When the posts start getting weird, jump down to "Recap" — assuming that I find time to write it. I've started going to bed an hour earlier 'cuz I'm tired of sleeping so late, and that hour comes out of my computer time.
I didn't notice that the neighbor's boat lifts were in place until this morning, but I did see a craft that looked like the boat that installs them yesterday.
They look a bit odd with no pier.
I stepped to the door to throw out some lint, and noticed that the daffodils are in bloom.
So are the narcissus. I must walk out to the lily bed and look at them soon.
Just checked the window. Only the daffodils at the end near the door are in bloom, but the rest are about ready to pop. And a hyacinth has fat flower buds.
Dave doesn't know when he's going into surgery. They started starving him last night; all he's had since he checked in Monday morning was a hamburger with unsalted fries. I left him a packet of salt this morning; should have done that last night; salt is a permanent resident of my go bag.
I'll give the context after my nap. Unless Dave calls to say he's out of anesthesia. He looks a lot better than he did last night, and while I was there this morning, the nurse said that they'd got his magnesium up where it belongs.
3:22
I was sitting on the porch ripping a seam (so I could let the snippets of thread fly in all directions) — first outdoor sewing of the year! — when I thought "Whoa! I'd better leave the door open so I can hear the phone if it rings." So I opened the door and the phone was ringing, and I dashed in to take an appointment reminder.
I leave dealing with voice mail to Dave, but I'm pretty sure the big red "0" on the base station means that I didn't miss any calls.
4:07 (16:07)
At 15:38, Dave texted "They're here to get me."
Out of context, that would sound rather ominous.
4:39
Those aren't narcissus in the lily bed; it's all daffodils with yellow trumpets and off-white petals. And I don't see much in the way of blades that might not be daffodils.
There's a scrawny white hyacinth in full bloom hiding among the yellow daffodils in the fern bed.
It's been an hour since they came to get Dave, but he'll surely spend an hour in the recovery room.
I'm going to see whether I can draw threads. Pity the job is too awkward to take out into the sunlight. (It's four yards of 42" fabric.)
Now I know why the trash bin says "close lid before moving". When I came home this evening, I saw the trash bin, remembered that tomorrow is trash day, grabbed the handle, and dragged it to the road. When I turned it around and tried to push it into position, I stepped on the lid, fell into the bin (which I'd pushed horizontal in falling, and trash fell out), bruised both knees, and scraped my little finger.
The daffodils are in full show, the hyacinths are close, and tulip leaves are up.
While combing my hair this morning, I noticed that the willow tree looks different, then noticed that some of the twigs drop down where I can see them, so I walked over, and saw tiny little leaves all over.
Bit nippy to go walking in a thin, short-sleeved scoop-neck shirt. I have a long-sleeved raw-silk shirt in the car.
We got a surprise on the way home from the hospital. While I was in the hospital waiting for Dave to be discharged, work resumed on the roundabout and Winona Lake is once again a roach motel: Park Avenue is one-way in. The newspaper says this will last for weeks, but the Heritage Trail will be open (as it has been all through the construction, bless Phend and Brown), and the coming week has lots of good riding days.
Half-past noon, and we've just finished getting Dave out of bed. Tomorrow morning, we'll know what we are doing.
And we'll probably start a bit sooner.
Dave was out of bed by ten thirty.
Then we remembered that he wasn't wearing socks.
It's really, really hard to put socks on someone else's feet. Nancy, his nurse when we checked out, could do it in one swoop. I wonder whether they have sock training in nursing school — and she has several children.
Now it's a quarter til one, and I'm down for a post-lunch nap. Dave just finished breakfast and is reading his lab results.
When we came home from radiation today, there were guys on the shop roof. It's warm enough for shingle glue to stick, and predicted to stay warm long enough for the glue to set, so we should be all done with shingles blowing off.
And it turned out that the guy who came to the door to say they were done was the very guy who wanted the discarded furnace, and he will stop by on his way home from work sometime this week and remove it.
We were out of bed and dressed early enough that there wasn't any rush to get to the blood draw before the radiation therapy. No blood draw tomorrow.
When we got home, Dave said not to park in the garage because he wanted to see whether he could do it.
While I was taking my nap, he drove to the mailbox and got the mail.
Dave dressed all by himself this morning, including shoes and tight socks. He also Roomba'd the living room before we left.
