Greetings, HOTties! Welcome to your weekly installment of Jamey’s health updates. I’m pleased to share that I don’t have much to share in terms of changes in Jamey’s health. When you’re talking brain tumors and hospice, no news is good news, folks.
Marianne(nurse) did her weekly rounds and Jamey’s vitals are envious. His blood pressure was something ridiculous like 110/70. His pulse rocked and his weight is stable, albeit higher than it used to be, which probably isn’t a bad thing, considering weight loss and peak physical health are often negatively correlated in hospice.
It’s kind of like Richard Hatch’s(not the Battlestar Galactica guy)strategy on the tv show Survivor. Mr. Not- Battlestar -Galactica- Hatch knew he was destined to lose a massive amount of weight over the course of filming, so he began the series way above his normal weight.
If you’re ever cast in a Survivor reality tv show for hospice patients, I strongly suggest you form an alliance with the heftiest folks in the room. On a somewhat related note: how long before Fox airs a “Survivor”-themed hospice reality tv show?
On an even more dark-humor related note, can you think of any names for a hospice reality tv show? I’ve already come up with a catch phrase for the “villainous” cast member:
Whenever s/he gets angry at another cast member for hogging the oxygen tank or not placing a new liner in the commode, s/he will yell, “Am I angry?! Damn right, I’m angry!! I’m hospiced off!!”
Anyway, Dawn(woman who stares at Jamey in shower)was a little concerned on Monday about Jamey’s knees. She said that he was having a lot of difficulty standing up in the shower; his knees kept giving out. Luckily, it appears to have been an isolated incident.
I think I, yet again, may be partially to blame.
What unspeakable things have transpired here?
Our sump pump stopped working Sunday night, so I(and to some degree Jamey and Caeley)spent most of Sunday night and in-between classes on Monday bailing out the basement using High School Musical tin containers I’d picked up in an auction I went to with my neighbors Kelly and Steve.
At auction time, I was convinced that I’d be able to quickly yard sell(the verb version of “yard sale I just made up) the 10 or so containers(they look like they were manufactured to eventually be filled with popcorn, honestly, though, I have no idea what their actual use was supposed to be) to some swooning High School Musical fanatics.
Yup. Never happened. The containers have been contained in the basement for years now.
If their fate was supposed to be popcorn’s last resting place, I apologize, for I used them to ferry bilge water from my basement to the first floor bathroom.
On a positive note, after over two years of being extra bathroom-less, I actually had a first floor bathroom to ferry the containers to, thanks to my scawesome brother-in-law and sister-in-law for driving all the way out from Cincinnati pretty much to lay some flooring and give us a new toilet for which to flush the basement water down.
Although I did all the bailing and stair climbing, Jamey did assist Caeley in their makeshift assembly line of dumping the buckets. In fact, Jamey was dumping in the toilet(yes, I did go there) right before Dawn showed up on Monday.
I’m thinking his uncooperative knee was a direct result of the toil, trouble, toilets and bubbles I put him through.
Before Mark and Kelly’s visit
After Mark and Kelly’s visit. I still have to hang some wainscoting, but the after two years, we finally have a toilet we can dump vile basement water into!
If you’re curious, yes, we did eventually get the sump pump replaced. My friend Michelle’s husband, Sensei Don(isn’t it odd that his parents named him Sensei?) from Tiger Kang Karate fixed it for me. He’s one of my Senseis at Tiger Kang, which is why I refer to him as such.
In terms of cognitive/thinking issues, Jamey’s weird confabs have been relatively chicken-free, kind of like McNuggets. 
Today, I asked Jamey to give the dogs a snack so they would go to their crates and settle down. We have a large bag of jerky dog treats(clearly labeled “dog treats”) on the kitchen counter.
I guess the bag of treats clearly labeled “dog treats” wasn’t obvious enough for him, since Jamey actually wound up reaching up and over the clearly labeled bag of “dog treats” to go for the package of clearly- not- labeled -“dog treats” Special K snack bars.
Yes, he gave each dog a Special K snack bar–chocolate, no less. When I calmly and politely asked him why he fed our dogs chocolate cereal bars over the clearly labeled “dog treats”, he said, “Because you told me to give them snacks, not treats.”
Talk about proper use of the word literal—literally!!! Thank God we don’t have any guns in the house or my constant whining of, “Somebody please shoot me!” would likely come to fruition.
Now how ironic would that be–the man in hospice outlives his non-hospiced wife. Actually, if we’re talking about Jamey, that wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility.
Headed Into Overtime 