Little by little, step by step.

I made it all the way to Hideaway Bar from my house yesterday afternoon. The best part of that is I didn’t experience any severe breathing episodes along the way. One technique I’ve been implementing is pursed lips breathing while I walk. I know it works because I tested it with my oximeter (that thing you clip on your finger to measure blood oxygen levels). I started with a reading of 92, engaged the pursed lips technique, and raised the reading to 95 in just a couple of minutes. I used to purse my lips for kissing; now I do it to breathe. Man, old age is a bitch.

I’m still coughing, although not as frequently. The big problem with that is I get an extreme stabbing pain in my left side.

Still, I’m better than I was and not as good as I hope to be soon.

So, the feeding went well. I carry my portable nebulizer with me now when I go out, and I fired it up once at the bar. I cut my visit a little shorter than usual and started making my way back up the highway. As I passed the Annex bar, I spotted Chris and his gal, and they invited me to join them. Chris has been dealing with some health issues, too, so we exchanged stories about our plight, just like a couple of old men. Which I guess we are.

I headed for the trike stand at The Maze next but decided to do a nightcap before I departed. I went into The Green Room, but it was packed, so I moved next door to Wet Spot and secured my regular seat, and was served by my regular waitress. My bar stamina is still not at full capacity, so I headed home at an early, a little before 7:00.

I hadn’t reached my beer capacity as yet, so I grabbed one from the fridge and sat outside on my patio, enjoying the nighttime view. Swan joined me with a glass of wine, and we shared some quality moments together. I was in bed at 8:00. I had a strange and vivid dream that woke me at midnight, and once again, I was beset with sleeplessness.

In keeping with my new custom, I moved into the living room and fired up the television. For some reason, Netflix wouldn’t connect. So, I tried YouTube, and it worked. When I started scrolling the offerings there, one of the first films on the list was Junior Bonner, a movie starring Steve McQueen as an aging rodeo star. The movie has special significance for me because it was filmed in Prescott, Arizona, where I lived from 1978-1983.

Nothing like a stroll down memory land in the wee hours of a sleepless morning. I happened upon a post I wrote in 2015 about some of the connections between the film and my life in Prescott. The most notable being the song “Arizona Morning,” which was featured in the opening credits of the movie. The song was written and performed by Rod Hart, a Prescott musician. I learned to country dance while his band performed in the local bars.

I tend to agree with the summary of reviews for Junior Bonner included in the Wikipedia entry for the movie. It wasn’t as good as I remembered it to be; it didn’t seem to connect the dots or have a lot of meat on the bones. The movie was also a box office flop. I hadn’t really followed the life and career of Steve McQueen, who was never one of my favorite actors, but damn, the man lived a fascinating and varied life. After reading McQueen’s story, I have a lot more respect for his lifetime accomplishments. McQueen died at age 50 of lung disease.

And that’s today’s example of putting insomnia to productive use. Still, I’m hoping to get back to a full night’s sleep soon.

For you pun addicts, here’s today’s fix:

And it is Hash Monday. I’m not even going to attempt doing the trail–I don’t feel ready for a climb. My plan is to try and walk from my house to the On-Home at One Three Resort in Calapadayan, about 4K by my reckoning. It will be all on the highway, which sucks, but hopefully I’ll be good to go next week.

Of all the places I lived in the USA, Prescott was my favorite. Perhaps that is why this song resonates with me so much.

Morning, Arizona morning
Almost sets me free
Makes me glad to be alive
Wondering, why I started wandering
Should have stayed right here
Underneath the clear blue skies

Sadness, changing now to gladness
With the rustle of the breeze through the pinyon trees
Where I lay
In the morning, Arizona morning
A place where I can smile
And see a hundred miles away

The birds are flying high above the morning
Singing to the colors of the dawn
And in my mind I hear a gentle warning
You’ve been a wrangler and a rambler
Much too long

And a rover. Wishing it was over
All my battles won, resting in the sun this way
In the morning, Arizona morning
Coming home today, wishing I could stay
Wishing I could stay.

