Tuesday, March 29, 2022

 Tuesday, March 29, 2022  

    After completing the morning wordle puzzle, I tied to sign onto the NY Times puzzle archive. I have a year's subscription. I love doing the Mini puzzles on the computer. They provide the auto-check feature that tells me when I got it wrong. It prevents me from going down a frustrating rabbit hole. Since I got my new Surface Pro Tablet, replacing Mike's old one, I haven't been able to access the puzzle. I subscribed under my own email address. Mike's old email address came up with the new tablet every time I signed in. When I tried to change it, I couldn't. The first Times customer service person told me to delete all my cookies. I did that, but the problem persisted. I called back. The second customer service representative had me repeatedly try to get rid of Mike's email address, so I could enter mine. No luck. I changed the password. That worked. I had access to the puzzles under Mike's name. Huh? Did he renew his subscription from the beyond? Whatever, I have access to the NY Times crossword puzzles now.

    Karen, Dr. Salassa's appointment nurse, called. Her first available date was May 17. That would be great, but I had relatives visiting at the beginning of the month and, as it stood, the last week of May. It would be great if they came to care for me, but they're not. I told Karen I would call her back. 

    I saw my PT, Terry, today. I told her the news. I would have THR, an ultrasound, to see if structural problems were causing my urinary tract problems. My doctor had requested an appointment with a urologist. Terry said, "We will be doing prehab," preparing me for the THR surgery and a quick recovery. She said my left glutes were weak, and my internal rotators were hypertonic, in constant contraction. She gave me more exercises for strengthening my external rotator muscles to relax the internal ones. She helped me isolate the muscles I needed to strengthen. The goal is to use my glutes without engaging other muscles to compensate for their weakness.

   I told her I would be going over to Honolulu on my own. (I live on the Big Island and have Kaiser insurance. Kaiser's primary service is in Honolulu. I have to fly there for many services. Kaiser pays for the trip for the patient and a companion.) I thought I told her I preferred not to have someone with me. The other person's presence would remind me that Mike wasn't there. I shouldn't need someone with me unless my leg was very bad at the time. Otherwise, I would only need someone to pick me up and take me home. The hospital wouldn't release me unless I had someone to help me. Terry said, "If you need someone to go with you, I'll take a day off from work to help." Wow! Blew my mind. How generous. 

   While I was with Terry, my phone rang. I answered since I had all these medical people calling me. It was Matthew, the cement guy making the wedges for the gravestones to rest on.   He was inserting handles into the wedges to make them easy to lift. Fr. Lio had complained about the difficulty of moving the gravestones to get the next person into the grave. He proposed that I wait to put down the gravestones until I die. I didn't know if he was banking on my early death. The general prediction is that I will live for another twenty years. I thought waiting was a stretch. Matthew gave me two choices of handles. One was brown and on the top of the wedge. The other was black and on the sides. I chose the second. I hoped I had made the right decision. 

   I stopped at the nearby UPS store before going to rehab to drop off an Amazon return. I left myself fifteen minutes. The line was too long. I would have been late for the PT appointment. I went to UPS after rehab. The line was still long, but I had time. It went quickly. On the way home, I stopped by Matsuyama's, our local bodega, to pick up a jar of mild salsa. It's the only strength I can tolerate. It cost close to $7. Now, everything in Hawaii is more expensive. I would buy my next jar from Long's or even Safeway. It will be interesting to compare the price. When I got home, I went down for a nap. These last two days have been packed with intense activity. 

   On my evening walk, I ran into an adolescent who lived down the street. I asked her if she would be interested in working with Mei and Peter two hours a day for $20 an hour. They want someone who will clean their Turo cars. I told the girl they wanted someone to wash their cars, thinking she knew they had a Turo business. She didn't and commented on how clean they must keep their cars if they needed someone to clean them two hours a day. I told her they had over fifteen cars. Oh. She said she wanted to talk to them first. I called Mei and told her I had an adolescent in tow and I could bring her over. The girl had to drop off her dog, and I had to drop off Elsa. Mei and Peter's son is terribly allergic to dogs.

   I waited for the girl at the edge of my driveway. No, show. Lutz passed. He asked if I was going for my walk. No, just waiting for the girl. It hurt my leg to stand here. He said he was passing her house and would tell her to knock on my door.

   When I came outside, I saw not only her but her mother. Her mother looked upset. She didn't want her daughter to work. She said she had too much work and didn't sleep well. She couldn't afford the two hours a day. And no, she didn't want her working during the summer. The mother wanted her daughter to help her in the house and care for the dogs. Okay. The girl was 18 but still lived in her mother's home. Not to mention some of her mother's concerns sounded valid to me. The only problem I had was the mom repeating over and over and over why she didn't want the girl to do it. I also had some questions about her prohibition against working over the summer. Was the girl her servant? Was she going to let the girl be with her friends, or did she have to stay home all the time? Either way, the mom was a little hysterical. I can get that way. I hate it in me too. That makes me less tolerant of it in others.

   I met with adolescent D.  I pushed too hard and felt lousy about it. I was frustrated by his lack of effort. I knew he was forgetful and could not remember turning on the audio file before going to bed. I helped him set up an alarm system to remind him. I texted him to turn on his alarm. He was supposed to press the snooze button if he was not ready for bed. I didn't know what he did, but he didn't listen to it. If he had a problem using the alarm system, it didn't occur to him to tell me the problem so we could brainstorm a solution. I couldn't guarantee the audio file would work to solve his auditory processing and memory problems. Some of my students had success with it. It was worth a try, and still, he did nothing. He makes no effort on his own. That's a bit extreme. He would only put out the most limited effort. Denial and avoidance were his primary coping mechanisms. I see the value of these strategies, but not when they're the only ones. No single coping strategy works for every situation. He denied he denied. He often froze.

       We would be working, and there would be no response. I would call his name several times, "Have I lost you?" He would come back slightly confused. "Oh, yeah. I got distracted." I saw a pattern. It happened whenever something was difficult for him. He denied that. He said it happened when he was tired. I couldn't get through to him. I couldn't get him to see that he 'forgot' to do tasks or use strategies because they were painful reminders of his problem. He hated his disability, and he hated himself for having it. I had to ask, "Did I do what was best for him?" I didn't know.   I needed a nap after I was through with that session. I hoped I hadn't done more harm than good.