I am Iron (Wo)Man

We found out today why Renee has been so fatigued for the last few weeks. The results are back from the blood doctor and she doesn’t have any. “She doesn’t have any blood,” you ask? Well yes of course she’s got blood but there’s no iron in it. Iron is not a very precious metal until you can’t store it in your blood then it’s more precious than gold. She’s taking mega-doses of the stuff via supplements and it’s just not sticking. After her upcoming surgery, she’ll have to go for an intravenous helping. I wonder if we’ll have to go to Pittsburgh for that? Do they still make iron ore in Pittsburgh or has it been completely outsourced to Asia?

Renee gets to face the next surgery with an extreme iron deficiency. Isn’t that just precious? Six days is not enough time to fix her. Heck, it’s been close to two years with all of these medications and procedures and she’s still not fixed. I’ve got to look into the Lemon Laws. Maybe her mats are all in a bunch causing her system to crash. Is there a recall I’ve missed? She’s not a Lexus but she is a certified JAP. Wait, that’s American made, it’s right on the label, Jewish American Princess. A princess deficient in a precious metal, my darn father-in-law must have cheaped me on the dowry! He gets a Cadillac and I get Cleveland. I call foul!

Despite being deficient (and not having any iron in her blood), Renee is in good spirits and healthier than she was prior to the other two related surgeries. She says she’s not scared and I believe her. She just wants this over with.

Renee’s blood doctor says that she doesn’t have the right amount of metal in her cells but she’s sure got the right amount of mettle to get through this next little procedure. She’s our Iron Woman.

Speaking of …

The rain finally let up. It had been going nearly non-stop since early Sunday. At least it has washed away a lot of the pollen that was floating around so I don’t have to move to Canada to take a breath.

Speaking of Canada, there is a new website that I just added to my links on the right called The Sweet One. It is all about Noonan Syndrome and contains great info and numerous links to even more. The webmaster, who I’ve met electronically through this blog, is a mother in Ontario who’s youngest child has NS. Cassidy has also been diagnosed with Noonan’s which I’ve just touched the surface on here. Check it out and let anyone you know who needs this info know about it.

http://www.thesweetone.ca/noonansyndrome.html

Speaking of Cassidy, she did some shadowing yesterday. Not boxing or hiding things from sunlight, she shadowed a freshman to check out a prospective high school. One of the things we have learned with Noonan’s is that learning differences are common. It took us a while to find the right grammar school that had teaching methods which deal with her specific difficulties in processing and memory. Now that she’s in eighth grade we’ve got to go shopping all over again for the next right school. The pickings are slim so we’re hoping we get it right on the first shot.

The high school is an “all girls.” They wear plaid skirts and, as a Rabbi during a recent sermon said (quite humorously even to goyim in his Bat Mitzvah audience), “there’s plus signs all over the place.” Yes, it’s a Catholic High - I hear my mother yelling Wahoooo! – so Cass can now hear from the new half of the Good Book if we decide this is the right fit. She said this morning that that’s where she’s going. There’s one solid vote.

Still speaking of Cassidy, her volleyball season is officially over. Her team went up against the best in the league during today’s tournament and put up the good fight. They were eliminated but showed great competitive spirit in defeat. We now get to re-claim two evenings and Saturdays mornings back as ours. We’re all winners.

Speaking of winning, the Yankees clinched a playoff berth this week and the Giants beat the Cowboys at their new house in Dallas. How good is that? And this morning, I won because I got to go watch volleyball rather than do the neighborhood garage sale. Renee thinks she won because she loves garage sales. That’s a three-fer, it’s all good.

Speaking of Renee, she is now pre-registered for her upcoming surgery. Preparations for the trip north are well under way. The countdown is on. One week from tomorrow and we hit the road. We’re optimistic that this surgery three-fer will wash away the bad health karma that has plagued Renee like the rain has washed away the pollen.

Speaking of rain, it is threatening again ...

Your Spin, Renee

Just two short weeks until the next trip north to the Mistake by the Lake, our dear sister city, Cleveland, Ohio.

Renee’s energy level has been pretty low for the last few weeks. Maybe it’s due to allergies or a mild case of the flu or anxiety over the next phase of this crazy game of slice and dice. Or maybe it’s just her family moving to town that’s wearing her out. She is spending a lot of time running back and forth between houses. It sure as heck couldn’t have anything to do with me.