If you want to see the full movie, here you go:

And so the saga continues. I attended a birthday party at Snackbar last evening. Once again, the short walk to the highway took my breath away. I made it, though, and camped out on a barstool for the rest of the evening. It was a little strange to see my ex loving on her new guy/fiancé, but that ship sailed for me long ago and the pain is gone. My sincere hope is that the path she has chosen will lead to the fulfillment of her dreams. It was nice to have Swan by my side for the first hour or so as well.

Coincidentally, Mary, the eighteen-year-old I briefly dated, turned nineteen yesterday. We exchanged some messages, and she told me she was drinking alone at McCoy’s on Baloy. I invited her to stop by Snackbar, and I would treat her to a birthday drink. It turns out she was walking to the highway from Baloy, so she was passing Snackbar anyway. It has been several months since we’ve seen each other, so having another birthday girl at the party was nice. A guy friend of mine got introduced to Mary, and to hear him tell it, it was love at first sight–at least for him. They exchanged Facebook info, so maybe they’ll get together again.

I headed for home about 8:00 and was in bed before 9:00. And then I woke up at midnight and couldn’t get back to sleep. So, it was back to the TV for me. I needed something to watch to pass the hours, and a short series called The Watcher looked interesting. And so I became one, binge watching through my sleepless night.

By morning time, it had gotten tedious, and I found myself closing my eyes and dozing for a minute or two and then looking back at the screen to discover I hadn’t missed anything new. I guess it served its purpose, but it was not particularly entertaining.

This inability to sleep through the night is frustrating. I’ve never experienced insomnia, and I’m not sure how to deal with it. The weird part is that it isn’t about the coughing or the breathing–it’s in my head. I can’t seem to turn off my brain. Maybe this has something to do with the prescribed medicines I’m taking. Hopefully, I’ll return to normal sleeping habits soon.

In the making progress department, I did the regular dog walk this morning, and then a bit later, I gave myself a walk here in the neighborhood and didn’t experience much discomfort. I really, really want to get back to hiking soon. I miss it!

I reckon I’ll try once more for an afternoon nap. It’s feeding day at Hideaway, and the walk to get there will be challenging. But I need to make the effort–Never surrender!

Yesterday was spent in pursuit of better health, and hopefully, some progress was made in that regard. The morning began with a bit of a surprise when a taxi showed up at the house instead of my regular driver. It turns out Danny had a conflict in schedules, so he sent his nephew to ferry us about. A heads-up would have been nice, but no big deal.

The first stop was Baypointe Hospital to make arrangements to see a pulmonary doctor. The one I had seen previously was out of town, but I was able to sign in with her replacement and was second in line under the first-come, first-served scheduling system used here. Of course, the office hours for the pulmonary doc didn’t begin until 3:00 p.m., but by God, I was on the list!

My “appointment” with the cardiologist wasn’t until 10:30, so I filled the time with some errands around SBMA. I hit the ATM at BPI, then visited a surplus store and a large hardware store. I’ve been looking for some furniture for my covered rooftop area and was hoping these venues might stock what I needed. That proved not to be the case, although the hardware store had a couple of things I could use.

My next minor surprise was when it came time to visit the cardiologist; we left SBMA and went to her private clinic in Olongapo City. My helper had made the arrangements, and these office hours were the only ones available during the morning. Whatever works. Alas, I didn’t have an “appointment,” but I did manage to secure third-in-line status. Since the doctor was scheduled to arrive at 11:00, I went and sat in the aircon taxi to wait. I got in a quick nap before my helper was tapping on the window, telling me it was my turn. She had somehow managed to get me advanced to the coveted first-in-line spot!

But the efforts to conclude the objectives with the cardiologist were for naught. My helper had brought the electrocardiogram results, which was supposed to be the last requirement before getting the doctor’s sign-off that my surgery could be scheduled. However, the doctor said she could only sign off after reviewing my entire paperwork again; all those documents were at Baypointe Hospital. So, this trip had been for nothing, but the cardiologist did at least agree to see me first when she began her Baypointe hours at 4:00 p.m. The fact that I had to be back at Baypointe for my 3:00 p.m. with the pulmonary doctor made this news a little easier to bear.