On the way home from radiation, we stopped at Walgreen's and bought three kinds of tape, hoping to find a way to keep his drainage bottle in place.
The drain comes out tomorrow.
Knock wood.
And I got a brilliant idea which we are testing now. It's always been a puzzle how to secure the bottle without restricting expansion. I just stuck the middle of the tape to the middle of the hollow! Just one piece of tape. I should have cut it six inches longer, but I used the new extra-sticky tape; it might hold.
Dave told me to leave the car outside because he plans to drive around the block later.
1:47 — naptime
8:58 p.m.
While I was in bed, Dave drove around in Winona Lake. He plans to drive to his drain removal in the morning, but wants me to go with him.
Flutes playing. A nine-clock appointment is just twelve hours from now.
10:00
Dave's in bed. I still have to brush my teeth.
We have finally figured out how to manage his drain bottle.
Unfortunately, we can use the information. We might even have to buy another roll of "absolute waterproof tape". The doctor didn't like the amounts of drainage written on my sheet of paper, and he liked the twelve-hour collection in the bottle even less, so Dave has to keep the drain another week.
Steve is mowing our lawn. He spent about an hour picking up sticks beforehand.
I've laid bread out to thaw for olive-loaf sandwiches for lunch, and plan to pick two asparagus spears and boil them.
Not exactly boil. I will bring a little salted water to the boil in my smallest skillet, then put in the asparagus, cover tightly, and turn off the fire. I hope I've remembered that correctly.
Evening:
I had a small burn blister on my little finger, which I didn't know I had until I broke it on my way to the car this morning. Fortunately, I carry a small lip-salve box of A&D in my pocket, so I didn't have to go back to dress it.
Dave drove. He was a little tired on the way home, but we feel that it's safe for him to go alone tomorrow.
I've got my list of appointments in a folder on my bike, but none of them are late enough to conflict with my next tooth cleaning.
Steve mowed our lawn today. Dave was surprised at how little time it took him to get accustomed to a zero-turn mower.
Dave drove himself to therapy, and was home again while I was still in the chair.
No new cavities. The two teeth on the watch list haven't done anything, so I'm done until October.
On the way back from the dentist, I bought Walgreen's last roll of "absolute" tape. When I told Dave, he said he'd just ordered some from Amazon, and it should get here Sunday. (Sunday?)
Seems as though I've gone directly from wearing three-to-six pairs of tights to sweating on the bike. I needed a shower when I got back, but didn't take it until after my nap.
I'm always surprised at how easily I can comb my hair after a shampoo.
Today, when my hair got re-tangled from being unconfined, I couldn't remember where I'd put down my comb. After walking all over the house, I grabbed my brown back-up comb and said that the gray one would turn up soon.
Which it did, when I finished using the brown comb and started to put it into the drawer where the gray one belongs.
Supper tonight was a packet of ramen noodles, with an asparagus spear each on the side. There are several spears that should be picked tomorrow.
Not too many days ago, I opened the patio door intending to step out, and said "AAARGH! It's stickypod season!" Dave replied "They're out front, too."
Today I checked: These are flower-bud covers. The leaf buds are still tightly furled, waiting for the last of the flower-bud covers to fall.
Sharp change of subject: If anybody near by likes green-garlic scallions, I planted about a hundred times as much garlic as I can use. I did plant them twice, but even that doesn't account for such a vast surplus.
It won't be too many weeks before the scapes are ready to pick. The stems of the flower-analogs (this breed of garlic has bulbils where flowers belong) are succulent and tasty, and I use about three during the season. The rest have to be cut off and thrown away. I froze the excess last year, and most of the puree is still in the freezer.
Dave is off to two appointments this morning. Both doctors have been apprised of the situation, and the offices are close together.
It looks as though I'll have pleasant weather to ride to the sewing-guild meeting at Pete Thorne Center tomorrow.
16:54
I've been reluctant to cut into my biggest and finest onion, saving it for when I have fresh hamburger and want a slice as big as the bun.
Today I found a five-inch bundle of sprouts on it and buried it in the garden.
While I was out there with a trowel, I dug up a clump of volunteer multipliers. The winter onions are extremely oniony this year, and I'll be reserving them for cooking.
If the nice weather continues much longer, we are going to have to water the garden.
I took a lap around the block on my flatfoot bike this afternoon. Took a while to move all the stuff stored in front of it. I think that I put it back in a more-organized manner.