Another thing wearing her out is the big post-Surgery Two frustration. Renee has not gotten used to the new stoma and how it drains. The site is still raw and constantly reminds her it is there. Going from the highly complimented and easy to deal with stoma that she had following Surgery One to this evil looking sewage snake that refuses to heal has been quite maddening. She’s looking forward to the reversal of the temporary ileostomy and getting her plumbing re-connected.

Renee’s gastro-doc has warned her of some of the drawbacks of the new set-up. She’s got to re-train all of those muscles in her behind to work like they should. She is supposed to be doing kegel exercises. Are you Renee?

One of the strange side effects the doctor did not warn us about has taken complete hold of Renee. It seems that the temporary need to holster her rump in incontinence catchers has pushed her psyche higher up into the AARP range. Her new favorite TV show is Wheel Of Fortune. I’m thinking of dropping her off at the Senior Center every evening at 7:00 so she has some like minded folks to enjoy Pat and Vanna with. If I catch her watching Murder, She Wrote, Quincy, M.E. or Matlock, I’m just dropping her at the dog track with a note pinned to her sweater. I think her new curls are wound a little too tight. Hopefully, like her hair loss this is a temporary malady.

As we’ve found out with the previous surgeries, the future is all a mystery. You can read all about what may happen but every patient handles their own set up differently. It works great for some and fails for others. After all Renee’s been through we’re hoping the third surgery's a charm. Whatever the final level of success, I can guarantee you that there will be plenty of sh** to talk about.

[That's the second post in a row I've used that same dirty word. You'd never hear that kind of language on any of those shows mentioned above. That salty tone has no place here either so don't get used to it. Oh never mind, anyone who was offended stopped reading at the Wheel of Fortune paragraph. Have a great day!]

The Nobel Peace Sign

L’Shana Tovah! - Happy New Year to all of our Jewish friends and family. Get ready to atone for a whole year of the things you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place.

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The University of Louisville Cardinals versus the University of Kentucky Wildcats game is on right now. This game is not being shown on my TV system. What’s up with that?

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I should probably snap a few photos of Renee for you all to see. A few months ago I told you about her hair loss. That was all the way back during Surgery One recovery. Well, her hair has made an amazing comeback. We’re talking white-fro comeback and she doesn’t even own a pick-comb. With the 70’s retro look making a comeback also she is stylin’ and groovy baby.

While we’re on the subject of retro ridiculousness, here’s my rant on that other hippie era symbol that’s popped back into the mainstream.

Flush With Peace

Isn’t it great how everything comes around again? We grow up and become our parents and our kids start doing the same things we did. Lately, my daughter has been giving the peace sign. Yes, the peace sign is back in full force. Everywhere you go someone is flashing it at you. Boy, that’s done a lot to stop war, hasn’t it? Bell-bottoms are back, Tie-dyes are back and peace signs are back, now I feel safe.

Where did the peace sign come from? I’ll show you. Go ahead and take your two fingers and make the familiar “V.” Now, point them down and then point them back up. Whoosh, that’s the two fingers you use to flush.

You know what peace is? Flush toilets! That’s right, flush toilets, the ability to go into a private little room and do your business and wave goodbye to yesterday’s taco.

Why didn’t Thomas Crapper win the Nobel Peace Prize? They gave the prize to Yassar Arrafat. Why wasn’t the guy who brought the indoor water closet to the general public so honored? Who do you think has done more for peace?

Don’t you think there would be a lot less suicide bombers if once a day these lunatics could sit down on a clean commode, grab a Reader’s Digest, read a couple of quips from Humor In Tunic, and have ten minutes of alone time to … a … you know … and think twice about strapping a bomb to their freshly wiped butts.

What is the most basic thing that we have that your average cave dwelling terrorists don’t? Flush toilets! You know the saying, flush all your troubles? Well, it’s pretty hard to do that without a toilet. So forget all those other tactics. Just sit down at the negotiation table and say two words, flush toilets. Nobody doesn’t want flush toilets.

If they can’t agree on flush toilets, then, they don’t want peace.

So, let’s bomb the shit out of them!

Peace out!

