Health Archive

. . . the neurology wizards at Duke.

OK, that's not terribly accurate. I went up to Duke yesterday for an MRI.

This was the first MRI I've had in about 18 months, the first since my surgery last year. It was also the first time I was subjected to a non-open MRI machine. I felt like a torpedo... and I have a better understanding why some people freak out when in the machine.

Note to self: have shoulders narrowed; they're just too dang wide for an MRI.

I came out of the MRI with a pounding headache. As expected, the process had screwed up the settings on my shunt, which is magnetically programmable. This was expected, so one of my neurosurgeon's residents was on hand to reprogram the shunt, which is — surprise, surprise — done with a special electromagnetic tool applied to the top of my head. It turns out that the MRI had reset the shunt valve to a flow rate approximately 700% of normal.

That would explain that headache. The other headaches I've been having for the last month or so, not so much.

With the MRI out of the way, I can now be scheduled for plasmapheresis.

Faster, please.

... an ingrate.

Many many thanks to loyal reader MJ, who, having read about my dilemma last week, sprung into action and shipped me six packs of Starbucks ground coffee. It was a complete and much welcome surprise.

I figure that'll get me through the end of the year.

I have the Best. Readers. Ever.

I didn't mention it yesterday, but when I took that bit of a fall in the wee hours of Saturday morning, in the process I kicked a door jamb and broke my little toe. That took some real brains.

Russ, just Russ... soooooper genius.

At least my hands and arms remain undamaged and fully functional. Getting around the house is just a bit more difficult, but fortunately I am already accustomed to moving like a 90-year-old. The toe doesn't actually hurt a whole lot, but it has turned quite a lovely variety of colors.

While on the subject of heath matters: I spoke with one of the staff at my neurologist's office today about scheduling the MRI and plasmapheresis they want me to do. They want me to have the MRI first — why, I don't know — but because of the shunt in my head, the Duke neurosurgeon or one of his residents has to be on hand to magnetically re-key the shunt settings, so the scheduling depends on them.

To be honest, I don't know why I don't have some sort of MedicAlert bracelet or wallet card with the shunt settings listed, just in case. I should probably check into that.

I'll probably go with the wallet card. I haven't regularly worn "jewelry" of any kind since I took off my dogtags in 1992.

It's been a busy week, hence the light-to-nonexistant posting. If I were any good, I'd be hammering away at the keyboard like Mike (and pals) at Cold Fury.

Work has been insanely busy. Customers who ought not to be fiddling with their networks during the Christmas retail rush have been breaking things. This puts them in direct contention for my time with customers who don't have to worry about retail sales, who plan on using the holiday season to break things.

Plus, it's time for the annual performance review. That would be going a lot quicker if the "goals" in my review weren't phoney-baloney boilerplate that doesn't apply to what I do. I guess I should just write some phoney-baloney boilerplate "accomplishments" to match... but that's a good deal more difficult than you might expect.

I took a fall during the wee hours Friday night/Saturday morning; it hasn't helped. I did something painful to my right leg (the good one) that's somewhat distracting. At least I didn't hurt my hands/wrists/arms in any way; I depend on them rather a lot.

I'm noticing a decline in my walking ability. I'm shakier on my feet than I've been in a while, and despite the nearly year-long regimen of physical therapy, there's weakness now I haven't had in maybe six months. I'm hoping the medicos get me in for that previously mentioned plasmapheresis treatment pretty soon... while I can still drive.

On the plus side, I got a package on Friday, full of wrapped boxes from the relatives in California. Nice. I'll resist temptation, and hold off opening any of them. The peanut butter fudge my mom made should hold me over until Thursday. Or at least until 4pm today.

Mom deserves her own show on the Food Network solely on the basis of her peanut butter fudge, that's how good it is.

I swear, it's like riding a roller coaster that never stops. Even if you love roller coasters, eventually it'll make you want to be noisily and spectacularly sick.

I saw my regular doc for a checkup last week, during which he came to the conclusion that I should see my neurologist sooner, much sooner, rather than later at my scheduled followup in February.

So today I got up at the crack of dawn* and trekked to the neurologist. I went through the ritual examination — the reflexes, strength and sense of touch in my legs have all degraded — and then underwent a hastily-scheduled Taser test before being parked in the office to await a verdict... or at least, a suggestion of what ought to happen next.

The neurologist asked if I'd had a plain old spinal tap done at any point — not the several-day functionality test, but one where the fluid collected was sent out for lab testing. I reassured him that yes, it had been done. Boy oh boy, had it ever. He then called the hospital where it had been done and had the results immediately faxed over.

You'd think they could do that sort of thing via email. I guess not.

After reviewing those lab results (from a year and a half ago, remember) and pondering for a minute or so, he sat up in his chair and asked me how difficult it might be for me to spend a few days in the hospital.

Oh, no. Not again.