The new house on Boy's City Drive has the foundation poured — appears to be a slab. A mound of dirt is being built on the site of the house that burned on Chestnut Street. I think they noticed that that area is prone to remembering that it's a lake bed.
I think all the male blossoms have fallen off the cottonwood trees. I should check the leaf buds again.
On Saturday, I celebrated my birthday with three bicycle rides. In the morning, I went to the sewing guild's meet-and-greet in the Pete Thorne center on Park Avenue, and stopped at Zale's on the way home to buy Aquaphor and E-oil. After my nap, I rode back to Zale's to buy some socks that I had noticed during my first visit. Before I got there, Dave sent me a text saying Zale's robot had called to say his prescriptions were ready, so I picked those up too.
In the evening, I was editing a Usenet post that mentioned the redbud trees lining the driveway to the widow Miller's field (not to be confused with Miller Field), hopped back on the bike, and went to look. The redbuds are in bloom but the alley isn't spectacular yet.
I didn't go to church today, but after the services ended, I walked to the church to wipe the gaskets and change the ice trays — egad, I think I forgot to change the ice trays — and climb the staircases. I didn't remember my keys until I was in the parking lot, but by good luck Pastor Doug was just leaving, and he let me in.
I got a bit rained on going both ways.
I picked a whole bunch of asparagus today. So the eternal question has an answer tomorrow: boiled eggs and asparagus stems in white sauce. I'll slice the asparagus stems and fry them in the butter used to make the sauce.
So both butter and eggs are on my shopping list for tomorrow.
Also bread and milk :)
recumbent trikes
beef reubens
Shopped at Aldi — too tired to write
measuring beaker
Getting hang of washing cups
The asparagus with eggs was great. Write recipe
A strap on my default sandals broke yesterday. Fortunately, I have a back-up pair. Unfortunately, they are these:
All of the flower-bud stickypods are down, as are the male blossoms. The fuzz I can see on the high limbs must be female catkins; the leaf buds on the branch that I can examine are still hard and varnished.
The stickypods aren't as sticky as I remember them, but when I took the indoor leaf blower out to clear around the patio door, a lot of them didn't blow away.
On Saturday, on the way back from Pete Thorne, I stopped on Park Avenue for some reason — to investigate a funny noise, perhaps — and was passed by an elderly married couple on recumbent trikes. I wanted to overtake them for a second look, but at Park and Arthur, they went straight and I turned onto Arthur because I meant to go to Zales. As I exited from Beyer Farm Trail onto Lincoln, I met them coming in.
Recumbent trikes are common, but I'd never seen one before. I didn't notice what they had in the way of luggage space.
The measuring cup given me for emptying Dave's drainage bottle has molded-in marks, translucent on translucent. When the cup is empty, the marks are visible in a very good light if you look from just the right angle. When there is something in the cup, forget it. I think that that is because they are molded on the inside of the cup, so there is little change in the index of refraction. This also means that I can't feel for them.
So I've been pouring the fluid into a hundred-milliliter beaker that was a favor at Dan and Emilee's wedding. Which has made me wish that somebody else wanted to get married in our yard — it's nice to host a party without lifting a finger. We didn't even have to mow the leaves off the lawn; Joe did that.
And even back then, I appreciated being able to go inside and lie down for five minutes now and again.
Dave's drain bottle is in the hazardous-waste bin in Dr. Ilada's exam room. The hole where the drain tube was will weep for a few days.
When Dave was putting his clothes back on, we found a cottonwood stickypod on the floor.
I have two cases I take to waiting rooms. The Trafalger Tours flight bag has a bottle pocket, the magazine compartment is just right for folders of papers, and there's loads of room for hat, scarf, books, and needlework. The attaché case is designed for documents, and is much lighter and smaller. Of late, I've been carrying the Trafalger bag because it's already packed.
When I realized that I'd forgotten to put a paper towel into a shirt pocket, I thought "That's all right; I have a pocket-pack of tissues — in my attaché case.
I found a dried-up moist towelette in a pocket of the Trafalger bag, and that worked, but it crackled like writing paper, which was embarrassing. (There is now a folded paper towel in the pocket where I found the no-longer-moist towelette.)
I am waiting for my lunch to bake, and I am extremely annoyed. I wanted pupu platter: one stuffed jalapeño, one breaded mozzarella stick, one naanpanada, and one each of the three flavors of Puff Pastry Bites.
Got the other three items on the baking tray, opened the Bites — and found three loaves intended to be cut into eight pieces after baking.
