She can't hear a thing

Mary went along with me to the doctor yesterday because she's had a difficult time hearing us talking to her, even from so short a distance as two feet. Naturally, we're worried. She's always been prone to ear infections, and has had some hearing loss associated with it (according to some tests which were done years ago). We'd rather she didn't lose any more.

She and I arrived at the doctor's office early on Monday morning so that some X-rays could be taken of my chest (to check the progress of my de-virusification) before our scheduled appointment. After those were done, and we had returned to the waiting room, we had only a few moments to read some magazines before being called in; such is the benefit of early appointments.

The doctor confirmed that my pneumonia was still present in one of my lungs, but subsiding. It would no longer be necessary to take antibiotics (which are useless in the case of a virus anyway, but since he wasn't sure at first whether it was viral or bacterial, he wanted to "clear the field" so that he could be sure). He suggested 800 mg of ibuprofen for the pain in my ribs (because it feels like my bones are cracking whenever a cough occurs), plenty of liquids, cough syrup to suppress the urge, and a return visit in a couple weeks to verify that the lungs eventually clear up.

As for Mary, the nurse had performed a hearing test and determined that she couldn't hear anything in the left ear, and her hearing was much reduced in the right. Then the doctor took a look deep inside and thought he saw some pools of fluid, so he gave her some nasal spray that is supposed to help drain the eustachian tubes while she sleeps at night. And, of course, a return visit in a couple weeks to verify that the fluid has drained.

Afterward, we went out and got donuts at Krispy Kreme, and she helped pick out the Valentine's Day donuts (heart-shaped, with red and white sprinkles), and we used our Buy-1-Get-1-Free coupon for an extra dozen, and she got some fancy chocolate milk, and then we went home and pigged out on donuts.

Well, it made us feel a little better.

Go-in to the Doctor and I'm ... Go-nna get X-rayed..

Such a cheery thought. "Hey, Doc, let's take a look and see if my lungs are still working, eh?"

I'm actually more worried about a cracked rib.

At least I won't be alone. Mary is going with me. Mary has had a lot of difficulty hearing lately, and my parental anxieties are in full swing. She's the one that's always had problems with fluid in her ears, and after the latest round of ear infection, even though she's feeling fine and almost done with her meds, and she's taking decongestants, you can stand two feet away from her and she can't hear you very well.

Cheryl isn't feeling well, either, with symptoms disquietingly close to my own, so she's going to try to get in an appointment as well.

Then Deb came down with another fever this afternoon, which started with a sore throat. If this keeps up, she'll be at the doctor in another couple of days, too.

James just got over being ill, but he hasn't shown any signs of further decline. Lucky him! He got well just in time to go out with some friends inner-tubing in the snow.

And then there's Adam. Hasn't gotten sick yet. Just not into that sort of thing, I suppose.

And so it goes.

Liquid Lungs

I wake up to the sound of Velcro, but I'm not wearing any.

It's my lungs.

Lying with my back propped against the stack of pillows so that I'm in a reclined position, with my breathing at near-sleep levels, it sounds just ... weird. Like a thin tearing of plastic, slightly bubbly plastic, gurgling in my throat.

Inhale. The Velcro rips apart. Exhale. Gurgle. Repeat.

Makes it a bit difficult to sleep. What's worse, though, is that as soon as my body wakes up in the morning, and the hormones or whatever they are start pumping and the muscles start twitching and the blood starts pumping, there is an irresistable urge - compulsion - to cough, and cough hard. There is nothing to cough up, but the coughing continues until my ribs are aching and I'm leaning over the sink in the bathroom (How did I get here??) waiting to lose the breakfast I haven't eaten yet.

After a few minutes, the feeling subsides. Gotta move slower. Walk. Slowly. Breathe. Slowly. Down the stairs. Step. Step. Step. Step. (Wheeze) (Wheeze) (Wheeze) (Wheeze). Repeat.

To the pantry. Grab a teaspon of this, a teaspoon of that. Gimme some hot water for tea. Take some ibuprofen for the aching muscles. Sit at the table and catch my breath.

I feel like such an old man.

It's probably best to stay home today, but that won't happen. So long as nobody talks to me, if they all just leave me alone to type in my cube, I'll be all right. It's the walks to the water fountain and the kitchenette (for more hot tea) that evoke the coughing again.

Funny how "I've got pneumonia" cuts short conversations at work. Except on the phone. For some reason, people hear me say, "I'm ill," and they hear me coughing - loudly - but they won't shut up and get off the phone. For some reason, there is a disconnect between the "It hurts to talk" and the idea that "If I wasn't talking on the phone with you, it wouldn't hurt so much."

Naturally, at home I don't mind so much. Because if people really want to call me up and listen to me hack and cough and get so close to heaving up that it's like being there, well, that's their choice. And sometimes it's fun to see how far I can go to gross them out.

