DON'T FEEL SORRY FOR ME

OK. Here goes nothing. This may take more than one post.Probably will or this will look like war and peace. And it's going to stir up some demons.

Last year was a bitch. I ended up in the hospital and rehab. Twice. First time for breathing and other problems and they discovered some clots in my lungs and I was put on warfarin. That MAY have been the beginning of the rest of the story. Home for a few weeks. Mild problem with fleas because frankly once your cats know what's coming....developed a weird set of I'm not sure what they were frankly. Some sort of blisters on the feet and ankles. Back in good ol' MKW and then rehab for dressing changes. And some really good meds.

Finally home again. And I won't go into those details in public. Developed a fast moving case of cellulitis and back in I went again for IV antibiotics. Home again. Home again. But I wasn't dancing a jig. And if you want my opinion of the wound care outfit working at MKW message me privately on FB.

Got hooked up with a good primary care guy. And I'm guessing that nobody saw what was coming because they'd never seen it before. Leave it to me to be "original." And the cycle began. I'd get over one bout of cellulitis and start all over in a few weeks. My breathing never really came back. I went to the doctor. Took my meds. Clotting levels never really settled down.

At that point mom was ninety and starting to really slow down. We kept doing our thing. Somehow. Roberta came over when she could. Got through Christmas and New Years.