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Monday, February 13, 2017

Parotid Gland Duct Obstruction Treatment: Day Four

The overnight was another of pronounced sweating; but despite the clammy bedding, my time in bed is most comfortable and I never have trouble returning to sleep whenever I find myself awake.

But for the second consecutive night, I may have risen as often as six times to urinate.

Whatever the clindamycin antibiotic IV drip I have been receiving twice daily (since a first single drip on Friday afternoon) is doing, it must be waging war with the infectious bacteria resident in the huge swelling that has arisen on the left side of my face due to an obsctructed duct of the parotid gland ─ this is the main salivary gland.

Apparently we have other smaller ones ─I never realized that until this disorder.

I had another drip scheduled for shortly after 9:00 a.m. this morning at the Jim Pattison Outpatient Care and Surgery Centre here in Whalley, and my youngest step-son Poté arranged to take me. But I am so loathe to rise from bed in the morning, I have been finding myself doing so on the wrong side of 8:00 a.m., leaving me scant time to dress and make myself presentable, and prepare an instant coffee to wash down the first of the day's three regular-strength capsules of Advil that I have been taking since Thursday.

Poté would be dropping me off, and picking me up afterward when I was finished and had summoned him.

So when the procedure was all over with, I took these three selfies outside of Jim Pattison while awaiting him ─ the first photo claims to be taken at 10:00 a.m., whereas the next two declare 10:01 a.m.:




My later appointment for the day's next IV drip was to be handled by the Surrey Memorial Hospital, and I would be going there around 8:30 p,m, or soon thereafter, even though I know that the procedure won't begin until after 9:00 p.m.

Once Poté had me back home this mild, sunny day that has seen even more of our snow and ice disappearing, I eventually took some time out to lie down and drift off into a nap. 

My wife Jack phoned afterwards, and had me take a couple of packages of meat out of the fridge icebox to leave in the sink ─ she would be coming home from Vancouver after sunset, and be spending the night. 

Apart from working upon this blog, I don't do anything else. I still do not feel up to exercising, and I have absolutely no spare time for my six hosted websites.

And certainly, I am not going to be going anywhere to do some shopping looking like this ─ even with a hood pulled on! 

I was lying down again when Jack came into the house and started turning on lights, so I swiftly rose and came downstairs to be some company for her.

When my besotted brother Mark came home awhile later, and got around to wanting to watch some T.V. as Jack continued to bustle about in the kitchen, I ventured to Mark that he might as well re-watch last evening's latest episode of The Walking Dead ─ he had passed dead out early into the episode. 

He agreed, and admitted that he didn't even remember that it had been on.

Well, not two minutes into the teaser of an opening, I looked over, and his chin was down on his chest and his eyes shut. He was already passed out again.

Screw that.

I put the T.V. to other programming. He's going to have to live without seeing the episode. I refuse to sit through it yet again for his hopeless sake when he cannot even try to help himself. 

As for my appointment at Surrey Memorial, Poté was to take me yet again. However, even though there was no one awaiting admission to emergency, once I was eventually directed to where the IV drip is done, things were exceptionally busy there.

I encountered Dr. Christian Cheung from Friday when I first went to emergency ─ it was he who referred me to ENT specialist Dr. Mark Miller, who has an office half-a-block or so from the hospital, just up the King George Boulevard.  

I had taken a break from the Surrey Memorial that day to hike over to be seen by Dr. Miller, and then returned to the Surrey Memorial.

It was in my mind that I was supposed to have had Dr. Cheung contact him when I had returned to the Surrey Memorial, but I never did so.

Thus, seeing Dr. Cheung this evening, I asked him if he and Dr. Martin had spoken since I had visited the latter. At learning that they had not spoken, I admitted that I believed that I was supposed to have had them consult, and I pulled out a paper that had Dr. Martin's phone number on it.

Dr. Cheung looked a bit puzzled, and then exclaimed that I was the one who was likely to have been calling the man back ─ and probably on Saturday. For the phone number was a cellphone number ─ Dr. Martin's office closes over the weekends, and would also be closed today because it is a public holiday here in B.C. called Family Day

So he said that he would give him a call anyway, and directed me over to a waiting area for my IV drip. Unfortunately, that waiting area was jammed with people, and I ended up having to have my drip arranged right there in front of all.

