The Whistle Blower of the Schuylkill River

It was 11 pm or so on the island, along the Schuylkill River.  Small fire going in the ring.  Olivia already in her tent, sleeping soundly.  Insects buzzing around every now and again.  John and I are sitting by the fire just talking and watching the flames start to dim down.

Then something weird.

Normally, if you heard it, you wouldn't think twice about it.  But, alone on an island, already dark outside, and thinking you're all alone - hearing that sound was sort of - well - weird.

A whistle.  Like the ones you hear on a life vest.  Some life vests come equipped with whistles the user can blow into to get attention of emergency personnel.  We heard that whistle three times Friday night.  Three different times.  

Like I said.  Usually, when you hear a whistle, it's easily identifiable.  Like, a train's whistle.  Or a coach or referee at a sporting event.  But, after dark, alone on an island that is so remote that it's even hard to see from the river, hearing that very human sound makes one a little nervous.  On edge even.

John doesn't spook.  He's been camping - and I'm talking real time camping, none of this motor home and RV stuff.  He's been camping in tents, hammocks, and without the pleasantries of bathrooms, electricity, and running water for many years.  He knows what makes which noise and what you're supposed to hear out in the woods.  So, when he turned to me with a concerned look of bewilderment on his face, my heart skipped a beat.

He looked at me and said, "What was that?"

I shrugged my shoulders and told him that I had no idea.  I mean, I knew that we heard was a whistle, but as to why we hearing it though, I had no idea...

About a thousand thoughts start running through my mind.  Like, is there someone else on this island?  Some lost night fisherman that stumbled onto it completely by accident?

Let's break for a movie reference for a moment here:

Inigo Montoya: You are sure nobody's follow us? 
Vizzini: As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we've done, and no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast. Out of curiosity, why do you ask? 
Inigo Montoya: No reason. It's only... I just happened to look behind us and something is there. 
Vizzini: What? Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise, at night... in... eel-infested waters...
Anyway, there were literally a thousand different reasons why we could have been hearing a whistle.  And most of those scenarios were creepy to say the least.  We discussed some of the more reasonable explanations for some time before we decided that we were just too tired to care.

So, we climbed into our hammocks for the night and were determined to get some sleep.  After all, what's to be afraid of?  We had many usable weapons on hand,  had we needed them.  But, alas, that night, there was no need for picking up the fire poker in order to beat someone's brains in.

Other than the strange noises we heard after the sun had set (and believe me, the mysterious whistle wasn't all we heard either) we had a really nice time camping.   It's nice to get away for a night or two, out into nature.  Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and imagining bludgeoning someone to death for blowing a whistle is always something fun to do when otherwise bored at home.

We ate most of our Mountain House meals while we were away.  And we stuffed ourselves with marshmallows till we felt sick to our stomachs.  All fun.  All needed.

Next time we go away, we are going to camp on a different island.  No, we weren't scared off by the whistle blower... It's just that we've been going back to this island time and time again, and we feel that we need a change of scenery from our   ....... change of scenery.  If you get what I mean, and I think that you do...



We found out that Olivia isn't the happiest camper in the world.  She (and let's see if I can directly quote our 13 year old attitude filled teenager here)  "hates bugs"  and  "is completely bored"  and  "uncomfortable"  when she joins us for camping.

Next time we venture out, she will be staying with my folks.  Maybe my sister could take her for a couple of nights and let her swim... But, she definitely won't be joining us next time.  Don't get me wrong, she will be coming with us most of the time, but next time, it's just going to be John and me.


Some pictures are below... Enjoy....
Oh yeah, almost forgot...
John chopped down a tree... The tree didn't need to necessarily come down, but it made him so uncomfortable because he thought it was rotted enough to fall on top of one of us... So, he chopped it down before setting up camp.  Talk about fun!

Thanks for reading, as always.  And take care!

The Grumpy Tomato

The joys of summer are here.  Long days that seem to go on forever.  Sleeping in till all hours of the day, sometimes till 10 or 11 in the morning.  Sitcom reruns.  Little trips on the river or on the trail.  Sitting inside to enjoy the air conditioning, but also being outside in the sun.  The smell of sunscreen and aloe vera gel alike...

