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.. Welcome to the latest iteration of ..
Dick John's place ..
It's February, 2012, and Ramona and I have begun our second decade as North Texans .. We lived down in Houston for 35 years; watching it grow from a big Texas town to cosmopolitan, world-class city. We loved the place, traffic and all; it had long since become our home and we had no thought of leaving.
January 2, 2002, Welcome to the Metroplex!
Then 9-11 happened and our thinking changed overnight. Just three months after that God awful day, we moved north, from Houston to Crowley, on the south edge of Fort Worth, where we'd be closer to three of the kids who've lived in North Texas for years.
Rose Street in little Crowley was a happy choice. It was only 30 minutes, instead of six hours and 30 minutes, away from the kids. It was a sea change as well from Houston's size and pace, but certainly, it came with a price; today, a decade later, we still miss those dear friends we shared so much with, for so many, many years... .. Life on Rose Street in Crowley, Texas was a busy and happy time that passed all too quickly. It was also a period of constant pain and increasing immobility for Ramona. Suddenly, somehow, it was January, 2007, time to really retire and finally, really let someone else do the heavy lifting. We found just such a place an hour or so up the road, with small, duplex cottages that somebody else maintained, with a nursing and rehab facility right on the grounds. .. Today, now ten years since we left Houston, you might ask, "How have things turned out in North Texas?"
Well ... I'm showing serious signs of wear and tear, what Texans call ".. rode hard and put up wet," while my partner, now bedridden, remains serene, smooth of skin and as pretty as ever! These days, the lady's keepin' them hopping on "A" Hall while I do my best just to keep up and stay out of the way.. .
"A" Hall," you say, "What's that?" Ramona's health problems worsened even as we moved into our cottage. She reached the point she could no longer sit up in bed unassisted, and, when I could no longer provide the kind of help she needed, she entered the nursing facility. That was more than two years ago.. She was soon transferred to hospital where she spent months in and out of a coma, finally undergoing a procedure to remove pressure on her brain. No more comas, but, once back in the nursing home, she had by now lost the use of her left arm and still couldn't as much as change her position in bed without assistance. Today, she still can't. Pain management remains the major issue. These are difficult times, but Ramona's handling them with her usual style and grace and I'm very proud of her. As I always have been.
I turned 81 in 2010 and had some dicey moments of my own. It began when a surgeon discovered that my intestines were all "twisted up" while searching for the cause of sudden and mind boggling pain. He had dutifully un-twisted, re-arranged and closed. But I didn't come around properly and three days later he went back to have another look. This time he discovered an eight inch tear in my gut, apparently caused during surgery number one, and a tenacious staph infection, as well. This time, they kept me in hospital, in isolation, for almost two months. The kids say the second time around I nearly died and, for awhile, frankly, at times I almost wished that I had. (Mind you, almost ...)
I still live in the cottage we both lived in before Ramona moved to the nursing facility. It's the one (in the center) where sometimes you'll find a little red car, little red trailer and little red scooter in the carport.
From the rear, it's the place with the tallest tree and small dog run .. There are two apartments in each cottage. Nestled in the trees; quiet and a bit scruffy, (these days, scruffy suits me just fine,) and only 3 or 4 minutes on my scooter to Ramona's room in the nursing facility. It's perfect for our present needs. The place was built back in the 1940s for retired Baptist ministers. They're long gone.
Gone, too, are our beloved Greta and Jake.
Greta, who was showing her years at the end, died in the late Fall of 2010. One day, she simply lay down and couldn't get up. I couldn't lift her. The vet said her legs and hips, weakened by dysplasia over the last couple of years, along with the pain, would only get worse. This sweet girl deserved better, and we let her go.
In the early Fall of 2011, we lost Jake.
Jake was ill for several weeks. Several veterinarians tested him repeatedly but fluid in his chest blocked x-ray pictures that might have determined what was wrong. Those fluids, which returned almost immediately each time we drained them, also made it very difficult for him to breathe while he was lying down. There came a morning when I awoke to find him leaning against the wall, no longer able to breathe at all while lying on the floor. A couple of hours later found us waiting at the clinic for our vet to arrive for work. And, while Jake munched on a handful of bacon and I rubbed behind his ears with the other and despaired, Doc Warren gently sent him on his way, too .. For more than half a century, the canine members of our family have enriched our lives beyond measure. If you've been thus blessed, you understand our grief at their death. As Will Rogers said, "I don't know if dogs go to Heaven, but if they don't, I want to go where they do go."
Meanwhile,
I'm still not up to speed, almost two years after that
surgery mentioned earlier. I'm better, but still
dependent on the "scooter." I
Factor in moderate emphysema of long-standing and I'd be out of business were it not for a scooter and trailer. They mean I can not only visit Ramona, but the grocery, Wal-Mart; whatever the day serves up. Until they died, the scooter also meant Jake, Greta and I could do Fort Woof, the local dog park, several times a week.
Jake, especially, loved riding in the car and being "scootered" on an extra-long leash on those days he wasn't running free as the wind at the dog park. He and I were really tight at the end, ever since his lifelong pal Greta died after "Mom" disappeared into the nursing home just down the street.
We do our best to remember that life is for the living. Jake and Greta would expect, in the natural order of things, that another of their kind would pick up where they left off. They would be right. Her name is Amy, a little lady orphan already working fulltime to keep this old man occupied and on the straight-and-narrow.
Amy's another rescue, like Jake. From the pound in Fort Worth. Nancy and 'Retta spotted her one day and next thing I knew, she and I were getting acquainted. She was so ready for family of her own and now she has one.
Amy soon discovered the source of the bacon I've been bringing home after visits with Ramona in the nursing home. She's a quick study, as most rescue creatures are. The cottage has been a lonely place since Ramona, then Greta and Jake, left. Amy and I have been quick to agree on one thing; it's sure good to have somebody to hang with, and share the covers with, on cold winter nights in North Texas ..
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The kids, Ric, Fran, Judy, Nancy and 'Retta, Julie and Dave had a birthday party for Ramona again this year. Mike and Julie, who live in Michigan, couldn't make it this year, either. We sure miss them.
One thing sure hasn't changed; time still flies, faster than ever each year ... Ramona continues to receive care from some very dedicated, capable people, some of whom have become friends as well. As in any long-term care facility, there's the occasional exception, but our management has little patience with such exceptions and we are most grateful. I'll be updating these pages as the next year shows itself, and we hope you'll drop by once in awhile. We'd sure like to hear from you. Dick: dick at dickjohn dot com Ramona: ramonajohn at juno dot com
Page Two, We Can Do Better Than This Page Three, Reasoned Discourse is Not Dead
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weighed 160 at the
start of 2010, dropped to 113 while hospitalized
and still can't regain my strength or initial weight.
I'm stuck at 120-125. Almost scary skinny. I've had numerous
surgeries during my lifetime and was always back to 100%
within a few months. But, as the man says, ".. this
time, it ain't gonna happen. You're 82 years old .."
