It's that time of year

 Slowly, slowly...I am recovering from an entire year in hell.  I have come full circle, now past the time when this terrible cycle began.  Happy to be slowly reclaiming my life again.

The weather lately has been very wet and miserable.  We have been in deep "Transylvania" for quite a bit.

However, I have been willing myself out several times a week in spite of the weather, and the week ahead is predicted to be unseasonably warm and sunny.

Decorations in town are up.  Sadly, a long time sundries store...he has everything...from safety pins, ceramics, garbage pails, cleansers, wine in a box, cat and dog food, shampoo, in home garbage pails...all kinds of stuff, is leaving us.  Donato, and his wife Antonetta, are retiring after he suffered (somehow, we don't know the details) an accident to his hand, leaving him minus the tops of several fingers.  I am determined to make it there in a couple of days to wish them well. 

The town is decked out for the holidays.  The ridiculous ice rink...even slightly bigger this year than in years past....(Why?) and the lovely lights. 

I am now preparing, or should I say pre-preparing the stuffing, since we just get a turkey breast...more than enough for just the two of us.  Already planning my post-Christmas meals.   Turkey pie, turkey soup....and sandwiches!!!  

We will walk to the now only open pasticcieria (bakery) here in the "old town"...to pick up our cakes later this week...one for us, the others are gifts.  

I have to mention that the house is kind of chilly...we have set the thermostat lower due to the war in Ukraine and the gas shortage....we do have two electric heaters....but they only do so much, with plaster walls and ceramic floors.  So, I wear several layers on my feet and body.   We are lucky the weather remains mild.

We snuggle up to Netflix, have kitties all around us....good, clean, unadulterated food...its all good, really.  

My sincere wishes to everyone for a happy holiday season and please, please, let it be a better new year!

It's a new day, it's a new dawn

 Yeah, I know my posts have been a downer lately.  My life has been a downer for just about over a year now.  

However, I believe the tide is changing.

I have started to feel better....more...."normal."  

I have had less pain, and when I do have pain, it passes more quickly.

I have reintroduced vegetables into my diet and all is fine.  I have been getting out and about a bit more, although I am still very weak.

Tonight I made a freaking wonderful pasta casserole with chicken sausage and mozzarella, and my own homemade spaghetti sauce.  It was fantastic.  

This week, in the US, on Thursday, it will be "Thanksgiving."  We obviously don't do it like we used to.  First of all, it's just another day here in Italy.  But, it is also just the two of us and neither one of us is up to conjuring up a huge meal and tons of leftovers and what for?  It's just the two of us!

So, I will make chicken cutlets....breaded.  I will make gravy (I have McCormick mixes), mashed potatoes (something surprisingly available in Italy, even instant....and quite good!) and some green vegetable.  I will also make biscuits from scratch (something I am quite used to doing) because no one in Italy has ever heard of a biscuit.  

What they do have, however, is a box mix for freaking lava cake, and that will be our dessert.  

Now that I am feeling better (finally!) I am actually looking forward to this!

So, Happy Thanksgiving, America and all my American friends and relatives!!!!  Things are looking ever so slightly "up!"  Keep the faith!  Have a wonderful holiday!!

The road gets rougher...

 I saw the rheumatologist.  It was a bit strange.  The office was on the main drag in Pescara, but when we got up there, it was open but dark.   I ventured further in, opened a door and interrupted a man speaking with the doctor.  I apologized profusely and at least informed my husband we were in the right place.  We switched on a light.

In a few minutes, the man left and the doctor called us in.  There was a big table and he was at one end behind a partition (for Covid).  I explained the situation.  He got up at one point and looked at my hands.  (See?  I'm not kidding!)  

He started me on Plaquenil (a drug I took ages ago) accompanied by some Neurontin.  What he did was write a note, not prescriptions.  He wrote a note to my GP in Penne.  I thought that was somewhat strange, but...what do I know?  Maybe that's how it works here.  Then we paid him and left.  I had some hope of feeling better, at least arthritis wise.

HOWEVER, I had been having some quite severe stomach cramping and pain for a while.  I had to wonder if my old umbilical hernia was rearing its ugly head again.  I was hurting pretty badly and afraid to eat and I convinced my husband I needed to get to the Pescara emergency area.  We called a cab.

I was examined immediately, put on a gurney and wheeled to a large room, like a "holding area" where there were about 10 other people in various states of not-feeling-well on gurneys as well.  

Eventually I was sent for a scan.  And then back to the holding room. I told my husband to leave as I had absolutely nothing with me...no pj's, no toothpaste, no brush...nothing.  He got home rather quickly and somehow it ended up that our friend (and insurance agent...who is also vice-mayor of Penne) would come with a bag of supplies for me, since he and his family actually live in Pescara.

I don't know.  It seemed like forever.  Staring at walls.  Watching other people get fed.  Staring at walls again.  Pain, pain, PAIN!  

Then I saw our friend. !!!!  He had a bag with pajamas and everything else for me.  We talked a little, but it was difficult for me.  The pain...the uncertainty....I was crying.   So, he somehow managed to speak to the doctor on call and within five minutes I was taken into the "exam" room with the doctor and a nurse.  My friend was there, too.  I was examined.  The two of them talked.  Next thing, I'm getting an IV and pain killers.  YAY!!!  With that, he left and I was taken up to the surgical wing.

The doctor there explained to me that I would be under observation.  The problem was scar tissue and operating on scar tissue creates more scar tissue.  So...they would "watch."

I was helped into pajamas, given a bed and was finally able to sleep.

The next day, I was taken to a different room that was occupied by one other woman.  She was very nice...and busy a lot calling her  husband, her daughters, her son, her young grandkids.  