So, it was back to Barretto, and I paid the taxi driver 1500 pesos and made arrangements with him to pick me up again at 2:30. That gave me enough time to do my daily post here, but I had to forego my regular naptime. I got a message from my regular driver that he was now available and would provide my afternoon transport. So, it was back to Baypointe Hospital.

I had a very productive meeting with the pulmonary doctor. He suggested a different antibiotic and altered the content of some of my inhalers. He agreed that until I had recovered from my current state of breathing difficulties, surgery was not in the cards. I came away with five new prescriptions and some good advice on process and scheduling my meds for effectiveness. He wants me to return next week to see the regular pulmonary doc, and he thinks my chest congestion will clear by then. Here’s hoping.

Next up was the cardiologist revisit, and true to her word, she reviewed my paperwork and signed off on everything within five minutes. So, at least I’m done with her for now.

My driver dropped my helper at the pharmacy in Barretto, and I had him drop me at The Green Room, this week’s host for the SOB. I questioned my judgment in doing so because it required a three-hour commitment (and a 750 peso entry fee), but life is for living, right? I felt a little “off” all evening but made it through until the conclusion at 8:00 p.m. Triked home and was hoping for a better night’s sleep.

Alas, it was not to be. I managed less than three hours of slumber. I’ve felt like shit most of the day today. Coughing a little less frequently perhaps, but each cough comes with a stabbing pain in my side. My blood oxygen levels are in the acceptable range for me (the pulmonary doc said I’d be alright at 93 or above), so there’s that. Still feeling lightheaded and having difficulty in the prone position. Most of sleep I managed last night was upright in a chair in my living room. On the plus side, I did finish watching “Beef” on Netflix and overall enjoyed it.

So, what’s next? Honestly, sometimes it feels as if I’m knocking on heaven’s door. I know that is melodramatic, but I don’t recall ever feeling this vulnerable heathwise in the past. I’m not sure how much the lack of sleep is exacerbating those feelings, but it can’t be helping my recovery. This morning I said, “fuck it” it’s on me to regain some control, so despite feeling weak and unmotivated, I did a short dog walk. Yeah, I was puffing on the street, but I felt better having gotten some steps in. I managed a two-hour nap this afternoon, which also seems to have helped clear my head. I’m going to tentatively consider that progress and hope that full recovery is only days away.

A friend is celebrating her birthday at Snackbar this evening and Swan is going to join me there for a bit before meeting up with her sister. And life goes on. Until it doesn’t.

I’m going to keep thinking positive and hopefully find some peace and comfort in a good sleep tonight. I’ll let you know how that goes tomorrow.

The Beef I’m talking about is my latest adventure via Netflix.

So, during this current bout of whatever it is I’m going through, it was my destiny to finish watching Manifest and also to Keep Breathing. I finished the sixth and final episode of KB in the wee hours of my sleepless morning.

I read a couple of reviews for shits and giggles, and the audience score at Rotten Tomatoes was a paltry 37%, so it appears I wasn’t alone in my assessment of mediocrity.

I’m enjoying Beef a lot more so far. It has a USA setting but a Korean tone about it. Here’s a taste of the meat from the trailer.

The current state of my health precludes hiking and prevents sleeping (I have coughing attacks when I lie down). So, I’ve watched more TV in the last week than I have since the scamdemic lockdowns.

The only walking I did yesterday was a late afternoon stroll to Sloppy Joe’s. At least I made it, but it was a close call. Once again, I was breathing hard before I even made it out of Alta Vista. The shortcut I usually take to town requires an uphill path, which is about the equivalent of two flights of stairs. The way I was puffing on flat ground, I knew better than even to try the up and over. I figured when I got to the highway I could grab a trike if need be, but I sucked it up and hoofed it all the way.

Erik, Jim, Ken, and Simon also showed up at Sloppy Joe’s to start their evening bar crawl. I knew I was not going to leave the relative safety of The Maze, so we went our separate ways. My next stop was The Green Room, where I entertained myself watching some pool games. I also shared a batch of fresh-baked brownies with the crew. I finished my night out with the Wet Spot crowd. A trike driver called me by name as I left the bar and safely delivered my tired old body to the house.

