I haven’t posted in a few days because a neighbor yelled at my wife for no reason at all. No reason at all. And I walked across the street to find out what it was all about.
That’s it, the reason I missed posts. Simple, but not.
It was the neighbor who who allegedly showed a gun to my other neighbor’s gardener over a week ago. And after the “conversation” I had with him this week, I’ve spent the last two days researching fences and security cameras, catching up on missed work and writing a blog post detailing what happened with this neighbor that I’m not sure I should publish. The situation may have a “legal” future to it.
I may be overstating it, but I’m cautious and it’s unpredictable what will happen next. I don’t want to be water-boarded by a lawyer about a blog post I wrote.
Oh, and we may move out of the neighborhood.
I’m tired of brown lawns, tilting picket fences with peeling paint and cars parked on lawns. If we go a mile south, the neighborhood has driveways filled with cars with paint on them, and gardeners who know the difference between a weed and plant.
I’ll stop here tonight and think about the unpublished post and whether it should go live on the Internet.
In other news, I went to my three-month clinic appointment this week. It was okay. My PFTs are holding since the last hospitalization. That’s the good news. However, they are still down from the major bout of flu earlier in the year. I’m not sure they’ll ever rebound now that six months have passed. That is life with CF. We’ll see. I’m putting on a happy face I’ll wear during Halloween.
Regarding the clot in my neck, we may pull the port during my next hospitalization. ARGH
I finally get a port after all of these years of PICCs because I’m going to prison every three months and then I stay out for over six and don’t use it. And a clot develops next to the place it burrows into my neck. Worst of all, I can’t do a Rambo and cut it out of my own chest because the clot would come lose and hurt or kill me.
Add “self-removal of a port” to the list of things to avoid in life.
Once the clot is gone, or covered by cells, and not a threat to take a road-trip south to my heart, we can pull the port and I can go back to midlines. We’ll see. The future is murky and unpredictable, as always.
Murky and unpredictable and full of M&Ms and sushi and my daughter’s book reports and black and white labradors and helping my wife manage the stress of living with me and tiny moments that feel large.
And standing fast when someone crosses the line in the sand.
We used to live in the valley and this was the kind of crap that happened all the time. Move to Valencia!!!!!! PS sry to hear about your port 😦
Lucky you moving to a better land.
Ugh – I feel your pain regarding your port. A clot was discovered attached to the end of my tubing that rests in my right heart ventricle. Good ole Lovenox shots for the next 2 months to dissolve it, and then I face a port removal too. Although, mine is 5 years old and I can’t fathom going back to PICC lines, boo. Lovenox has turned my poor tummy into a bruised punching bag. Hate those burning, big needles. Good luck to you and your port.
Oh dear. I would feel very concerned if a neighbour who was prone to waving guns around in the light of day yelled at my wife – with reason or without. Can you put in a complaint about him with the local police – something about his issue with the gardener and now yelling at your wife and you wanting to preemptively advise them that something could be brewing there? I will watch this space for your anonymous post…
As for the port, I have no understanding of such things of course and it sounds positively awful…you have my every empathy and a few FU’s to the gods-that-be for creating the whole mess in the first place. Probably best not to go all Rambo, for more reasons than the obvious, I hear he’s very “last year” 🙂
Luckily, things have cooled down with my neighbor. I’m going to go back into the post and see if I can edit it to the point it’s factual and nothing else. Hard to do with emotional issues.
Rambo will never be “last year.”