Thank You For Your Concern

Fiorella had some complications
Because of blood-thinning medications
The story
Is gory
But now she's planning celebrations
All is well, appreciations

Fakery

Blame it on the creative imagination of mankind, but fake news has always been with us. People have always told stories about things that never happened and beings that never existed to people who like to hear stories like this. Think of ancient myths, of Shakespeare and other playwrights, of movies, television shows, and tabloids. Think of snake oil salesmen, of advertisers for miracle cures, of promises to renew your youth. Think of political lies, smears, and accusations.

Most of us understand that entertainment fiction is not real life, and I hope most of us learn to be wary of miraculous cure-alls, but too many of us seem to be willing to swallow whatever "truth" suits our preconceptions when it comes to politics. Buyers, beware. Fiction can't hurt you, and most fake medicines can't either, although they may cost you a pretty penny. But supporting fake political news can cost you even more--your safety, your health care, your social security, and, ultimately, your freedom.

The Robot World

Fiorella heard on the news last night that robots are being developed which "we won't be able to tell from ourselves if we passed them in the hall."  A gaggle of people were protesting the announcement--as if that ever helped--and a suave suit reassured the television reporter that robots would cooperate with humans and open a new world of scientific and medical advancement.

Fio realizes that there's no way to stop or even slow down "progress," but she also know that advances are mixed blessings.  The computer, which was ballyhooed as the salvation of mankind, providing education and enlightenment for all, is now the greatest purveyor of porn the world has ever known.

Robots may be pure of heart and mind, but humans aren't.

Medical Alert

Hooray for modern medicine!  Fiorella is astounded to realize that it hasn't been a year since her hip replacement, but she's totally recovered and dashes around without even a limp--or the pain she had grown so accustomed to that she didn't realize how bad it was till it was gone.  And she's still happy about the facelift too.  In fact, she's thrilled to get up every morning and look in the mirror. And she's pleased with the results of all the other surgeries she's had through the years--carpal tunnel, gall bladder, two back surgeries, the eye stuff, the aortic valve replacement, the pacemaker, the partial thyroidectomy.

But she had the best results from the C-sections.   

Vitamin C: Coffee and Cell Phones

Aging boomers will be glad to know that some studies have shown that coffee and cell phones can stave off Alzheimer's.

Unfortunately, Fio never did develop a taste for coffee and she lives in a cell phone-dead area.

Maybe chocolate and electric rollers could suffice.

Prescription

Ten little pills I take each day,
Five white, two orange, one pink, two gray--
To keep me healthy, brain and bod,
Ten little miracles of God.

Medication

How do they know where to go, those little pills I take every day? How does Tylenol know to travel to the head when I have a headache, but to my back when it hurts? How do blood pressure medications know to go for the heart? How do blood thinners know to seek out the arteries? What about the way the appropriate medication ends up in my thyroid?

I imagine them all going down my gullet, turning on their tiny GPS systems, then sprouting little oars that let them paddle to their individual destinations. Bon voyage!

Sugar Sweet

Did Fiorella ever tell you about her diabetes diagnosis?

She was in the hospital to get her ticker checked out and the doctor announced to her that she had diabetes. Fiorella contradicted her, explaining that her family practitioner kept a close watch on her glucose levels. Nevertheless, when evening came 'round, the attendant nurse explained each pill, then said, "And now for your insulin."

Fio protested and the nurse told her she had the right to refuse the insulin, that random fingertip tests are not reliable, and that stress, nitroglycerin, and pain can make the blood sugar shoot up temporarily. Fio refused the insulin and her glucose level was down to 71 within less than 24 hours.

When the doctor came in to sign Fio out of the hospital, she announced that Fio had PRE-diabetes and sent the nutritionist in to lecture at Fio about the diabetic diet.

The day after Fio was released, she called her family doctor to get a lab order for a fasting blood sugar test, which she underwent last week. The results came back a couple of days later: FIORELLA'S GLUCOSE LEVEL IS JUST FINE--NO DIABETES, NO PRE-DIABETES.

To celebrate, Fio made herself sick on a carton of chocolate-covered marshmallow eggs.

Health Plan

Being of a certain age, Fiorella regularly has symptoms, symptoms which her doctors, television shows, and every magazine on the market warn her about. But nausea, headaches, body pains, and "feeling funny" can also be completely benign. No way to tell the difference so Fio also regularly adds to the coffers of the local emergency room by getting herself checked in to be checked out at the drop of a hat.

So far all has been well--Fio's dodged the cancer bullet twice, diabetes twice, and heart attacks more times than can be counted. However, she currently is under the medical injunction to change her eating habits, exercise, and lose weight.

Being pro-active, she decided to do something about it.

She bought more life insurance.

Cheeky Business

Fio has a black stitch in her cheek that looks like a stray whisker.