After recovering from my apoplectic fit, I let him know it would be just a tad difficult.

He mulled this over a bit, then got down to brass tacks, to wit: the shunt is almost certainly doing its job, but he wants me to have another MRI of my head to make sure that the ventricles are in fact not expanding again.

OK, I can do that. No need to park me in a hospital overnight, much less for a couple of days.

Closing in on the previously mentioned Mysterious Undiagnosed Second Condition, he then brought up a word I'd heard before: "autoimmune."

For that, there's treatment he thinks I should do: plasmapheresis. Basically, it's the same sort of thing as dialysis, the difference being that instead of removing waste products on behalf of the kidneys, they're removing antibodies.

Yikes.

As the doctor described it, the process takes a couple of hours a day, every other day. He said they can do the entire blood supply in five visits to whatever place does the procedure. Of course, since they're scrubbing the entire blood supply, I'll have to have a catheter installed in my neck for the duration. Egads.

After the plasmapheresis, gamma globulin treatment is the next step.

I am once again convinced I'm going to have a disease named after me.

* Relatively speaking, of course. I got up at 9am for an 11:30 appointment.

Busy week here, hence the lack of posting.

Doctor appointments, later-than-usual nights at work, and so on.

After a checkup earlier this week with my regular doctor, my six-month checkup with the neurologist has been bumped up from February to next week. Some of my neurological symptoms are returning, which isn't what I'd hoped for, but which in hindsight makes a certain amount of sense, from an engineering point of view.

The shunt installed this time last year alleviated the symptoms, but did not — could not — resolve the underlying cause of the hydrocephalus. I think what's happening is that the problematic processes have continued on their merry way, and now they are beginning to catch up with what the shunt has been able to handle.

The solution, I'm guessing, would be to adjust the shunt to a higher rate of drainage. But, dammit Jim, I'm an engineer, not a doctor... so I'll be seeing the doc next week.

Sigh. And so it goes.

Today is Pearl Harbor Day.

This is the battleship U.S.S. Arizona in the 1930s:

And this is the U.S.S. Arizona and 1177 of her crew today:

Never forget.

Last year I was not able to do my traditional Pearl Harbor Day post, because one year ago today I was in the hospital having a minor bit of brain surgery.

In the year that has passed since, I've progressed quite well, better than expected. I will probably always require a cane to get around... but that sure beats a wheelchair, let me tell you.

I'm never going to be "normal" again, but I'm better than I was when I was at my physical lowest. I was, and continue to be, buoyed by the support of my family and friends. Thank you all.

"So, Russ," you're asking yourself, "how's your health been the past month or so?"

That's a strange question to be asking yourself, but I'll try to answer anyway.

I'm still doing physical therapy a couple times a week, though at this point it's more of a maintenance thing than an improvement thing. I'm no longer getting any better, in terms of capability, though my endurance continues to improve a little. My legs are overall much stronger than they used to be, but I still have no strength in my hips and glutes — which are rather important for standing, walking, or stair-climbing.

I have noticed that some of my symptoms aren't doing any better. I have some good days, some pretty bad days, and some pretty awful days. There is still a lot of peripheral neuropathy; even with medication, it is bothersome to some degree every day, and bad enough to keep me awake some nights.

Hovering in the background is the prospect that there's been more than one thing wrong with me all along. The hydrocephalus having been dealt with, I suspect I should probably be doing better than I am. I dunno, maybe they need to open the valve in my head a bit wider.

Or perhaps they need to look at my lower back after all. Since it was determined early on that I had central nervous system problems, the doctors didn't focus on my lower back, where I had suffered my Army-career-ending back injury.

I don't know, I just don't know. I said before the surgery last December that if I could get back to the point of walking with a cane I'd be happy... and mostly that's true, but with as much progress as I've made, I'd like to think there's room for further improvement.

I see the neurologist again in a couple of months; I'll see what can be done to dig deeper into things. And just maybe I'll be able to ditch my cane some day.

Since the beginning of the Recent Neurological Unpleasantness*, one of the (several) activities that I've really missed being able to do is woodworking. I have a garage full of power tools — table saw, lathe, drill press, jointer, and so on — and I simply haven't been able to use them.

Until today.

After I got up today, I slammed a couple cups of coffee, fed the cats, and headed out to the garage. Backed the truck into the driveway, and got to work. The task I assigned myself today: assemble the mobile base I bought for my lathe.

Not a big deal, you might think. All I had to do was cut a two-by-four into four pieces (two crosscuts and two rip cuts), drill 20 holes, and turn a wrench. Not a big deal at all... unless you can't stand up and walk around easily.

It took me all afternoon, and into the evening. But I got it done.

By the time I put away all the tools and parked the truck, I was exhausted, and completely sweat-soaked; I hadn't actually had anything to eat all day. Man, I love being "in the groove."

