Backyard Chickens

When I lived in the country I had chickens. Giving the chickens fresh water, collecting eggs, topping up the feeders. Just great. It NEVER, ever seemed like work.  Didn't matter what the weather was like, going out to the chicken coop was always a pleasure. Well, except for the night a raccoon came by and killed and partially ate 5 chickens. (If they want a chicken, while I won't be happy about it, just take one and go.)

Other than that I loved having chickens. They know you're a source of food and they also always knew when I had found a bug or had something that was going to be thrown out that they could have. They'd be waiting at the fence for you to throw today's treat in the run. They were especially good at cleaning off bones. The end of the day you just had to go and pick up the bare bones.

But there were two excellent reasons to have chickens. One, they are very soothing to watch and listen to. Better than fish in an aquarium. (The eggs are bigger.)

And two, for me there was nothing so relaxing as looking after chickens. I would come home from work and do my chores. I always put a date in pencil, on the top end of the egg so I knew when they were collected. Customers really enjoyed that.

* * * * *

I think with Mental Health Awareness so much in the forefront now, that having chickens can be a solution for some people. I don't know how many of you remember the 'old days' when most dentist's offices, and some doctor's offices, had an aquarium in the waiting room. We used to sit and watch the fish just go back and forth and it sort of kept your mind off the real reason you were there.

One of the complaints is that chickens are noisy. A rooster crowing first thing in the morning, and some times even in the middle of the night, is just not everyone's cup of tea. BUT, they have now developed sex-link chicks. That means that the male and female chicks are a different colour when hatched.  

"Avoid ordering Barred Plymouth Rock, Rhode Island Red, and Colombian Rock X, which are more difficult to sex as chicks. In sex-link birds the sexes have distinctive colour or marking patterns, which will greatly reduce the chance you’ll get unwanted males." this is a rough quote from Frey's Hatchery in St. Jacob's, Ontario.

There is one type that you can get where the males are yellow, and have grey markings down their back like a chipmunk. The females, however, are the same colour as chipmunks!

And you haven't seen cute until you've seen a day old chick.

2014 continued

So, I am sent home, again,  and the next evening I find myself once again in emergency because my antibiotic is running out and no one has phoned yet about changing the bag.

Nothing is set up so we end up running back to emergency where they run through another dose of medication. Back home we go and that afternoon I finally receive a call about a nurse coming by to check on the wound, change the IV, etc.

Thus started my 77 days, or 11.75 weeks, or 1,872 hours, which accounted for 154 bag changes of antibiotic. Of those, the first 21 days I had someone here two times a day. I asked them to show me how to do it myself and that meant I only needed someone once a day. Then it got to every third day as the PIC line needed to be removed, the area cleaned and a new line put in. Now this just means that the PIC line itself is still in my arm, but that the parts outside my body must be changed every three days. After all, we don't want an infection there too. :-)

The part that really defeated me each week was when the  drugs were delivered. I'd look at it thinking maybe there would only be a little while longer. Like maybe this was the last week. Then I'd see the date and it would be for 9, or 8, or 7 more weeks before they thought I could stop.

In the mean time my leg took an awful, awful long time to get better. It was quite the battle we had going on there. At one point shortly after I was home again it was so swollen that my leg was actually oozing fluid. The skin was so tight it was literally squeezing it out. I told the nurse about that and he made note and called later to see how it was. Luckily that must have been where we turned the corner, because ever so gradually after that we crept forward.

Each time I went to see him, my doctor was still worried. He kept thinking he was going to have to go back in but not wanting to just yet. I finally told him to stop with the worrying because we were turning the corner. He said "you could still lose the leg." And I said "I will worry about that if the time comes." I was trying to be positive and he was try to keep me prepared. I was already thinking what would I do if I lost my leg. And then decided I would not think that way. I would keep on eating healthy and taking the antibiotics.

Mind you eating anything was a chore, let alone trying to be healthy about it. I couldn't stomach much because I felt so lousy. The good news about all this was that I lost 41 pounds from February to July.

Actually had to go buy new clothes. And as much as I don't like doing that it is even harder to do when you feel like crap.

Time to publish. Next chapter soon.

So my story takes another interesting (?) turn

THIS BLOG IS SUPPOSED TO BE BEFORE THE ONE TITLED "WOW, WAS 2014 BUSY"

for some reason I can't seem to get it there.

On February 25th of last year, (2013) I finally had my right knee replaced. It was painful and hard work, but so much worth it. I could walk normally again; I could function at work better, etc.

After about 4 months the left knee finally said 'enough' and I asked about getting it done. I asked to be on the list and toward the end of November 2013 I was offered a date of mid January 2014. Great except it was a little too early for me. Ideally, I thought if I could get it done on the anniversary of the right one it would be easier to remember for future reference.