After a couple of days, I was back on mashed potatoes.  I was also receiving antibiotics.  Mashed potatoes became a piece of chicken and mashed potatoes, or a small hamburger and mashed potatoes.  Finally, a burger, carrots and mashed potatoes.  And a roll.  I felt fine and after a week they sent me home.

I was fine at home, too, until the meds wore off.  So I found myself making mashed potatoes quite a bit.  

So, I know what it is and if I am lucky, the pain will dissipate with time.  It seems to be happening, but very, very slowly.  I can eat pasta, a piece of toast, ground turkey or chicken.  Sometimes I have horrible pain, other times I am ok.  Ice cream...gelato, sits well, too.

I have completely maxxed out on hospitals.  The Plaquenil is helping.

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone....

 Eight, nine weeks ago, I had the most enormous surgery of my life.  It lasted four entire hours.  The doctors put my insides back together.

Prior to that, I had had pneumonia (also life threatening) and gall bladder surgery.  Prior to that, I had had a hospital stay of a week, where surgery was daily dangled as a possibility but never happened.

Slowly......slowly....I am getting better.  It is frustrating for someone who was always very independent.  It makes me sad.  

But, after all these weeks, I get dressed everyday.  I take showers.  I now feed the clowns (cats) every morning once again.  Sometimes I clean something I can manage, like the stove, or a window. 

I have started to abandon the "surgical belt" they had me use in the hospital, it is no longer necessary. 

I try to "get out" twice a week...soon to be more....to walk to a cafe for a glass of wine, some bread and cheese.

Soon after my discharge from the hospital for pneumonia....I still didn't feel all that well.  As I plodded through that, one evening, at the dinner table, a piece of a molar fell out.  I believe I swallowed it.  Oops.

So!  I searched for a dentist and found one online here in town.  I knew there was a man around the corner, but I was not keen on seeing him....because he is a male Italian (sorry) and because he is older and I have seen him hanging around town with other "power" males.....no, sorry....not for me.

I found a female dentista..her website was encouraging and I made an appointment.  I will add, I was not 100% at this point, not by any means. My husband...who can be spotty.....decided he knew exactly where the office was.  It was not.  We walked to where he thought it was.  It was not.  We called her.  Turns out, she speaks English!  That was the good news.  The bad news was, there was no way in hell I could walk to where her office actually was.  There are TWO....TWO streets in town with basically the same name and hubby didn't check the fine details.

That was in June.  About a week later, I was unable to move and was taken by my sweet neighbor, to Chieti hospital, where they did an emergency laparotomy and kept me for two weeks. 

So, in mid-July, weak, tired...scared...I got home. *Also about 35 pounds lighter than I was when this odyssey began.

Finally feeling a bit stronger....slowly...I knew it was time to take care of this tooth, whatever that meant.  Pull it?  Cap it?  What?

We had a friend with a car take us there...she is up a ways from the veterinarian...but it is all uphill and no way I could manage it on foot.  

The office is on a street a ways from the center of town.  The building is 5 stories and rather modern but the elevator didn't work and her office was on the fourth floor.  Oy.  Ugh.  Here we go.  One step at a time...thank goodness I had my knee brace on and these Italian steps were not as deep as regular US steps are.

Finalmente!  Floor Four...and her office!  And the office was immaculate.  A tech came out of a door and asked immediately if I was "June."  Yep.  Ok, I sat in the waiting room, a sun filled, marble floored, shiny gem of a room that, honestly, needs more chairs.  A nice gentleman got up for me to sit down.

In about 10 minutes I was called in.  I apologized profusely for what had happened, and she waved it away...what happened???  So, I filled her in...and she agreed that the hospital here, in this town, is a nightmare and needs to shut down.

Turned out, all I needed was a replacement filling and voila!  we were done in less than an hour from start to finish!  

The differences here and the US?  They do not lock you into a full set of x-rays, nor into a thorough cleaning afterwards.  So, no x-ray fees at the start if not necessary.  She fixed the problem and I was done.  I can, if I choose, schedule a cleaning.  Otherwise, a completely professional, gorgeous office with state of the art equipment, staff and a totally competent and capable dottoressa.  

My tooth is fixed and we have a dentist.

Next stop......the rheumatologist.

It seems we've stood and talked like this..before..

 No, it wasn't diverticulitis.  Within two days, I was in agony.  I couldn't eat, even if I wanted to...which I didn't because of what they had told me I could have.  I was down....on the bed,...and begged my husband to call my friend again.

She came...and said, "Let's go to the hospital."  I didn't even want to get dressed, but they managed to put a clean shirt on me and shorts.  I was lying in the back seat of the car.  I have no idea what time it was...but it was afternoon...maybe late afternoon.

This time, in the ER, I was taken directly to CT and THIS time they did a scan with contrast, finally.  Within minutes a doctor was telling me I had a perforation and would have to have surgery.  I was put on a stretcher and wheeled out to another area.  A big room.  A big, empty room.  An IV was started.  They managed to get my pants off but my shirt had to be cut off me.   It was dark and cool.  I tried to relax at least a tiny bit.

The doctors came in and asked me more questions.  One spoke English well.  I filled him in and told him about the last trip to the ER.  He was livid.  Two of the medications I was given interacted badly and caused the perforation.  He would have to do an exploratory laparotomy and "look around."  I was scared but I had no choice.

Then I was alone.  Soon...something happened, something "gave."  I felt something go "poof" inside.  At first, that's all it was and then the pain kicked in.  Dear god, I started screaming.  The nurses came and immediately started rolling me down the hall to the OR.  Someone took my right arm and placed it on a plank or something....and someone, I think a man, was holding a mask near my nose...not tight, not over it...but near.  That's all I remember.

I am told the surgery lasted 4 hours. 

I woke up.  Then I was being moved...some awful nurse was slapping things onto the bed...up to another floor.  Into a room...there was another woman in the room.  I was put by the window.  It felt airless and hot.