I haven't the foggiest idea what I'm going to do with them. Cut them apart with a saw? Serve one loaf as a main dish for two?
I put in another stuffed jalapeño and two naanpanadas. One breaded mozzarella stick is enough for anybody.
As long as I'm griping, I was disappointed twice at Aldi. The Willow tissues had been replaced by a pile of Kleenex. No biggy; I prefer that all my boxes of tissue match, but one of the patterns of Kleenex harmonizes.
It *was* a biggy that the Brookdale corned-beef hash had been replaced with Mary Kitchen. I buy Brookdale because I don't like Mary Kitchen. Perhaps they will have changed back when we have eaten our remaining can of Brookdale hash.
Later:
Just before nap time, Dave asked whether I'd pick up a prescription at Zales. I checked that the rain was supposed to stop and not start up again until sunset (which it did), and that it would be warm enough that I wouldn't mind if it did rain, so I planned to go for a bike ride right after my nap.
While I was dressing, Dave called Zale's and found that the prescription wouldn't be ready for a few days, so I went to Lowery's. White cord elastic is still unavailable, but they had precisely the zipper I wanted. Then I bipped across the street for peanuts in the shell and six cents worth of guavas, and went to the health-food store. I'd recently read a list of high-magnesium foods that included almonds and dark chocolate, so I bought Dave almonds coated with dark chocolate. Now he can eat candy and say the doctor ordered it.
Thence to Kroger for frozen dinners and yogurt, and home less than half an hour before time to eat and groceries still to put away. Luckily, Dave had been yearning for ramen noodles.
That was our last packet. I should have bought some at El Padrino.
Yesterday, Dave noted that it's no longer a struggle to get his slipper onto his swollen foot.
Got a call saying "your prescription is ready for pick up" this afternoon. I had plenty of time before supper, so I suited up, hopped on the bike and sprinted to Zale's (sprinting because I should have put on two shirts instead of one). Turned out to be Dave's prescription; mine won't be in until Monday.
I needed the exercise. Took more than half an hour out, less than a quarter back — and I wasn't cold on the way back. I don't think the short hill on McKinley makes *that* much difference. I always take it on the big ring, and was moving right along on the way up.
It *felt* shorter on the way back, but I took precisely the same route. Yes, I'm a Loveless, but there aren't a lot of options between here and Zale's. Perhaps I know the way better in that direction.
I got back in time to put in a load of wash. When pulling my only summer jersey off over my head, I noticed that it stunk.
Dave loved the corned beef I'd been baking all day, and so did I. He peeled strings lengthwise, I cut slices crosswise. The carrot was all shriveled and brown, but he ate all of it. There was a quarter of a potato left over, and nobody touched the onion. I don't think Dave saw it; it was dark brown and matched what little broth there was. I had to boil the cabbage in water, with only a spoonful of broth for flavor. No grease cooked out either. When I cook cabbage to have with left-overs, I'll slice some of the fat off the meat. It would be good to render it a bit before adding broth and cabbage.
Last Monday, I got the idea of doing my evening exercises in installments throughout the evening instead of in one fifteen-minute lump. It worked out better on some days than on others. Tonight I'm sitting at the computer with a timer in my pocket.
We had a frozen entree and asparagus for supper tonight. (Brief pause to run to the garden) (resets timer; that counts as exercise)
One stalk that probably should be picked tomorrow, two that have peeked out and don't like the cold. It's good that we don't have asparagus *every* day.
Steve and Martha dropped in for a few minutes today, and I changed two iron pots from clutter to treasures. I *think* that all our iron is now either hanging on the kitchen wall or on the bottom shelf of the pantry cupboard.
Both pots were clearly designed for wood-burning stoves or coal ranges. They were surprisingly light to one accustomed to the clumsy reproduction ironware.
Which reminds me that there is one piece of iron left: the old restaurant-size griddle I built fires on when cooking outdoors. I don't remember how we got it to that spot, and I think that it will take machinery to lift it. A flat iron surface is very convenient when cooking in a bake kettle. The legs don't do any good when you set a bake kettle on dirt or ashes.
I spent all my writing time reading "Dear Enemy" by Jean Webster on Gutenberg.
The ferns are up, and the crabapple is in full bloom.
Steve mowed our lawn today.
