My foot still hurts.  My systolic (top number) blood pressure is still high, though lower than it was a week ago, but the diastolic is normal to low.  I have several deadlines to meet, so I am once again up in the middle of the night to get the paperwork done.  But since it's all numbers -- annual territory review, monthly expense report, next year's forecast -- I figured it was time to take a break and use some words.  I am much more comfortable with words than with numbers.

Here is my schedule for the next few weeks:

Monday 8/4, fly to Portland for a "rehearsal" for the annual sales meeting.  Return to Houston on 8/7.

On Saturday 8/9, fly to Alaska for vacation.  Return 8/17

Sunday 8/24, fly to Baltimore for annual sales meeting.  Return on 8/28

Tuesday, 9/2, drive to New Orleans.  Return 9/5.

Monday 9/8 through Thursday, work annual trade show that goes all day and into the night.So that's part of what's waking me up in the middle of the night.  Too many things to keep straight in my head!  I'm also trying to figure out just what I want to see in Alaska.  Oh, and I think a cousin from New England is coming this weekend.  And my roots are gray.

I mentioned that we swapped our old laptops for new ones.  I even bought a mouse with -- TA DA -- horizontal scroll.  But I have this ancient Palm Pilot with over 2000 names, customer information, directions to plants, everything I need to know.  I call it my brain.  I had a series of difficulties trying to update my old Palm: I couldn't make a CD so I loaded the information on flash drive; the flash drive wouldn't work at all on one of the Professor's computers and the other one said I would have to buy some sofware before it would read it; when I got the new laptop it had no connection for the updating cradle; after several adaptors and software downloads I gave up and bought a new Palm.  Which took all the information from the flash drive.

Now here's what has my panties in a wad: they refuse to reimburse me for the new Palm.  It's not an "approved" gadget.  I don't know exactly how they expect salesmen to keep up with their contacts, except through Outlook -- and that helps you when you're out of the office HOW???  I guess I'm being bratty, but I don't care -- I will not load all these contact names into Outlook where everyone would have access to them.  They refuse to pay for something I use strictly for their business, I refuse to give them access to my data.  I know I can't win against a big corporation, but I can at least keep them from winning everything.  It makes me feel a little better, even if it's not especially rational.

It will be two weeks tomorrow that my right foot started hurting. I didn't bump it, nothing bit me, it just started hurting. Three days later it swelled up and turned red and hot. So last Friday, after ten days of limping and a week of swelling, I broke down and did the thing I most hate to do: I went to the doctor.



My difficulties with doctors started when I was 3 and was bitten on the nose by a dog. Everyone panicked, and I ended up getting rabies shots, back when they were really painful, given in the stomach and the back with needles long enough to fence with. I decided at that time that I did not like doctors (dogs, however, were still fine; I knew which one of those two had actually hurt me.) But over the years, except for OB-GYN and pediatricians, I have found doctors to be basically useless, uninterested in their patients, and totally unable to listen. I have found that I can take care of almost everything I need with a chiropractor, a dermatologist, a dentist and an eye doctor.



Unfortunately, the chiropractor could not fix the swollen foot. I had already checked the internet and discovered that two swollen feet could mean congestive heart failure, and one swollen leg could mean deep vein thrombosis (or was it phlebitis?), but one swollen foot could only come from some kind of injury. But I didn't have an injury. And I was getting worried.



Well, I still don't know why my foot is swollen. However, my blood pressure was so high that I did something I swore I would never do: I accepted medication for it. It has been high for several years and creeping up. But remember I said I hate going to the doctor. There is a term, "white coat anxiety", for people like me whose blood pressure shoots up in the doctor's office. In my case, it isn't anxiety so much as anger. When I go to the chiropractor, the eye doctor or even the dermatologist, they are friendly and treat me like a person. When I go to an M.D.'s office, I suddenly become a cross between a small, not bright child and a number. By the time they put the blood pressure cuff on me, after making me wait a long time, then asking a series of repetitive questions ("Can't you just read what I wrote on that piece of paper in your hand?"), I am so angry it's a wonder the machine doesn't explode. Then, seeing how high my blood pressure is, the doctor only wants to talk about putting me on drugs. This makes me even madder, since there is never a discussion of my lifestyle, of changes I might make, even of monitoring my b.p. at home to get the real picture. So instead of the pressure going down after a few minutes, it keeps going up as long as I am in the doctor's office.



