It (again) occurs to me that far and away most of my posts look inwardly rather than upon the more important reality of my environmentally affected existence. It is beyond high time I turn my focus outward to overrule the perception that all of my issues are self imposed or isolated from my surrounding influences. A microcosm of all things crucial to my well being stands before me, waiting patiently while I busy myself before a mirror, ignorant and foolish beyond comprehension. Without outer conspiracy there can be no inner resolve, no inner peace. Without life there is only death. It today occurs to me that I am blessed. Let me explain.
First, some peculiarities. The second toe on my left foot tends to mount or spoon my big toe. I have no idea why. On the matter of excess saliva: it is worse when I crave a tenderloin, which is all the time. My breathing problems only occur when I'm short of breath. Coincidence? After a CT scan, numerous X-rays, a very detailed Sonogram and exhaustive spit, blood and urine tests, the concencus is that my liver and other digestive organs are working properly. This is no surprise to me, I've said all along that it is stress that drives my pain. About the feeding tube: on the tube itself are markings every three eighths of an inch. When the tube was freshly inserted, the depth of penetration was one and a half inches. Through my stellarly superior abdomen manipulation technique I'm able to pop and retract the tube by sucking my stomach away from my abdomen wall, thereby pulling the tube inward an additional half inch. It is Amy's unpleasant duty to cinch the rubber washer back to its proper location. I can, and do, belch out of the tube when Amy feeds me. I'm currently trying to blow the cap off the Lopez valve.
Let us move on to........ First, there is Asa, my youngest grandson. He turned two in June. Long before he was born, I pondered whether I would see him. That spring I almost died from sepsis. I didn't die. You probably know that. Not only did I live, but I'm still alive today. I know, you gathered that. I'm thinking that Asa is one of a thousand driving forces that keep me on the planet. He readily talks to me, asking questions I cannot answer, gazing at me with his liquid blue eyes and repeating the question over and over until he gleans an answer in my eyebrows and flutters his lashes in affirmation in acknowledgement well beyond any child of two. Then he goes nutzoid, hops, struts and collapses in a heap just to demonstrate that he's a normal toddler. But we both know the truth.
Nine hundred ninety nine influences to go.
First, some peculiarities. The second toe on my left foot tends to mount or spoon my big toe. I have no idea why. On the matter of excess saliva: it is worse when I crave a tenderloin, which is all the time. My breathing problems only occur when I'm short of breath. Coincidence? After a CT scan, numerous X-rays, a very detailed Sonogram and exhaustive spit, blood and urine tests, the concencus is that my liver and other digestive organs are working properly. This is no surprise to me, I've said all along that it is stress that drives my pain. About the feeding tube: on the tube itself are markings every three eighths of an inch. When the tube was freshly inserted, the depth of penetration was one and a half inches. Through my stellarly superior abdomen manipulation technique I'm able to pop and retract the tube by sucking my stomach away from my abdomen wall, thereby pulling the tube inward an additional half inch. It is Amy's unpleasant duty to cinch the rubber washer back to its proper location. I can, and do, belch out of the tube when Amy feeds me. I'm currently trying to blow the cap off the Lopez valve.
Let us move on to........ First, there is Asa, my youngest grandson. He turned two in June. Long before he was born, I pondered whether I would see him. That spring I almost died from sepsis. I didn't die. You probably know that. Not only did I live, but I'm still alive today. I know, you gathered that. I'm thinking that Asa is one of a thousand driving forces that keep me on the planet. He readily talks to me, asking questions I cannot answer, gazing at me with his liquid blue eyes and repeating the question over and over until he gleans an answer in my eyebrows and flutters his lashes in affirmation in acknowledgement well beyond any child of two. Then he goes nutzoid, hops, struts and collapses in a heap just to demonstrate that he's a normal toddler. But we both know the truth.
Nine hundred ninety nine influences to go.
