FiftyBogue

I can’t believe it’s mid-January. I’m such a lame blogger…

LOTS of things have happened since my last post.

B. and I went to Savannah, Georgia for a vacation. Savannah is such a beautiful place. November or December is a great time to go there because it’s still pretty warm and there are few tourists. The whole historic district is very walker-friendly, with a historic square every other block, and beautifully restored mansions everywhere. Our hotel, Planter’s Inn, faced Reynolds Square, and was really lovely – wine and cheese every evening, wonderful staff, nice breakfast, only 2 blocks from the river – and a real bargain that time of year. Our first evening there, the annual Christmas parade of lights passed by right in front of the hotel! We had amazing food, and we didn’t even go to Paula Deen’s restaurant. We did, however, go to Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House for lunch and sat down to a table laden with 23 delicious low county dishes!

Tybee Island is Savannah’s beach – a barrier island about 17 miles from the historic district. It’s a sweet little town in its own right, with some great restaurants (the Sundae Café, the Crab Shack and the Breakfast Club are not to be missed), a beautiful lighthouse and a couple of forts worth seeing. Our first night, we walked on the beach at twilight and were awestruck by the plethora of jumping dolphins and swooping pelicans. We also took a day trip to Charleston, and took harbor tour and saw Fort Sumter.

B. and I both got sick the morning after we got home. I had the stomach flu plus a respiratory infection, and B. just got the respiratory part. It was a misery. We survived. Enough said about that. We were well in time to decorate for the holidays and to finish Christmas shopping.

However…

My cat Grace had surgery on Christmas eve, effectively canceling my holiday plans. She ate sewing thread and some of it got wrapped around her tongue. Of course, I had no idea that’s what had happened… While I was wrapping presents on the 23^rd she started vomiting and yowling, but, you know… cats do that, so I wasn’t too alarmed. The next day she was acting strange, but I poked her stomach and looked her over good and she didn’t seem like she had any pain, so I decided she had a big hairball, and went to work. On the way home, I went to PetsMart and got her some hairball treats, but when I got home, she was still not herself and wouldn’t eat them. I still wasn’t too alarmed, but since I was leaving town the next morning, I called my vet, but they were getting ready to close and wouldn’t be open until the 26^th. I went back to PetsMart to get some hairball ointment, and saw that their vet clinic was still open. I talked to them, then went home and got Grace and brought her in, still thinking I was overreacting. The vet found the thread, clipped it and tried to pull it out, but she had swallowed too much and it wouldn’t come. They did an x-ray to see if there was a needle and found out that her intestines were getting bunched up around the thread, and that’s when they said she’d have to have surgery. Christmas: cancelled. I was feeling pretty blessed that things worked out the way they did – that I’d brought her in, that they’d got her in time – but it was all such a bummer. They had to keep poor Grace overnight and then the following morning she was in surgery for quite a while. In the meantime prepared for a couple of days by myself with a sick cat: I got a carry-out turkey dinner and made sure I had plenty of DVDs. I gave B. the presents for his family and kissed him goodbye and he went off to celebrate the holiday without me.

I brought Grace home at 4:00 on Christmas eve, strung out on anesthesia, no bladder control, a 4-inch incision on her belly, weak and confused and startling at every noise. She was supposed to wear a cone, but I took that off, seeing she was too nuts to bother her incision and hoping to give her some relief. I just held her in my lap for the first few hours. She wouldn’t eat that night, and on Christmas day she’d only lick a little food from my fingers – not more than a few teaspoons all day. The vet hadn’t been able to get all the thread from her esophagus, plus her stomach tissue hadn’t looked good in surgery, so she had said Grace still wasn’t out of the woods. I took her back to the clinic first thing the morning of the 26^th and she had a fever and the vet (a substitute) was quite concerned about her not eating and said that they might have to open her up again. I took her home and coaxed her to eat all day, without much success. I was really upset. I was prepared for them to say she’d have to have more surgery when I took her back the next morning.

I know it’s not right to have favorites, and I’m not one to treat a pet like a child, but I love this cat more than all my previous pets combined, and although other people believe that they have the greatest cat, they’re wrong, because mine’s the best, and you’d agree if you met her.

When I took her the next day, the regular vet was back, and she seemed less concerned and decided to do some blood tests. They all came back normal, and her fever was down, so I took her home – no more surgery! Later that day, she started eating, and a couple of days later she pooped, and it’s been all uphill since then. She’s not a conehead any more, and although her belly is still shaved, she’s once again galloping around the apartment and acting like herself again. And I have a new vet! God bless those people! Your lesson from this long tale: KEEP YOUR PETS AWAY FROM “LINEAR FOREIGN BODIES!”

A late (tense) Christmas happened. You know that very bad day when Grace was really sick, December 26, described above? Well, I managed to dry my tears long enough to have a little Christmas with B. I got some lovely gifts, and enjoyed watching him open my gifts. But, you know… Not the best Christmas ever.

