Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope you have had, or are having a fabulous day.

We are spending the day leisurely hanging out at home, trying to figure out how to get the Seattle Seahawks game on the computer - since we don't have cable TV.  I have been working an insane number of hours - Christmas season is upon us and things are crazy at the USPS.  No time off for little old me so no time to run to Oregon to see my kids.  We are having salad and whatever we can scrape together for dinner.

We had a much different day planned than this though.  Several months ago we traded a rooster and hen to a fellow (Mark) for the promise of a Thanksgiving turkey.  The intention was that he would raise it, and then "dispatch" it, and have for us a very not-like-a-REAL-turkey bird.  On a whim I named this faceless creature Rosie (short for roasted).

A week ago I contacted him to make arrangements to pick up our processed bird.  Mark had completely forgotten the agreement.  I reminded him and he cheerfully agreed to bring a bird over to us.  Alive.  "Eeek!"  I shrieked.  No.  NO.  Absolutely NO!  He agreed to dispatch her for us and bring us a dead bird.  Still very much a real turkey.  Only dead.

My stomach began to feel queazy.  I didn't sleep well.  Peter agreed to do the cleaning and we discussed methods of removing the bird's feathers.

This did not make me feel better.  And then it turns out, to ensure freshness Mark would bring us a live bird, and kill her here.   This also caused me great stress.

Mark and Rosie were supposed to come over Tuesday night, but got lost on the way here.  He took her back home and released her to the rest of the flock.  He told me a story how easy she is to catch because she really likes grain and comes eagerly to him when he offers it to her.  Awwwww....  I love animals that love food!  He promised to bring her by this morning after enticing her with promised yummy grain.  :(

I have not slept well.  Peter had dreams about turkeys.  I worried and stewed.  Peter confessed he wasn't eager to do this either.  Early this morning I contacted Mark and issued Rosie a pardon.

Maybe someday I can do this.  Maybe.  But probably not likely.

Rosie.  Long live Rosie!!

Standing on the Edge

Today I stood on the edge of the USA. 

It's been a month since "my incident" - that's what we refer to it as around here - and things are looking up.

The Sunday after "my incident" I walked almost two miles.  From that point on, I began watching the quantity of my food intake.  The food I have been eating has been very good for me - just too much of it.  I like food, what can I say.  I made a batch of cookies for my daughter and only ate one.  I passed over donuts and cupcakes coworkers brought in to work.  I made 5 caramel chews (from Halloween) last 3 days!

I have been walking and cycling and being generally more active, slowly building up my stamina, hoping to get back to running like I used to.  I have lost 7 pounds and dropped a clothing size.  My blood pressure is nice and low.  Almost too low at times, for a girl who is used to being propelled by a compression engine. 

I would have sworn I did not feel bad before, but I feel so much better now I must have.  My attitude is better.  My energy level is better.  I spend less time on the sofa.

Today I walked about 4.5 miles at an average of about a 15 minute mile  (not fast, but a nice steady pace).  I even jogged or trotted for small intervals.  I made it to the edge of the USA, just 2 yards from Canadian soil, and turned around and came home.  When I walk from my house, this is the scenery.  You really can't beat that with a stick!

Also on the de-stressing front I have made a well thought-out decision about my goats.  They must go.  I find that dragging them or being pulled by them to and from the pasture twice a day is not a relaxing past time.  I often end up incredibly stressed over the process.  Saying things to them I wish I regretted but don't and then feeling guilty about it.  Goats pee and poop indiscrimently and are very dirty things.  The idea of turning them into milk goats and ending up with even more of the creatures, no matter how cute the babies are, sends shivers down my spine.

They deserve better.  They deserve to have an opportunity to have babies and eat too much and hang out with other goats.  They need to "be all they can be" and not get yelled at by me on a daily basis.