I don't know how long it took....but as things came back into focus....I had bags attached to me.  I had oxygen up my nose and also another godawful tube.  My nose was covered in bandages.  Tubes everywhere.  I was afraid but determined to ask....so I asked a nice nurse if anything was permanent.  She assured me they were not.

I was helpless.  I had a catheter to the bladder. My blood pressure was WAY low.  Nurses came and washed me and changed my gown each day.  The lady in the room was discharged.  Soon, a young girl was brought in.  She was seventeen and had had some episode in a restaurant.  

As time passed and I became more aware I also became tremendously uncomfortable.  There was some pain in the abdomen, but mostly it was arthritis combined with a hard as a rock bed and similar pillows.  

Finally, I was allowed to sit up.  I was given a moist face cloth to put on my chapped, dry lips.  I was encouraged to sit in a chair for a little bit.  The chairs were hard, too, so I asked that a sheet be folded under me.  It helped a little bit.

The young girl's parents visited twice each day and were very nice.  The father told me his daughter spoke English...in case I wanted someone to talk to.  She broke the ice later.....and we had a chat.  She had studied for a year in Canada.  I'm not clear on what her goal was....but she added that she and about 4 other students landed in NY and the teacher who picked them up brought them to a pizza place in the city.  Being Italian, they assumed the pies were individual pieces.  Of course, they were not.  So 5 LARGE PIES were brought to their table.  She said they were very, very hungry, though, so it really wasn't a problem.  She, too, was discharged.

I was, at this point, getting up into the chair each day.  One day, the nurse who had often put my hair up for me said that maybe I should brush it.  I did and lots and lots of hair came out.  Tons of hair came out.  It was very alarming.  

I mentioned it to the doctor and we agreed it was from lack of nutrition over the course of many weeks.  Still alarming, though.

By this time I was being given IV nutrition constantly.  Soon, the bladder catheter was removed.  The first night it seemed I had to go every hour, so the nurse outfitted me with a diaper so I could get some sleep.  Control came back within 24 hours.

Then the day came for the miserable tube in my nose to be removed.  They injected a blue dye through it...this tube went directly to my stomach.  Ack...ack....and then I waited for a few hours. 

Doctors, students, nurses all marched into the room....what a crowd!!  The bags were not affected by the blue dye which meant there were no leaks...a good thing.  It also meant the damned tube could come out!!  It hurt....and my nose had scabs and was bleeding, but I was so relieved!

Now the nurses were putting me in my own pajamas.  I had to have help because I still had 4 bags attached.  Also, each time I got up, I had to have a "belt"...a surgical belt wrapped around me.  

I got moved to another room.  It had three beds.  The other two beds filled up quickly with ladies who had had scheduled procedures.  Also, I was started on mushy food.  Bleh.  The cafeteria kept getting my name wrong.  Mashed potatoes.  Polenta with tomato.  And other things I wouldn't touch..like farina and yogurt.

There were two young doctors (3, actually, but I did not like the third one) who usually checked on me.  One was a young woman who looked like she was about 13.  The other, a young man with a pony tail.  Turns out they both spoke English.  

The female doctor was the one who took out the first tube.  It was not a comfortable procedure, but it was wonderful to have one less bag attached to me.  I should add the bandages over my incision were changed every other day.  I didn't have the courage to look but I was told I had staples.

Each day, another bag was removed.  The young male doctor, Dr. Crisi, (*yes, it means "crisis" in English) spoke excellent English and was very kind.  He explained that there was "no more bile" and the perforations had been repaired.  He told me the staples had to stay in even after I was discharged.  He told me the IV nutrition helped, but wasn't perfect as it bypassed the stomach.  Regular food was ordered but somehow that order never came through.  I was pissed beyond belief.

Finally, no tubes...I could get up and make it to the bathroom by myself.  I could wash myself up and brush my teeth.  Soon I would be discharged with an appointment just 5 days later to check the wounds...not just the staples, but the wounds from the last two bags that were removed.

Percy, our problem child, was absolutely nuts without me home.  He slipped out the door twice and was peeing in the house.  He has calmed down considerably since I have been back....Lupo comes for his affection and to "nurse" on my finger.  Scruffy follows me around, Missy Tee follows me around....my entourage.  

I've been back for 2 outpatient visits.  The staples were removed, but two bandages remain over those 2 last stubborn tube sites.  I can't take a shower.  But, I can eat like a normal person.  I am very, very weak and tired.  The surgical bandage feels sore every evening.  I have to give myself an injection every morning so that I don't get a blood clot.  But...I'm home and I am feeling better.  Little by little, every day. I am down 30 pounds or so....some I have gained back already.  I actually hope I don't gain it all back.  

The moral of this story is.......Penne hospital needs to close down.  I, myself, do not ever intend to set foot there again.  

Many, many thanks to my dear friend and neighbor who continues to drive me to and from Chieti.  That hospital saved my life and I am very grateful.

Deja Vu

 I felt like I was improving.  I was cooking and eating and even walking a bit around town.  And then things went South again.

I could see that my ancient (over 30 years ago) umbilical hernia seemed to be pooching out a little on one side.  I had abdominal pain.  Over the course of two weeks, this pain became worse and worse.  

In the meantime, a piece of an old filling came off one of my molars.  I needed to see a dentist, but the stomach pain became unbearable.  I didn't want to eat anymore and hardly slept.

I refused to see anyone in this town.  So my neighbor and friend offered to take me to Citta St. Angelo, to a private doctor.  We went.  He said I had appendicitis and gave me a script for a CT scan, but I was told that his hospital would call me with an appointment....whenever.  Oh, and they had no beds.  Pfffft.

We took the script elsewhere and had the scan done the next day.