I only managed about three hours of sleep last night, and I’m feeling it today. I’m scheduled to see the cardiologist this afternoon to finalize the surgery clearance, and I’m also hoping to revisit the pulmonary specialist for guidance on improving my lung capacity. I know it would be a miracle if that works out, but we shall see.

I’m as tired of feeling this way as my faithful few readers must be hearing about it. I’m hoping for better news soon.

Alright, I’m going to keep trying to maintain a positive attitude. More to come tomorrow. Hopefully.

Welp, I guess yesterday qualifies as a step backward. Or maybe a leap. Whatever progress I thought I was making on the road to recovery reversed itself. Or so it would appear based on my inability to walk the 2K from my house to Hideaway Bar.

But before I was even out of the neighborhood, I was huffing and puffing so bad that I thought I was going to have to sit on the curb to catch my breath. Then the rare trike came by after dropping off a passenger and asked if I wanted a ride. And for the first time ever, I accepted.

I was equally distressed and depressed when I took my seat at the bar in Hideaway and ordered a beer. This is getting downright scary. Luckily, I had the foresight to bring along my portable nebulizer.

I loaded it up and went outside to fill my lungs with sulfate bromide. That did the trick, and soon, I went back inside to commence with the feeding. I knew I’d be making it an early night, though.

I had an SOB coupon to use at the Green Room, and the walk there from Hideaway went without incident. Jim joined me for a couple of beers, and then I got a sandwich from Sit-n-Bull to go and headed home.

Another rough night sleep-wise–lying down exacerbates the shortness of breath. This morning, I had my helper order me a pillow something like this:

I recall a long-ago visit to Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson in Charlottesville, Virginia. His bed was designed in a manner that required him to sleep sitting up.

But it turns out that was just one of Jefferson’s healthy lifestyle choices. “Jefferson slept five to eight hours a night in a semi-reclining position since his bed was too short for his height. This position facilitated his habit of reading in bed. “I never go to bed without an hour, or half hour’s previous reading of something moral, whereon to ruminate in the intervals of sleep.”

There is no mention of boinking the slaves, but he did live to be 84. Anyway, that’s enough history for today.

Dr. Jo’s advice is to continue using the nebulizer every couple of hours and the oxygen tank in between. The antibiotics she prescribed will hopefully clear the mucus that is causing my hacking cough. We’ll see. I’m also going to try to do another consult with the pulmonary doctor at Baypointe Hospital tomorrow.

I’ve been resting and napping all morning (I had the helper walk the dogs). I took advantage of the downtime and completed watching the Netflix series Manifest final episodes. The fact that I was motivated to see it through until the end is probably the best review I can offer. The religious overtones were lost on me, but the story of an airliner returning after being missing for over three years was pretty compelling. And there was some pretty tasty eye candy to enjoy:

Scrolling through the Netflix offerings for “What am I going to watch next?” this morning, I felt compelled to give one called Keep Breathing a look for some reason. I mean, that’s my goal, too. I’m on episode two (there are only six), and I’m not grabbed yet. We’ll see.

Look at me, revisiting my passion for American history and spending time in front of the television, both in the same post! What am I thinking? Well, don’t worry; I’m going to attempt the walk into town again tonight and hope it goes better than yesterday.

Seriously, though, I do want to be back into my hiking mode as soon as possible. And I look forward to scheduling some trips, both inside and outside the Philippines. That will be especially nice since I have a traveling partner now. Swan has been an angel in her efforts to comfort me during these troubled days. I am blessed to have her here to care for me.

Life goes on until it doesn’t, so I tried to get some living in yesterday. I picked up my electrocardiogram results from the hospital in the morning, but there is STILL no cardiologist available to review them and consult with me for my surgery clearance. Truth be told, though, I’m not sure now is the time to go under the knife. I have a hard time sleeping at night because lying down exacerbates my cough. What happens when I’m unconscious on my back with a tube down my throat?

I restocked the groceries for another week with an excursion to the Royal supermarket. Then, I got a long overdue haircut. Back home, I baked up a batch of brownies, and at beer o’clock, I walked to Baloy Beach for my weekly floating bar experience.

