ProfessorTomoe

No, I haven't tried that. Can't do that until tonight, once she's off of it. She's using it to work from home right now. What's a good diagnostic tool that'll give me human-readable numbers for the connection? (I know I can time something being copied, but I'd like a real network utility for this if one exists.)

Ohmydearlord. (checks pulse, makes conscious effort to slow breathing) I hadn't considered invoking the hubris to ask for something like that. O.O !!! (mind starts racing—will have to keep racing until I get back from the podiatrist's office)

I've been noticing that my download speeds to my laptop have been slower than normal over about the past week. We pay Frontier FiOS for 50/50, so I ran an Ookla speed test and found I was getting only half of that. I had been getting 50/50 to my laptop over an 802.11n wireless connection, so I was clueless as to why I wasn't getting it anymore. I called Frontier. (OhmydearlordwhydidIdothat.) After getting Mrs. Prof to add me as an "authorized user" on the account (?), the tech had me run Frontier's speed test (also powered by Ookla). I got the same numbers. He then had Mrs. Prof do some futzing with the Actiontec router before having me run it again. Same results. We then had Mrs. Prof switch from her VPN connection to work over to her home connection and run the test. She got 50/50 plus. The tech immediately went into smug mode and started to explain to me that I wouldn't get the same speeds over a wireless yadda yadda yadda. I wanted to reach out and touch someone, in this case the technician, by slapping the smug grin right off of his face. End phone call, with no explanation as to why my wireless speeds got nerfed. I hate Frontier.

'Tis in my nature to worry. Part of the basic equipment package. Much obliged, as always. I just wish I had more positive updates to provide, that's all. The root of my problem, exposed.

4:22 a.m. CDT 20170526. One thing that I can tell you that is NOT ambiguous at the moment is the fractured sesamoid bone in the ball of my left foot. It genuinely hurts at the moment. I think I got the timing off on my hydrocodone last night, because I woke up at 3 am and the sesamoid bone was yelling for attention. I held out as long as I could, then finally took my pain pill at about three-fifty-something. Woke up dehydrated as hell. Have already gone through most of a 32 oz. mug of Crystal Light tea with lemon. Going to have to get another soon. Ye olde right spinal nerve issue gave me hell while trying to get restful sleep overnight. I kept moving around to find a non-painful position. Finally said, "[Redacted] it" and got up. (That's about when my sesamoid bone started hurting anyway.) This might have something to do with the fact that I didn't have my morning "drug cocktail" yesterday due to fasting for my blood tests. I haven't had any Topamax in almost 48 hours, which might be the cause. Heh. And here I was, under the impression that the Topamax wasn't doing anything for me other than helping me lose weight. I could be mistaken. (Granted, Topamax alone does not alleviate my spinal nerve pain—it must be the combination of hydrocodone and Topamax that's doing the most good.) Today is podiatrist day. I hope he won't make us wait as long as he did at the last appointment, which was a ridiculously long time. It set off Mrs. Prof's grouch response. Looking at the dynamic between Mrs. Prof and myself for a moment: we're basically at each other's mercy. I'm totally dependent upon her to get me to doctor's appointments, surgeries, and other medical destinations. Her patience is wearing thin, I think in part because she can't see what's causing my right leg issue. At the same time, I'm frustrated with setting up new appointments, since she turns on the "heavy sigh of frustration" machine when I have to consult her for appropriate dates (she has to take off work, and she's already used almost half of her available Family and Medical Leave (FMLA) time already with the year not half over. Don't get me wrong here. The gifts you guys sent from our Amazon Wish Lists went a long way to alleviate our tension and depression, especially for Mrs. Prof. She can't wait to look through the trail camera files each night and see what she's captured (BTW, she posts a lot more on her Facebook account—I cherry-pick from those to avoid overflowing the forum). It's just the amount of time that this has gone on ... sigh. All the way back to the beginning of February, with no signs of improvement and no end in sight. Hell, even when I nearly died back in 2009, we were able to see a light at the end of the tunnel, and I was able to provide my own transportation six weeks after I got out of the hospital. Things are moving in the exact opposite direction now. I meant for this to be a simple update, talking about being thirsty and in a bit of pain. That plan went sure sideways rather quickly. Sigh, again. And again.