However, the pain was now constant.  And now I was afraid of having a ruptured appendix and being taken emergently back to the hospital here....the dungeon.  So, my friend offered again to take me to either Pescara or Chieti, since they are about the same distance.  I chose Chieti because they are a "teaching" hospital with the medical school right next door, and because it is a larger city and a modern hospital.

We went there Friday, to the ER.  I was taken in a wheelchair, (the department had their own designated chairs, upholstered in royal blue) vitals were taken and a Covid test done. Then I had to wait outside in the waiting room.  Once again, I waited far too long.  An ambulance arrived and ten minutes later a newborn was crying behind their closed doors.  Another ambulance with 2 men who had been in a motorcycle accident.  Various kids with injuries...one with a cold pack on his face, a little girl cradling her arm.  Both went home.  Finally, my friend inquired at the desk and lo and behold!  The Covid test had been back for a while.  At this point they took me in.  Vitals again.  An IV was put in (and I didn't feel a thing) and history taken.  I was on a gurney now and wheeled out into the hallway.  It appeared to be a busy day in the ER.

Sometime later I was sent for yet another CT scan.  The equipment was state of the art (unlike here in Penne).  Rather than taking a half an hour, rather than holding my breath for a count of 20, the young lady instructed me to hold my breath and before I could even feel the slightest discomfort, she told me to breathe again.  And that was that.  It was done.  (I was asked to hold my breath multiple times in Penne, for a long time...and the machine was noisy.) Davvero? Era piu velocemente!

I was placed back in the hallway and noticing the difference in the surroundings.  Unlike here, the floors weren't missing any pieces, the walls were pristine and white, plenty of light and air conditioning!  However, I have had nothing to eat or drink in nearly 24 hours and no one is telling me anything.

The nurse who put in the IV and a male doctor walk by, stop at me and he palpates my abdomen.  Not a freaking word.

Later, I am taken to see "the doctor" in the exam room...she never leaves her desk but I am given some sort of pain killer and then taken to a "room"....a large room which says "temporary" something on the wall....a holding area...but it is dark and with the pain killer, I was able to get some sleep.

Towards morning, I had to go to the bathroom.  The nurse accompanied me across the hall....thank goodness it was close by, and leads me to the door.  Before I even got halfway in I could see there was blood on the floor and...joy!....a turd sitting on the rim of the toilet!!  I told her.  What I cannot believe is this ER does not have ONE SINGLE housekeeper for the night!!!  You know what?  I'm gonna hold it!

Luckily, I managed to until about 7am when another nurse informed me that the bathroom was clean.

Vitals were taken again.  The gray haired male nurse asked "Inglese?"  "No, sono Americana."  Ahhhh!!  His mother was an American...he was tickled.  I' m guessing it was a WWII romance.

Soon I was wheeled back into the hallway, which, luckily, was much less crowded than it had been the day before.  

It was a surprise to be given a food tray.  It had a chicken breast and something green and a white roll.  However, that had to wait because I was summoned once again to the doctor on duty.  This principessa was arrogant, also did not leave her desk and was very abrupt.  I did hear that I could go home "later."  Whatever the hell?  What is going on?????

Back to the hallway, I texted my husband and friend with that news....What time?  I have no freaking idea.

Chicken breast with mild spices was still warm and very good.  The green was a pile of spinach that I didn't feel like and I tossed the roll into my bag for later, which turned out to be a good move.

At 2pm my friend and my husband arrived and inquired about my discharge.  Suddenly, I had a bottle of something attached to my IV.  I couldn't read it because it was covered in tape.  Then, unexpectedly and I don't know why, I was moved back in the "temporary" room.  This time there was one of those loud and obnoxious old ladies in there.  She didn't like being next to a wall.  Oh....poor thing.  And yet, she continued, nonstop, with her complaining and calls to god. I wanted to strangle her.  Meanwhile, another just as old lady was next to me, giving me pained expressions.  Si, senora, capito.

Once that IV was done, I put my shoes on, sat up as best I could and when the nurse came in I told her I was ready to go and people were waiting for me.  So!  Finally, some action.

I was taken to the doctor....yet another dotoressa....and THIS LADY was NICE!!!  She got up, explained to me that yes, there is a small hernia, but that is not the problem.  No, it is not appendicitis, you have diverticulitis, most likely a latent result of the gall bladder surgery done in March.  I don't need surgery (now).  I need to be on antibiotics, a strict limited diet and take it easy.  White bread, rice, plain pasta, eggs, chicken.  I was given something else for intestinal flora and a pain killer.  Finally!!  Some answers!!!  I started to cry...I was so overwhelmed at that point...frustrated, angry, in the dark.  I told my friend that in the US we would have sued the stinking doctors here for their treatment of me....delaying the surgery for months then doing it, remarking at the amount of bile, and still sending me home for me to come down with pneumonia.  Criminale.

So here I am, again.  Back home!!  It's terribly hot....trying to keep the house cool, cats wanting to be in my lap anyway....agggg.  Percy, Lupo, Missy Tee and Scruff glued to me, following me.  I was given Toradol by the nice doctor before she discharged me, so I have felt fairly well since.  I am on the 5 day semi fast...water, tea, white pasta, white bread, rice.  I might try an egg later but I am so afraid.  This whole situation has to calm down or I will have to have a gastroscopy, which I do NOT want to have. 

That's the scoop.  The countryside in between the towns is spectacularly gorgeous.  Hopefully, I can see the dentist now.  

Bluer than blue, sadder than sad

 I had gall bladder surgery on March third.  I had been sick with gall bladder problems since the previous September.  I had been hospitalized in October with antibiotic therapy and told to adhere to a strict diet until the surgery.  The situation, however, got worse regardless.