A pleasant couple of hours chillin’ on the water. Erik joined me shortly before I departed for his first experience on the floating bar.

I did my nightcap at Da’Kudos and enjoyed chatting with Jessa, who is now the bartender there. When I first moved here, I lived on Baloy, and Jessa worked at Treasure Island. She was my first Filipina crush as a resident, and we dated a few times before I fucked things up by being me. Still, sitting and reminiscing with her about the old times was nice.

I made it until almost 8 p.m. before catching a trike for home. Got in nearly 10,000 steps yesterday, which ain’t bad for a no-hike Tuesday. I felt like I had taken a big step forward on the road to recovery. And then I experienced a sleep-deprived night because of coughing while prone. I’m using my nebulizer and oxygen on a regular basis, but alas, I just now checked my blood oxygen level, and it is lower than ever.

Oh, well. Nothing to be done but keep on keepin’ on and hope for the best.

I’m going to attempt the Hideaway feeding later this afternoon. I’ll do my best to pace myself when I’m steppin’ out.

What a day yesterday turned out to be. I never left the house, not even for the dog walk. I was just running on empty energy-wise and had seemingly zero lung capacity. Walking to the toilet and back would leave me practically breathless. Previously, even my worst breathing attacks would pass relatively quickly once I sat down and rested some. Not this time–I was wiped out all day and all night long. Laying down seemed to exacerbate the situation, so I sat on the couch in front of the TV, finally moving to the bedroom and getting a couple of hours sleep around 4:30 a.m.–my usual wake-up time.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think, “Is this how it is going to end for me?” Of course, I’m still in the fight, but I hope I never experience those feelings of helplessness again.

I’d been using my usual devices throughout the day, especially my nebulizer, but to little effect.

When beer o’clock rolled around, I decided I should get tanked.

I’d never used bottled air before (except in the hospital), and I was relieved to see my oximeter hit 97 after a few minutes of breathing in some imported air. And then, a few minutes after I stopped the ingestion, I’d drop back down to the low 90s. So, I was sucking air off and on all evening, and then Swan noticed that my just-purchased tank was running low. She said I needed to get a larger tank. Well, yeah, but it was now midnight. My helper, Teri, who is a certified caregiver, suggested I take an ambulance to Baypointe Hospital’s emergency room. I told her there was no way I was going to do that as long as I was conscious. Suffice it to say, I’ve not been inspired by the competence I’ve witnessed at that institution, and I wasn’t willing to sit around in an ER at o’dark-thirty waiting to be cured. And actually, other than ingesting oxygen, I don’t know what else can be done for this situation.

Anyone, Swan got on the phone and called a friend whose husband uses oxygen and she said they had an extra tank available. Cool, I was impressed that at this late hour they were even willing to be bothered trying to help. I guess the plan was to have their private trike deliver the tank, but Swan came back a bit later and said the tank was too large for the trike. Oh well. So, I was surprised when about thirty minutes later a pickup truck pulled up in front of my house and two guys rolled this into my living room:

So, I survived the night, and I feel somewhat better today. I still haven’t left the house, but I’m ingesting air now whenever I have the urge. Dr. Jo is supposed to make a house call later (they live in the neighborhood), and I hope to consult with her about what might be causing this flare-up (is it an exacerbation of my COPD or something else?) and whether there is any magic formula that will allow me to breathe freely.

The day wasn’t a total loss, though. I fired up Netflix and binge-watched most of Season 4 of Manifest. I viewed Seasons 1-3 early last year, and then Season 4, the final season, was released last November. I saw thirteen of the twenty episodes yesterday. I was amazed that I never got sleepy. Even when I finally went to bed, I didn’t feel tired; I just knew I needed to get some rest. Coming from someone like me, who is famous for being asleep a nine every night, that’s pretty damn miraculous! Still, I prefer my customary daily rituals. I will breathe easier once I know I can be out and about spreading pesos in the bars again.

I’m hopeful the girls at Hideaway won’t be going hungry tonight. That will be contingent on me having the lung capacity to walk to the far side of town. I’ll let you know how that works out tomorrow.

Check back here tomorrow for the latest updates.