I was able to get a spot in February one week ahead of last year's surgery. So now starts the getting ready part. I start doing the physio that will be required afterwards. That way I feel the muscles have some kind of memory of what they will be doing. It worked last time and for my hip 7 years previously.

Our 28th wedding anniversary, Christmas and New Years came and went. No sooner are we into January when this package comes with all the information of places I have to go and doctors I have to see. Yay!!

One hospital to get medical tests done. Another for x-rays and meet the anesthetist. Then one to see the surgeon and one last talk about surgery then its just a week to surgery.

I have to admit I was not concerned about it. In fact I was looking forward to being able to stand and to walk:

• distances ! ! ! 
• up stairs ! ! ! 
• safely ! ! !
• confidently ! ! !

Wow, was 2014 busy ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I had my left knee replaced on February 18, 2014. Surgery went well, except that I noticed my leg looked like it was getting red. I mentioned it and was checked and sent home with some antibiotics. That was on Friday February 21st.

I was to have the bandage changed on Tuesday, the 25th, so I went to the clinic over near the hospital and she didn't like the look of my leg. She suggested I go to the hospital and have it checked out. I did.

I live downtown and had to go up 'the mountain' (we live in the Niagara Escarpment so we are in the 'lower' city and the 'mountain' is what we call the top of the hill) to the hospital where the surgery was performed. I caught the first bus and had to transfer downtown. The bus driver started moving the bus as I got up and I fell. Not all the way but far enough to scare me. I had pulled the bell and she claims she never heard it and then told me I have to pull it before the stop I want. She proceeded to yell at me some, and I back at her. She wouldn't let me off at the stop because she was 'past' it. She did, however, let me off around the corner. I only had to walk about 50 feet instead of the 5' I should have. PLUS I was already not doing well at all.

When I got back to the bus stop I felt like hell and must have looked it because a lady asked how I was. I told her briefly that I had to get to the hospital and she offered to pay for a cab for me.

Sally Braveheart says "oh, no. Its okay. I'll be at the hospital soon." (wish I had thought to get her name to thank her again). I needed that bit of kindness after the stupid bus driver.

I get to the hospital and go to the emergency department where I am looked at pretty quickly. I had a bit of a fever and the intern (or resident) had a look and wanted me to come back tomorrow when my surgeon was doing clinic.

The following day (Wednesday, the 26th) I went to the clinic and turned myself in. They put me in a room and had my surgeon look at me right away. Well, to say he was pissed is candy coating it. When he found out that I had come to the hospital the day before and NOT been admitted he was livid. I don't mean he foamed at the mouth or anything but he was angry. He called in the one that looked at me the day before and told him a few things that it was suggested he remember.

They then put me in a different room where more serious things happen and said he wanted me admitted again. I had to wait for a bed but they started IV antibiotics right away.  They also took several blood tests to see what was happening. (Your blood can't keep a secret.) My doctor came in several times to check on me and one of those times was when I found out how very bad this was.

I was told they may have to remove the knee, pack it with antibiotics, let that settle down, and then replace the knee again and pray it all went well. Or, I could lose my leg.

WHAT!!!!!

What do you mean lose my leg??? Turns out the infection can get into the bone in which case there aren't many choices.

I was taken to a room on the orthopedic wing and this time my room was a semi-private room and don't I get the guy voted 'most cranky, self centred bastard' in the world. You know he's lucky I let him live. He complained about everything. You would have thought he was friggin' royalty. In fact that will be a whole different blog.

I was in the hospital from the Wednesday until Saturday afternoon. On the Friday I had had a PIC line inserted which goes through a vein in your upper arm and right into your heart so the antibiotics are spread faster.

The problem with that is I am now high maintenance. The bag of antibiotics has to be changed every 12 hours. PLUS, someone has to change the dressing and monitor my condition and change and clean the PIC line and all that stuff. So I was assigned a home care nurse.

I was not looking forward to depending on people.

* * * * *

And I am tired now so will write some more tomorrow.

This time it was over a month ! ! ! ! !

SO, what's been happening.

My INR (International Normalized Ratio) has been sort of stable. Hovering between 2.0 and 2.5.

They think I can go longer between blood tests now. That's fine with me. I don't mind needles but they have very limited hours in which they draw blood and sometimes I just can't get there in time. SO, okay, we'll try the 'every-three-week' thing
and see how it goes.

* * * * *

We have construction going on in front of our house. They are putting in new sewage and water pipes. Most of the soil around here is clay so consequently we get a LOT of dust. They have these big holes dug in the road. You never know from one day to the next which side of the road you'll be on.