And, of course, Dumb Ass B shows up while I'm posting the above picture, and it's too late in the week to trap cats for T-N-R (the vets are on a very restrictive schedule).

Only one photo for tonight, and it's from last night's infrared shots. We seem to have captured an image of the local wildlife: Just wait until the raccoon families start coming through in droves later.

Mrs. Prof agrees that my foot needs to be in better shape prior to a German Deli excursion. I did give fair notice that I am seriously interested in going and purchasing some of their wares, however. There's absolutely no time for it this weekend, and it's doubtful that there will be any time for it over the next month (minimum).

You speak truth, good sir, but damn, I've been Jonesing for some good German food lately ...

Nope. Would not be. Damn. I so much want to go to that place over in Colleyville (near the big D/FW airport) and do some serious German sausage/meat/food/whatever shopping. Only problem is Mrs. Prof always schedules either cat volunteer stuff or house cleaning stuff on the weekends, and it would be a good 90-minutes for a round-trip (or for one-way if the traffic is bad).

Ambiguity is all they have to work with in most cases until someone starts cutting and digging around, I guess. My PCP took a lot of that ambiguity away with the Charcot foot warning this morning. We'll see if the podiatrist stays the course tomorrow afternoon.

Would it be wrong for me to say that I envy your sausage? o.O

I think this reply deserves a hearty "No [Redacted] Sherlock" in response. I will take your advice to heart ... and to foot. 4:56 p.m. CDT 20170525. Of course, once a doctor tells both Mrs. Prof and me about something I may be headed toward (i.e., Charcot foot), that's pretty much a green light for me to get all research-y like. I don't like what I'm finding. A lot of my research into the probelm mentions diabetic neuropathy as a cause. However, I could swear that all of my neuropathy tests have been negative. My A1C numbers have been around 6.1 for the last couple of years. Now, last week was an exception—they took my fasting glucose in the hospital, but I was so damned stressed out that it ventured into the mid-130 range, but that's still lower than Mrs. Prof's. I had my blood and urine tested again today to see if my metformin dose needs to be adjusted and/or if I need to start doing daily testing (I haven't for years). Something my doctor told me that I haven't found in the research yet: movement helps get rid of Charcot foot. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt on this. Only problem is that I'm dealing with Chronic Pain Syndrome with a great deal of it coming from my left ankle, left over from the 2009 dual broken ankle disaster. His comment was that the two are probably intertwined, and that he admitted it's going to be hell trying to get me moving when every step hurts in the best of circumstances. Mrs. Prof (who is taking a nap in the bedroom and just made the rudest of noises) made a suggestion on the way home from the doctor's office—get me into aquatic therapy. Again. God, I hate indoor therapy pools. They're either in cavernous, chlorine-atmosphered echo chambers or in small, noisy, overbooked steam rooms. Both are usually accompanied by freezing cold dressing rooms, with the small ones at least offering one the dignity of being able to lock the changing room door. (Don't even think about mentioning outdoor therapy pools. Read on.) What neither offer is the basic human dignity of not wanting to be seen in a bathing suit, with or without a T-shirt. I am no Charles Atlas. I am more like a World Atlas. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I'm flabby and weigh around 335 as of today (I'm estimating that by subtracting my approximate steel boot weight from what the scale showed). I don't like to be partially undressed in public anymore. Pool or no pool, indoor or outdoor, whatever the reason. I don't like it. Somehow, I've got to get this across to Mrs. Prof in a way that won't engender a "So?" response from her. I couldn't figure that problem out when she brought up the subject in the Ridgeline on the way home, so I had to end the discussion with a clumsy "Not now." (N.B.: we've been on different wavelengths all day today.) I think I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow after the podiatrist appointment, see if we're communicating better, and try dropping it on her then. Oh, backtracking for a second: remember when I said that my doctor agreed to increase my Abilify from 5 mg to 10 mg? He did it almost happily, without hesitation. He said he could tell that my depression levels are way up compared to my baseline. Something needed to be done, and he was glad to do it. And guess why I'm so depressed lately? (That's a rhetorical question.) P.S.: I almost typed "derpressed" in the above line. Yeah, that's close, but I don't think it's a valid psychiatric diagnosis. Derpression. Maybe it oughta be.