So, March 3 came and went.  I recuperated enough to be sent home.  Or so they said.  And believe me, I wanted to get home.

The hospital here is old and under funded.  The buildings are ugly, in disrepair and there is nothing "inviting" about the surroundings, be they inside or out.  There is no cafeteria.  There are a few vending machines that are not always filled with soda, water and snack items such as potato chips and cookies.  There is a coffee machine.  There are no sandwiches or anything you could possibly heat up in a microwave, such as soup.  Nothing.  

Some hallways have peeling paint, missing pieces of the floor, chipped doors and dirty windows.  There is no "ambulatory" surgery department.  Everything that needs to be done ahead of time (filling out forms, getting a history, taking blood and urine) is done within the Pediatric department.  It is bizarre.  

And, naturally, things work on "Italian time."  That means that breakfast for the patients is coffee (or even better, a coffee substitute called orzo) and a couple of cookies.  Lunch is the "big"  meal and dinner is more spare. There are no menus, no one is asked what they would like.  I never was allowed to eat during my initial stay until my last day.  This time I was allowed a little food my last two days.  A plate of mashed potatoes and a slice of meatloaf.  Then a plate of mashed potatoes and sliced chicken.  Very bland, but I was ravenous.

I was happy to get out of there and get home.  However, it became obvious after a week or two that I was not, in fact, getting better.  As time went on I got worse.  I could not lie down, but I had to "sleep" or attempt to sitting up in a living room chair.  I coughed incessantly.  There was a terrible, nasty taste in my mouth which I learned was bile.  I did not eat.  I did not walk.  I really could not talk because my throat was so sore and the coughing never stopped. 

I was not happy, but I was taken to the ER again, this time for the cough and bile.  They had to do a Covid test, which was sent to Pescara so the result took hours to receive.  I just sat in a wheelchair coughing and using up scads of tissues for hours.  Finally, the negative result was returned and I was admitted.  It was supposed to be "for a couple of days."

Honestly, I don't remember a lot because I was so terribly ill.  I do remember the young male nurse choosing the absolute worst spot to put an IV (in the crook of the arm) but I was too weak to say anything about it.  I was able, however, to commit this particular nurse to memory. 

I was bedridden for days although I am not sure how many.  I was in a small room by myself, which made sense since I was so sick.  They had me in diapers. Time was meaningless.  I thought that I might die.  At one point I was given iron via IV.  After that they gave me a pill everyday.  I didn't get my usual medications for blood pressure because my pressure was so low.  

Two nurses came in each morning to clean up only my genital area and change the diaper.  The rest of me did not get clean.  My hair, my skin....I was beginning to feel gross and started scratching.

 Slowly I began to feel a bit "better" by which I mean I could sit up and croak out a whisper here and there.  I learned I had pneumonia.  

As my condition improved, my husband came to visit, bringing me clean night shirts, a brush for my filthy hair, a bar of soap, a towel.  At last I was able to be escorted to the little bathroom in my room.  It only had a sink and a toilet, no shower, which was very disappointing.  But I was able to soap up my face and arms which helped a bit. I started to use the toilet, so the diapers were discontinued.  

When my husband visited we opened the window in my room for some fresh air.  I passed the time either sleeping or reading my Kindle as IV bags were changed.  The IV itself had to be moved several times as it kept failing.  No one EVER put it in my hand until the very last freaking day.  As time passed I started noticing that my arms were bruised badly from all the needles.

I had to be taken for tests from time to time.  One day, during the "lunch" hour, I was finally allowed to have some food, and it was good, too! It was chicken that had been roasted in herbs and carrots and a small bowl of pasta with a tomato/meat sauce and a nice Italian roll.  I wasn't done, I was happily pacing myself with the bounty in front of me when a girl came to whisk me away for an MRI.  Of course, when I got back, the tray had been removed. 

The MRI department always had the same two people there, a man doing the actual MRI and a female nurse preparing the patient.  She drove me nuts because she always fiddled with the IV...the IV so precariously placed somewhere on my bruised arm.  What the hell?  Leave it alone!!

After that, for some strange reason, my meals were always a piece of  meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  Same thing, over and over and over again.  ????  I protested.  This was ridiculous.  I don't even want to eat anymore.   

I don't know how orders are transmitted but something had been interpreted the wrong way, certainly I was not ordered to have the same damned thing every damned day!  I worked in hospitals for ages.  Someone ask the damned doctor about it!!!

There were nice nurses, too, don't get me wrong.  One lovely young lady went out of her way to get me a cup of tea when she was on duty (I don't drink coffee or orzo, whatever it is).  Most, in fact, were very solicitous and kind.  But there were a few who rankled me no end.  

As my condition improved, I marveled at the fact that no one gave sponge baths.  No one was escorted to a shower.  I was filthy....really filthy.  I had scratched myself badly on my legs and my chest, my upper arms.  My head felt like I had spent the day at the beach and gotten sand all over my hair.  And now that I could go to the bathroom, my private parts weren't getting clean either. 

Eventually a duo, one man and one woman, came to my room to get up and walking.  I couldn't do much and wound up having them grab a chair and bring it to the middle of the hall so I could sit.  Weak doesn't quite describe it.  By the third day I was able to walk (with a walker) to the end of the hall and back.  

Some man was admitted several days before my discharge.  He was loud, obnoxious and yammered, sang, yelled most of the night.  I don't understand why he was not put somewhere further down a hall where he would disturb less people. 

Every couple of days someone came around with a Covid test.  Jerk face male nurse came to my room and did the test.  The next day I was informed that the test came back positive!!  I've been in a private room the whole time!!  With that, I was moved to a room at the end of a hall.  Some nurses...two to be exact, one of whom was my favorite jerk face, consistently closed the door to my room to totally isolate me. Others, like the nice gal who got me tea, consistently opened my door for sound and light, and also opened the window in my room for some fresh air.  I was alone in the room...not running around infecting people.  I was also instructed, and not very nicely, to keep a mask on AT ALL TIMES...even though I was totally alone.  I didn't.  I wanted to breathe fresh air and there was absolutely no one around.  What the hell?  

