Chuckwagon Adventure: 2013

We went to the wound care center this morning and met with Dr. Marcus for the first time. She examined G’s wound and told us her plan of action and proceeded to cut away all the hypergranulation (overgrown new tissue) with cuticle clippers. I don’t like blood and gore. The process was gruesome looking, and thankfully did not cause G any pain. Once the blood and gore was over with, she dabbed silver nitrate around the edges, dusted the wound with Multidex Powder Wound Dressing which looked like sawdust and then bandaged it.

She assured us that the orthopaedic surgeon had done everything he should have thus far. She also gave G a set of instructions about eating a high protein diet (which he's already been doing) with six small meals per day.

“No showering,” she said.

G visibly slumped in the examining chair. He’d graduated from sponge bathing to showering a couple of weeks ago.

“I stink if I don’t shower,” he replied. In his opinion sponge bathing just doesn't cut it.

Dr. Marcus correctly gauged his resistance and got blunt.

“There are so many bugs around the mouth and nose area, not to mention the terrible bugs around the anus. Showering with an open wound is essentially pooping in the wound.” Ugh! Seriously?

With this sort of blunt speech she knew she would get her point across.

“And don’t sponge bathe with a washcloth either,” she instructed. “Your washcloths have bugs too.”

Now I feel like I need to throw out all our washcloths and buy new ones and sterilize them after each use.

The good news is that G has avoided infection for three months, is walking like a champ with his new knee and is pain free. The bad news is he’s back to sponge bathing and can’t shower for four to six weeks more.

Methinks he beginneth to stinketh.

Monday, May 6, 2013

Endeavor To Persevere

The open wound on G’s knee is healing oh so slowly. The doctor ordered a wound V.A.C. be put on the wound on April 12th to speed up the healing process. G endured three weeks of the wound V.A.C. therapy while tethered to an electrical outlet. The battery could last up to six hours when unplugged. During the times when G was unplugged, he had to carry the wound V.A.C. slung over his shoulder like a purse. The wound V.A.C. did its job. It came off four days ago. It was a great relief for G. We are back to dry bandaging, this time over collagen strips.

Two months with an open healing wound has culminated in a very sore knee. The skin and tissue surrounding the wound has become irritated and sore. However, there is no sign of infection. All looks well, but G’s knee is sore, and he is limping almost as badly as he was before the knee replacement surgery.

March and April were difficult months with us alternating in turn in the battle to keep our spirits positive. The black hole beckons. It has been an unusually cool, grey and rainy spring in Georgia spreading a bit more gloom on this already weary and sometimes discouraged couple.

Because of the MDS (which is not being treated now), G's blood counts are currently dropping, and he may need intervention soon to boost his WBC.

We must be getting close to the finish line, but we can’t be sure. We find ourselves close to giving up and in danger of sliding down into the black hole. We must soldier on to the finish line. This will end eventually, right?

Click on the link below and give the following song a listen.

"It's Going to be Alright" - Sara Groves

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmzo3KxP5wo

Monday, April 8, 2013

"Time Flies Like An Arrow; Fruit Flies Like A Banana." ~ Anthony G. Oettinger

Tick tock, tick tock. Time can soar on swift wings or plod slowly and painfully depending on what we face. Events can happen so swiftly that it makes one’s head spin. Then there is the thing that drags on and on seemingly without end.

After months of delay, including an unexpected diagnosis of MDS, G has finally gotten a new knee. On March 4th, G had a total knee replacement. Surgery was successful. The MDS complicated the process somewhat causing G to need a blood transfusion before being discharged from the hospital, but on the fourth day, G was discharged, and we (including our dog) temporarily moved in with our good friends Kirk and Joan.

Staying in Kirk and Joan’s single level house was a wiser choice than our 5th wheel. Their moral support and help were invaluable to us those first ten days. This was southern hospitality at its most gracious. (We actually had numerous offers of temporary quarters from several good friends. Thanks to all of you for your concern, support and kind offers.)

G’s home physical therapist is Anastasia, a wonderful Greek woman who we have become quite fond of. Her European inflection sounds so similar to my late grandparents’ Slovakian accent that she feels nearly like family and reminds me of how much they are missed.

G now has one perfectly straight leg and one bowed leg.

By the tenth day, G felt ready to go home, and we returned to our 5th wheel. This is Anastasia’s first experience giving home therapy to a patient living in an RV. She comes three days a week and has predictably fallen under Duncan the Westie’s spell. On arrival, Anastasia first greets the Westie, “I’ve been waiting all day to see you!” she exclaims before turning her attention to her patient.

PT has been going well. G can bend up to 117 degrees. On March 15th, the staples were removed, and the swelling was gradually reducing. However, a small hole in the incision opened and began to seep blood. G’s orthopaedic surgeon cleaned off the bloody scab and inserted a swab into the hole. The hole was quite deep, and he was able to turn the swab in a 360 degree circle deep under the skin. There appeared to be a small cavern with a reservoir of blood lying below the surface preventing full healing. Although there were no signs or symptoms of infection, G’s doctor decided to reopen the incision for exploration and irrigation. Any infection would travel to the new joint which would require a subsequent surgery with a new knee replacement joint device. No thank you!

