Summer is upon us.
Pat will be down this Sunday for a couple weeks. He's my driver to my multitude of doctor's appointments in the next two weeks.
Pat is a big help. I'm not that comfortable driving anymore, especially in this Rehoboth Beach/Lewes Delaware summertime traffic, which becomes heavier and more dense each year. It's already started. If I have to go out, I go out early in the morning before the hordes descend upon Route One (Coastal Highway) to their beach destinations Rehoboth Beach and beyond.
One of my doctor's appointments is to get a PET-SCAN to see how far my returning prostate cancer has spread. I'm pretty sure I'm in the same boat that former president Biden is in, the cancer has spread to my bones. I'm in pain almost every waking hour. Not excruciating pain (yet) but it's just hard for me to move around. Some of that may be my arthritis. I'm good in the morning but as the day progresses the pain becomes so much that I have to lie down, sometimes taking an Advil. I try to avoid getting in the habit though of taking Advil every day though, just if the pain is too much. Thank goodness lying down on my back alleviates the pain.
These days I'm taking two naps. One in the morning around 10:30 AM and the other in the afternoon around 3:30 PM until 6:00 PM. Yes, my naps are that long. I usually go to bed about 11 PM but I wind down much earlier. I do get up early in the morning though, around 5:30 AM up until 7 AM. I never have been one of those late sleepers. Pat is. He's a late sleeper. I think I got out of that habit when I was a teenager and missed my school bus ride once. I made a vow then to never sleep late although I did miss my class trip to New York City because I over slept. That's something I've regretted my whole life, missing that trip.
Back to my PET-SCAN. Earlier this week I received an e-mail from Beebe (the hospital) to check in early on my computer. I took the half hour or so to check in early including entering all my medications and a lot of other unnecessary information only to get down to the "SUBMIT" button, which when I hit "ENTER" it said my appointment was CANCELLED! What? I just spent all that time on my computer with AI checking in and they cancel my appointment? Sure! So I called, and called, and called. These days they have automated assistants to answer the phones, otherwise know as AI. Well, not to bore you but I spent half my morning trying to get through to the hospital only to find they had changed my appointment to July 2nd! July 2nd? This is the height of the summertime traffic, Fourth of July weekend and to top everything else off, Pat wouldn't be here to take me to my appointment. Also I would have to change my appointment with my urologist because this is when I was going to inform him that I'm not seeking further treatment for my prostate cancer. I had planned all this discussion for when Pat was here. All that was out the window now because obviously someone more important than me has bumped my appointment. By the way, this is the second time my appointment has been changed.
I plunged in again and tried to call Beebe and explain to them that my husband lives in Canada and he would be down here for two weeks in June and I would like him to be with me when I get my PET-SCAN and discuss my end of life decision with my urologist. I finally got through and of course they said they couldn't change it. I was frustrated and I replied "I'll be glad to get out of this world because of situations like this." That must have had an effect because about an hour later they called back and gave me an option for an earlier appointment. Still not a date when Pat would be here but at least I wouldn't be sitting in the parking lot that is Route One on Fourth of July weekend.
In the meantime I'm living my best life I can every day. When Pat is down we'll try a few new restaurants but we won't be eating out as much because of the dramatically increased prices in restaurants. I don't know why those prices are up so much because they certainly don't pay their help $15 an hour like they pay in Royal Farms or other minimum wage service jobs. My last job as a hotel front desk clerk, for which I had over twenty years experience and even won a trip to Disney World as Best Guest Service Award (2000, when I worked at the Hampton Inn in Pennsylvania), I never made more than $12 an hour. Started at $9 and hour and gradually with .25 cent increases worked up to $12 an hour. Yes Virginia, that is a true story. I have specialized in low paying jobs my whole adult career. Even when working for the banks I never made more than $37,500 even though my contemporaries were making $50,000 to $80,000 a year. However I contribute that to the fact I was always an out gay person which is why I never had an officer title like Assistant Vice President. But Bill and I made our lives work even though he took early retirement at 55 years of age and I was the sole breadwinner in our family for the next seven years until he could start collecting his Social Security early. The only way we were able to manage this was my insistence on buying our first home early and get out of the rental trap, which we did. Back then (1980) the real estate industry didn't base prices on two income families which is what we were. Of course now they do. I don't know how young couples can buy homes now unless both of them work. Well, not my problem now in this lifetime. That's for them to work out.