Unfortunately, even though I was a tiny bit stronger by now, there was still no shower in the bathroom, so I was still gross and filthy.  However, I was informed that despite the positive test, I would be discharged.  By the way, the food situation had not changed so I was barely eating.  One day one nice nurse somehow found a plate of that delicious chicken again, but otherwise mashed potatoes and meat loaf were not inspiring. (By the way, I haven't eaten beef in ages but no one asks, there are no menus and you just get what you get.) 

Spring was delayed, so although it was mid-April, and even though the sun was out, the weather was still chilly.  My second morning in my "new" room, I was told I could go home.  Hallelujah!!!  When?  What time?  "Non lo so."

I learned that I had to have an ambulance take me home due to the Covid diagnosis.  I just had to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  No one offered me any food, luckily the really nice nurse who brought me tea did just that and that was all I had all day.  Finally, at four in the afternoon the drivers showed up.  I had my things gathered neatly and they threw them into a big garbage bag.  I put on my jacket and they put me on a stretcher.  I was still coughing rather badly, but not constantly.  Being flat on my back didn't help.

They stopped at the corner because our street is too narrow to accommodate an ambulance.  It was an uncomfortable, noisy and very bumpy ride across cobblestones to my door, but I was home!!  And exhausted. 

Once inside Lupo and Missy Tee came right up to me, the other clowns were cautious.  Little Imp approached and then Scruff and finally Percy, Zini and Notte. Meanwhile, with my husband's help, I was stripping down to climb into the shower before I collapsed.  Clean at last!!!!

It may take months to fully recuperate but gradually I am getting stronger, doing more, coughing less to none.  I still don't have my voice back and have started to salt water gargle everyday.  I have read that bile regurgitation can damage the vocal chords.  I hope nothing is permanent. 

I won't get a bill for anything - the hospital, the tests, the medications.  However, if I ever must be in a hospital again, if I have any say in the matter at all, I will choose to pay and use the "private" insurance that we have.  This hospital has been in trouble for years and although it was the "Covid hub" during the height of the pandemic, it has been losing support for ages.  There is talk of privatizing half of it and still maintaining a portion of the public hospital.  I am now in support of such a plan.  Otherwise, the "private" hospital nearest is about a half hour away.  

I also noticed the lack of discussion between doctor and patient and I don't know if that was the normal course for all patients or only for female patients or only for me, although I never witnessed the doctors discussing situations with other patients either. For an American, that is very frustrating almost to the point of insulting. 

Also, if, god forbid, I should ever be stuck in THIS hospital again, I will refuse to have a certain nurse come near me and I really don't care how outrageous that sounds. Most were kind and competent but a few (and one in particular) were a slackers and rude.

My next adventure begins next week when I call a rheumatologist.  Wish me luck.

It's been a long time, now I'm coming back home

 I had a doctor appointment in September, at which time I attempted to address the pain in my side to no avail.

In October, I wound up in the hospital for a week of antibiotics and fluids for treatment of the gall bladder.  Surgery was scheduled ...for December (!!) and I was instructed to adhere to a limited diet.

December came and just days before the surgery the young doctor from the hospital showed up at our door.  Surgery is cancelled (Why?  Never got an answer...I suspect the Christmas holiday)  I was told I would be contacted to reschedule.

The reschedule date was March 3.  I was not a happy camper, to say the least, and attempted to find other pathways (in the world of paying patients) to no avail.  Covid was dominating the scene. So there I was, stuck with March 3.

The day came, I recovered in the hospital and was sent home.  But I still didn't feel well.  I didn't feel....right.  Days passed and I got weaker and sicker.  My husband contacted the doctor and I was given oral antibiotics.  I took them.  I didn't get better.

In fact, I was getting worse.  I could not lie down to rest, I had to stay upright.  I was up most of the night, sitting in the chair in the living room.  We contacted the doctor again and I was told to come into the ER, which I did.  They did a Covid test, and then waited fucking hours for the result.  It was negative and I was admitted.  At this point, I was under the impression that I would be in the hospital for just a couple of days.  I was not informed that I had pneumonia.  I was very ill...very ill, had lost my voice entirely and only wanted to sleep, if that was at all possible. 

I spent two entire weeks in the hospital and I will write more about that when I, myself, am ready to face that ordeal.  

I'm still here....still alive. 

Don't you love farce?

We tried to sign up for our booster vaccine online as advertised and advised.  It didn't work.  I have no idea why.  It didn't work the first two times either and I have no idea why.

Well, then came along the end of the year and our annual attempt to renew our national healthcare, so getting vaccinated went by the wayside until we got that straightened out.

With the help of a friend who is involved in the local government. we got our healthcare coverage validated.  Why this was necessary, we will never really know.  The Italian bureaucracy in infamous internationally for this reason.  Things just don't make sense.  They have cell phones and computers and apps galore, but somehow, the left hand does not communicate with right hand and there are layers and layers of miscommunication between.  Rumor has it that the new Prime Minister wants to fix this, or at least try to.  I wish him all the luck in the world.

Anyway, back to the booster shot.  We could not make an appointment online, even with our brand, spanking new healthcare for 2022.  So, we had to enlist the help of our friend once again.  His wife works within the local Ministry of Health in the province seat of Pescara.  

We got a call from her one morning asking for certain information and the next thing we heard was that we were to show up at the Sports Complex (where a basketball arena has been used for Covid vaccinations since this all began) at 6:30 pm on Friday. 