With this end in mind, we have found them a new home with a lovely young couple named Lissa and Jeff.  They promised not to eat them - although felt comfortable with telling us they might eat their offspring - which I am perfectly okay with.  They are going to start a dairy herd and these will be the founding members.  We still have Een and Twee until Jeff and Lissa get their pasture ready but soon we will be goatless.

Someday, when we have a different barn/pasture set up than we do now, I would like to try again.  Someday I would like to milk goats.  Someday I will.  Just not now.

20/20 hindsight

Several years ago I was laid off work.  With getting laid off, came the reality of no insurance.   I was relatively healthy (although I did have a history of high blood pressure) and I chose to forego very expensive insurance.  I decided that I would live healthily and make healthy choices.  My blood pressure could be controlled with an active life style and proper diet.

Early last week I developed a blurry spot in my right eye.  Thinking I had scratched my cornea or gotten some annoying bit of fluff in my eye I did not pursue it for several days.  After all, I had no insurance.  By Wednesday I finally decided I would fork out the dollars and go to the eye doctor.  I found a wonderful local DR who offered a 25% discount for time of visit payment.  I made my appointment for Thursday and off I went.  The doctor dilated and looked deep into my eye and proclaimed I had broken a blood vessel on my retina, which was causing the blurriness.  "This is bad," she said.  "Let's take your blood pressure."

I tried to discourage her because I didn't want to know.  She could not be dissuaded.  Her cheap little drugstore blood pressure cuff returned a very ugly number.  Very ugly.  She panicked and immediately referred an me to urgent care facility while singing tales of doom.

I went home and got Peter and off we went.  The office was unable to see me that day and suggested I try the next.  The next day the same place could not see me but I found another one that accepted walk ins and catered to low income people.  (How far I've come... sigh...)

After a painfully boring, and somewhat stressful two hour wait as a walk in I was finally seen by a nurse.  She took my blood pressure.  Calmly said, "let's try your other arm..."  Then she said "Do you feel alright?  Any numbness?  Shortness of breath?  Chest pain?"   "We are going to do an ekg..."

Then the Dr made an appearance and said, "We've called an ambulance. You are going to the ER. Now."  Very quickly 4 very handsome paramedics showed up and started plying me with questions and checking my blood pressure.  Everyone was in a quiet state of alarm.  Asking the same annoying questions over and over again.  "Any chest pains?  Numbness?  Tingling in your extremities?"  No, I maintained, just a blurriness in my right eye.  I felt fine - although I was beginning to join the party in panicking and over reacting and my blood pressure was most certainly creeping up by the second.  By the time the last paramedic took my blood pressure it was about 250/133.  They were certain I was going to have a stroke any second.  They would not let me drive myself to the ER.  I was put on a gurney, wheeled out the front doors of the Urgent Care clinic and off I went to the hospital.  I still felt fine.  I asked the paramedic if we could stop at the feed store for chicken scratch, my chickens were hungry!  While I was being chauffeured in my very nice personal limo (at least they didn't use lights or sirens!), I called Peter to fill him in and sent a text to my boss, calling in sick for the next day.   I asked  cute Paramedic Hall if I got a discount because I was being nice.  No.  But he promised he would make the bill as small as he could.

Here is a tip, if you show up at the hospital in an ambulance, you do not need to wait through the triage nurse or wait to be taken in.  It was very quick and efficient.

They hooked me up to machines that measured my pulse and my blood pressure and my heart.  They took my blood and made me pee in a cup.  They sent a student nurse in to insert an I.V.   I stupidly, cheerfully, agreed that that was fine, everyone must learn sometime.  She tried twice before the real nurse took over.  '

They started me on blood pressure medicine through the I.V. and slowly, throughout the day my blood pressure lowered.  I continued to be cheerful.  My paramedics came back in with other patients and stopped in to say hi.  Paramedic Hall even took a seat and chit-chatted about life while he waited for his partner to fill out paperwork.  My nurse, Jean, hung out in my room because she said, "She would rather be in there than in other patient rooms.."