This impressive looking machine is what they have go along the road above the concrete and it peels up the tar. Just ahead of where my car is, will be a dump truck. He stays just ahead and as the chewing machine works the old road way is peel, chewed and spit into the truck.

Wow, I am NOT what you'd call quick at this

On the way home from the hospital, we stopped at my parent's house to pick up my son and to let them see the new baby. I was so happy to see my son. He was happy at first and then started to cry that 'you left me alone and I didn't know where you were' cry.

Tore my heart out and I was so happy to see him. My parents were fussing with the new baby and I was fine with that. We got already, said our thank you's and headed home.

I was still trying to feel something.

We get home and I got her settled in and I take time with my son and then the new baby starts to cry. I pick her up and cuddle her and she just cries harder and I get a bottle ready and that quiets her for a little, but you can tell she is still not comfortable with me. I change her and put her down again and that is how it was for the next three months. I kept getting more tired, more angry, more confused, more fed up, more lonesome, more desperate, more alone.

Husband was working night shifts at the time, so he would come home, play with the kids, if they were awake, for a few minutes, go to bed for the day, wake up about 4, have dinner, play a little, watch TV, go to work and the whole cycle started again the next morning.

When she was 3 months old I felt I couldn't do this anymore. I seem to remember feeling so desperate, (about what I didn't know), helpless, alone, unloved, not needed. My parents didn't understand what was happening but they took her in for a few months. It helped take some stress off. I was sent to see a doctor because they thought there was 'something' going on. But no one seemed to know.

One doctor thought the answer was to put me on Valium which, if you have taken it, basically turns you into a zombie. Another one sent me to a psychologist who examined my daughter separately from me and decided that I didn't know how to relate to a child and that I "didn't know how to play".

Really????

^^$#*&@**(&(^@^$

Somewhere during this time I had a moment with doctor Valium where I felt like I could finally open up to him and he gets a phone call. He answers it and the next thing I know he is talking stocks with someone on the phone!!! I put up with it for a minute or two, then got up, told him this was supposed to be my time, and hung his phone up. I left and never heard from him again. No follow up, no nothing.

Most of this timeline is confused in my memory because I was living on and operating from some other planet.



Eventually there was one day when I was at home alone with the babies and I couldn't take the crying anymore. I found myself with my hands on other side of her in the crib, screaming my lungs out at her.

THAT was when I knew I would do something to her if I didn't get a break.

Wow, that took me some time to get back to this story didn't it.

To pick up where I left off, I was, to say the least, HURTING: mentally, physically, psychologically (although THAT would only be discovered over 25 years later).

I was having severe labour, again all in my back, but not dilating. I got to the point that I didn't care who checked whether I was or not, as long as they could help get this baby out.

After about 20 or so hours 'they' started to fuss around me a little more. I am then told, by I don't know who, that I am going to have to have a c-section as there is nothing happening and they want to protect the baby.

WTF! ! ! ! !

Nothing was discussed with me.
Nothing was explained to me.
Nobody said there might be a problem with the baby.
NOBODY asked me what I thought.

They started to wheel me there and suddenly things started to happen and they barely got me to the delivery room before she wanted OUT.


They whisked her away somewhere and I was left there with them doing what ever it is they do to you after you deliver a baby.

I did NOT get to see her.
I did NOT get to touch her.
I did NOT get to hold her.

They take me to my room, and my Mom is sitting with me when a doctor comes in and says: "She stopped breathing once, we don't know if there is any brain damage, we'll let you know" and he leaves. My Mom told me years later that she saw a mask fall over my face when he said that.

When they finally did bring her to me, I held her and felt nothing. I thought that it was just like what happened with my son. I thought a few hours will pass, I can cuddle her and nurse her and she will love me and I'll love her right back.

Except that she wouldn't nurse from me. So they supplemented her with a bottle. We kept trying to nurse, but she didn't seem to want to. Whether it was harder than a bottle I don't know, but I keep trying. I told the nurse about her not even wanting to drink from a bottle and the nurse took her in her arms and right away she would drink. The second day the pediatrician came in I asked him if he knows why she won't nurse. He says" you don't need to nurse. There are plenty of good formulas out there."

So they switch her to the bottle full time, and the 'not drinking while I'm holding her' gets worse. I am sad and confused. And also in a lot of pain, because now that the milk has come in, I am HURTING ! ! ! ! !

Its too late to have the shot to prevent it from happening, so I am stuck with compresses and ice. Yay. It comes time to go home and still I felt nothing.
I wanted to stay at the hospital.
I wanted to see my little boy.
I wanted to sleep.
I wanted to nurse.
I wanted to LOVE MY BABY!

* * * * * 

Can you sense the frustration coming?