12:35 p.m. CDT 20170525. Mrs. Prof changed her tune after the appointment with my primary care physician. He had apparently read a report from the podiatrist or the hospital, one or the other. In either case, he said what he'd thought were numerous fractures were actually signs of something called Charcot foot, where the bone demineralizes due to a "loss of good capillary flow" to said bone. It would explain the ease of my fracture, the avascular necrosis, and many other problems with my left foot as listed in the report I posted. Very nasty sounding, and not much I can do about it at the moment. It's going to be brought up with my podiatrist at tomorrow's appointment. In addition, he doubled my Abilify dose to 10 mg and wrote a note to get me out of Jury Duty. I'm e-mailing the Jury Duty note shortly.

Oh, man, there's much good to be found in a properly made sardine and shallot (or finely sliced green onion) sandwich with mayo on a good, absorbent bread. Just make sure you drain the sardines properly and make sure both they and the oil they were packed in are both high quality. Om nom nom.

Of course, now that I mentioned the test results to Mrs. Prof, she has gone into full-bore argument mode, wondering why none of my other exams (including a CT-scan) have caught any of this. She has a nasty habit of doing an "anti-freak-out," as it were, acting as though I'm turning into a hypochondriac or something (I've never figured her out on that). Raised voices ensued. I think I've finally got things stopped down, but good grief—I didn't need one of these sessions at this hour of the morning (7:53 a.m. CDT 20170525). Speaking of things I didn't need, I hope I didn't need to stop drinking water after midnight for my blood tests today. The only non-water thing I've taken has been my hydrocodone, and there's no way in HELL I'm going without that again. Once last week was enough, thankyouverymuch.

I got the post-op Three-View X-ray report on my broken toe. There's a lot of medicalese in it, but if you're interested in stuff like that, here it is: Read if you wish. I don't know exactly what it says, but terms like "avascular necrosis" make me wonder if I've got something else going on that might explain my Chronic Pain Syndrome.

He's too dumb to recognize sardines and extra-tasty cat food when he smells them ...

A couple more pictures of the backyard community, gathered today. Mrs. Prof set up the trail camera on a tripod, put it on our patio, and then left for work. I've asked her not to do that again, considering how much of an advertisement it is for someone to come along and take it. Tomorrow's pictures should be coming from inside the greenhouse, if she's set it up properly this time. Anyway, here's picture number one: Yes, we do have cats named Dumb Ass A, Dumb Ass B, and Trouble. Dumb Ass B is the only one who has managed to elude Mrs. Prof's traps so far. And, as you can see, Big Tom, Trouble, and Dumb Ass A seem to get along just fine.

I just finished trying to take my first stand-up shower since my foot surgery last week. I wasn't ready. Dear Lord, I wasn't ready. That frigging HURT. The boot goes back on until my podiatrist says I can take it off.

Just reported to a Facebook friend and family relative that someone was trying to clone their account. With all of the publicity about this, why do people still try to do it? Are there really that many people who haven't heard about the scam yet?

Fortunately, we have no high cliffs or piano moving companies in the Garland area. I think we're safe on that count. Seriously, we are in a borderline area for urban encroachment onto wildlife territory. We see coyotes, skunks, rabbits, possums, raccoons, bobcats, hawks, eagles, and the occasional venomous snake (most of our snakes are of the garter snake variety, thankfully).