On April 1st (April Fool’s Day) G was back in the hospital for the “suspected infection.” His incision was reopened, explored and irrigated. Cultures were taken, and the incision was left open, packed and bandaged. The open wound is 10 cm long, 4 cm wide and 1 cm deep. Surgery took about an hour, and I took G home the same day. I drove the short drive home and pulled into the driveway. We didn't notice that G’s wound had hemorrhaged during the trip until we went to get out of the truck. His bandaging was blood soaked right through, blood was dripping down his leg, and a pool of blood had gathered at his feet on the truck floor mat.

We had never seen this much blood before and were both completely undone by the sight of it. G put pressure on the wound, and I drove him to the ER. G left a trail of blood from the ER door to the front desk and to the seating area. Nurses brought a towel and leak proof pad to place beneath his elevated leg. G used the towel to form a soft tourniquet around his leg. A janitor was summoned to mop up the floor. G turned to me and said, "My life has turned into a dumpster fire."

When G finally got taken back to a bed, the nurses cut off the bloody bandaging, and we got our first look at the gapping, packed wound. The sight of it gave me shivers. The packing was left in place, the wound rebandaged, and we eventually went home. This is not an April Fool’s Day story!

Physical therapy has been suspended while the wound is healing. A home nurse comes three times per week to repack and bandage the wound. The good news is that the cultures came back negative; no infection present. G had no chemo during the month of March, and all chemo has been suspended until his wound heals. A blood draw today revealed that his counts are slowly dropping. It’s now a race between the healing of his wound and the dropping of his blood counts. Tick tock, tick tock.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Gone Fishin'

We escaped to Cedar Key, Florida with our friends Steve and Sue for a few days of fun and fishin'. Their condo is situated on the Gulf Coast in the quaint fishing village of Cedar Key. The village has a nice slow pace and is a treasure trove of Gulf views, wildlife and good food.

Gulf view condos

Here comes our ride!

The four of us went fishing with Captain Jim on the "Saltwater Assassin." It was a foggy day in the Gulf with a bit of wind and choppy water, but we were dressed for it and eager to fish.

G fishing for Sea Trout.

Captain Jim grew up in Cedar Key and knows all the best fishing holes in the Gulf. He owns Saltwater Assassin Fishing Charters based in Cedar Key. www.fishcedarkey.com/. All of us caught fish with five "keepers" at 15 inches or longer.

Steve's lucky fishing hat: Women want me. Fish fear me.

Pleased with our catch.

Catch of the day - Sea Trout.

The day before we went out fishing, Captain Jim took a Canadian couple out, and they brought back a dozen Sea Trout. We happened to be hanging out at the dock when the "Saltwater Assassin" returned, and the Canadian couple gave us their catch! We came home with a total of seventeen fish. Awesome!

Captain Jim filleting our fish.

Christy and G

Just a guy and his dog windsurfing.

A very old Live Oak.

Spanish moss laden trees.

Found this RV T-shirt for G in one of the shops. Perfect.

A good time was had by all. Thanks Steve and Sue!

Friday, January 4, 2013

A Time To Mourn

Life is an awful lot like grabbing hold of the tail of a twister and hanging on for dear life. One day we are laughing over our latest RV adventure, and the next turn of the clock brings piercing grief. We are so saddened by the unexpected death of our former son-in-law Jon. He died unexpectedly two days after Christmas.

Jon was a gentle, loving man, a humble sort. He was the kindest man we’d ever met; a true gentleman, a wonderful father. Jon was of sterling character and lived his life with dignity. This was a man loved by all who knew him.

G's two young granddaughters have lost their daddy, and we grieve with them. It will never be the same when we return to Connecticut to visit family. Jon will be conspicuously absent. He was only 50. We loved him dearly. The world is a sadder place without the light of his presence.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Please Tell Me I'm Dreaming

It is 12:35 a.m. and we are sound asleep. It’s a very cold night in Georgia. The low is 28 degrees. Suddenly, we are jolted awake by a very familiar sound. How can this be possible? But, it is true – all four of our hydraulic leveling jacks on the 5th wheel are spontaneously retracting! The rig begins to slowly and gently descend, and we feel like we are aboard the sinking Titanic. Please tell me I’m dreaming!

G jumps out of bed and turns on the bedroom light. I dive for a drawer at the end of the bed, grab a pair of warm socks and hurriedly pull them on. G is in the kitchen throwing on his coat. He shoves his bare feet into a pair of Crocs and is out the door with a flashlight in seconds. The rig continues to softly drift downward like a feather on the breeze. I am out the door behind G. He disappears around the corner of the rig heading directly to the panel which controls the Bigfoot automatic hydraulic leveling system. Absently, I notice that although G has donned a warm coat and flimsy shoes, his britches are conspicuously missing. His coat reaches mid thigh. He is buck naked from the hem of his coat on down frantically running around with his naked arse glowing in the moonlight.

Together we access the panel and try in vain to shut down the Bigfoot system by the touch pad panel. The panel does not respond. It is not even lit up as in ON but is running anyway. And, it will not turn on for us to gain control as we press the system turn on button. The automatic leveling system is obviously malfunctioning. It has activated itself, and we have no control over it.