It was a grand old time until....they gave me one more medicine for the final push to lower my blood pressure.  It was some toxic mix of chemicals that surely must have been pure poison.  I stopped being cheerful.  But my blood pressure was low enough to send me home and they signed me out and sent me on my way.  The last medicine made me deathly ill and I spent the next 16 hours alternately vomiting and sleeping.    I find it very ironic that I felt so much worse LEAVING the hospital than when I got there.

I have begun daily exercises - I used to love to run and will work toward that goal.  I am watching what, and how much, I eat.  I am making healthy changes.  I am on twice daily pills now and need to find a real doctor who will see a non-insured patient.  Doctors don't typically like our kind.  My blood pressure this morning was 136/86 - probably the lowest it's been in 15  years.  I was so weak I had to go back to bed.

The good news is that if it really drops low, I just have to think of how much money this is costing and it sneaks right back up to a reasonable level.

I probably should have insurance.  I will probably find some soon.  Now that I have first hand experience of the consequences.

Dishonest people

I trust people.  I trust them to tell me the truth and be honest.  Sometimes, that comes back and bites me on the backside.  But before I get on my soapbox and have a little rant, I need to tell you about Tesla.

Tesla is surely the smartest dog I have ever had.  At less than three months she seems to be completely house broken.  She knows sit.  She kind of knows stay.  She knows the kitchen is off limits (a very important quality in a dog that might easily be able to pick and choose what she wants off the counter).  She has learned (but has a little trouble following through) that chickens are not for chasing and she seems to take complete delight in 'helping' me with the big animals.  She is a joy and is quickly becoming a fixture in this house.

Now I shall let the rant begin.

When I was looking for a new dog I SPECIFICALLY looked for Great Dane or Great Dane mix.  I SPECIFICALLY looked at rescue organisations because I thought they were the best choice and had the best interest of the dog in mind.  When I found Tesla she was listed as a Great Dane, Shepherd/Lab mix.  When I talked to the rescue people I was told a tale of how Tesla and her siblings were surrendered at the age of 5 weeks.  I was told that Tesla's Mom was a Great Dane and her dad was a German Shepherd/Lab mix.  I was told these things as fact.  We paid a premium adoption fee because of this very desirable mix of breeds.

Tesla came to us with a case of kennel cough that was being treated with antibiotics.  When the run of antibiotics was over she developed a UTI and we took her to the vet.  The vet, naturally, wanted to know all the facts about her as well as the type of antibiotic she was on.  Belatedly, we dug through the stack of paperwork given to us at the time of her adoption and discovered that Tesla was not surrendered.  She was a stray picked up off the streets somewhere in California.  We discovered that really no one had any idea what breed of dog she was and the rescue group in California thought she might be a shepherd/lab mix.  Or might not.  It was purely speculation.

The California group sent Tesla and her siblings to Tacoma where they thought she might, maybe, look like she was part Great Dane.  Maybe.  Then again, maybe not.  But Great Dane fetches a higher adoption fee. They completely fabricated the tale of surrendering and parent breeds.  Not only that, but it took over 24 hours for the Tacoma rescue group to get back to me with the antibiotic information.  My dog was peeing blood and they didn't think it was a priority.  I shall report them to the Better Business Bureau and hope future dog-seeking people are smarter than we were and will check out the rescue group before doing business.

I feel quite taken.  I feel very disappointed.  I feel foolish and embarrassed.  I have wanted a Great Dane for many years and have patiently waited until circumstances were right for such a commitment.  Great Dane or not, Tesla is certainly going to be a large dog and I'm not sure I want two giant dogs at once.

I guess all I can do is wait and see what Tesla grows into. If she turns out to be pit-bull or chihuahua it doesn't really matter (although I would never knowingly choose either of those breeds, fine breeds though they are).  Worse case scenario I will wait another 15 years or so to try again to fulfill my Great Dane dreams.