OUCH.
OUCH
OUCH.

Well, I’m back home with extensions.

There’s the wound vac, of course. Small, slurpy, and prone to false alarms, it will be with me until the 12th.

I can’t say I’m found of it. Actually, I kind of hate it. The tubes swing fairly uncontrollably, and the main unit doesn’t fit into the little purses I have. It pushes my inside fluid out for everyone to gander at. The cords become tangled. It itches. And every now and then, I have to measure how much it slurps from inside me—but that amount is completely arbitrary because the tape leaks. Sometimes, I think my shirt soaks up more than the machine.

The battery only lasts for about six hours. It’s a $500 one-time use and is on a 14-day lifespan. So, after those 14 days, the machine dies and is tossed. It’s absolutely wasteful. If this doesn’t work, we’ll attach a second $500 machine that will have to be used. It’s the definition of planned obsolescence. It’s also keeping me from taking a shower, as it can not get wet and the tape on my back could peel.

So, yay. Seven more days to go.

Of course, there’s the lovely picc line that must be fed antibiotics every eight hours for the next eight weeks. It’s maintained by a once-a-week trip to the hospital for blood draws and dressing changes.

This is a bit less invasive, I guess. The line can be hidden under a bandage and, as long as it’s not tugged or I do something stupid. — which is bound to happen — it might be okay.

The first hospital maintenance visit was today. Lots and lots of dried clots from the dumb students who practiced on it the week before. Three vials were taken away for testing. But once the slurry vac is gone, I’ll be able to shower and maybe even do some other things. Right now, not so much.

— Class started today.
I wasn’t sure if I’d have a class. Actually, I wasn’t sure if I wanted one. I did, in a way, because of money. In another way, I didn’t, as I kind of liked not having that responsibility hanging over me. The idea of finding a different job was also appealing.

But that was dashed. I got an email asking if I’d pick up a late-enrolled class. It just started today. So… guess that puts the kibosh on that. It should be loaded up sometime soon along with…

Never mind. It’s there.
I loaded the stuff up. Students aren’t in yet.
Mom came, something about a tree, shot, antibiotics, done. Well, done until 11.

I kind of want to take the truck and go out a bit tomorrow. Just to see if I can drive okay. That’s probably not the best reason. But I can’t drive any worse than the 90-year-old with Coke-bottled glasses going 20 on the highway, right? If I can drive, then maybe I can get back on track with my usual psychologist appointments. With a paycheck, I can do a little shipping. Besides, I guess the truck hasn’t moved in close to a month. Does it still work?

The air is kind of buzzy cause of the Republican Big L last night. Is DEI BS back? War before January? Illegals? ICE defunded and communist grocery stores for everyone? Biden 2.0? God knows. If it’s war, people need to stock up on more than toilet paper.

Since the Republicans list, I guess Americans aren’t going to get that $5000 bonus Trump promised.

Blessed little sister.
She actually took me out: tubes, bloody discharge, and all. We went to Yummy Bowl, got Dunkin’ tea, and hit appointments. Little Sister paid for manicures. I went for fall colors – dark orange and brown. They look nice, but I’m not sure they’ll last. The A manicureist wasn’t there. But it’s nice.

Outside of the pulled shoulders, all my dangly bits, and the constant urge to go to the bathroom, it was a fairly normal day.

That’s what I need right now.
If I just sat here and listened to the slurp-slurp-slurp of the wound vac for long, I think I’d just… I’m not too sure what I’ll do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

One thing at a time…. I just have to get this money vac off my back. It’ll be okay. At least I can still walk.

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.