I’ve been feeling like shit lately. The worst aspect of my ill health is my labored breathing. Coupled with that, there has been an intermittent cough these past few days, which is at its worst when I’m in a prone position when trying to sleep. I got less than three hours in last night, and so on top of everything else, I’m feeling weak and drained. I was headed for the door to try and get a walk in this morning, and Swan convinced me to give it a rest. So, I turned on Netflix and randomly selected a movie called “It Could Happen to you” to watch.

Yesterday, I went to the meet-up with the Wednesday Walkers but bailed on joining the group hike. The slightest incline gets me sucking air, and I just hate to hold the other guys back from a more challenging trek. I still did a flat walk through several neighborhoods and kept going until I hit 8K. I felt pretty good about that accomplishment.

I came home, took a nap, wrote TWO blog posts, showered, and then headed into town again for the Wednesday feeding at Hideaway.

I only stayed about an hour, then headed back up the highway to my side of town. As I passed by the new Oasis bar, I saw my pal Mark, who is the bar manager, out front. Naturally I felt obligated to stop in for a beer. Or two.

My waitress said she remembered from when she worked at Queen Victoria. That is a very infrequent stop on my barhops, and she didn’t even look familiar to me. They’ve opened a kitchen at Oasis now, and the head cook, Rica, is also someone I know from my dart league days. She brought me out a free order of fries. I tried a couple to be polite, but I wasn’t hungry. The other girls finished them off quickly. I was the only customer at the time and felt like I should show my support, so I told the waitress she could pick three sandwiches for the girls to share (there were six on duty upstairs). Two club sandwiches and a burger order were placed.

I did my nightcap at Wet Spot, then headed home a little before 8:00. I went to bed early, but a hacking cough is not conducive to sleep, so I was up and down all night. The only good news is that my tooth has stopped hurting, at least for now.

Oh, and when I got home, I showed Swan my lipstick-free neck. She laughed. She’s really been an angel trying to comfort me during this uncomfortable time in my life.

Yesterday proved to be quite a pain in the ass. And back. Even my tooth hurt. And it ended with a pain in the neck. Here’s how that all went down.

My morning started with a visit to Dr. Jo for the beginning of my sciatica treatment. The first step was withdrawing a sufficient quantity of blood to harvest the needed stem cells. A needle in the vein of my arm was only the beginning of much more to come.

I left Dr. Jo’s office with instructions to return at 1:00 p.m. for the injections into my damaged back areas. So, it was off to Royal to do the weekly grocery shopping. No pain involved in that, other than paying the tab ($267.00 this week).

We drove back to Barretto, dropped off the groceries, and then returned to SBMA and the Baypointe hospital for my electrocardiogram scheduled for 11:15. I was seen right on time and they took the images of my heart in action. That’s when I learned that due to a personal emergency, the cardiologist would not be available to review the results or grant my clearance for surgery until next week. When I asked about using a different cardiologist, I was advised that there was no one else. So, my hopes for surgery this Sunday were painfully dashed.

Oh, on the way back to Baypointe, I stopped at my dentist’s office to get an appointment for this aching tooth. He’s good, but damn, no available appointments until November 17! I can’t put up with pain that long. And this treatment I’m getting from Dr. Jo precludes taking aspirin. Luckily, Paracetamol is acceptable, and it seems to be helping.

We once again returned to Barretto and had some time left before my follow-up with Dr. Jo. So we lunched at Angel’s Bakery, conveniently located below the health clinic.

After lunch, I climbed the stairs to Dr. Jo’s, and she was ready and waiting for me. This part of the treatment is where the extracts from the blood drawn earlier are injected into the damaged areas of my back. I was expecting it would feel like a shot in the arm. It did not. Much, much more painful. And I got stuck about ten times. It felt like torture. When that portion was done, I moved to a comfortable chair and had something inserted into my body intravenously. That needle insertion was comparatively painless. Had a nice chat with Dr. Chris during the thirty minutes or so it took to drain the bottle. And then it was time for the testosterone injections–in my ass. Ouch! One in each cheek.