But at work - sheesh! Some people just don't have a clue. Somehow their piddly problems with spreadsheets and budgets and malfunctioning software are more important than my lack of breathing capacity.

Makes me wish I could fake a really good cough, like I'm having a heart attack, and then drop the phone - loudly - on the desk, just to see what they'd do. Probably just hang up and send me email instead. Losers.

Meanwhile I'm dreading the thought of going to sleep at night, knowing that the hacking and coughing is going to start unbidden again in the morning. And the Velcro. And the gurgling.

Sure hope it clears up before the weekend. It's hard to enjoy pizza and a good movie with the family when (1) food doesn't taste like anything and (2) all I want to do, is to go back to bed.

New Moania

I wasn't feeling any better on Monday, so Cheryl booked me an appointment with the doctor. Upon my arrival, the doctor said, "You're not getting any better, are you?", to which I croaked back, "No. Is it that obvious?"

Probably the fact that I couldn't speak without going into a coughing fit. That's always a big clue.

So he sent me upstairs to Radiology, and they took lots of pretty photographs of the interior portion of my lungs, after which they stood around commenting, "Did this come from the morgue?"; and "Ooh! What are those funny-looking things in there?"; and, of course, "Hope this sucker has insurance."

Got back downstairs to the doc, who said I had some kind of pneumonia, either viral or bacterial, he wasn't sure. Can't they test for those things? Perhaps if I was at the hospital, they could've figured it out. But at these rinky-dink clinics, you get what you pay for, and less. So the Man says I got pneumonia, and he gave me a hefty dose of killer meds to take care of it (in the case it's bacterial), and a hefty dose of asthma meds to open up the passageways in case it ain't, 'cause apparently there ain't much they can do if'n it's viral. Except wait. And hope the insurance check don't bounce.

Next couple of nights was rough in the way of sleeping, 'cause the meds threw my brain for a loop. I was having some very strange dreams, thinking the whole time I was awake; and then when I woke up (at 2 in the morning), I couldn't get back to sleep til nearly seven. And after a little while longer of lying in bed feeling like I was drowning in my own lungs, I got up and went to work.

Might as well be doing something useful while I'm up.

Drank lots of hot tea. Spicy stuff, none of that namby-pamby normal tea. Fact is, the cokes are too sweet (tastes like syrup), the regular teas taste like hot water, and the only thing I can stand for very long is the Bengal Spice.

And don't even mention milk. Ick.

Meanwhile the kids are all back in school again, all nice and normal, just in time to get back into the swing of things with homework and overbooked weekend activities and that kind of thing. I'm looking forward to things getting back to normal around here.

In the meantime, I can hear my lungs gurgling when I breathe. Cool!

Super-Powerful AntiBiotic Poised to Take Over the Planet

After days of getting no better, we had to try something else, so I took in the antibiotic prescription and got it filled.

Lord a'mercy, those are horse-pills.

The pharmacist said there was a highly resistive strain going around, which likely explains the size and number of what she gave me, but it certainly is more than I've ever seen. 850 mL per pill, two pills per dose, two doses per day, and enough pills to keep me going for nearly two weeks.

Can't tell if they taste like anything. Sense of taste was one of the first casualties of the war. As a consequence, I stopped drinking anything but hot tea. Sugary stuff didn't taste good at all, and the only sensation I can feel right now is the heat, and that makes the sore throat feel better.

Spent all day yesterday at work nursing a cup of tea, refilled over and over again. Weirdest part was that it didn't require any trips to the washroom. Whatever this disease is, it's soaking up all the moisture in my body and keeping it in my lungs, or at least that's the way it feels. Still gurgling from the back of my throat every morning when I try to breathe.

Still can't take a proper breath.

Tried to help Adam shovel snow today, and nearly had a spasm, coughing so much and getting nothing for my troubles. Spent the rest of the day dozing in and out of consciousness while sitting in my chair. Didn't have enough energy to do anything else. Tried to look over some code from work, and the sheer effort of it tired me out so that I fell asleep with the laptop in my lap.

Feeling pretty weak. Wish this disease would hurry up and dissipate.

Eh, What's Up, Doc?

Low-grade fever, bubbling in the back of my throat every time I take a breath, wake up coughing, always tired. It's been this way for days and days, not getting any better, so it's time for a visit to the doctor.

Naturally, he can't find anything. He can confirm that there's something wrong, but medical science is not to the point where the medical clinician can look down the back of your throat and say, "Yep, you've got Virus #3888283-A, and it's making mincemeat out of your lung tissue right now. We have an antidote right here..."

Nope. Doc says, "Well, it's more likely viral than bacterial, I'm not seeing any redness from infection, but I'll go ahead and write you up a prescription for the antibiotic if it doesn't get any better. And I'll give you some strong cough syrup. Other than that, you'll just have to burn it out."