Next week, I'll spend my days off rearranging the tools in the garage. Right now, getting to the lathe is a bit of a challenge and moving the table saw away from the wall to the spot where it is best used is extremely awkward, so I'll swap the places where they are stored when not in use, which will make them a lot easier to use.

I never used to have to worry about a little extra effort. Now, and for as far out as I can see, extra effort is a major hurdle to be avoided.

But I am going to be doing woodworking again. I can hear the lathe calling my name.

^{* I think that's how I'm going to refer to the whole hydrocephalus kerfuffle, henceforth.}

I really understand why the biathlon is an Olympic event. Racing from point A to point B, and then shooting accurately is hard. Of course, I wasn't really racing downrange with my targets and back to the firing line — plodding is more like it — but it certainly was laborious. I really could have used a breather between walking and shooting, but taking too long a rest would have cut into my shooting time.

After yesterday's thoroughly exhausting trip to the range, I had another PT session today.

I woke up today after one of the worst night's sleep I've had in a while, and still felt completely drained by yesterday's activities. It felt like I could barely move... because I really could barely move. I didn't need to be making extra trips up and down the stairs; my legs and hips were sore enough that I decided the cats could wait an hour or so for their breakfast until I was downstairs on my way out the door to PT.

My shoulder is lightly bruised, as well, from the rifles. But that's a good kind of hurt.

Eventually I did manage to get myself dressed and shod, and descended the stairs — quite shakily — fed the furballs, and headed out.

PT was the usual round of exercises — bridges, straight-leg raises, hamstring curls, and so on — followed by the caneless walking routine. This week, though, the therapist had me do something different. Instead of walking as far as I could before taking a rest, he had me do one lap at a time around the facility, with a one-minute rest between laps. Perhaps not surprisingly, on every lap my speed and form were much better than they had been in the past. I think he had me do it that way to let me get used to actually walking quickly; it certainly worked. It also seems to have loosened me up; by the time PT was done, I was moving a lot better than I had been before I left the house.

Of course, I was pretty well pooped by the time PT was done. I'm getting used to that. I barely had it in me to get myself up the stairs when I got home... so I fed the cats again before I came up. No extra trips down and up the stairs for this guy today... but I still will have to go down and feed them their dinner later. They had better appreciate it.

I'll bet anyone a dollar that I'll be barely mobile tomorrow.

I went to physical therapy today; because of changes to my work schedule, it had been a couple of weeks since I'd gone.

Walking, I set another new personal record: 1080 feet, at just over 1mph. Watch out, speed demon coming through. I was completely exhausted, of course, when I was finished.

After PT, I made a huge mistake.

Well, really, I made the mistake last night, by not doing my grocery shopping online. So today I had to actually do my shopping afoot.

The shopping was mostly successful (ribeyes at $6.99/pound? Sign me up!)

At one point, however, my legs decided they'd had enough, and decided to take a little vacation. I sort of crumpled vertically, and landed on my butt in the soft-drink aisle.

It's the first time I've fallen in several months, and the first time I've fallen in public, ever.

A store employee was at the other end of the aisle and saw it happen, and rushed over to make sure I was OK, and then to get help. Before they returned, though, a couple of my fellow shoppers were good enough to help out, by steadying my cart while I used it and my cane to lever myself up.

I did learn one thing — if you have to fall down in public, a grocery store is as good a place as any. The staff were very helpful, and very solicitous. You'd think they were afraid of getting sued or something. Three or four times while I finished my shopping and while I was checking out, manager type guys approached and asked if I was OK.

They were clearly afraid of a lawsuit.

If I were an evil SOB, I'm sure I could have claimed to have slipped on something, but no, this was purely a failure of my legs to hold me up after the day's activity, and I told them as much.

The only thing I hurt was my pride.

I had my six-month followup with the neurologist this afternoon. He put me through the old familiar round of physical tests — reflexes, strength, sensitivity, and so on.

Here's something you might not have known: when the doctor does a test on you and then calls his colleagues in to see him do the test again, you can count on it being either very good, very bad, or very weird.

Mine was very good... and just a bit weird.

When the doc does the old "tap with a hammer" reflex tests, each leg reacts strongly — stronger than expected, given how badly I had declined prior to the surgery, and given the level of recovery everyone has anticipated. That's good. Those nerves, at least, are working.

What's weird is, when each knee is rapped, that leg kicks out really well, but the other leg reacts too. Not as strongly, and not in the same way; the other leg pulls in towards the middle. That's what drew the audience.

The neurologist explained it to me, and while I understood all the words, the sentence made no sense to me at all. As near as I can figure, I have the equivalent of some crossed wires somewhere in my central nervous system.

On the whole, though, the doc considers me his "miracle man" — his words, not mine. I'm doing so much better than I or anyone ever dared to hope. I'll never be completely normal, but I'm closer than I ever thought.

