Taking on the World

Today is my day for personal battles. I had been looking forward to sleeping in this morning, but when you are in town for only 2 weeks you have to take whatever appointments you can get. So I went and got my teeth cleaned at 7 am. I ended up having to buy a new toothbrush—yet more shekels out the door!

Then I spent two hours on the computer duplicating a billing statement from the physical therapy place I went to last summer to help repair my surgerized shoulder. (Did I mention in a past life I was a graphic artist so copying a relatively simple accounting statement was a time consuming but do-able occupation?) I had submitted this statement to the insurance company and cross-hatched out a portion of the itemized bill. I had to make a pretty statement without the hatch marks. Am I anal or what? I am resubmitting it to the physical therapy people now, along with the insurance benefits statements, to show them what they owe me since the stupid insurance people reimbursed them, not me, for my out-of-pocket expenses. These insurance/medical care claims are the worst. They seem to drag on forever and you feel like you expend way more energy than necessary. If you are lucky you may get some of your money back.

Next I started thinking about my cute little puppy Lupita who is recovering from Parvovirus and gets to come home this evening. Yay! Did I mention that in addition to Parvovirus she had two parasites (giardia and coccidia) as well as a urinary tract infection? She was one sick little puppy. When took her into the emergency vet her white blood cell count was down to 0.8 as compared to a normal count of 6. He really wasn’t sure she would survive. The regular vet just called me now to tell me how sad she was Lupita had gotten sick and that she’s seen a lot of little Chihuahua puppies go from bouncy and playful to sick with Parvovirus and be completely overcome within an hour and die. She was amazed Lupita made it. I too think it’s a miracle that she has survived. I can’t believe that breeder was so careless because everything my puppy had wrong had an incubation period that started in her timeframe. I can only attribute her recovery to lots of prayers from lots of people, excellent 24-hour veterinary care from Alameda East Veterinary Hospital and a strong constitution on the part of Lupita.

In any event after I finished writing a nasty letter to the physical therapy people I started stewing about the woman that sold the puppy to us who has not returned our phone calls or emails since Lupita got sick. She had a whole van load full of puppies, probably 15 of the little tiny guys—Chihuahuas, Teacup Chihuahuas, and Shitzus. I believe they must all have gotten sick with Parvo, and we know she probably wouldn’t to pay the $2000+ plus per puppy that Esperando and I had to cough up for Lupita’s treatment. When I talked to Esperando several hours ago he too was pretty angry about the breeder and planned to call a Carlsbad vet to see if any action could be taken against her. So often he and I are thinking about exactly the same issues at the same time that it is scary. We have a pretty strong connection to each other.

Tonight will be interesting. I will have to feed Lupita every 2 hours, then go for some more shoulder physical therapy (at a new place) at 8 am. Lupita will have to go with me in her crate (she hates her crate because she is not used to it.) Everytime I put her in a crate she starts screaming and yipping and I sure don’t want her to do that at the physical therapist’s. Good thing I am doing my battles today—I don’t think I will have any energy for them tomorrow after feeding the baby all night.

Not getting well too fast

My surgerized shoulder is still giving me grief six months after the surgery. I had hoped by now it would be in much better shape. Maybe I have been overdoing the exercises they gave me or maybe something is wrong with my shoulder—I have an appointment to see the doctor when I get back to Denver in a week.

DIF provides care for the full spectrum of Mexican society

In the meantime I have been trying to fit in therapy sessions at DIF (Desarollo Integral de la Familia), a major Mexican agency for social assistance that is part of their socialized medical care system. This brand new facility was built just across the street from us about a year ago and seems to encompass physical therapy, rehabilitation, prenatal counseling, child care and mental health services for the family. My maids’ brother Alfonso works over there as a therapist. When I was complaining about my shoulder she told me to go see him. So I can walk across the street from the guesthouse where he applies electrical stimulation and heat compresses to my shoulder, then treats it with ultrasound, followed by repetitive arm lifting exercises where he manipulates my arm. The first time I went I signed my name on a sign-in sheet, but not knowing if I had any kind of Mexican insurance it is being administered for free—that’s pretty astounding to me. That’s the only piece of paper I ever signed, didn’t even have to show anyone any form of identification.

As many as eight of us defective people can be treated at one time in a 300 sq ft room sitting on chairs and massage tables our limbs swaddled in dark turquoise green terry towels and heating pads that are re-used on each patient. Alfonso is quite happy with the recent donation by an American Christian group of a 90” x 90” massage table on metal legs that that can be raised or lowered electrically. He can treat more people now at the same time. It is in far better shape than the other tables in the room made of wood and Nagahyde (or its relative).

