Life in the Time of High Maintenance

Part One

Getting ready for bed, I take all my meds, gargle after the steroid inhaler I use for asthma control, brush my teeth with a very expensive high fluoride toothpaste to stave off my receding gums, pop in my bite guard to keep me from grinding my teeth down to tiny nubs, perform a bedtime check on my blood sugar levels and correct with the appropriate amount of insulin if need be, insert my earplugs to mute the sound of the BNSF railroad that screams down the tracks near my home, blowing its whistle excessively and loudly even though there are double guards and flashing lights at the intersection of Harmony and College Avenue.

My last task is to slather cream on my hands and feet to prevent obscene skin cracking, similar to the ice sheets calving in the Arctic. Once in bed, I position the CPAP nose buds over my nostrils (after making sure I’ve filled the water reservoir with distilled water), pull the head strap on to secure everything, and then settle down into the comfort of my bed and pillows. The cool air that is expelled from the mask makes it necessary to tuck my arms under the blanket. On the best of nights, I lie on my back and drift into sleep after about 15 minutes.

On other nights, I remember I did not take the dog out for her final release of bodily fluids and solids. I get out of bed, put on a coat and, at this time of year, snow boots, and coax her out to the snow covered lawn. She’s a Chihuahua and doesn’t like the cold, for obvious reasons. When the snow is high, she sinks in up to her chest and quickly jumps out to find something shallower. Often times she goes on the front patio or quite near the front door. I’ll hose it off when the snow melts. It’s 11:40 at night and I just want to get her inside and back into our shared bed so sleeping may commence. Am I freakin’ freezing. Time for the warmth of the bed.

An hour later I get up to use the loo. Then I check my blood sugar because I’m feeling a little woozy. I find it is low and so I pierce a box of juice, made for the kiddies, with the sharp plastic straw and suck down 22 grams of carbohydrate just as fast as I can. Then back to bed while the shakes and sweats from low blood sugar take about twenty minutes to leave me in peace.

Except the damn BNSF disrupts my sleep again. I remind myself to get an estimate on triple pane windows for the bedroom. Alternately, I fantasize about standing close to the tracks with an AK57. Finally, at some point I am not aware of, I am asleep.

Morning begins sweetly in a sleepy haze that knows neither time nor space. I am a teenager again, lolling in my bed dreaming of my three breakfasts of choice: protein fruit shake, an vegetable omelet, or Bircher’s blend cereal mix cooked up hot with oat milk and fresh blueberries or a banana (not forgetting the healthy dash of cinnamon). Before long, I know I must take the dog out again or risk a piddle or a pooh on the wall-to-wall carpet. Why she never goes on the vinyl floor, which is easy to clean, I’ll cannot for the life of me figure out. Once her majesty has had her toilette, I pull out the whole roasted chicken from the refrigerator and carve off a hunk for her. Pulling it apart into manageable pieces with my clumsy morning fingers, I set her bowl on the (vinyl) floor, wash the meat off my hands and return the chicken to the refrigerator, wondering all the while why in God’s name she can’t return to canned food. I’ve tried the tough love on the canned meat but she wins every time. At five and a half pounds, I worry about any weight loss and if she skips a day or two of eating because she can’t abide the canned stuff anymore, I panic and break down. This bitch is running the show and we both know it.

Then everything comes to a screeching halt: I realize I haven’t checked my morning blood sugars, which rise precipitously between six and eight in the morning. If I don’t get my numbers and correct accordingly with the life giving insulin, I’ll end up ridiculously high (and not in the good way) and it will take hours to approach something close to normal.

After breakfast comes the vitamins/minerals etcetera: Calcium, magnesium, Vitamin D (5,000 units), CoQ10, Iron and Baby Aspirin. All, apparently, play a vital role in maintaining my health, fragile though it may be. My doctors have recommended all: primary care, diabetes care, pulmonary care and cardiac care. I wish I received the perks for a Frequent Flyer program in the health care field. You know, a free cocktail while waiting in the reception area or a free visit for every ten. Why can’t this be a thing?



BNSF: Moving our economy for one hundred years, and pissing off sleeping people the whole damn time.