But this time it was so high it scared even me. I am not afraid of a nice swift heart attack that would kill me, but I am deathly afraid of a stroke that would rob me of speech or movement. So I accepted the prescription. So far, it's brought my blood pressure back down to where it's been for the last few years -- high but not scary. I suspect that happened as soon as I got out of the doctor's office.

Two days later now ... I was interrupted by the arrival of my new computer. Some of the issues I had with it certainly challenged my new blood pressure machine! But overall the pressure is coming down and I see a difference in the amount of puffiness in my face and arms. Unfortunately, my foot is still swollen and painful, but maybe the de-swelling is working its way down my body? I'll let you know if it "de-swells" my stomach, butt and thighs. Now that would make it all worthwhile.

If you are a masked booby, you have to support your mate in many ways.

This picture brings back wonderful memories of watching the entire courtship, which lasted about 10 minutes -- longer than some celebrity courtships. When the male jumped off, he threw back his head and whistled something that sounded like "Woo-hoooo!" If he had had a fist, he would have been pumping it. Then she got very busy gathering sticks and stones and arranging them into a nest and he --- well, he went to sleep. Personally, I did not support his behavior.

I am very moved by the death of Ally's father. In the years that I have been reading her blog, I have grown so fond of Pa, as she always called him -- a gentle, dependable soul, just anti-establishment enough, and with a wry sense of humor. I will always cherish the memory of one occasion when Pa did not want to meet with some relatives of Ally's husband because he had already met them once; why would he want to meet them again? I believe that will make me smile for the rest of my life.

I have learned through my own experience that death is not the final slamming of an impenetrable door. My own father died 25 years ago, and he has spoken to me twice since then. I need to give a little background for the first one -- the Professor was a good friend of my brother's when we were kids, and he spent a lot of time at our house. My father was very fond of him and took him hunting a few times. Of course, the Professor and I went our separate ways (after being each other's first boyfriend/girlfriend) and got back together something like 27 years later. At that time, because I was being seriously harrassed by an ex-husband (and there were no anti-stalking laws) I slept with a 12-gauge shotgun under my bed. The Professor saw it there and got such a nostalgic look on his face, as he had used that very gun. After he had gone back to Houston (I lived in Dallas at the time), my father pretty much chewed me out: "Why didn't you give him the gun, Gooney Head? [his name for me when I had displeased him]. I want him to have it." The words were in my head when I woke up; it was very much as though I had just received a phone call, or listened to a message on an answering machine. They were just there, in his voice.

The next time my father spoke to me, I was driving back from Houston and the bottom of the sky dropped out. The rain was blinding; I literally could not see the road. To my amazement, I shrieked "Daddy!" and immediately I heard him say "I'm right here, Princess. I won't let anything happen to you." And I knew I was okay.

I also heard from a deceased good friend, again with the words in my mind when I woke up, as though she had called me. Her son was drinking way too much and she said "Please go talk to him. I can't make him hear me. You have to make him stop drinking." I think maybe he was hearing her more than she knew, because when I told him that this would sound crazy but his mother sent me, he merely nodded. Unfortunately, even double teaming him, we only slowed him a little, but we couldn't make him stop completely.

I may sound as though I've gone off the deep end and am making stuff up, but all I can tell you is that, if so, my imagination sure works a lot faster than my brain does. What I honestly believe is that those who have loved us are still watching over us -- not hovering, not intruding, just nearby. They are ready to protect us if we need it, but they also (and more often, in my case) remind us that we can be kinder, braver, more generous, and just generally a better person.

If I could sit and have a cup of tea with Ally and give her a real, as opposed to a cyber hug, I would tell her all this. I can't explain it, but I have always felt such a connection to Pa, and I just know in my soul that he is going to continue to watch over his family.