We are all on friendly terms, my fellow halt-and-lame companions. Although I have never seen the same sufferers in the room each time I have gone, we all greet each other like long lost friends, carry on conversations about their lives (only half of which I generally can understand given that we are talking in Spanish, and they have such twangy accents that I can only make out part of their words.) Last time I meet an older couple in their late 70s that came over from Michoacan 30 years ago and run the local old folks’ home. Each of them was being treated for bad knees. They had gotten hitched at the age of 17, had been married for 57 years and had nine children, most of whom have moved away to other parts of Mexico or the U.S.

In the DIF I am just another injured person and we meet on the same plane. They are all friendly and treat me like I am just another Mexican. They are all surprised when they find out that I live across the street and that my husband is working for the mine. I can’t tell you how kind they are, such gentle people that like to talk. And if I go and no one talks to each other, we all still say hello and good bye to be polite even if those are the only words spoken.

Home again, home again, jiggity, jig, jig

Here we are again in the Land of Mañana, we spent the night before last near the SF airport so we wouldn’t have to get up so early. Esperando thought our flight left at 11 am, in fact it left at 7:30 am, so getting up early ended up being really early. We’ve only been gone from Baja two weeks but it seems like forever. While we were gone we heard that the water system had already been repaired in Santa Rosalia after Hurricane Jimena tore out miles of pipeline, but now that we are here it is not yet so. They are using still using water trucks to provide water for the populace. On our drive up from Loreto we saw that the road repairs have held up, and they are starting to asphalt the highway where the repairs were just dirt packed before. The desert is turning really green and lots of things are blooming. The damage to homes near the highway in Mulege looks more extensive now than it did several weeks ago because people are pulling down damaged roofs to start repairing them.

We stopped off at the Hotel Serenidad to talk with Jack McCormick of Baja Bush Pilots who has been organizing an airlift of relief aid for Mulege and Santa Rosalia. One of the airplanes that flew in for the airlift was damaged landing on the runway, fortunately the pilot and passengers were not hurt. The nose was badly damaged and the propeller got badly twisted. Esperando and I mused on how the repair could be done down here so far from proper aircraft parts and mechanics and finally decided that they will probably have disassemble it and truck it back to San Diego.

I always hate unpacking a suitcase more than packing one, maybe that feeling is coupled with the realization that the trip is over, or maybe its all the clothes that need washing and putting away, or maybe its how worn out you feel after traveling—I am exhausted! It is nice to be home and have cats intertwined in my legs all night so I can’t move around in my sleep. No wonder my back is always contorted after several nights in my own bed, however they do make me feel wanted.

While I was at my brother Juan-in-a-Million’s house in Northern California I enjoyed photographing the grapes ripening in his vineyard, getting ready to become upstanding young bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. They look so beautiful in the sunlight. We also watched a covey of half-grown quail gambling about in his front yard, trying to decide whether to take the plunge and race up the street or continue to hide in the bushes. That’s when everyone pointed out that not having cats is a good thing, no way would all those baby quail have survived cats that cannot control their urge to hunt. Crazy people! These same cats are great to have around to discourage roof rats, gophers and nesting flickers that like to eat your roof. As with most all things, there is a good side and a bad side to having cats.

What wound did ever heal but by degrees

As William Shakespeare wrote: "How poor are they who have not patience. What wound did ever heal but by degrees." Other than watching my roses hatch very slowly, not much is going on here.

I wasn’t going to dwell on my recovery from shoulder surgery anymore, but it seems to be the my only focus right now. Today was my second physical therapy session. The first time I went, I met Rick my physical therapist and Ashley the receptionist who just moved to Denver two weeks ago.

Rick is a decent 35-ish freckly guy, pleasant but pretty much business-like with a steady hand and good at explaining how to do my exercises. I spent about 10 minutes painfully raising my arm up and down in a pulley with my other arm while he went off to print out some more exercises for me. He asked me what my goals were, which are to be outta here by July 3 to drive back down to Baja. Ashley and her husband moved here just out of college from Washington State. Because we have been having so much rain lately, such unusually cloudy and drizzly days, so unlike Colorado weather this early in the year, I had to explain to her that it was all very weird and she shouldn’t base her impression of Denver on the last two week’s weather. Its true to say these people are the dominant influence on my life at the moment.

Rick give me a bunch of exercises that I can do at home without needing someone like Esperando around to lift my arm up for me. By the time I left my head was swimming and I hoped I could remember how to do everything right. I went home and had two days to practice everything on my own. Mostly I have to do five different exercises twice a day 20 times each and hold each position for the count of 10. That may sound pretty simple but when one arm is busy doing exercises, it only leaves one hand free for counting to 20 in five finger increments, while verbally counting to 10 to hold the position. It was a whole new challenge; maybe I don’t have Alzheimer’s yet after all.