I rode to Zales to pick up a prescription this morning — turned out, as expected, to be Dave's — and picked up some bread and juice at Kroger on the way back. I finally found rye bread without caraway! But there's only a dash of rye flour in the recipe; it's good bread, but I still don't know what rye bread tastes like.
We're having reubens made with it for supper tonight.
There's going to be an artisan's market at Steve and Martha's house on Saturday, the twenty-seventh of May, four O'clock to eight.
Rain was predicted, but the afternoon turned out quite pleasant, and I rode my bike to Zale's and to Kroger. I bought, among other things, a can of Grabil beef chunks to replace the one I made into stew a while back.
A week ago yesterday, I got up from the computer with an aching back, and realized that I should do my exercises in installments, instead of in one quarter-hour lump at bedtime-snack time. This has been working out very well — on the evenings when I remember to do it.
At snack time tonight, I discovered that fresh guava is very nice when spread on buttered bread. I suspect that guava season will be over when I get back to El Padrino.
The shadows of the twigs on the maple tree were making pretty patterns on the pillow cases when I took the laundry off the line.
Dave had his last radiation treatment yesterday.
This morning I went to the library by way of Mi Poblanita. I bought a pineapple at Mi Poblanita, and got the latest Major Bhaajan novel at the library.
That'll larn me that when Dave picks up, I should stay on the line until I hear who's calling. He thought I was still asleep, and it would have been a big hairy deal to get out of his chair and hobble to the bedroom to check. He isn't quite as lame as he was, but still very sore.
After attempting to return the call, I learned that it was a reminder to call the dermatologist if he hadn't called me. I already have an annual skin exam scheduled for the fourteenth of May, and the sore that wouldn't heal has to be pointed at before Dave can pick it out from the other spots on my leg, so I'm going to forget about it until it's time to write a list of complaints for the practioner. All that's known for sure is that it isn't cancer.
Not forget entirely — I still have ointment to put on twice a day, which I nearly forgot to do tonight.
Made progress on cutting out my new jersey today. I put the yellow cotton into a scrap box, and will begin cutting the black linen tomorrow.
The promised rain was postponed until evening, so I went for a ride in the morning. (I did sort the black-linen scraps.)
I picked up a package at Zales, then went to Kroger for milk and rubbing alcohol.
I found a package of four pork chops in the meat-clearance bin. I cut the fat off the chops and rendered it to make gravy. I had to augment the pork fat with bacon grease; they trim the chops so *close* these days. Also added some pepper and an envelope of Goya ham powder. I dunked the chops into the gravy, put a lid on the skillet, and popped it into a 500-degree oven that I immediately turned down to "keep warm".
After my nap, I zapped a potato, sprayed it with corn oil, and put it on the bottom rack of the oven. The inside was close enough to baked; the skin was tough. There's enough potato left for my bedtime snack; I left it on the table under a bowl because cold baked potato isn't good if it has been chilled.
The chops in gravy were delicious. We also had some canned spinach.
Yesterday Dave wanted an alcohol swab to get some tape gunk off his skin. We had used up or thrown them out years ago, but surely rubbing alcohol on a paper towel will do the trick. If there was any rubbing alcohol in the house, it has been stashed somewhere weird. But I found a wet-nap that did the trick.
Not until I arrived at Kroger today did I remember that we have a bottle of Ever Clear. In 2020 I put some into a one-ounce dropper bottle to carry in the car — it's still there — and I don't think we've used any since, so it must still be around.
Kroger had many bottles of rubbing alcohol, but no denatured alcohol. Isopropyl isn't very good at cleaning, but I bought a pint anyway.
Oops! I just checked the calendar to see what I'm doing on Monday, and today is marked "main flush/don't wash". But working hours were nearly over when I started the washer.
I saw a man flushing a main in Warsaw on my way to the library Thursday. The water fanned out into a spray, and was falling on a lawn.
I was pretty close to out of clean underwear, and the jersey I wore this morning was visibly dirty.
Ooops! There was only half an hour left in the evening when I remembered that I meant to do my exercises at half-hour intervals. But I did frequently get up and walk around — I hung wash on a drying rack, for example.
My lunch is looking pretty good. I have finally mastered the art of building a reuben: first the meat, then the cheese, then the ranch dressing, then the kraut.
We are now out of left-over corned beef.
Progress on the jersey: I took the yellow-cotton pieces off the borrowed table and put them back onto one of the card tables. The back pocket had been on the bottom of the pile. I moved everything else, then put the back pocket where I could measure the back-pocket facing against it.