All the joys of summer.

Sigh...

Although Olivia doesn't think so anymore.
The tears on her face as soon as her friend left from dropping her off said it all.

"Mommy, I hurt so bad!"

"I gave you two bottles of sunscreen and even gave you a demonstration as to how to apply it.  Why do you look like a grumpy tomato?"
She immediately broke down and started to bawl.

Can't do anything about the past, but sometimes that child should start listening instead of just saying, "Yeah."

She went swimming two days in a row at a friends house.  I made sure to pack her bag with plenty of sun block and I even showed her how to correctly apply it.  I also told her to have her friend help her with the back so that her back wouldn't get sun burnt either.  I gave her both the spray on kind and the rub on kind. Just so that I could cover any bases.

Did she listen?

Not really, no.

She applied it once, and that was it.  Perhaps I should have stressed the "re-application" part more than 5 or 6 times.  Maybe it would have sunk in at time 7.  I don't know... Maybe she just likes pain.

Her tears tell me that she doesn't like pain.  They tell me so much more than, "It hurts to move at all."
Her tears tell me that she's sorry she didn't heed my advice.  They tell me how sorry she is that she didn't use enough sunblock.  They tell me that she won't be making this same mistake twice this year.  They tell me that she has learned her lesson.

Today's agenda includes application after application of aloe vera gel.  Some Ibuprofen for the pain and maybe something tonight to help her sleep.  Lots of cold (but not frozen) compresses and many hours of TV time.
I do feel quite badly for her.  No good mother wants to see her child in so much agony and discomfort.  It rips a big chunk of my soul every time she uses her muscles to do anything.  I mean she winces when she puts on deodorant.   Poor girl... 

But, there's that tiniest of tiny voice in my head saying, "Hmm... I guess I'm not so full of crap now.  Mommy was right, and you should have listened."  I will never say those words aloud.  She's suffering so much that adding to it would just be torturing the sad and grumpy tomato that my daughter has become...

But, one of these days, probably  *way*   in the future, when she's holding a baby of her own, I'll hear those words...

Those words every mom yearns to hear...

"Mom, you have been right about everything."

That's when I finally realized my own mom wasn't full of it.  That's the moment when all of her words of incredible wisdom and all of those "Because I said so" and "Because I'm your mom" came flooding to my brain...
I was holding Olivia and said (more to myself than anyone),

"Mom was right."

I Want My MTV... err... Money For Nothing

I have written and deleted this post six or seven times.  I just don't know what to write about.

I thought that I would write about the fact that John and I just celebrated our birthdays.  A week apart leaves little room for catching one's breath between celebrations.  But, we did it!  And both of us felt "special" and loved on our days.  And we each felt a bit heavier too.  Birthday cakes and celebratory cupcakes can never be "fat free" on a birthday!

Then, I considered writing about my type 1 diabetes and how difficult that has been lately. (and no, it's not because of our totally fattening birthday goodies)  But, I have written about that several times and am tired of saying the same things over and over again.  The ignorant s who read my posts will not be less ignorant from another post of mine...

So, I decided to write about one thing that makes me the most proud.

And that is that I was finally

PUBLISHED!!!

That's right.  I finally made it in print form into a publication that I submitted to, had edited (by others), and then I was accepted.  I received the publication in the mail yesterday!  My hands were shaking so badly when I got the manila envelope in the mail.  Olivia was in the car with me and she asked me why I was so giddy.  I told her it's because I was finally published.  And since all I've been doing is working on my novel and blogging lately, she knew exactly what I meant by, "I am published!"  :)

I feel so proud of myself.  Not just because my submission was accepted, but because I have always considered myself a writer.  I write for the sheer fun and total joy I find in writing.  I haven't ever done it to be published or accepted by others.  Sure, I am working on a book, but I highly doubt that will ever be seen by the rest of the world.  I'm sure with the exception of a few rejection letters, that John and I will be the only ones that will enjoy my book... But, that's okay by me.  I don't need the recognition of my work in order to feel satisfied in my writing skills.