Say, have you noticed? I'm on a ramble here? I haven't been posting too much (and I won't in the future) but every now and then I just feel like talking. That's why I blog. Therapy and maybe, just maybe to help others who read this blog not to make the same mistakes I made in life this lifetime. Yes, I absolutely believe we live many lives. Our purpose in life is to learn and to love. I have accomplished both of those goals and now I am ready to comfortably coast out.
This past week I've been studying the exact details how and when one does the medically assisted suicide thing. Interesting. Also interesting reading the stories of those who have done it. They have all felt the same way I do, they have witnessed prolonged painful and degrading deaths of their loved ones and were thankful they could choose to go out in relative comfort and at a place of their choosing and with their dignity intact. That's my goal folks. And once I get this PET-SCAN complete (I'll believe it when it happens) and have the discussion with my urologist about my plans (I need his permission, I already have my primary care doctor's permission), I can concentrate on living and appreciating each day I have left. Remember folks, all of us are going to die someday. No body gets out of this life alive. But some of us fortunately live in states that choose to treat their human beings as well as they treat their pets when they're dying. I am one of those lucky people.
There, that's my rant for the day.
My paternal grandmother was alive when I was but I don’t remember her because he died when I was two years old. She was an uneducated hillbilly from the western mountains of North Carolina.
She couldn’t read or write but she did chew tobacco and tell my Mother that dancing was “sinful.” Glad I didn’t know her.
My paternal grandfather died two years before I was born.
He was descended from Jonathan Tipton who immigrated to this country from Port Royale, Jamaica after the Great Earthquake of 1692 destroyed his rum barrel stave making business. He had money and brought a lot of land in Maryland. His grandson fought along George Washington during the Battle of King’s Mountain. His name was Major Jonathan Tipton and he was my six time great grandfather. He was also involved in the formation of the state of Tennessee when it broke off from North Carolina. He settled in those mountains of Western North Carolina and proceeded to produce a prodigious batch of Tipton’s of which I am descended from. My paternal grandfather was also an uneducated hillbilly from those same western North Carolina mountains bordering on Tennessee. He was in the lumber business and brought his nine sons to Pennsylvania during the depression because they were starving and he and his sons (two more born in PA) lived on his brother-in-law’s fruit and vegetable farm in southern Chester County as field labor. My father met my Mother during this time. My father had multiple scars on his back from beatings received from his father. Such was the nature of chid discipline in those days. He died in 1939, two years before I was born. My Mother never met him, only knew him as “Mr. Tipton.” After the experience with her father, she probably wouldn’t want to meet him either.
My maternal grandmother died at 29 years old giving childbirth.
She was from a long line of historical Quaker families in Pennsylvania. From her picture she was very elegant. She died before my Mother was two years old. My Mother often talked about her.
There was one great grandmother (my maternal grandfather’s mother) who I met only once. She was on her deathbed.
They brought up all us unwashed ruffian offspring to see her before she died. She was also a very elegant lady from another long line of Pennsylvania Quaker families. During the 1880’s she was an actress. All I remember about her was climbing those stairs to the third floor of the house where she lived with her daughter and seeing this very small bird like white haired lady in a bed. As we ruffians came in one by one she turned her head and smiled slightly and nodded her head every so slowly. I will always remember that moment. Years later a cousin gave me a report card that great-grandmother Isabella Donely (she was Irish) had attend a private girls school during her youth. Her grades were excellent. She was a far cry from my tobacco, “dancing is sinful”, paternal grandmother.
Now you know why my personality is so fucked. Look at my family tree.