New Years Eve was fun though. Grace was better by then, and we had some friends in from out of town and I spent a couple of days playing tourist in my own town, which is always fun. A very laid back time with some great folks! And then we danced in the New Year.

I went back to work at some point and am still trying to get up to speed. I’m sure I will soon.

My 51^st birthday. 50 was a great year – wonderful parties (see last year’s posts), two great trips, our engagement. 51 is off to a great start too. I had a relaxing day with B. on Sunday, dinner with his parents, and I plan to take a four day weekend this coming weekend and do some relaxing, girly stuff – pedicure (of course), massage, sewing, movies, and the like. Ahhh…. I am NOT changing the name of the blog to “Fiftyonebogue.com” though…

I know this should have been, like, five shorter posts, but it is what it is. I’ll try and do better.

I have sleep apnea. Shocking, I know, that an overweight, middle-aged American woman might have such a thing, but I assure you, it’s true.

My apnea story isn’t one of those “…and suddenly I felt SO much better, I took up running and lost 50 pounds!” kind of stories. I didn’t even suspect I had apnea. I just always knew I wasn’t a “morning person.” I HATE getting up in the morning. My poor mom had to practically blast me out of bed every morning of my youth, and I still give my snooze button a workout.

When I started sharing a bed with B., he commented on my snoring, saying it wasn’t excessive, but was persistent. I told him, “It’s like a kitten purring. You’ll find it soothing.” He didn’t have any dramatic stories about me stopping breathing, so I wasn’t worried. But I finally started wondering if I shouldn’t wake up feeling more refreshed in the morning, like a normal person. So I did a sleep study.

For those of you who haven’t done it, sleep studies are no fun whatsoever. It’s a lot like checking into a hotel, until they strap 19 electrodes on you and tell you that they’ll be watching and listening to you from their booth all night. Oh, and if you need to go to the bathroom, just say something – they’ll hear it – and will come in and unstrap you from the monitors.

I sleep on my stomach and I couldn’t really get into my normal sleeping position during the study, but managed to drop off for a few hours (5.25 according to their records). Enough, at least, for them to determine that I was having about nine apnea episodes an hour that were keeping me from getting to REM sleep. I never wake myself completely, just kept myself out of deep sleep. The few minutes I dropped into REM sleep, I had 22 apnea episodes! And yet, this is considered mild apnea.

I learned from my new sleep doctor that folks with untreated apnea are twice as likely to die of a heart attack than those who are treated, or who have no apnea. That got my attention. So I got a CPAP. For those of you unfamiliar with that particular acronym (for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure), this is the name of the torture device that is choice #1 for apnea treatment (or at least it was 3 years ago). It’s a machine with a 6 foot hose attached to a face mask that you strap to your head to blow air up your nose all night. This somehow keeps your throat from closing while you sleep. It’s as fun as it sounds. It’s like sleeping in scuba gear – and just as sexy. For a stomach sleeper like myself, it was nearly impossible to sleep with, but I tried for three months, usually waking to find it sighing softly on the pillow next to me.

I was referred to Dr. A., my wonderful sleep dentist, who fit me for an oral appliance that holds my lower jaw forward just enough to keep my throat tissue from sagging while I sleep. I took to it immediately (although it gives me a monkey-faced look, also not sexy), and found subtle, yet consistent improvements in my life – increased energy, less horror about getting up in the morning, fewer morning headaches, etc.

The appliance is fitted to your teeth, so since I started the process of getting my new teeth, I’ve had to sleep without it. I thought I was doing pretty well during those three months, although in August and September I had some back problems that didn’t really going away. I was stressed out at work, and had a short fuse. None of this seemed serious or sleep related – and maybe they weren’t, who knows?

But here’s the thing: last week I got my new appliance, a cunning little lavender model, and even though it’s pinching a bit and needs some adjustments – voila! No more back pain, more energy, no headaches, happy to be alive, etc., etc. Yet another subtle miracle wrought through the magic of REM sleep!

If you’ll excuse, me, it’s my bedtime!

NOTE: Dr. A. says that many insurance companies are now recognizing OAT (oral appliance therapy) as the first protocol for treating apnea, rather than the CPAP. That’s good – maybe my insurance will pay for it this time!

I was born with bad teeth (well not literally, but, you know…). And then they got worse. Having inherited my mother’s bad dental genes (she had full dentures by 35), I then contracted scarlet fever and was given the antibiotic tetracycline when my adult teeth were developing. So my teeth were always kind of a grayish color and developed fractures. Add to this the fact that flossing wasn’t something known to occur in our house while I was growing up, and that I had more tetracycline for my acne as a teenager, and that’s how I wound up with a filling in every off-colored tooth. But there’s more! My jaw is small and my teeth are kind of scrunched up and one of my front teeth never fully descended and was always shorter than the other. They weren’t deemed crooked enough for braces back then, so they stayed with me. Fortunately, I was never very aware of how gray and crooked they were.