I know I am a good writer.

Those that write for a paycheck or for other's acceptance sometimes miss the completely freeing awareness that one gets while writing.

Without further anticipation and ado, I give you my published work:

Is There a Monster at the End?

     As each dawn brings a new day, so each day brings us closer to seeing the end of all libraries.  As I walked through my local building of books and unending imagination the other day, that is the thought that kept leafing through my head.  After all, America is really good at saying goodbye to the really greats. 

     The vinyl record?  Replaced with iPods and MP3 players.  The handwritten letter from grandma?  Your phone alerts you to an email sent from grandma (sans flowery stationary, of course.)  Heck, even notes between girlfriends are now “tweets” and “texts.”   So, why should we keep lugging our mountain of books each one hurriedly read so you can get it back on time (sure), but also because you can’t wait for the next book in the series back to the library?  Why should we continue dragging our two-and-a-half year old kids to that home of rectangular edifices called books? 

     Why?

      How about, “Why not?”

     The library is one of the few remaining bastions of solitude left on this planet where being alone with our thoughts, alone with our reflections of the day, alone with what’s left of our sanity is not only the norm, but also kept as a general rule by the few librarians out there.
     Some of the publishing conglomerates out there are trying to murder books by relegating written matter into handheld devices called Kindles and Tablets.  While nothing is inherently wrong about that, I find it offensive that I am being forced to read some of my favorite authors on my smart phone instead of picking up that dusty and slightly bent novel.  I, for one, still have a relationship with my local library.  I also frequent my favorite neighborhood “mom and pop” store as I browse for those books that I fondly refer to as “keepers.” 

     Perhaps I am a stubborn curmudgeon because I was brought up learning about libraries, and taught how to properly read the Dewey Decimal System.   Standing before the card catalog, my fingers would deliberately march through that drawer of numbers and letters, and with much elation I would eventually pick up my book and check it out, proudly signing my ever-so-neat cursive name.  All this hunter-gatherer routine would surely sound mundane to the child who obsesses over Candy Crush on her phone.  But finding that perfect book that you can’t put down is something I always found joy in.  Library books even have a certain scent to them as well, don’t they?  They smell as familiar to me as freshly cut grass on a summer Saturday or spaghetti sauce on top of the stove.  That is something you won’t ever get to appreciate once you have surrendered your soul to inkless words pixelated on glass. 

     Once you start taking away libraries, you may as well say goodbye to the fireworks at the Fourth of July party or the hot dogs at your favorite ballgame stadium.  I don’t know… maybe I am just a silly little thirty something who is straining to hold onto a past that will inevitably be impossible to hold onto.  I sure hope not.  

     I hope that libraries are still standing when I start to read to my grandchildren.  I want to read all of the classics to them.  All of the Little Golden Books that I read growing up should still be around in paper form so my grandchildren can turn the pages and feel that same anticipation I did.  “There’s A Monster at the End of This Book” just wouldn't read the same on a Kindle. 

If we keep going down the same path we’re headed down today, I fear that the monster at the end of my book will be standing in an Amazon distribution center where a library used to stand.































































   

                                                 

Father's Day (times two?)

One of my favorite guys in the world gave me a ride to my pain management appointment today.  When I hopped - well, my version of hop, anyway - into his truck, he already had the AC running on high and he held out his over worked hand so he could help me into the passenger side...

Daddy and I have always had a special bond.  Maybe it's because I was his first born daughter after seeing three boys come before me.  Or maybe it's because I put him through the ringer when I was a teenager.  It could be because I take the time to heed his well spoken and thought out advice.  Whatever it is, my dad and I are close and I do cherish the times we have together.  Particularly when it's just the two of us.

On the way home from Allentown today, he took a detour.  I was a little confused as to why he made that right hand turn at the light, because I have always went straight, ready to put Allentown far behind me so I can get home quickly.  So, a little confused, I looked over at him and asked, "Daddy, why did you turn back at the light?"

He winked at me and asked me how often I get out of the (my) house.