This doesn't sound like medicine has made any improvements since the 1918 flu epidemic. If it's a virus, there's still nothing they can do for you, other than making you as comfortable as possible.

So I go home and hang onto my prescriptions like a good little boy, waiting to see if things get any better. Always tired. Aching body. Taking regular cough medicines during the day, the codeineated stuff at night, trying not to aggravate the situation by doing anything out of the ordinary, like breathing. Wake up every morning and start instantly coughing, hard, but can't bring anything up or out. Only thing that happens is I end up with muscle strain and a headache.

Still running a slight fever. Waking up in a river of sweat every morning, have to shower it off just to avoid shivering.

Last Saturday

It was a week ago. Seven days. My, how time flies.

I had to work. Naturally. Spent the entire day cooped up in my little cube, fussing over other people's code and the fact that they don't know how to write it, and I can barely decipher it, and most of the time it doesn't work the way it's supposed to work when it's loaded onto the hardware.

Spent the day sitting, typing, coughing, wandering to the lab and back again, drinking hot tea, trying to clear the phlegm from my throat, not hungry enough to eat anything. A whole day, wasted at work.

The plan was to make a Costco run after work, pick up a few things, head home, get some rest, try and have enough energy left to teach the kids Sunday morning.

The plan fell apart when I exited the building at five-thirty and found the car as dead as a doornail. Doofus has left the headlights on again, and the battery was dead.

And there ain't nobody else dumb enough to be at work this late on a Saturday night.

Cheryl was still sick at home, running a fever. No way I'm calling her on this one. Darn it, I'm gonna push it over to the edge of the parking lot where there's a hill, and try and get it going down the hill and pop the clutch. If she don't start that way, I'll walk to Costco and buy a new battery.

Coughing and wheezing, extremely short on energy and breath, I man-handle the car to the edge of the parking lot and get it going down the hill.

Unfortunately, though the hill is steep enough, the resistance to forward movement due to the lack of sufficient air in the tires keeps it from going fast enough. I try a few times anyway, but it's pointless.

Time for a walk to Costco.

I walk, wheezing and coughing again, in air that is cold and wind that is biting, and arrive just as they are closing the doors. Yup, the place closes at six on Saturday nights. Not sure why, just does. Great.

I turn around and walk to a nearby Target, but they don't carry batteries.

Now comes the dreaded moment. I walk back up the hill to the work place, to my desk, call Cheryl, and ask her to come get me. Maybe we can get the car jumped.

She - without complaining, mind, even though her brains are boiling at 102 degrees - comes out and waits patiently while I flail away at trying to get the car started. But the battery is too deeply drained. It won't start, not even when I completely disconnect the dead battery and try to jump directly from hers. It don't wanna play.

Defeat. Despair. And tired, aching weariness. We go home, have some hot soup for dinner, get the kids set up for the evening (baths, showers, etc.). Then later, back out we go. First stop, no fooling, we're going to buy a battery outright. Tried Sears first, their automotive department was closed. They suggested WalMart. Don't usually shop there, since it's not really close by, but we get out there and find one (too expensive for my taste, but we're not feeling picky right now), then back to the car and plop it in.

It works.

So back home we go, our adventure over for the night, our bodies still feeling miserable, but at least our cars are working now.

Sicker than dogs are we

It's been two days off work this week, and the bones are still achin' from the fever what been coursin' through me body. The dismal sound of coughing fills the house. The food tastes like nothing anymore, like the gold of Cortez is still jinglin' in me pocket and the bones of me hands are showing in the moonlight.

Aye, it's been a charnal house this week. The girls started it, nigh onto two or three weeks ago, and it took the rest of us an age to sign on. But sign on we did, and there's nothin' for it but to weather it out, come hurricane or reef.

Now my darling wife is wandering the house like a ghost, clinging her robes to her side to keep in the warmth; and the youngest boy came down feverish at school, and won't be attending tomorrow.

Would that I could do the same, but there's another storm brewin' at work which must be headed off, and emails can only do so much. I've got to launch a full broadside against the slackers what be keeping me from my quest; there's been enough excusin' and apologizin' to last a lifetime, and now it's time the whips start flying.

Aye, there'll be blood spilt in the morning afore this ship is back in shape.

Meanwhile, we be off to hammock and cabin, to rest up before the onslaught. And to take some more Robotussin DM.

Arg.

Thinking of You, Mom and Dad

My in-laws, bless their hearts, gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, something I neither requested nor expected, and they probably didn't know how wonderful it was when they selected it.

It is a set of John Wayne DVDs.

Not the Best Of, not the Ultimate Collection, not even the ones for which he is most famous. No, this is a collection of old Lone Star productions from the 1930's and 40's, back when the movies were barely into sound and they were still trying to figure out how to hold the boom mikes while filming a horse running through the sagebrush.