Fio feels like an idiot. She came home late from an RWA meeting Tuesday night, walked upstairs in the dark, and tripped on a pair of rolled rugs she had forgotten were in the hall. Down she went, landing on the Bowflex, puncturing her cheek.

What if she bled out? What if something vital had been damaged? She needed to go to the Emergency Room fast!

Husband had already taken his evening pills and couldn't wake up, so Fio, ever resourceful, taped a multiply-folded paper towel across her wound and drove herself to the hospital.
A tetanus shot, a quick stitch, miles of paperwork to fill out, and she was home within two hours. The stitch comes out tomorrow.

Uh--you do understand that the cheek she is referring to is on her face, don't you?

Extracurricular Navicular

Fiorella has an extracurricular navicular, known to podiatrists as an accessory navicular. Or at least that is how she has diagnosed herself from her perusal of the web.

In other words, her foot hurts.

It turns out that not all God's children have the same number of bones in their feet. Some of them, usually women, have an extra bone in the instep, an accessory navicular, which can separate from the full-time navicular and lead to trouble.

Whatever the problem turns out to be,
Let's hope that it won't require sur-ger-y.

Fiorella Ponders A Medical Career

Fiorella has been thinking--always a dangerous enterprise--that maybe instead of becoming a scholar, she should have become a physician. And maybe it isn't too late. She could go into pathology. After all, having watched a lot of television's Dr. G, she knows how to make the Y-cut, and she already owns a pair of hedge clippers. Also, when Fio was in college, she had no problem cutting open a fetal pig, then skipping back to her dorm to eat a hearty supper. To her, dead things were just--well--dead.

Or maybe she could go for plastic surgery, which also has been all over television--recently re-edited to omit Dr. Jan Adams of the commanding presence, mellifluous voice, and bad publicity. One thing I can tell you, though: Fiorella would never do a breast augmentation! Fio is sick and tired of anorexic bleached blondes who get D-cup inserts and end up looking like sticks with a pair of melons attached to their chests. She is afraid a good wind will overbalance them and they'll land on their frontal cushions and deflate them.

No, Fio would like to do good, like separating conjoined twins, removing 180 lb. tumors, repairing broken faces, diagnosing rare illnesses, and saving the world.

Alas, Fio chose to be a scholar and a writer. But maybe she can make you laugh, and laughter also can save the world.

Eyesight Aftermath

I discovered that those childhood freckles I thought had faded through the years are still there. Pass me the lemon juice--or is that a remedy long out-of-date?

I also discovered that I had missed a swathe down the outside of my left leg while shaving blind. My only consolation is that no one looks at my legs anymore.

And I discovered that those twenty-year old electric rollers I am still using were nasty filthy. An old toothbrush and 409 remedied that, but now I'm worried that when I plug them in again, I'll either electrocute myself or burn the house down.

"Now, how about the other eye?" my ophthalmologist said. But I don't know if I'm ready for a second set of revelations quite yet.

The Coumadin Nurse from Hell Is Gone!

The coumadin nurse from hell informed me that I shouldn't even consider lap-band surgery because I would just gain back the weight, plus some. She had been a bariatric nurse, she said, and she knew. Instead, she told me, I should go to a nutritionist, hire a personal trainer, and stay away from all those fad diets I had indulged in, grapefruit and all that.

I have never been on a fad diet in my life.

The next time I showed up to have my finger pricked, I mentioned that my doctor had told me to switch from the generic warfarin to real coumadin because there could be as much as 20% variance between batches. "Not so," the coumadin nurse told me. "I know because I'm a coumadin nurse. The government won't allow more than a 10% percent variance, and I have 403 patients on warfarin, and none of them have any problems." Then she upped my warfarin dosage because my blood was running thick.

"You've been eating too many dark green vegetables," she said.

I have never eaten a dark green vegetable in my life.

The next time I showed up, I kept my mouth shut as to any future medical intentions. After all, the woman controlled the finger pricker. As I left, she said, "That's it for today, young lady!"
I briefly considered strangling her to death, but decided there were too many people around for me to get away with it. The next time I visited, she called me "dear."

Now, an older person can address a younger person as "dear" or "young lady," and it's rather sweet. But a younger person using these terms to address an older person is insolent, rude, and patronizing. I wanted to turn on her and inform her I was not "dear" or "young lady," but "Your Majesty, Queen of the Universe." But she had the power of the pricker so I kept my mouth shut and stewed. During my quiet times, I did learn , however, that the coumadin nurse had been not only a bariatic nurse, but also a pediatric nurse, and a surgical nurse. She got around.

Last week I went in to the Coumadin Clinic and someone I didn't recognize was sitting at the nurse's desk. She introduced herself with a big smile and called me "Mrs. Plum."

"Is the other one gone then?" I asked, hoping against hope.

"Yes. She said it was too overwhelming."