The following morning, our friend called to say he had the form that needed to be filled out, he printed out two for us.  Ok.  So my husband went to his office for the forms.  They are just basic health questionnaires wanting to know if you have any conditions and take any medications.  When he picked up the forms, our friend gave my  husband a slip of paper with a doctor's name on it.  Our friend also said he would try to take us, but he wasn't sure that would be possible.

Well, he is a young man with a working wife and two young children.  I didn't want him to take us since he had done enough already.  He AND his wife had done enough.  So, I asked my friend across the street if she could drive us there, it is only a 5 minute drive just outside of town.  She said she could and that was that. 

At this point I could moan about the lack of organization and anticipation of needs before implementing plans, but that is an entirely different subject worthy of its own discussion. As in, why are there not multiple places to get vaccinated?  Why isn't there at least ONE located in the historical section?  Why doesn't this town have a taxi service or at least some sort of shuttle to the vaccine site?   

So, the time rolled around.  It was a cold, rainy, nasty day and the sun is gone completely by 5:30pm.  We left with my neighbor and friend at 5:45.  We were very lucky to find a parking spot just outside the basketball arena that is the vaccination hub.  My friend chose to wait in her car and we walked through the light rain to the outside tent where there is a small maze set up for long lines...but there was no line, so we did our dance through the maze (like at an airport) up to the entry.  There were only 3 people ahead of us.

We got to the head of the line and a man took our temperatures and checked our papers.  We were then sent to another checkpoint where they tried to find our names on the roster.  They took our health care cards, they took the forms but could not find our names.  I said we had an appointment.  They looked perplexed.  So I then said the name of the doctor our friend had given us, and my husband chimed in with the name of our friend.  "Six-thirty!  We have an appointment!!!"  I was very, very sure of myself.  With that, I saw the man start to write us in, on the side, under a list of about half a dozen other names.  

Then we were sent to another desk...a doctor and a clerk.  The doctor checked the health document and stamped and signed it.  The clerk was entering information into the computer and then handed me a form that would eventually be my confirmation of vaccination.  It had a small number 2 on it.

I got up and saw the banks of stations beyond...each with a number and number two was straight ahead.  Just then, a woman in scrubs came out and motioned me over.  "Due?"   "Si!"  So, I went right over...."Destra o sinestra?"  (Right or left?)  I was done within moments.  Then I was sent to wait at the end of the arena.  We had gotten there just before 6 pm and it was now just ten minutes after. 

Very shortly, my husband came along to wait....just to make sure there are no untoward reactions.  We waited dutifully.  I texted my friend waiting outside to let her know we would not be long.  We were home actually before our "appointment" time of 6:30 pm!

I emailed our young friend to let him know everything was done and we were home, although the people there did not have us down on the list of appointments.  Everything went well, nevertheless.

He called shortly thereafter.  Guess what?  He wanted to take us (if he could) because we never DID have appointments!!!  What???  We.....what?????  So, I stood there, totally confident, throwing names around until they caved and wrote us in.  Mmmmm...yeah.  He said other people without appointments had been turned away and despite all of his and his wife's efforts, they could not secure an appointment, either.  So, it was my big mouth and the luck of having hardly anybody there that got it done.

OMIGOD!  I have never been one to drop names or pull strings.  I was embarrassed, belatedly, but also VERY amused because if I had known I was lying I would have never been able to pull it off. I couldn't stop laughing.  Turns out the name of the doctor he gave us is the head of all of Abruzzo or something like that. Hahahahaha.  

So, here we are....hunkered down now, hoping the after effects won't be terrible.  Still wondering, forever wondering why we just could not make a damned appointment.  

It's good to have friends.

And the seasons, they go round and round.....

 I love Italy.  I love it for all the cliche and expected reasons....the people are warm and (mostly) kind and friendly.  The weather is milder than the weather I was so reluctantly used to.  The scenery is gorgeous...it is the most beautiful place I have ever known.  Each day I see another painted landscape or cityscape.  The food is phenomenal, fresh locally grown vegetables and olive oil, hand made pasta....I love it here. 

Keeping in mind that like everywhere else in the world, life is not a perpetual vacation.  There are problems, as there are elsewhere.  Young people are having great difficulty finding a sustainable way to make a living.  This little town of ours, like so many, is suffering also from Covid backlash.  No one could predict that or escape it, so we persevere.

There is one aspect of living here full time, though, that is not so beloved and that is also something Italy is famous for...bureaucracy.  OMIGOD!!! There are times I want to scream, punch a wall, just freaking vent for the stupidity of it all.  Today was one of those days.

This is the view from ASL....a health care facility on one of the "outer" roads of town, just outside the historical center where we live.  The building you see is what could be a new hospital, but the money ran out, so it sits.  Empty. Unused.

Once a year we have to renew our national health care.  Since we are expats, since we have enough....we pay the maximum price each year to be covered until December 31.  That includes...everything....tests, office visits, hospitalizations, lab tests, prescriptions.  We don't pay another dime for anything.  It costs approximately $150 American dollars per month for each of us.  We pay it gladly.

The one big inconvenience is that it cannot be done online, it has to be done in person.  The reasons for this, although explained to me, remain murky and somewhat ridiculous.  But, nevermind.  In the past we had our Italian teacher go for us, because she has a personal friendship with the guy whose job it is....and she got it done in about five minutes with no problem and we paid her and thanked her for her time and that was that.  She is, we recently found out, not vaccinated.  She cannot enter the building.   *!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Needless to say, I was upset, disappointed and also angry...that she did not tell us...that she is not vaccinated.  What to do???  I can't walk there....it's a quick drive, but I did walk there once and it took me several days to recover.

My dear, sweet friend and neighbor across the street drove me there this morning.  Our dear, sweet young friend (and insurance agent and vice mayor of the town) had called "the guy" and so he was aware that I would be there.