With the medical procedures done for now (I will repeat this process twice more at three-week intervals), it was time to pay the piper. Dr. Jo has a dollar bank account, so I was able to write her a check for the $6400 I owed (that covers all three sessions). It has been years since I last wrote a paper check. I didn’t recall it being so painful in the past.

Headed back home feeling tired and sore, and took a much needed nap. Woke up at 3:30 and knew I was going to be pressed for time as beer o’clock was rapidly approaching. So, I opted to do a short post, saving the Hash story and this one for today. I guess that worked out. But there is still a bit more about yesterday to tell. Here’s the rest of the story:

Tuesday is the day I set aside for the Baloy Beach experience by spending time on the Kokomo’s floating bar. I was getting a later start than usual, and it was strange how much difference an hour or so can make.

The vibe was different than I have experienced previously. There were a lot of big spending customers and some of the girls were drunk. I don’t care about that normally, but some were randomly giving me hugs, and I really don’t like that.

Some other weird things were happening, including a couple of guys coming close to exchanging blows, but that’s what I get for my late start, I suppose.

Did my nightcap at Snackbar and then headed home to my final pain of the day.

I had invited Swan to join me on the floater, but she had a tutoring session to conduct. It was dark when she was done, and I didn’t blame her for not doing the walk out of Alta Vista at night. We agreed to go to the floating bar together on Saturday. So, anyway, when Swan greeted me at the house with a hug, she asked me what was on my neck. I had no idea what she was talking about, so she took a picture so that I could see.

So, there was no cuddling last night. We talked some more this morning, and things seem much better now. And yes, my commenters had warned me about something like this happening. Still, this was closer to me being raped than me cheating. Just sayin’.

And that’s how that my day went down.

Man, oh, man, what an afternoon. Patience isn’t my strong suit, but damn, I was sorely tested yesterday. Here’s the fucked up story.

Okay, my mission was to complete the process of getting “approval clearance” to undergo the surgery I need to remove the polyps in my nostrils. My last two steps were getting a sign-off from the pulmonary doctor I saw last week and then the cardiologist’s approval that my ticker would keep on ticking while I’m under the knife. The complicating factor is the insane process where doctors don’t make appointments; you sign in and are served on a first-in, first-seen basis. Under the best of circumstances, I find that irksome, but yesterday, I thought my head would explode.

So, my helper/caregiver, Teri, is entrusted with making all the arrangements. The pulmonary doctor was scheduled to report for duty at 2:00 p.m. and I was #4 on the list of patients to be seen. The cardiologist would be available at 4:00 p.m. and I was #2 on her list. Accordingly, I scheduled my driver to pick me, Teri and Swan up at 1:00 to take us to Baypointe Hospital. And then things started to go wrong. The scheduler said the pulmonary doctor was running “late.” Well, I didn’t want a repeat of last week’s sitting in the corridor waiting for hours to be seen. So, I had my driver take me to the mall ten minutes away from the hospital to pick up some things I needed.

Teri reported the pulmonary doc would arrive at 2:20, so we headed back to Baypointe. There, we discovered that the pulmonary doctor had been diverted to the ICU, so the wait commenced without her. She finally arrived at 2:45 and took the first of the three patients ahead of me. Forty minutes later, it was #2’s turn. I was getting nervous that, at this rate, my turn with the cardiologist would arrive before I had my pulmonary clearance. So, I devised this scheme: I’d send Swan to sit in front of the cardiologist’s office around the corner in the next hallway and to message me if my name were called. This required that my scheduling paperwork be moved to that office. So what, I figured, I’d be waiting my turn to arrive with the pulmonary doc and then move over. Nope, the hospital bureaucrazy doesn’t work that way. It was one or the other. Welp, I’d already invested over two hours of waiting time with the pulmonary doc, so I wasn’t giving up my place in line with her. If that meant rescheduling with the cardiologist, so be it.

My turn finally came with the pulmonary doctor at about 4:15. She reviewed my paperwork and the chest x-rays. Since the radiologist hadn’t completed an assessment, she went downstairs to review the actual film. She was gone for about fifteen minutes and said my lungs were clear (at least as clear as they would ever be). A few more questions, and she signed off with her approval for surgery. Now, to see the cardiologist.