Stepped into the rain to empty a rinsed milk jug into the strawberry bed and discovered that the second round of stickypods are falling.
Since I've already missed deadline, I'm going to hold this issue until we get back from the urologist tomorrow.
Evening:
The infusion took much longer than expected, owing to two mistakes by the same person. By the time we started home, we had forgotten that Zales had called, but they called again for another prescription, so I guess I'd have needed to drive there after supper even if we had remembered to pick up the first one on the way home.
The good news: he's cleared to come without an escort next time. It's rare that an infusion leaves someone unfit to drive, but the first time they take precautions. The infusions will be three weeks apart.
We had a scare this morning after Dave took his painkiller before eating. After we got back from Goshen, Luann relayed through Martha that opioid on an empty stomach is an absolute no-no. Drinking a mug of milk (before we got that information) did help.
Steve and Martha came down to calm us down and call the nurse (the secret is to press "0" to get a live person). Once we were sure no ambulance was required, Steve drove us to Goshen to see the urologist. (See recap.)
On the way back, I noticed a mattress store in Kohl Plaza (which isn't the official name of the strip mall north of Walmart).
After much consideration of adjustable beds and the like, we had decided that what we wanted was what we already had, but queen size instead of king, and not worn into hollows.
What we have is a mattress, a box spring, and a frame with six short legs to raise them off the floor so Roomba can get under. Furniture stores don't sell anything that simple. A mattress store might, and Kohl Plaza is one of my favorite excursions.
Despite working out on the staircases nearly every Sunday, I'm not sure I'm already strong enough to ride that far.
I'm planning to bake a chocolate cake tomorrow. Half a recipe of Joy of Cooking's Brownies Cockaigne, but not halving the chocolate.
And adding enough pecans to make it diabetic friendly.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂
[note] On Sunday evening, 2 April 2023: high heart rate
{12 April 2023 about noon}
Finally time (and focus!) to write, and I don't remember any of the details I wanted to record.
Dave takes our blood pressure every night at bedtime, and the blood pressure cuff also reads out the pulse. On Sunday night, the second of April, he didn't believe the heart rate and took it several more times.
Then he called Dr. Darr. He was supposed to be connected to the doctor on call for Darr, but got Darr himself. He thinks he woke him up.
Dr. Darr said that a heart rate that fast could wear out his artificial heart valve, get thee to an emergency room.
{Thursday, 13 April 2023}
The emergency-room doctor thought that the "complex accumulation of fluid" that Dave was scheduled to have drained was an infection that was the cause of the high heart rate, so he put him on intravenous antibiotics in addition to heart meds. Dave was checked into the hospital Monday morning and I went home. (And came back after I woke up.)
I've forgotten what else went on on Monday.
On Tuesday, Dr. Iloda installed a drain. Didn't even require general anesthesia. (But he *would* have used a general if Dave hadn't been tanked up on heart meds.)
{14 April 2023}
When Dave came out of surgery, his bladder was distended and he needed a catheter.
When the catheter filled up I silently prayed "Tell me that's Betadyne". (I once woke up — I think that it was after the laparoscopy — covered with a sticky red substance, and the shock is still with me.)
It was blood. Much later we learned that the catheter had punctured his prostate.
{1 May 2023}
Well into the night, the nurses and doctor tried and tried to clear the blood clot blocking the catheter, which was extremely painful. The on-call urologist was nowhere to be found. (Turned out that he'd recently resigned to go elsewhere, and to this day LKH doesn't have one; We are going to Goshen tomorrow. Steve is driving.)
They let him sleep for a while, then moved him to Intensive Care. When ICU couldn't clear it, they put him on an ambulance and sent him to Fort Wayne, where Dr. Linke saw what was wrong at once and installed a Foley catheter. We presume that the urologist Dave is seeing tomorrow will swap it for a fresh one. While we and the staff were talking before the infusion, Luann Deafenbaugh said catheters should be changed every thirty days.
I forget what day the drain came out. That's all closed up now.
Dave's leg is improving, but it is still very sore from the radiation and he's using a walker and taking heavy-duty painkillers.
{2 May 2023}
Catheter changed, and appointment made for the next change. We learned how to manage it much more easily, and the practitioner told me how to clean the bag. Dave can manage the new bag by himself.
Whether Dave can have surgery, and whether he needs surgery, are still up in the air.
⁂