It was the most uncomfortable (socially) of these sessions thus far.

Anyway, when all was done, I was free to go home. But it was my wife Jack who would be picking me up. I had gotten a text from her saying that she was waiting.

Well, I went outside, but could not see anything of her car. Then my phone rang, and she told me to keep on walking ─ she could see me.

Keep on walking where? I couldn't see her! 

So I pointed the way I had been facing and had been going, and she seemed to agree.

I walked slowly, and looked carefully. There was no sign of her. And where I soon was, there was no way that she could have ever seen me come out of emergency.

Finally I was up near the emergency entrance-way off 96th Avenue, and she phoned, wondering where I was. So I told her.

Well, she had been in the Queen Elizabeth Secondary parking lot across the King George Boulevard. I had never been headed that way, nor was it the direction I pointed to, so I don't know why she agreed that I should have kept going the way I was going when we first talked.

This time, she just said to meet her at the Petro-Canada gas station at 96th Avenue & King George Boulevard. I found her there doing a self-fill.   

And we were soon home. 

I found Mark still up, but he was soon to head on upstairs to his bedroom.

Jack is generally in little rush to get to bed, so I had time for a beer to wash down the day's third Advil while I watched a bit of a talk show.

The morning ahead had another IV session for me at Jim Pattison. Jack said that she would be taking me.

↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

Time now to close off with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the rather cramped space in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had gotten to bed around 8:15 p.m. the evening prior to this entry.
FRIDAY, February 13, 1976

Last night my throat began to thicken with mucous as if it were becoming infected, and it's still not normal. I got up about 4:45 a.m.

I wrote a letter to dad, and it along with a Playboy sweepstakes entry shall be mailed this morn when I head for the Western Book store.

Well, it didn't appear open so I continued to a book store at Edmonds; its listed hours began at 10:00 a.m. With 15 minutes to kill, I went to the library nearby and emptied my bladder.

Returning, I discovered a different store. It was open, but its selection was pathetic.

When I got to the other store at 10:15 a.m., it was still closed.

I gave up and came back to the Western, but learned thereby that it wouldn't open till noon.

I came home to see if my incentive cheque was delivered; no.

Next I went to the book store downtown, then to the Royal Book Mart, but never bought aught.

I tried to buzz Bill to tie him down to visit Art with me tomorrow, for I am unable to go alone, but received no answer. I bought a T.V. Guide and came home. 

All this results in a sensitive foot; but I hope it is being therapeutically exercised. 

This place is sure cold! I spent 1:30 p.m. - 3:30 p.m. abed and had a hard time of it remaining awake, if I didn't have any lapses. Why is it so difficult to sleep at night?

Hearing sirens at nearly 4:45 p.m. which stopped close outside, I peeked out my winding ─ make that "window" ─ to see a vast area of dark smoke rising upward at the southwest corner of 9th St & 3rd Ave.

I'll bunk down at 9:00 p.m.
I have no memory of a "Western Book store." Neither do I clearly understand where it was to which I first walked ─ it had to have been in Burnaby. If I had to make a guess today, the library I visited for relief might well be the one near Kingsway & Edmonds Street.

However, things change, and I well may be entirely off with that guess.

The only book store I mentioned that I now know of with utter certainty is the Royal Book Mart that operated on Sixth Street & Agnes Street in New Westminster. However, at some recent point it has closed shop and now only operates online, according to here.

My old friend William Alan Gill was renting a bachelor suite, maybe four or so blocks from where I lived. I wanted his moral support on a visit I felt compelled to make to Art Smith, an older (he was in his early 40s) friend of mine also living in New Westminster. I was supposed to attend the marriage of his younger brother Gerald (Judd), but I was entirely uncomfortable about it.

For one thing, I have never owned a suit, and I had no money to rent one.

So I wanted to speak with Art and somehow back out of being involved.  

If the smoke I saw was billowing from the "southwest corner" of Ninth Street & Third Avenue...that was the intersection I was living just a house or two from!

Again, I remember nothing about it.
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