"Well, it's a rare occasion that gets me out of the living room, let alone the house."

He laughed his contagious laugh and said, "Well, I'm doing you a favor.  You don't get out much, and this way home is alot more scenic."

So, I leaned back into the passenger side seat and put my head into a position that gave the best view to look out the window.  I was indeed going to enjoy the view.  My usual commute home from Allentown is Rt. 100, through little towns and past lots of shops and restaurants.  Cars, gas stations, traffic lights galore.

Daddy's route?
Windy roads that cut through deep woods and beautiful landscapes.  Flowers and birds.  Big spacious homes and tiny cute cottages alike.  Hardly any traffic.  It wasn't long before I had no idea as to where we were...  Let alone how long this particular route would take.

About three minutes or so into this new change of terrain and scenery for me, I had to make a few phone calls.  My first phone call turned into a dropped call.  Sighing with a bit of frustration, my dad suddenly pulled into the parking lot of a cute little church.
I asked him what we were doing there and he said, "Go ahead.  Make your phone calls.  I want to make sure you have good reception for awhile."
So, I thanked him.  And with gratitude I redialed the phone and made the three phone calls that I needed to make.

About three quarters of the way home, I finally started to recognize the buildings and landscape.  I excitedly told Daddy that I knew where we were.

He looked at me and said, "I knew where we were the whole time sweetie."

I almost started to cry.
Isn't that just the sweetest thing a good dad could say to his daughter?

She, confused about where she is and not knowing what is around the next turn.  Looking for stability and answers, she turns to the first man in her life for guidance... And he is always there.  Always and forever holding her hand and helping her up after she has fallen.


I love my dad.  He was the first "love of my life".  He has seen me through some of the hardest times and most difficult decisions that I ever had to face.  And when I married my husband, he was the first one (on my side of the family) to say "Congratulations!" and really mean it... I couldn't imagine the thoughts going through his head when he knew some other man was going to take over.  Some other man was going to be helping me, guiding me, and holding my hand through life's sometimes trying days.  
Even if John and I were separated, due to hunting trips or work trips, I always know Daddy is there for me to fall back on.  To catch me if I happened to misstep.  To kill all eight legged arachnids.  To fix the broken lamp so I can see in my living room.
Yes, my dad has always be there for me.
I don't ever want to think about how my life would be without him.

So, while I still have him, I will appreciate him.  I will hug him a little tighter next time we see each other.  I will look at him for a bit longer.  I will really pay attention to what he has to say.  I will never take him for granted.  I will always look up to him...

This one is for my dad.
Daddy.

I love you Daddy!

Mom's Great Advice

 Today is Father's Day.  A day that some people find inferior to Mother's Day.  

I disagree.

After all, if it weren't for the hard work, the wisdom, the dedication of my own dad, I know that our own family would've fallen apart a long time ago.

My husband, John, who happens to be the most terrific Daddy to our Olivia, is one of the kindest and strongest men I have ever known.

I recognize the hardships and sacrifices that John has made to be sure that Olivia and I are not only happy, but deeply loved as well.

And John isn't the only one that has suffered to make sure that his family is happy.  My dad used to work long hours every weeknight so that all five of his children wanted for nothing.  He usually did all of the grocery shopping as well.  But, when he wheeled out the two carts full of groceries out to his car every Thursday evening, he always had a look of pride and of accomplishment on his face.

And it didn't stop there either.  He would make sure that the house always was in working order.  He'd be up early on Saturday morning fixing this or repairing that.  He added on rooms to an already enormous house.  He made sure there was a pool in the back yard for us to go swimming in.  He was always straightening the stones in the driveway so pot holes wouldn't be too prevalent.

My daddy always made sure we were loved by instilling good Christian values in all of us.  Moral and values that I still strive to live up to in my own family as well.

Yes, Father's Day is an important day after all.