*View of Penne from the ASL entrance.  It looks so far away...but is literally a 3 minute drive.

So!  We got there...bright and early, a gorgeous, crisp, cold, clear blue sky morning.  I had everything...passports, fiscal codes, payment receipt, old health care cards, permessi (expired due to Covid...the government is backed up due to the impact of the virus.)

The guard barely glanced at me, did not care to look at my "green pass" that proves I am vaccinated.  I went right in.  Stood in front of the door to the office where "the guy" was supposed to be. It had a big sign to wait outside because only 2 people could enter at a time.  I had no idea if anyone was inside and made a mental note to myself to check in a few minutes if there was no sign of activity.

Very shortly, "the guy" came along...he wasn't even in the damned office...and I snagged him.  "Come with me," he said.  He kept flipping between English and Italian which happens to drive me crazy....I need to be on one train at a time, so to speak.  Literally,....so...to...speak.

Anyway...off to another room down the hall where there were two young women at desks with plexiglass screens.  I had a seat.  I filled out a redundant form asking for name, address, date of birth, place of birth...choice of doctor.  Did one for my husband, too.  Forged his signauture,..shhhhhh!!!  Va bene.

Handed over the passports, old cards, fiscal codes, silly forms, and permessi...these are our permits to stay, which are at this point, officially, expired.  Although we did everything correctly, the appointment is waaaaaaay late, toward the end of February. (It should have been in September.)  What we do have are the proofs of appointment and proof of payment.  Supposedly, these are "official" enough to even travel out of the country.  But they posed a problem for health care.  Go figure.

"Something, something, something....doctors are in competition...something, something...I don't know the word....(he did not know the word "expired")

"SCADENZA!  Si!  Capito!  Perche Covid!!"

....blah, blah, something...so...you get a paper card (rather than plastic) that is good for three months.  After that, have your friend call, and we will issue another for the rest of the year."  

"I paid for the year."  

"Yes, yes...that is not a problem,,,

"Not a problem.....then why no card?"  

"E complicato"   No shit.  

The final word was "burocrazia"....bureaucracy.  The infamous and internationally well known bureaucracy.  I was given reasons that made no sense....I cannot even form them into coherent sentences...although they were delivered to me in understandable words that did not form, to my mind, a reasonable thought.

We have our health care...for now....and our young friend has been apprised of the situation.  We will soon get our boosters and later head to the Questura for our new permessi.

Besides the magnificent views, the spectacular blue skies, our wonderful friends...we had a wonderful meal of turkey tettrazini, green beans and warm rolls.....here at home, warm and cozy.

Outside the ASL, just outside the entry doors, is a little area of wild roses.  They are blooming....in the middle of January.  Holding their little heads up to the magnificent sun even though I would wager they get no care whatsoever.  But they persevere.

Just remember there's a lot of bad everywhere...

 Our doorbell rang unexpectedly.  It was my sweet friend and neighbor across the street, but she was not here for chit chat or happy greetings.  She saw another neighbor "toss something" into our pans of cat food and water for the street cats. (Let me remind people that we have, of our own accord, sterilized 10 cats and managed to control the unwanted population at least in our own little piazzetta.) It was by pure chance that she happened to see it occur.

So, it was discovered that there were tiny pellets or seeds tossed into the food and water pans. My immediate reaction was that this was some kind of poison.  As I frantically tried to identify what it was, my friend's husband was confronting the man who did it.  Yes, indeed, it was poison....."for mice,"  For mice?  What mice?  In the more than  three years we have lived here I have seen one tiny little mouse...dead, in the street.  Since this is a "city," and a city of stone, there are traps here and there placed about every piazzetta.  I have never encountered a rat, either. Nor does it seem that anything has ever been confined to those traps.  Whatever.

So....poison...in the cat food and water.  Tossed in the street.  Domestic dogs, indoor/outdoor cats, birds and children are in those streets.  "Our" cats (the ones we tried to take in but they refused the indoor life) are neutered and are not contributing to a burgeoning population of kittens.  

On closer inspection, of course there are multiple precautions one should take with this stuff. Such as wearing a mask and gloves and NOT just spreading it around willy-nilly, but confining it to indoor spaces and outdoor traps.

We, naturally, were livid and upset.  It was made worse because, of course, the guy is trying to weasel his way out of responsibility by playing dumb.  "I saw TWO BIG mice!"  Oh, wow!  An epidemic!!!  What, exactly, is a BIG mouse???  Just wondering.  I'm sure they were just strolling along and saying "hi" to the cats as they passed through.

Then he attempted to say that "cats don't eat it." Well, it isn't made for cats, nor is it made for dogs or children, but, given the opportunity any one of them might shove some in their mouths.  Which is why there are myriad instructions for use and freaking WARNINGS!!! all over the container. 

We informed another cat owner down the street of the incident and perhaps we will inform a friend of ours who is actually a member of the city government.  This sort of  backward, provincial behavior can't be tolerated any longer.  It is, after all, the 21st Century.

On the other hand....just when you think all hope is lost...something happens.  Well, two things happened.  Our health insurance coverage (national health coverage) remained the same price this year as last, and I went to the Poste Italiane to pay for it today and it all went very smoothly.

Second, our doorbell rang unexpectedly this evening.   It was the parents of our young friend.  They brought us a rather large tray of sweets.  Parrozze (almond cakes covered in chocolate), candied almonds and sfogliatella (a shell shaped cookie of puff pastry filled with either jam or chocolate.)  Our friend once told us his mother had worked for "the best bakery in town."

We could not invite them in (although we did...but they declined and rightfully so) because of Covid, which is surging once again.  But what a lovely surprise!!!  Out of nowhere and just when we needed it. Serendipity.