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| February 13, 2018 |
Real time found George waiting for us when we got there this morning at 7:30. We trekked across town to the urologist's office, where Dr. Kruger gave us a cursory look (Due to the fact that the records we requested hadn't arrived), and she ordered George's catheter changed out to a permanent Foley. They also took a clean urine sample as a benchmark for Dr. Kruger to begin her treatments. We'll return in a few weeks in order to have Dr. examine the bladder with her scope. I'm glad there are physicians who specialize in urology. It seems less glamorous to me than other specialties, but it takes all kinds. Talking with George, he no longer remembers the fact that he self catheterized for years. This is troubling on the cognitive front, and we're still determining if this sudden loss of mid-memory stuff is caused by the UTI. Regardless, we've a new level of care required: i.e. daily monitoring. He's also complaining quite often about pain in his hip. We're taking physical therapy steps to help alleviate that, which means bringing in a physical therapist twice a week, and me running George through some strengthening exercises daily. As for me, I'm trying to remain calm in the face of the onerous medical records system. While privacy concerns are important, there must be a more efficient way for patient records to be transferred internally. The "hospital shuffle" as I call it can be a source of frustration. A word to the wise. We thought we were prepared. We're not, fully. When your turn comes, it pays to check and re-check the system.
One of the reasons George and Margaret chose La Pine, OR for their dream home was the proximity to lakes and other fisheries. They spent many a weekend happily cavorting with nature, searching out a few elusive trout. they most often went alone, but at times a few friends and relatives shared their adventure. In short, they loved to fish. George had quite the comfortable set up. He had a thirty foot fifth wheel camper that he hooked to his propane driven pickup. Behind that he pulled his fourteen foot boat. I'm sure he and Margaret pulled fish from every hole in the area. It was simple, enjoyable, and nearly free. He must have got the love of fishing from his youth. The earliest memory of fishing I have is with George's dad, George, Sr. He took me and my brother to a lake south of Lewiston called WaHa. I remember catching a fish, but I didn't like the slimy feeling of the fish as it flopped, gasping for air on the beach. Much to my everlasting shame, Grandpa had to take it off the hook for me. George Jr. was not so encumbered. He like to catch 'em, clean 'em, and eat 'em. Like many of the things he did for enjoyment, like golf, bowling, and leatherwork, he was also pretty good at fishing, especially if catching is the measure of success.
George wheeling into the urology office.
George signing, in triplicate, the release forms.
A collage of victories. Bring on the frying pan.
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