After a couple of years of all this pure, refined weapons-grade crap happening to me, I've come out of it with permanent nerve damage, a couple of bitchin' scars and no life's savings. I didn't even get a t-shirt.

Today, though... sing with me: "I've got a golden ticket."

Just in case you didn't get a good look at that...

Great parking for the next five years. I may not always need it, but I figure it's better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. So, at least I've got that going for me.

Oh, maybe this would be better:

Great day at PT today. I didn't keep track of how far or how fast I walked. I was faster and more stable, but I didn't go as far as usual, due in large part to a new exercise I got to try today, the dreaded getting up off the floor without assistance exercise.

The lesson learned: get assistance, or plan on staying on the floor.

And so... another trip to the rifle range, blown. Dang. I really want to give the K.31 and VZ.24 thorough workouts.

Note to self: don't count on being able to do anything after a physical therapy session.

It's amazing what a decent night's sleep does for both mind and body... even if your "night" goes until noon, or sometimes even later.

Yesterday was a challenge from start to finish; it may have been the busiest day I've had in two years — the first half physically, the second half mentally.

From the moment I rolled out of the rack, it was go-go-go. Shower, dress, feed the cats. Because of an upcoming change in my employment situation (more about that later) I had to dash out to get some paperwork notarized. Then a run to the pet store for a load of kitty litter. That stuff is heavy; good thing I have a full-size pickup truck.

I'd seen my regular doctor on Thursday, and he finally decided that my peripheral neuropathy was worthy of being treated, so he wrote a scrip for Neurontin. So, a stop at the pharmacy, to drop off the new prescription.

But I wasn't done running around yet. Next was physical therapy. I was still sore from Wednesday's labors, but along with the usual strength-building exercises, I managed a sans-cane walk of 900 feet, at a speed of .91 miles/hour.

Someone please inform the media.

My walking is getting better, but it isn't really getting to be good. Small objects are big obstacles, and while what I do could be, in the broadest sense, considered "walking," it often bears more than a passing resemblance to waddling. As significant to me as the distance and speed is my increasing ability to avoid disaster with what might be termed "fancy footwork" — I'm getting better at recovering from nearly falling over, though as I get a bit bolder with my walking, the tendency to tip over is a bit more frequent.

I must remember the rule.

Thoroughly exhausted after an hour of abuse at the hands of the therapist, I headed... not home, but to run more errands. First to the vet; more about that later. Then it was back to the pharmacy to pick up my new prescription. Only then did I get to go home.

I got home, crawled up the stairs, took my new meds, and logged on just in time to begin my shift at work... and that's when my day really began.

When you do tech support for an installed base of 30,000+ routers, there are going to be bad days, and mine began immediately — a routing problem landed on my desk precisely 21 seconds after the start of my shift. I don't really mind routing problems, but some are annoying rather than interesting to investigate. And I can count myself fortunate that there are not usually problems stacked up waiting for my arrival.

I've never said and I probably never will say for whom I work, other than the obvious "big telecommunications & networking company," but I will say this: my teammates really are among the best engineers in the networking business. We generally try to take care of each other and not drop junk on the next shift to come online.

The first annoyance of the day was quickly dealt with, and I was readying myself for the next broken router to drop on my desk when I was pinged by my manager. It seems one of our largest customers — I won't (and will never) say who, but I guarantee you know who they are — is doing a migration from one service we offer to a new service, and they're doing it at hundreds of their retail locations. New routers, new T1 and ATM lines, new voice-over-IP setups... egads. So, I got to spend my evening watching for dead routers and making sure that any incidents were properly followed-up upon. There were dozens. I lost count.

Oh, and another customer had a funky T1 problem that had gone on for so long that they were seeing red and needed their hand held all night long by senior engineering staff (i.e., my teammates and I) particularly as our senior management was watching the progress of the issue.

I should also note that my new meds can cause drowsiness. Staying alert would have been a challenge, but between my regular workload, the "high touch customer" hand-holding, and the migrations, I was researching, thinking hard, typing and/or talking every minute of the night, often on more than one issue simultaneously. I barely had time for bathroom and cat-feeding breaks.

By the end of my shift at midnight, I was toast. Burnt toast. I fed the cats and went to bed.

It was, all in all, a very productive day, and I slept like a log. Kismet woke me up this morning with his usual "I'm grooming daddy's head!" behaviour. There are worse ways to wake up.

For me, there's a downside to "giving 100%" at physical therapy: it leaves 0% for me for the rest of the day.

Ever gone to the gym and lifted weights until you thought you couldn't move your arms? That's me and my legs after PT. I'm sore as heck, and almost immobile.

Well, I didn't set any distance records at physical therapy today. Walking without the cane today, I was on pace to break both my speed and distance record, when the therapist decided to increase the degree of difficulty by adding an obstacle to my path.

Said obstacle was four-foot length of 3/4" wooden dowel, laid across my path.