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And to completely change subjects: Two Kentucky related items hit the national news this week. One voice fell silent, Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary, was born here in Louisville. Another voice, out of the little town of Mayfield, resounded. Kevin Skinner took the America’s Got Talent top prize. I don’t pay much attention to this type of show but I looked at it as an unrehearsed passing of the torch. Let’s hope Kevin stays as true to his roots as Mary.

On the health front, despite all of the sniffles, we’re all feeling pretty good this week. Let’s hope the new year brings a continuation of good health to all of our families and friends and everyone else who isn’t trying to blow us up.

The Wonderful Wizard of Bob

Renee thinks I have mystical powers. You see just by mentioning that it may be time to trade in the car I can cause it to do strange things. Never mind that it was starting to do strange things before I said anything. I am still magical!

The Cash for Clunkers program got me to thinking about replacing at least one of the workhorses in our current fleet of vehicles. Fleet, you say? Yes, a fleet of two has been carting us around for years. Old Paint, my reliable little pick-up that is about to turn twenty, didn’t qualify for the program. Apparently, it is neither a car nor a truck. I’ve always known it was unique but now Congress has confirmed it. Now I need our fine legislators to pass a bill that gives me a big fat stimulus payment for my unclassifiable vehicle. Really, shouldn’t I receive some kind of special stipend for buying a fuel efficient vehicle back when it was en vogue to pilot the biggest darn gas guzzling land yacht around? I’m sure they know my address. Please spell my name right on the check.

Our other car, the one Renee thinks is hers, is an eight year old Volvo wagon. It is in pretty good shape but is starting to show its age. And yes, somehow this one qualified as a clunker despite the book value being well over the maximum rebate allowance. Every repair, no matter how minor, comes with a $1,000 price tag. It doesn’t matter what it is, $1,000. Bulb out in the back, well, you need a whole new light panel, $1,000. Squeak in the brake pedal, that’s a bad seal on the anti-lock compressor, $1,000. Car’s dirty, you need a soil demagnetizing solution rinse, $1,000. You get the picture, we’re getting hosed. It is not a bad car, we like it, but the repair bills are starting to mount up to where it may be costing us more to keep than a new car under warranty would. Renee also thinks I put a curse on the car by mentioning trade-in causing all of the recent problems. Praising the car doesn’t fix it though. My wizardry may only work one way.

We all know how much a new car costs these days so we’re going to try to milk a few more good years out of these two wonderful machines. I’ll need to come up with some enchanting incantations to reverse the curse on the Swedish import in order to make it happen, but not to worry, I’ve just picked up a book of spells for, you guessed it, $1,000.

Now what’s this got to do with this blog about family health you’re asking? Everything I say. This is September in the Ohio Valley. The pollen count is so high it affects everything, even our cars. The air is so thick it clogs up the car’s air filter along with everyone’s immune system. The schools are empty from all the allergy induced absences. The parents are hiding under the covers with belly aches and sniffles and low grade fevers. We’re all scratching at our eyeballs, sucking down Sudafed and clutching the Kleenex.

Renee and Cassidy have both been hit with flu-like symptoms. Renee’s immune system is so overworked she can’t fend off any of the bugs that the little buggers in the pre-school spread about. Cassidy has already spoiled her perfect attendance record. I have never experienced allergies before moving to Kentucky but now commiserate with the rest of the itchy sneezers.

Everyone is just miserable from the poor air quality. It brings out the worst in people. Normally calm drivers are blowing their horns and fighting their way through traffic like they’re crazed New York cab drivers. The weather has been great, coaxing us outside into the late summer sunshine, compounding the illness factor. Despite the near perfect temperature, I’m eager for that first frost so I may be able to take a breath without tasting ragweed.

Lately, my creative juices have all been directed toward battling this seasonal bombardment. Too clogged to blog I was. But I am back. And just in time to keep you up to speed with the countdown to what we hope is Renee’s final surgery. The culmination of the invasive triad is just a tad over three weeks away. I hope to use my new found magical powers to amaze you with the antics of our favorite patient. I’ll bet you’ve never seen anyone pull a rabbit out of an ostomy bag, have you? The tricks I have up my sleeve are endless and I know my faithful assistant will not let us down. The suspense is building. Don’t even think about taking your eyes off of the screen.