John, in many ways, mirrors my dad.
John is kind hearted, he is compassionate, he is very loyal, and he loves his family with all of his heart and soul.  When I was a child, my mom would often say, "When you marry, make sure it is someone like your dad."
I never really understood that.  Not until I took her advice and married John, that is.
John is very much like my own dad.  And I love him and respect him for all that he does and all that he tries to do as well.
Without the men in our lives that not only raised us, but who love us today, I fear that no woman would be complete.  I know that John is the other half of me.  I wouldn't be a whole person if it weren't for everything he does.  I know that he loves me and that he takes his job as Olivia's father very seriously.

I try to tell him, at least once everyday, how much he means to us.  That we couldn't be where we are today, if it weren't for his hard work and loyalty to us.  I hope that he knows just how much we need him...

Happy Father's Day to all the men out there, to all of you who work tirelessly to provide for their families.  To all of those men who come home to read to their children, to make sure their wives are doing well.

Yes, Father's Day is a very important day...

John and Olivia

Daddy and me

My dad and John

John and Olivia

Daddy and me

Reacquainted With Hospital Staff

Friday night was the night when my life took a really, really weird turn.

John needed a little break and decided to do a little camping with his good friend.  Olivia made plans to spend a weekend with one of her really good friends. I, knowing I was going to be alone had picked out several Netflix movies and was kind of looking forward to some peaceful -er... peace and quiet.

So, with thoughts of movie watching and popcorn popping rolling around in my head I had settled down on the couch and put my feet up.  I was going to enjoy this time, alone and (pretty much) responsibility free...
Of course, as a type 1 diabetic, saying goodbye to all responsibility is (or should be) an impossible task.  I was soon going to be reminded of that very thing, although I had no idea as to what extent.

I had just pushed play on my new favorite show "Scandal" when my phone rang. It was John calling to say that he got settled and was just starting a fire.  He also wanted to see how I was doing and our conversation went well.  Towards the end of the conversation, though, I had begun to feel ------ "iffy" is the word that comes to mind.
I told John that I wasn't feeling the greatest and I wanted to hang up and check my blood sugar level.
We said our "I love you's" and our "goodbyes" and hung up.
When I checked it, it was a frightening and dangerous low  31.
Realizing the situation was serious, I texted John my news.
And that was it.
I passed out.
The rest of the night's events are from what little recollection I have (because I was in and out of consciousness) and from what John was able to surmise what was happening from over the phone...

While I was passed out - John had texted me about six times inside of an hour.  I didn't know it at the time, because I was passed out on the couch.  After he had sent these texts, he then had started to call.  Over and over again.
I am so happy he did.  One of those phone calls shook me out of my unconscious state.  I had missed his last one, so I immediately pushed the one button on my phone that leads to my number one I.C.E. (in case of emergency) contact, who happens to be John.
He answered, and I had started to scream at him.  (Apparently, screaming is something I do when my blood sugar is very low.  And I'm told that this sort of thing happens to alot of type 1's who are having an extremely low blood sugar attack)  While I was yelling and screaming at John, I became only semi aware that something was wrong.  But, in my confused and disoriented state, I was still unsure as to what to do about it. I could hear John yelling my name and telling me to "EAT!  EAT!  YOU HAVE TO EAT SYLVIA!"
I again yelled at him and asked him where he was.
He quickly told me he was camping.  He then instructed me to go to the refrigerator and get the jar of jelly out.
"You need to eat jelly.  Get a spoon, and eat some jelly!"
I don't remember most of that (to me) very confusing conversation.  He later told me everything he was saying to me.
He also said that I argued about the amount of sugar in jelly and that I didn't want my blood sugar to go high....
SIGH...
I was so confused and had no idea as to what I should have been doing.

*The first thing I need to do if my blood sugar is too low is to do exactly that.  Eat lots of sugar - in any form, but some things raise it faster than others.*   But, like I said, I was suffering from a very low blood sugar attack.  So, my mind was not making any sense at the time.  And I had no idea as to what to do.

