After being told to “go home and die” and three days of 750 mg 2x daily Cipro antibiotics, my dad is at the casino. Phone dates the pictures in case they want to see them. We have a doctor friend who prescribed a strong enough dose and for fourteen days. He’s had three days or 2 1/2 plus one bag of IV antibiotics.
I couldn’t get our N-Palliative out to prescribe things last Monay and his air was dropping lower than usual, so I took him in, hoping I could force them to actually KEEP him on the IV. I couldn’t. One guy started them, and he got a dose which improved him some then they started their usual “Hospice go home and die” tap dance. Not to mention, this guy actually added “Lewey body dementia” to his diagnoses after seeing him ONE DAY and ill.
FYI, old people can act like they have dementia if they have infections, even a bladder infection, and my dad does. Guy wouldn’t listen to me. So I’ve been sending off letters for a few days now to all the powers that be. This is horrible care.
IMAGINE rationed national health care!
So I’m puttering around the house, doing some laundry and planning on some quesadillas for dinner, something easy. Mama Lupe’s low carb shells. Tomorrow I’m cooking quail, but they are so small, I’m doing a filet along with. You don’t see many recipes for turf and fowl but I think it will be ok, both with a mushroom wine sauce. All thawing out nicely now.
Have a nice weekend, folks, I’m gonna try and kick back here….
I love words so I write them. I’ve been doing that since I was old enough to read. I am a published literary writer and I was an adjunct English professor at Northern Michigan University for many years. I write and live and love off the grid on 35 acres and a trout stream in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with my son, Joshua, who has Down Syndrome, and with an English Shepherd dog named Maggie, and with my husband when he can make it here which isn’t often. This blog started out being about my work, and it will continue to be. ( I’m working on a novel about premonitions and dreams.) But this blog is also about living off the grid and about my experimentation with diet—most recently the Carnivore Diet. I started on the Ketogenic diet, but have moved into Carnivore. How long, I don’t know. But I’ve become interest in the effects of diet on not just my health, but on creativity. And I’m interested in the effects of the diet on my dreams.
Ah, dreams... The day before my son was born, my mother “dreamed” or was told my son would have Down Syndrome, something she told my brother ahead of time. I’ve never known what to make of that. So I’m interested in prophetic dreams, lucid dreaming, creativity and dreams, night terrors. Who isn't interested in that? I’m interested in Freud (more Jung) and Einstein’s theories of time and how their ideas inform my dreams. I’m interested in mining a deeper relationship with a dream world not confined to daytime experiences, and how the night might inform a more fully imagined daytime “reality.” And vice-versa. Which is the dream?? I’m exploring dreams of all sorts. Come explore with me…
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4 thoughts on “Carnivore Dreams – Back from the Dead”
Our medical system—once the world’s pride—has degenerated to not much better than that available in third world countries. Except more expensive.
It looks like your dad is getting the most out of his time remaining. You’re a saint, my dear. 🌻
I like that photo of your dad at the table. I still don’t get why he can’t get treatments that work for him. It wouldn’t matter if the treatment were extraordinary, but it’s not. It’s the kind of medication anyone should be able to have in fact as well as principle. People of all ages and kinds don’t act normally when infected. And hospice is not a service that should be cavalierly relegated. I don’t think hospice people care for that attitude.
Yeah, it’s incredible. It’s been a fight like this for three years. He can be goofy when he has an infection or if they give him pain meds, but otherwise, perfectly fine. Getting tired out, but he doesn’t have obvious dementia unless he has an infection. Which they won’t treat. Hospice claims they do Parkinson’s people, but they really are not a good service for that because they still will not do anything to prolong life. They will do antibiotics to keep people comfortable -some of them, I guess. But he can’t have the ventilator–maybe a bipap machine. His ventilator at night works like one. Dealing with these health people is half of what makes it so stressful. Thanks for thinking of me.
L.E.K. 
Our medical system—once the world’s pride—has degenerated to not much better than that available in third world countries. Except more expensive.
It looks like your dad is getting the most out of his time remaining. You’re a saint, my dear. 🌻
Far from it. I’m ornery and I do the best I can–which at times falls short. Ha. I hope things are good. Catch me up by email when you get time. XO
I like that photo of your dad at the table. I still don’t get why he can’t get treatments that work for him. It wouldn’t matter if the treatment were extraordinary, but it’s not. It’s the kind of medication anyone should be able to have in fact as well as principle. People of all ages and kinds don’t act normally when infected. And hospice is not a service that should be cavalierly relegated. I don’t think hospice people care for that attitude.
Yeah, it’s incredible. It’s been a fight like this for three years. He can be goofy when he has an infection or if they give him pain meds, but otherwise, perfectly fine. Getting tired out, but he doesn’t have obvious dementia unless he has an infection. Which they won’t treat. Hospice claims they do Parkinson’s people, but they really are not a good service for that because they still will not do anything to prolong life. They will do antibiotics to keep people comfortable -some of them, I guess. But he can’t have the ventilator–maybe a bipap machine. His ventilator at night works like one. Dealing with these health people is half of what makes it so stressful. Thanks for thinking of me.