus I went. I haven’t walked every day, though that was my intention. But after missing a day (or two or three) I always came back around and picked up where I left off. Well, today I walked for a full 30 minutes. This is a major milestone for me, because the next step is not walking for 30 minutes and 30 seconds. The next step is replacing 30 seconds of the walking with running. The step after that is replacing another 30 seconds of walking with running. And thus is goes until I am running for the full 30 minutes. What I did this morning is reach the transition point between walking and running. I’m not sure when the running will start. My body was aching as I reached that half hour mark, and I’m not certain how long I’ll need to work through it. I’m debating introducing a longer rest period between walks so that my body can recover better, because trying to exercise when you haven’t completely recovered is just not smart. You’re wearing your body down while it’s still partially worn down. Then again, I’m not trying to build muscle with my walking. I’m trying to improve circulation as well as secure the other benefits of cardio exercise. Plus I remember when I used to run and how much I loved it. I want to get back to that, and I want to do more than I ever thought I could do before. My walking is a transition from where I am to where I want to be. Doing just a little more each time and picking myself back up every time I fell down has brought me to this milestone, and I’m confident that doing just a little bit more in each of the days ahead will bring me to even more milestones ahead! |
PurposeHere you can find news and announcements I want to share. In between I'll include reviews of the books I read. Find me on Goodreads.com for more book reviews. Archives
April 2024
Categories
All
|