Something in the back of my mind told me to get the spoon and to start eating lots of jelly.
So, with the phone lying next to me on the couch, and with a spoon in my hand, that is precisely what I did. I started to eat lots of jelly.
During my feast of eating  jelly, I had passed out for a second time.  I know I did,  because when I reawakened, the phone was no longer connected with John and there was jelly all over the place.  There were things all over my living room floor as well.  All of the remote controllers had been knocked over and I had at one point tried to give myself glucose tablets, because there were several of those on the floor.  I even, in my confused and altered state,  had taken the glucagon emergency kit out and had opened it up.
Although I don't remember doing some of these things, the only one in the house at that time was me.
So, I must have done all of this stuff without even realizing it.

So, after awhile, I did eventually wake up.  I was covered in sweat, from head to toe.  My head was pounding so hard and it hurt so unbelievably bad.  John was again calling me.  I answered and was very confused.
He told me that I needed to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I asked him why.  He explained that I had suffered from a diabetic coma.  That my blood sugar was really low.  I don't  know if I didn't believe him or if I was just being sure, so I told him I was going to check my blood sugar.  It was at that time up to a 42.  Still very low, but I was at least "with it" enough to know that what John was saying was right.
So, I went to check my past numbers from that night, and sure enough, there was a 31 and even a 28 in there!
I still have no idea as to when I had taken the 28 reading.
But, finally, there I was.  Semi alert and only semi with it.  But, enough to know that I should eat, and eat very quickly.
So, while John was still on the phone with me, that's exactly what I did.  I ate a PB&J and drank some massive amounts of sweet tea.
All the while, John kept talking to me, to make sure I was ok and to make sure I was eating.
After the binge eating was through, he asked me who my blood sugar had gotten so low.  I told him that I had no idea.  I mean, I hadn't eaten dinner yet, because I had eaten a late lunch.  But, even skipping a meal does NOT make me crash to that extent.  Never, in the 15 years of having type 1 diabetes have I ever gone that low from not having dinner.  And besides, I had eaten a late lunch and had planned on eating dinner, just not at 7.  I had planned on eating about 8 or so.
Anyway, John and I had stayed on the phone with one another for about an hour after that.  I had slowly became aware - fully aware - of what had happened that night.  And John had started to tell me some stories from his short trip thus far.
After that, I told John that I wanted to straighten up the mess in the living room.   I had thanked him for trying so hard to help me, even from far away.  And he told me he loved me and that he would be calling me every hour on the hour to make sure I was still alive.
He did call the next hour, but after that he had stopped calling.  And out of curiosity, I decided to check my blood sugar for the umpteenth time again.
My sugars were doing the opposite as to what they should have been doing.  They were going down (again) instead of going up.
I immediately dialed John's number and he told me again to eat what I could.
That was the last I had heard from him.

I took care of my sugars with glucose tablets and some more food.  By that time, it was very late.  About 1 or so in the morning.
I ended up in bed, exhausted from the night's happenings.
I awoke to John standing next to me at our bed.
I thought I was dreaming!  John was supposed to be on the river, camping!
But, there he was, jelly in one hand and the glucagon kit in the other.
"Sylvia!"  He was yelling for me to get up.
I looked at him and asked him what the heck he was doing home....
He helped me out of bed, and out to the living room.  I checked my blood sugar and it was at 67.  He sighed a sigh of relief and handed me some more glucose tablets.
He then said that he was so worried about me and my situation that he had paddled down stream, in the dark, five miles, got in his van, and raced home.  He told me that he wasn't sleeping anyway, due to his worry for me and that he didn't feel comfortable leaving me alone all weekend.

I know that man loves me.

I knew it before he had paddled down stream - in the bloody dark, mind you - to come home and make sure I was ok.
But, I know that man loves me...
We had stayed up that entire night.  Talking about the weird things that happened to him and his friend on the river.  And we, of course, talked about my low blood sugar attack, times two.  Neither of us got much sleep that night - or morning, I guess you could call it... .
The next day, I had looked at my pump and realized that it had reset itself.  It had shut off and reset itself with completely different settings.  I was so astonished!  That is why my blood sugar had crashed.  That is why I had no idea as to what happened.  Scary, yes.  Unfixable, no.

My endocrinologist had told me (after I called them to alert them of what had happened)  that I needed to order a new pump.  Which I did.