Laugh all you want, but lengthening or shortening my stride so as not to step on any small thing, and stepping over the obstacle are both significant physical challenges. Especially for a klutz like me — even before this whole neurological nuisance began, I'd have easily tripped over a 3/4" obstacle.

With the obstacle in place, I was only able to make it 600' before I had to take a couple minutes for a breather. On the plus side, I increased my speed over last week, from .68 to .76 MPH.

And then after a couple minutes, I did it all again — another 600', again at .76 MPH.

I'm beginning to believe that there's something to this whole physical therapy business.

Mondays. Ugh.

Most people dislike Mondays because that's when they return to their humdrum jobs.

I dislike them because Mondays are the days I do all my chores — take out the trash, vacuum the house, do laundry, and so on. I try to get groceries on Mondays, as well, but it doesn't always work out that way. So, for the rest of the day, I'll be puttering around the house.

On the whole, though, I'm glad to be able to do as much as I can. Not too long ago, of course, I was incapable of all but the easiest household task. They aren't easy for me now, but they're getting to be less difficult. I can't believe how much better I am than I ever expected, and I'm grateful for it.

Tuesday, though, I am going to try to have a little fun — I'm going to do my utmost to make a trip to the rifle range. It's been about two years since I've been able to go, and I have some much-neglected hardware that needs to be given a workout. I'm confident I can schlep my wheeled hard-shell rifle case from the parking lot into the range, and once there I ought to be able to handle the usual walking up- and down-range target placement and marking activities.

My only concerns are the temperature — the range, indoors, has fans but no A/C — and the smoothness/slickness of the concrete floor. Too smooth and/or slick, and my cane will be slipping around. That would be a Bad Thing, indeed.

I may have to postpone, though; Mycah's not being her usual self. She seemed to be a bit off her feed at breakfast time today, she hadn't used the litterbox since last night, she's not been so stand-offish with Kismet and Packet, and she's moving a bit slower than normal. I had to call her repeatedly to come down for breakfast; usually, she's there ahead of me meowing with anticipation. I need to keep an eye on her today and make sure she's just having a bad day, as opposed to actually being unwell.

She had her 13th birthday just a month ago, but that doesn't necessarily make her an elderly cat quite yet. I'm more concerned about the diabetes and, to a lesser degree, her hyperthyroidism. Kidneys are a cat's weak spot, I think, so I really need to keep an eye on her potty behaviour. I hope the old girl has a few more years left in her. Kismet and Packet need to be swatted from time to time, and she's just the girl to do it.

Coincidentally, she has a vet appointment for tomorrow for her 6-month checkup. We'll see what the vet says.

Mycah's Potty Update: She used the litterbox while I was off doing my chores. She didn't just whiz, she whi-i-i-izzed. No poo yet, though. And she refused to come downstairs for her evening feeding. Not good.

I had an excellent day at physical therapy. I walked caneless again, this time making it 720 feet before reaching my limit. The improvement is truly staggering... which, coincidentally, is pretty much how I still walk.

It took me 12 minutes to cover those 720 feet. A little quick math... OK, carry the one... that's a speed of roughly .68 miles/hour.

Not exactly blazing, that. But it is definite improvement.

I seem to be doing better and better at the walking-without-a-cane business. Today at physical therapy I made it 360 feet non-stop. Sure, it was on a smooth and level surface with no obstacles, but I'll take what I can get.

There were a couple of moments when I almost lost my balance, but I was able to recover with a wee bit of fancy footwork — one of the first skills to escape me when my condition was becoming apparent almost two years ago. This is unexpected, but extremely encouraging.

Walking without a cane is very strenuous, much more so than walking with the cane. Moving forward isn't the problem; avoiding falling over to the left or the right is. With the cane, I can actually move pretty quickly for short periods. Without the cane, though, I have to rely solely on muscles that just don't work very well for the lateral support usually provided by the cane; I have to walk like a not particularly spry 90 year old — very slowly and cautiously, every step taken with deliberate forethought. No jokes, please, about walking and chewing gum.

I'm physically exhausted when I'm done walking, but it seems to be paying off.

Like pretty much everyone, I used to talk the simple act of walking for granted. Now that I'm out of a wheelchair and off crutches, even though it can be very difficult, I'm thankful for what little I can do, and hopeful that I might be able to do more in the future.

At PT today I walked 210 feet before I had to touch my cane to the floor to keep from falling over.

And then I did another 150 feet.

It pretty nearly wiped me out. By the time I finished the walking, I was utterly soaked in sweat.

The hardest part of walking sans cane is keeping my feet fairly close together, rather than shoulder-width apart. A narrow stance is inherently less stable, but I don't want to be accused of having a wide stance, ifyouknowwhatImean.

I won't be setting any land speed records any time soon. On the straightaway I'm slow, and when I have to turn around, I'm even slower.

Nevertheless, this is much better than I ever expected.