The good news is I somehow managed to be next in line and only waited five minutes to see her. The bad news is my ECG showed a “slow heart rate,” and she wanted another test done. That has to be scheduled, and once the results are back, I’ll need to navigate the process for some face time with the cardiologist once again. So, I’m hoping to get all this done early next week. I’m going to see the doctor who will do the actual surgery (the one way out in San Marcelino) on Tuesday morning, and hopefully, she will schedule my operation for Sunday the 12th. Fingers crossed I can get everything done between now and then.

It was now a little after 5:00 and my hopes for attending the SOB were dashed. Checking my wallet, I saw that the doctor’s fees had depleted my cash (3500 pesos for the pulmonary and 2000 for the cardioligist) to the extent that I couldn’t pay my driver and have enough for beer drinking, without going home and restocking the billfold. Fuck it, everyone was hungry so I treated them to dinner at John’s place on the way home instead. Then back at the house, I grabbed some cash for the driver’s pay and just decided to stay at home on a Friday night. Will wonders never cease?

Teri and Swan watched television and I drank alone while singing along with some sad songs on my Spotify app. That’s even more pathetic than buying lady drinks in exchange for some company.

This afternoon, I’m headed for Angeles City. A change of scenery is bound to do me good.

I’ll be greeting you from AC in the morning. Stay tuned.

You ain’t got nothin’ to lose. Or post about—just another walkaholic/alcoholic day in the life. Well, I did change things up by turning on my TV in the afternoon to pass the time until beer o’clock. I started watching “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” on Netflix. The link goes to a review written by reader and frequent commenter here at LTG, Kevin Kim. He tells the story much better than I could. I’ve always liked the Cohen brother’s films, and this was no exception. I especially liked that the movie is done in six vignettes, which is pleasingly appropriate given my short attention span. Well worth the watch!

I began my beer-drinking routine at Sloppy Joe’s. Jim arrived shortly after I did, so I had some company. Dave and his gal Jo showed up later and joined us. Then we all moved next door to Wet Spot, and another Hasher, Ken (Bug Fucker), filled out the group.

I’ve got more medical shit to deal with at Baypointe this afternoon. If I get done in time, I’ll attend the SOB this evening. If not, well, there are thirty-five bars in Barretto to choose from.

Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be traveling to Angeles City to participate in Sunday’s ACH3 Anniversary Hash. Should be fun. Looks like Swan is going to come along on the condition that she doesn’t have to Hash.

The Big Hominid posed this question on his blog:

Are the words mephitic and Mephistopheles etymologically related?

I’m not sure if I’m ignorant or just apathetic, but I don’t know, and I don’t care. If you do, click the link above for the answer. I thought of that post when I saw this meme today:

And as long as we are on a roll with Star Trek humor, how about this?

Room for one more?

Anyway, it’s bound to get better around here soon.

Someday I’ll have something interesting to write about. Today is not that day. So that leaves yesterday.

I bailed on the Wednesday Walkers hike. Until I get squared away physically, I’m just unable to keep up or do anything overly exhausting. For now, all I am exercising is caution. So, the three healthy members went off to do their thing, and I joined Scott for a flat street walk.

When beer o’clock rolled around, I made my way to Hideaway to feed the girls.

When it was time to go, I checked my wallet and saw that I had a “buy one, take one” coupon good at Wet Spot and Green Room, so I headed up the highway.

I had planned to use my coupon at Wet Spot, but when I got there, I realized it still wasn’t 6 p.m. opening time, so I went next door to Green Room. And that’s where I stayed for the next hour and a half, being entertained by watching the pool players. It seems I’m easily pleased these days.

It was All Saints Day, which is a pretty big deal in this religious culture. People with deceased loved ones visited the cemeteries and were lighting candles everywhere, including the CR at Wet Spot. I asked about that and was told it was for the six souls lost in a fire that occurred in the hotel upstairs several years ago. And then when I arrived home I observed this in my carport:

I survived another night and was greeted with another fine dawn:

And Easter Mountain had a different look this morning on the dog walk:

And I was in for a surprise when Swan joined me for the dog walk:

That’s all for now, folks. Hope to see you back here someday.