Today I went light doing the morning set of exercises figuring I would get new ones added today and practice at physical therapy. Instead I got a back and shoulder massage. It started out swell, all those sore muscles in my back got rubbed tenderly, but after the nice part Rick started poking everything that was stiff and stretching it out until I said ouch, then he would hold it there and push a little more after a few seconds. In a way even though it was painful it was good knowing my muscles were starting being pushed to go back to where they need to go. It is so discouraging to see what tiny steps I have taken so far and sort of staggering to think how far I have to go yet.

While Rick was torturing me I asked him if he liked BBQ, that if he did he should check out The Ribhouse at Prospect. Well yes Rick said, he was from Texas so every time he went back home the first thing he did was go out for BBQ. Rick told me my muscles were really tight because they were still trying to protect my shoulder from movement. Then he spun a little Texas philosophy on me. He said these muscles are like a bunch of big brothers protecting a little brother in a bar, everyone starts fighting and getting out of control and really they aren’t helping the situation because they don’t know what they are doing just striking out at everything, just like my muscles don’t know what they are doing to still try to protect my shoulder from moving. As a concept it really stuck in my mind—but there is so little else to occupy my mind right now. After about 40 minutes of getting poked, stretched, prodded and twisted, Rick brought in an icepack and iced my shoulder for the next 15 minutes so by the time I left I was freezing as well as sore. But the really worst (and best) part of the physical therapy is the fact that I have to drive by Sonic Drive-In on my way home and console myself with a chile cheeseburger every time. So much for the weight I lost in my first two weeks recovering from surgery! I’m already full of hot air, I’ve got to be vigilant that I don’t start to balloon.

Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but mostly slings.

My visit yesterday to the doctor did nothing to cheer me up. I found out the up-until-now-unknown-fact that I have two screws in my shoulder bone to which “fishing line” is tied to keep my ligament attached to my rotator cuff. I am to start passive physical therapy (someone moves my arm for me) with a physical therapist as soon as I can get an appointment. In the meantime I have 3 more weeks left in the DonJoy UltraSling Shoulder Brace (oh boy, oh boy, the soft gray color harmonizes with so many outfits!), then 2 more weeks after that of self-directed physical therapy (moving my arm myself). This means we won’t be able to drive back to Santa Rosalia until July 2. I am having serious cat and beach withdrawal! This is certainly different than the two-days-in-the-sling-expectations with which I went into this surgery. As we were coming out of one of our favorite Denver restaurants yesterday, Osaka Sushi, a man coming in said, oh what kind of surgery did you have? the newscaster was wearing the same sling just last night! Boy, talk about popular surgeries! I must admit I personally know of four other people that could be candidates for just the same operation that I just had.


Esperando leaves on Tuesday and my mother and sister come to babysit me for the next week until he comes back for a bit. I must admit I feel a little helpless with the use of just one arm. Now I know how that poor one-armed man that murdered Dr. Richard Kimble's wife in The Fugitive, must have felt. And see, that was a medical conspiracy just like what’s happened to me. Getting a hold of the physical therapy people was the worst. Yesterday when we left the doctor’s office, the doctor gave me a prescription form with their phone number and the written instructions on how they are to torture me. It says “Evaluate & Treat”, if that is not a wide instruction for torture, then I don’t know what one is. When I called them, there was no answer. This place has four offices scattered around the Denver metro area, open M-F 7 am to 7 pm (ha ha, like not.). We decided to drop by the Stapleton office (the one circled on my form) which is just a 5 minute drive from our house. When we got to it at 3 pm, their office it was closed, lights out, with a sign posted on the door indicating to call their Thornton office to make an appointment. Jason answered and after several times being put on hold told me that he would call back regarding our insurance. After a couple of hours with no response I called again. Oh, so sorry he said, I went to the gym, but we don’t take your insurance. Flaaa-aky. What does the doc see in these guys, is he part owner like he is of the orthopedic center where I had my surgery? Over the course of the last two days I have finally gotten it sorted out and have an appointment for next Tuesday.

Which brings me to my last issue—the strange dreams that plague me every night. My Mother turned 101 this last May. No kidding-she really did. Well I dreamt last night that she was pregnant. I briefly wondered how someone of those advanced years could get pregnant, but chalked it up to medical science. Then I decided that giving birth at her advanced age would be a serious hazard to her health. Finally, I was really furious. It isn’t fair I said to Esperando in my dream, she will be gone and we will have this child to raise. How could she do this? Boy I don’t know where that one came from. This sling is altering my whole sleep pattern. I wonder if I will ever sleep like a normal person once I am through with this whole thing.