They're cheesy, sappy, full of cliches and bad dialogue - but they have a special meaning to me because they connect me with the childhood memories of my own parents, who watched these kinds of movies growing up, who even now watch them when they come on AMC or TMC or one of the other cable stations.

And when I sit down and watch these movies, I am transported to a Special Couch which doesn't exist in the real world, a special couch where I can be with my Mom and Dad and enjoy the sights and sounds of a classic western, and see through their eyes and memories the way things were back then.

Oh, Mom and Dad aren't really there, of course; but it's like when I was in Denmark without Cheryl, having a cup of coffee for breakfast even though I don't drink coffee. It isn't the movie or the coffee that matter, really, it's the thought of experiencing something that they have experienced - a proxy - that gives me a feeling of connection, of understanding, of having a window into their souls.

And the experience is even more enhanced when my own children gather around me while watching these old movies, and I am able to explain to them that these are the movies that their grandparents watched, this is where they got their ideas of self-reliance and bravery and courage and Doing the Right Thing; and this is why Grandma always wanted to vote for John Wayne for President.

I look forward to Mom and Dad's next visit out here so we can sit and watch these movies together, and the kids can ask Grandma and Grandpa what it was like to watch them years and years ago, up on the silver screen, when movies were a dime and popcorn was a nickel and the bad guys always went to prison and the good guys always won.

Thanks for the movies!

The High Cost of Software

Saturday is normally not a day at the office, but owing to the tight schedule and the new duties, there will be many of them spent at the office from now until the end of March.

Today was a particularly depressing experience. We found out that the reason "Bill" hadn't shown up for work on Friday, was that he had suffered a stroke late Thursday night.

Bill is only forty-eight years old.

As a contractor, he is also all alone out here in Michigan. He has no family nearby. He had called a friend Thursday night to let her know he was having a stroke, asking her to come over, but she was unavailable, and didn't get to her voice mail for another twelve hours.

Evidently, his next call was to 911.

It is unfortunate for "Bill"; he is now lying in a hospital bed in the Critical Care Unit. It is unfortunate or us, because he is our friend. It is unfortunate for The Company, because he was working on an extremely important bug that absolutely must be solved. Soon.

Was it the stress that got to him? We don't believe so, unless he is one of those people who hide the effects of stress extremely well, for he never gave a sign of it.

Was it his weight? His diet? The loneliness of the bachelor contractor?

We may never know. Right now, we only hope and pray that he is able to recover. We'd like to see him back at work again, playing with the code, doing the things he enjoys doing, smiling, telling jokes, complaining about management like the rest of us.

We miss you, "Bill"!

An aggravating day

Mr. Hardy (not his real name, but about the right size) showed up at my desk fifteen minutes after I arrived. He was somewhat miffed.

"So," he says, "Mr. Laurel (again, not his real name, but he's a dead ringer for ol' Stan) tells me you've given him a mandate to document the build process."

"Yes," I reply, confident in the fact that I am, after all, in charge of this operation, and have every right to make assignments as I see fit.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind for him to do, you know," he goes on. "I was wanting him to work on something else."

"Uh-huh." My face is dead-pan, my expression controlled. My words are non-committal. My anger is rising.

"In fact, we've already done this before. It would be a complete waste of time."

I stare blankly at him a moment. This is the person who was responsible for putting the builds together, before I was 'hired' in. It's too bad that the builds still don't work, at least for me. The assignment to do a build was given to the new guy in order to cross-check my findings, to make sure I wasn't just seeing things.

And Mr. Hardy is obviously feeling threatened that someone is intruding on his turf.

Unfortunately for him, I don't give a rip what he thinks. My instructions have been given, and they are to be followed.

"Gee, Oliver," I intone carefully, as one would to a child. "I followed your instructions to the letter, and couldn't get it to build. So I asked Stan to try the same thing, just to verify I was doing it right."

"Well, everyone else was able build without any problems."

"Oh, really? Or did they just do like I did, and figure out how to work around it?"

I pull out my logbook which lists all the problems I found. He frowns and folds his arms across his chest, perturbed.

"I've never seen that before," he comments, with a tone that indicates I must be some kind of idiot.

"Look, I'm just trying to get a sanity check, OK? Let's see how it goes for Stan, and then we'll decide what to do."

He goes away (eventually), but is still upset. Probably convinced I'm going to mess up his "system".

Thirty minutes later, Mr. Laurel emails in: "I had the same errors. Should I go ahead and fix them?"

Mr. Hardy erupts again (via email): "No! Don't touch the files! You'll only make it worse!"

I ignore Mr. Hardy and tell Mr. Laurel, "Just document what you find, fix your local copy of the files, and we'll get it fixed by Friday for the Release."

This is going to be such a fun job!