My guardian angels deliver messages in uncommon ways. At times, the message can be hard to decipher.
For example, last Friday, they sent me on a wild goose chase for boat parts all through Southern Alabama. Like Alice in Wonderland, me and my 20 year old one ton truck slid down a rabbit hole and ended up in Florida. All because I had a bright idea when I realized I was only 15 miles from the Florida line. Replacing the 2 prominent pear trees I had to take down in front of Adjanie and Cristian's would cost beaucoup bucks. Sure, you can buy a twig in a 5 gallon pot and wait 10 years for it to look like something...or you can surprise your Caribbean friends with 2 cold hardy palm trees, 18% of the cost of a landscaper's quote on planting cherry trees.
Oh yeah, I knew there was a reason I decide to drive Boss instead of Betty.
All my vehicles have been named since I was 16. You don't? What's wrong with you?
I had hopscotched down county roads in my pursuit of specialty hardware and used my heavy cargo as a reason to repeat on the way home.
These palms are hardy to 15'F, when established. Out of the ground, with a fraction of their roots... not so much. The 26'F low predicted Saturday night just might do them in, so I was determined to shelter them in an insulated building. Only place fitting that bill was the Gatehouse garage.
Slight problem: we didn't fit. I had missed my window of opportunity to get help moving the palms because I had been playing Ace Ventura Pet Detective for a couple of hours.
Spoiler alert: I found the farm guest's dogs.
I spent the next couple of hours using hoist and fulcrum principles to lift and pivot these very heavy trees around in the bed of my truck, in order to close the garage door.
My treasures were not freezing to death Saturday night.
I was quite smug until 3 AM Sunday morning. After reenacting The Exorcist vomit scene for a few hours and doubled over in the most exquisite abdominal pain, I self diagnosed acute appendicitis and proceeded to make tracks to Georgia. Yes, I can't call an ambulance from home because I now have health insurance from my university... in Georgia. And no, I couldn't ask anyone who'd been more than willing to drive me, because I don't damn well know how. I do know how to put the flashers on and drive straight through red lights though.
I found a hospital in my network (you Canadians have no idea what I'm talking about, but that's OK) with less than 30 minute wait time in ER (same Canadians can't grasp concept of less than 8 hour wait time either, ha, ha). Clinical signs were all there for ruptured appendix, I was fast tracked for CT Scan. While awaiting results, the most excruciating pain I've ever been in had my blood pressure through the roof. That's when they started giving me the good stuff: morphine. The first dose didn't even phase me. Then they doubled it and gave it a wee bit fast. It felt like my heart had been dropped in hot grease. Holy Mackerel!
Then the good news/ bad news came. It's not a ruptured appendix that will require a nice long stay in ICU. It's a twisted ovary. Yes, the only vestige of my reproductive apparatus left inside of me decided to flop over on itself and cut it's own blood circulation off.
Now, I know how Jack felt when a lipoma on his intestine flopped around and caused intestinal torsion. His pain was so intense that we struggled to get him to stand long enough to trailer him to the vet school. He didn't survive.
Ovarian torsion is uncommon, what were you doing yesterday to cause this, they asked. Olympic power lifting with palm trees, they requested photographic evidence. The look of "you idiot" was all over their faces.
The plan should have been to transfer me to the larger sister hospital that had the Ob/Gyn surgeon to perform emergency oophorectomy (I prefer to pronounce it uh-oh-phorectomy, suits the situation). But, no beds available thanks to covid. In retrospect, it suits me better because of my ticker, I'm not a good candidate for general anesthesia and have to opt for fully awake nerve block surgeries, so emergency surgery when already pumped full of morphine and stressed to the gills, not a good idea. I went home with a satchel of pain meds and anti-nausea pills. I was to monitor if the pain resumed full on after the morphine wore off. It it came back the same, I'd be transferred somewhere for emergency surgery, if not, it meant the ovary had flopped back over or ruptured. It was the latter. Even after major surgeries, I've never, ever taken any of the pain meds they prescribed. It's been my firm stand, until now.
My surgery consultation is Thursday and I'm afraid Izza gonna be torked until then. The pain is not bearable otherwise. Here's where my guardian angels' message came through via the palms: what is supposed to be the size of an almond is the that of an egg.
If it's a cyst and it ruptured, that's just gross and it needs to come out. Given the brush with cancer is why I don't have a repro tract anymore and I have genetic markers for cancer, we need to get in and vacuum everything out. I'm sure there's better medical terminology. But, if it hadn't been for the palm trees, I'd never known trouble was brewing within. Always a silver lining.
Back to the beloved palm trees.
Luke helped me get them back out of the garage and then I proceeded on Monday to plant them alone. My choice, for safety sake, I didn't want anyone around while I was medicated and operating heavy equipment.
I dug fresh holes and brought rich compost from the manure pile.
I devised a three strap system to transport and a single strap for maneuvering.
Dusk nipping at my heels, I finished my project.
Little Puerto Rico now available in Russell county. I understand homesickness all too well.
There's a chance these palms have saved my life. In return, you bet we're going to baby them.
Condomized for their overnight protection. I hope Adjanie and Cristian give them names...