So, now that John was home with me, and all was well withing the world of type 1 diabetes again, we set ourselves up to watch TV, movies, and Netflix the rest of the weekend.

Or so I thought.

It turns out that my body had other plans.
I had started to fight a pretty bad viral infection (although I didn't know I was fighting a viral infection till later)  early Saturday morning.  Like, 4 am Saturday morning.  I had started to throw up and my stomach didn't stop at that either.  I had also been going #2 alot, and not in the way that you're supposed to go number 2... Like, I think you get the picture... vomiting and diarrhea.  BIG TIME.
All day Saturday and all day Sunday, about once an hour (and at times more than that) I was visiting the bathroom to do both puking and sitting on the toilet.  I was in so much pain and I became so drained of any and all energy, and this all happened so quickly....
By Monday morning, I had started to feel just a tad better.  Just a tad.  But, well enough to go to my pain management doctor's appointment.  I had run out of my pain meds on Monday morning and I needed to get those meds.  The medicine I take for my small fiber neuropathy pain cannot be called in.  The prescriptions need to be picked up.
I got to my appointment and realized that my "stomach" issues were starting to show it's ugly head again while in the office.
I was called into a room, where they took my blood pressure.  It was extremely high.  When I say my blood pressure was high, believe me, it was high!  They had told me it was 200 over 102.  That's like stroke or heart attack victim high!  I couldn't believe it!
And apparently, neither could they.
They told me that I needed to go immediately to the hospital.
I looked at them for a few seconds, dumbfounded.
How could my blood pressure be that high?
I had been taking high blood pressure medication for years!  Two different types of blood pressure medication to be exact... and I take these two pills every single day.

So, I took my script from them for my pain meds and sat in my car for a minute or two after I left my doctor's office - all the way up in Allentown, about an hour away from home.
I called John.
I told him what was going on.
He told me that if I felt I should go in to the ER, that I should go in to the ER.
So, I did.
I asked him if I should just go to Lehigh Valley Hospital (which was right across the street) or if I should chance it and head to my local hospital, who has all of my information and knows me really well...
John said to go where I felt more comfortable.
I headed to my own local hospital.  After all, I had just gone to the ER about two weeks prior to that with pneumonia.
After registering at the front desk and getting a hospital bracelet, I was taken to triage right away.
They quickly determined that yes, my blood pressure was dangerously high.  And yes, my blood sugars were also very dangerously high.  And that yes, vomiting and diarrhea for the last few days was serious enough to have me be admitted to spend a few days in the hospital.
Ugh...
The last place I wanted to be was back in the hospital again.
The best place I should have been was back in the hospital again.
So, I was admitted to the hospital.
After loads of tests and examinations, I was told by day 2 that I was fighting a severe viral infection and that I had gone sepsis for the second time in two weeks.  All of the doctor's that I saw during my stay surmised that I had picked up something from my last hospital stay when I was in with pneumonia.
They had put me into isolation while they were running all of these tests.  And for the most part, all I did there (besides vomit and have diarrhea) was sleep.  I slept almost the entire time I stayed there...
I had run some pretty high fevers and my blood sugars were so out of whack and my stomach ailments were all enough to leave me feeling as though I was hit by 5 or 6 tractor trailers....

I had again responded well to the drugs given me in the hospital.  I was severely dehydrated, but as soon as they started to pump fluids into me, I had started to see a light at the end of the tunnel.  I had started to eat more than liquid and by day 3, I had felt as if I was a new woman.
So, another hospital stay under my belt... And all of it started with extremely low blood sugar on Friday night...
Sigh...
I am hoping that my days of being inside of a hospital room are long over.  And I hope that my pain meds can be changed at my next appointment which is coming up in a week or so...

So, I guess that's it...
For now...
My life has been - well  - exciting lately, to say the least.
I am happy to be home and recovering here.  And I'm happy to be able to see John and Olivia every day.  I am blessed to have such good insurance, that I will never see a bill for either stay.  And I am happy that the nurses and docs at my local hospital are so good to me...

Thanks for reading and take good care!!!