I had an excellent day at physical therapy today. I walked 120 feet without using my cane, and without falling down.

Ta daaaaaah.

It'll be really impressive, though, if and/or when I can do it over uneven ground. Pebbles remain a significant obstacle.

I've not written much about health matters lately, mainly because while there is improvement, it's no longer as rapid or as startling as it was early on. I've surpassed all expectations, so any further improvement is pure gravy.

Physical therapy continues twice weekly... or maybe I should say weakly. The focus remains on building strength in my legs, accomplished by adding more weighs or more reps to the exercises I do, and the addition of new exercises to work new muscles.

On top of that, I spend time walking. I can do 15 to 20 minutes now, using the cane. Monday, I did 4/10 of a mile, at an average speed of 1.5 miles/hour. That's the fastest and farthest I've managed since this whole thing began. I started out slow as usual, but halfway through the walk I made an effort to stretch out my stride, and I think for a while I was walking almost as fast as a normal human, maybe 3mph for a while there.

Best of all, at one point I picked the cane up off the floor and was able to walk maybe 30 feet without it. I was slow and shaky that way, but I did it.

By the end of the walk, though, I was completely blown. I was relying on the cane for support, whereas I usually use it mainly for balance.

I've discovered that my cane really sucks for support. It's strong enough, no doubt, but the handle is the shepherd's crook style, as opposed to the more wrist-friendly "fritz" T-top style. After ten minutes afoot, my wrist really starts to get sore.

I have no idea who Fritz is or was.

I only paid $10 for this current cane, so I really ought not to have expected perfection. And, hey, it's the first time I ever had to buy a cane. It's not something one spends one's life anticipating and researching.

It's done yeoman's service with nary a complaint, but since I anticipate needing a cane, well, forever, I think it's time for a new one — one that will be better on my wrist, will be tall enough for me, and will be sturdy enough for me.

Fortunately, there is a place I know where I can find what I need: Canes Galore. No fooling.

I like the Hercules. It's more than long enough, it can support me with one or two of my siblings' teenage kids on my back, and it looks like it could last a lifetime.

Shortly before going to bed last night (this morning, really) I came down with a fever and aches. Swell. At least it didn't wait until my weekend starts at midnight tonight. I can work through being unwell, but I hate losing my days off to illness. I have too much to do.

I think I need to have my shunt adjusted. When I occasionally cough or sneeze, I feel what might be described as a pressure spike in my head — a momentary pang, like a headache that comes and goes in a split second. I think there's still a bit too much pressure in there.

I keep making progress at physical therapy, and my reward is more weight on my ankles, or newer more difficult exercises.

The birds in my neighborhood are retarded. They start chirping about two hours before sunrise — right outside my bedroom window. The feathered buggers can make it hard to get to sleep.

A thunderstorm in the wee hours of the morning, however shuts them right up... and I have no trouble falling asleep if it's thundering or pouring rain.

The cats get a bit nervous, though. Kismet curls up tightly right against me, and Packet stretches out on the bed as well. Mycah would come up, but she rarely ever voluntarily approaches the lads.

They, on the other hand, continually try to make friendly with her. It's particularly noticeable at feeding time. I call "food!" and the cats know it's time to go downstairs. Packet races down to the bottom of the stairs and flops down. Kismet positions himself on the landing halfway down. Mycah follows behind me as I go down — she gives Packet a brief hiss and heads down past him... and he follows, batting at her tail. She then gets to the bottom of the stairs ahead of me, and has a few words with Packet, who lays there oblivious to her demand that he move out of her way. It's as if he is daring her to approach him... but he eventually gets out of the way.

Food seems to be the great unifier, though. When the hairball treats are being distributed, Mycah has no objection whatever to the lads' immediate presence. Once the treats are gone, though, the hissing starts again... but she's getting better. Eventually she'll tolerate the lads.

Work starts in a couple of minutes. Sundays are usually pretty quiet, but this week so far has been fairly heinous. I can work through the fever and headache... but I'd rather have a nice night where no part of the network breaks. Ya, right. We have 30,000+ routers under management — something will go wrong at some point.

OK, I just logged on and I see that it has been slow so far today. I guess we got most of it out of our system over the past week.

Have a good Sunday, folks.

I don't know what I was thinking.

Today being the day of the week I set aside for chores and errands, I got started at the crack of noon. Up, shower, dress, feed the cats, and depart to run errands.

I didn't have that many things to do — pick up cat food and litter at the Petsmart, get Mycah's meds and prescription food at the vet's office, and pick up some carpet cleaning supplies.

I think I bit off more than I could chew. Kitty litter and food are, of course, all the way at the back of the Petsmart.

Carpet cleaning supplies are all the way at the back of the Home Depot.

And since I was passing by, I stopped at the Target to pick up a cheap-o DIY bookcase, since I have way more books than shelf space.

Furniture is alllll the way at the back of the Target.