The panel is very similar to the control buttons on a microwave. The USA made automatic leveling system has worked great up until now. It normally takes mere minutes with a simple push of buttons to level the rig while settling into a camp site and works just as quickly and flawlessly when we hitch up and leave. But, suddenly this twenty-first century computer technology has come to life on its own and has taken over our world, and it feels like we have been cast in a Sci-Fi movie, and we are downright scared of it tonight. Please tell me I’m dreaming.

By now, all four hydraulic jacks have fully retracted. The back of the rig is resting nicely on its wheels. But, the front of the 5th wheel...oh Lord...is sitting at the lowest point possible, nearly resting on the earth. Our ship is tipped bow first toward the ground. Not good.

The Bigfoot system continues to run even though the jacks have fully retracted. Each jack has its own pump and we continue to hear and smell at least one of these motors as it continues to strain. I decide to call my brother Richard in Arizona (also a full-time RVer) for advice.

“Pull out your user manuals,” he says. “Find the one on the Bigfoot system, and see if there is a way to override the system.”

I go back into the rig and search through a stack of user manuals but find no manual on the Bigfoot system. No help there. I go back outside. G disconnects the electric, pulling the 50 amp cable from the site plug; then disconnects the accessory battery.

It is suddenly eerily quiet. We are staring at each other in stunned disbelief surrounded by cold darkness but for the narrow beams of our flashlights. Dread silently creeps over us as we consider the complications that may arise with disconnecting the rig on this cold, cold night. Our shipwrecked 5th wheel would sit unlevel and unheated through the remainder of this night.

We decide to go to a hotel for the night and figure things out in the morning. G absently pulls on a pair of jeans and begins packing an overnight bag by flashlight. I put the Westie’s sweater on him, as the temperature is already dropping inside the rig. I prepare an overnight bag for myself and ask G absently, “Why weren’t you wearing britches?”

G turns and looks at me. “I wasn’t wearing britches?” he asks never having realized. He doesn’t even remember that he’s just pulled jeans on moments ago. Stress can do things like that to you.

We go to three hotels and are turned away because they do not accept pets. The fourth place we find is a cheap motel, but there is no night shift, and the office is closed. We consider going to friend’s house for the night but don’t want to startle them by banging on the door in the middle of the night. It is now 2:00 a.m. We don’t call them because we figure no one answers their cell phone in the wee hours.

We drive back to the rig and decide to tough it out there for the night. We pull on extra clothes and crawl beneath the covers. I have a hood up over my head. My face is freezing so I duck beneath the covers. Anxiety over our situation prevents me from sleeping.

“Trust me.” I hear a tiny voice inside whisper to me. Is that you, God?

“Trust me.” Really? Can I really believe that everything will turn out alright?

I can tell that G has fallen asleep by the sound of his breathing. I can’t fall asleep. G and I each get up to use the bathroom four times during the night because it is so cold. We have to walk uphill, and we stagger like drunken sots. On my last trip, I reach down to make sure the Westie is okay. He is curled into a tight knot in his dog bed. His ears are ice cold. He doesn’t move, and I wonder if he is in a hypothermic coma. I pick him up, and he comes slowly awake and starts shaking violently with the cold. I take him back to bed with me and stuff him under the covers. This is a first. We never let our pets sleep with us. Duncan the Westie curls against me in a tight ball, and after a few moments his shaking stops and he drifts off to sleep.

Morning comes and we get our first look at our shipwrecked rig in the daylight. It is still shocking even now to see it sadly listing forward on its bow. The bottom entry step is jammed into the ground. Since it is Sunday morning and we normally attend church we decide to do the important thing first and get ready for church.

Since we are parked on the church property we utilized the warm church to dress and have breakfast. Meanwhile, my brother Richard rose early in Arizona and went online to the Bigfoot website in an effort to troubleshoot for us. He calls me and supplies an emergency phone number for tech service.

After church we called the emergency number and talked to a tech in Michigan. I explained the problem, and he told me that moisture on the panel most likely caused the Emergency All Up button to spontaneously activate.

The remedy was to remove the screws from the system panel, unplug it and take it inside and blow dry the mother board. Once reconnected, the tech walked G through resetting the Bigfoot system. In a few moments the touch pad was responding properly, and the leveling system had righted the rig. Our listing ship was once more afloat. At the tech’s suggestion, we encased the panel in a plastic zip lock bag before reinstalling it. Hopefully, the bag will keep the moisture out and this will never happen again.

Miraculously, the rig is intact. Our pipes did not freeze. Nothing was damaged or broken. The contents in our freezer didn’t thaw. The ice cubes didn’t even thaw. The bicycles didn’t get crushed or damaged even though they were tucked beneath the overhang of front of the 5th wheel.

It’s strange how we can be stationary and still be having such wild adventures. We have a few more grey hairs, more knowledge about the Bigfoot system and PTSD. We were afraid to go to bed the next night, with fear that the Bigfoot computer would again take over our world.

P.S. I forgot to take a photo of our shipwrecked rig. Well, there’s always next time...

Back on the level