UNTIL I got veneers on my four front teeth in 1986, that is. Then everyone felt obliged to tell me how they’d always wondered how my front tooth got broken, but never wanted to ask. (In fact, no one HAD ever asked.) When I moved back to Kansas City I became a patient of Dr. M., and he’s taken good care of me, putting crowns on eight of my molars over the years. But he’s always been keen on improving my smile, something I wanted too, but couldn’t afford. But veneers aren’t supposed to last more than 20 years, and mine were 22. So, after selling the house, I put some of the money aside for new choppers and this past summer I started the whole grueling process. I was persuaded to have my canine teeth redone as well, and instead of veneers, I went with full “jackets” which I guess is what they call caps nowadays.

I’ll spare you the details – no one reads a blog for the dental procedures (I hope) – but suffice to say that after weeks of bleaching, 4 long dentist appointments, 3 of which involved 6-12 shots of a novacaine/epinephrine cocktail that left me jumpy and my face numb until bedtime, more drilling than I want to remember, and consultations with the “tooth artist” who makes the teeth, I now have a Hollywood smile. Here’s the proof:

(Remember – even these “before” pics aren’t my natural teeth. So I’ve included one with those…)

I truly, truly can’t believe it’s almost September. B. and I were talking about how we feel a little gipped since we didn’t get to do everything we thought we’d do – fishing, water parks and the like. We’re hoping to make the most of the fall, which is starting to look a little booked up. We’ve postponed our big vacation for a number of reasons, but are starting to think about some smaller trips in the coming months.

I did have a couple of adventures this summer that I’ve neglected to set down here. I’ll do it in brief, since it’s late and tomorrow’s plate is full.

Our deluxe accommodations

V. and I took a trip to Minneapolis to celebrate our 50th birthdays. We stayed in a very nice hotel (down comforters, pool, hot tub) near the Mall of America where we shopped a great deal (uh, like 14 hours) and we also took in the sights of Minneapolis and St. Paul. We drove and honest to god never stopped talking the whole way. I was hoarse when I got home. I mean, you’d think we’d listen to music or something for a few miles…

Then, a couple of weeks ago, some of my good friends and art school cronies got together for a reunion, some coming from out of town. I had fun houseguests for a few days and had a great excuse to play hooky and just generally PLAY. Good food, good friends, great memories.

I’ve had a bunch of doctor’s appointments lately and have been trying to get my nose back to the grindstone everywhere – at work and at home. I’m trying to get an HOUR a day of exercise on most days – a new resolution – and sheesh! it’s kickin my butt. But I managed it today and we’ll see how tomorrow goes. I’d like to live forever, so I have my work cut out for me, huh?

So I guess I’m sharpening my pencils and getting ready for fall – not a new school year, but it feels like something new, anyway. Time to put away the dreams of summer for another year, maybe? Well, not until the pools close, I guess.

Then

Now

I’m gearing up to spend a wonderful weekend with some old friends. College friends, but that makes it sound so plebeian… We were in the Art Department fer crissakes, and a freakishly talented group, too. So out of the ordinary, we need a better, more descriptive designation, right? Art Rats. Visually Trained Humans. Aesthetes. Hmm. Not nearly cool enough. Oh, and I’d have to add “& friends.” Not everyone was an art student. Some were just cool in their own right.

Anyway, my friend R. and family are already here and we’re having a blast, hanging out, swimming, shopping, dining. And tomorrow kicks off 2.5 days with others of the gang (alas, not everyone could make it), hanging out, eating BBQ, looking at art, laughing, eating some more and generally having fun.

A nice thing to do, reuniting. I’ve been doing this a good bit lately. Against all odds, I, a formerly not-so-popular, non-cheerleader choir nerd, am now heading up my high school reunion committee, and we recently got together in a non-reunion year to celebrate turning 50. The party was fun, but the committee meetings leading up to the party were perhaps even better. I LOVE catching up with friends from my past. And the older I get, the more past I have. Awesome.

Advice of the day: I recommend going to a high school reunion, even if you didn’t have a great high school experience, and even if you didn’t know many of your classmates. It teaches you a lot: That all that stuff that mattered SO much back then – how popular you weren’t, how snooty the cute girls were, how unkind life seemed – all evaporates with time. Time is the great leveler. The handsome jock may be scraping by in a dead end job, while the guy nobody noticed has the brilliant career (but you already know this if you watched Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion). There are time-worn yet relevant lessons to be learned from this, folks. Like:

• don’t take yourself too seriously
• appreciate what you have now
• don’t judge a book by it’s cover
• don’t follow every fashion trend, especially if you’re going to be photographed

Reuniting with pals (or even enemies) from the past isn’t only fun (and anthropologically fascinating), it gives you perspective. And that’s never a bad thing.