Then home... to unload all the crap from the pickup. And then take the trash out and wheel the bin down my treacherously steep driveway to the curb. Dragged myself up same driveway.

Then fed the cats again. Then hauled myself and my acquisitions up the stairs.

Going up stairs ought to be easier for me now than in February, but it isn't; I'm still having strength issues.

I've spent more time on my feet today than I have in a couple of years. I'm absolutely whupped, and I pretty much need to hit the shower again.

And I still haven't done any actual housecleaning. Sigh. I guess that's my day tomorrow.

At least I haven't fallen down.

I heard on the news today that Senator Kennedy had gone under the knife for the recently diagnosed tumor. Best of luck to him with that. I don't like his politics at all, but in this I can do naught but wish him well.

Of course, he's not going to need too much luck. He had the best neurosurgeon in the world.

I should know. He was my neurosurgeon, too.

The upside to my recovery: I can feel my feet again.

The downside: I can feel the gout again.

Ouch.

It's been a busy week here, and I find that the pace of my recovery, while slow, continues steadily. I'm walking a lot better with the cane, and haven't as much as touched my crutches in about two weeks. I'm not throwing them away quite yet... but I'm almost there. I can even walk very short distances without the cane.

Well, not so much walk as stagger. It's not the finest perambulation I've ever done, but it's better than I've managed in over a year.

Physical therapy continues twice weekly. Every time I get to be good at something, they go and add weights to my legs. I'm up to a whopping eight pounds around each ankle for the leg extension exercises.

Eight whole pounds. Inform the media.

I find that I'm using muscles that haven't been used in quite a while. They hurt, actually... but hey, at least I can feel them.

Part of what I've been doing this week has been preparation for the likely arrival of one or two — probably two — new young cats in the house. I've stocked up on all the essentials, food excepted. Since the shelter provides a bag of food with the cats, I can wait to see what it is they are used to.

On Saturday, before work, I'll be heading to the Cat Angels adoption facility to see if any of their available furballs will have anything to do with me. They have several pairs of young cats, about a year old. All the information I've seen points to the fact that when bringing new felines into a home with an older cat, it's best to get two, so they'll play with each other rather than pester the older cat incessantly. That works for me. I can give a good home to a couple of rescued cats.

How Mycah takes the news remains to be seen. I've been giving her lots of attention; I'm hoping she won't be too resentful of the time I commit to the newcomers over the course of the next couple of weeks as they get used to their new home and new Food Giver And Litter Scooper. I think she'll be very curious, perhaps a bit hostile, then annoyed, and finally indifferent.

And who knows? She might actually like the newbies. Young cats should not be threatening to her in any way. We'll see.

While I was in the midst of my medical problems, I received a lot of support from quite a few people. Mom, of course, came and stayed here in NC — bored out of her skull most of the time, I don't doubt, between rounds of driving me to the doctors and doing those things around the house which I was incapable of doing for myself. My sister, too, made a few stops here to help. The two of them were invaluable; without their help, I'd have had to sell my house and move to some sort of single-story assisted-living facility.

No kidding. I was unable to fend for myself.

Many others provided moral support. I can't count how many emails I received, all full of encouragement. And there was at least one church congregation praying for me regularly.

The medical care I received was top-notch. My regular doc was and is as good a GP as I've ever dealt with. The neurologist I went to is one of the best in the country, and the neurosurgeon who drilled me is arguably the best neurosurgeon in the world. Plus, there were really cute nurses all along the way. Hey, I'm a man... you didn't expect me not to notice, did you?

Further, when I had a fundraiser going here to help offset my massive medical bills (which so far have added up to over a year's pay... egads) more than just a few people made donations to help out. It made a difference.

Now I'm in a situation where my past medical bills are all paid up, where the minor ongoing treatment (physical therapy, mostly) is relatively simple for me to handle... and I have my tax refunds in the bank.

I've always tried to be a charitable guy; I could do a lot better. I want to do better. So, I've recently seen a couple of situations where maybe I could directly make a difference, where I could give someone with insanely high vet bills some of the same sort of support that I was blessed to receive when I was down.

Moki is a tough little fighter with an undiagnosed neurological condition. If you think this reminds me of my own situation, you'd be exactly right.

LillyLu is another cat with enormous vet bills... particularly since her human is getting ready to have twins of her own.

Both those linked sites have orange "Donate" buttons in the sidebars. Go on, hit them. Every little bit helps. Big bits help, too.

For those of you who are charitably inclined, but feel the need to have tax deductability, there is the newly-founded Cat Friends Helping Friends. There are plenty of people-oriented charities, but as far as I know, there's just this one that helps people with big veterinarian bills. Go help them out.

Now that I can walk — not well, mind you, but a cane is usually sufficient to my needs — I haven't had a fall in almost a month, now — I'm really hankering to do something I haven't been able to do in well over a year: go to the rifle range and make holes in paper.

There's just one small problem: while I can walk, I cannot carry things particularly well. My balance* is not yet reliable enough, and those of you who've ever been shooting know that a trip to the range always involves a fair amount of toting.

I suppose getting groceries into the house might be considered good practice. Once a week, I order groceries online and pick them up a few hours later. The goods are deposited into my vehicle curbside at the store, but when I get home I have to schlep the week's acquisitions from truck to house. Fortunately, it's a short trip, and there are what amount to handholds almost every step along the way. And of course I don't try to carry the entire load in one trip.

Going to the range would be a different matter altogether, as far as portage is concerned. It's a longer haul, with a bigger load... and if I were to fall, there'd be no easy way to get up again, short of crawling back to my truck and pulling myself up. I can't yet get up off the ground without something to use as leverage.

Since I don't have any servants on staff, what I really need if I want to go to the range is to coordinate with someone for a meetup at the range.

You know, a play-date.

_{* It's not actually my sense of balance that is weak, it's the ability of my legs to keep me up straight, to react in a timely manner to keep me upright if I should happen to lose my balance.}

I'm really really glad I didn't have my surgery in Germany.

(Via AoSHQ)

I'm making good progress, recovery-wise. I still need crutches to handle a trip down my very steep driveway, but otherwise I'm makiing good use of my cane.

It's been three weeks since I've had a fall. I attribute this to my finally taking the advice offered to Luke by Han: don't get cocky. Since the surgery, every time I've fallen, it's been because I was trying to do too much, too fast.

Sure, it's incredibly geeky of me to mention the reference. But whenever I'm afoot and tempted to go faster than usual or to cross an obstacle, I hear that voice in my head: don't get cocky.

It's good advice. Falling hurts. More precisely, landing hurts... but the results are much the same.

Yesterday I was the subject of the latest iteration of the Taser test, wherein my legs were covered with electrodes, and varying levels of electrical current then applied, in order to determine the responsiveness and conductivity of the nerves in my legs.

Shocking, I can tell you.

On the plus side, I could actually feel the tingling induced by the lower level current, and the jolts induced by the higher levels.

On the minus side, the jolts hurt.

The result of the test seems to be that my remaining neuropathy is basically the same as it was the last time I had this tested, back in August. This isn't necessarily a good or a bad result; my overall condition declined severely after the last test, and has improved quite a bit since the surgery in December.

I've suspected for a while that there have been multiple problems occurring simultaneously, complicating the initial diagnosis of hydrocephalus. Well, that's been pretty well resolved through the surgery; what remains is anybody's guess.

There's a chance the neuropathy will resolve itself as my recovery continues, so we'll be watching and waiting for a few months. In the meantime, my progress has been pretty good. Regular physical therapy and exercise seems to be helping quite a bit. I still use the crutches for the most difficult walking conditions, but I'm hoping to dispense with them soon; the cane suffices for almost everything.

Speaking of PT, it's time for me to go....

It's been almost three months since my surgery. Since then, the news has been almost all good.

My recovery is proceeding, albeit slowly. I am walking almost exclusively with only (only, he said) a cane. It it only rarely I feel the need to resort to crutches — only on occasions when I think the walking is particularly treacherous... like walking down my very steep driveway to get the mail.

From a seated position, I can lift my feet straight up off the floor. I can and do negotiate the stairs in my house several times a day. I can walk without even a cane for short distances... though I don't like to take the risk. "Don't get cocky" isn't just a line from a movie, it's good advice for those, such as I, who wish to avoid face-planting on the carpet more than once a week.

I go to the physical therapist's office for the twice-weekly torture sessions, as there are some exercises and stretches I am as yet unable to do unassisted. My progress there is slow, but they keep adding weights to my ankles as I do the various routines. I'm up to a whopping four pounds per leg on the leg extension exercise, for instance.

I had a visit with the neurologist this week as well. After testing my reflexes and muscle strength, he pronounced himself very pleased with my progress... but he also scheduled me for a nerve conduction test.

Yes, another test. Since the surgery, I have regained the use of the muscles in my legs, but some are considerably weaker than they should be, and there is a remaining degree of peripheral neuropathy. In addition, some "wires" still seem to be crossed. For example, when whacking one knee with the little rubber hammer to test the reflexes, both legs react.

So, another test. This is the one I refer to as the Taser test. By sending an electric current into specific nerves and observing the muscle reactions, they can gauge the functionality of the nerves in question.

Of course, it involves being tazed repeatedly. It's not terribly fun, let me tell you. Really, though, I can take it. If it were being done to no purpose, I would object, but since there's a good reason for it, and might ultimately lead to a better fix for me, I can tolerate it.

So, to summarize: I'm doing a heck of a lot better than I was three months ago, and continuing to improve. I may not ever make it to 100%, but I am nevertheless very happy with how things are proceeding.