Aidenbaby
Lovin' The Homestead
Sheri, I'll be keeping you in my thoughts and prayers.
SheriM - Too Stubborn to Stop Dreamin' - SURPRISE!!!
- Thread starter SheriM
- Start date
lorihadams
Always doing laundry
We'll be thinkin of you darlin'! 
- Thread starter
- #183
SheriM
Lovin' The Homestead
I admit it, I'm a techno junkie. If there was ever any doubt about that, this past two weeks proves it. A week ago Tuesday, I turned on my computer as usual first thing in the morning and my mouse and keyboard wouldn't work. I tried everything, but to no avail. Little did I know I'd end up being computerless for a week and a half. I won't bore you with the details on the diagnostics, but it turned out, the only solution to the problem was to re-format the C: drive. I normally keep all my data on drives D: and E: so I didn't think this would be a big deal, but I forgot that my Ranch Manager program insists on storing its data in its own folder on C:. Yup...lost all my goat records, going back about 3 years. I can't get back the earlier stuff, but at least I still have my kidding record book from last year and this year, so I re-entered all the details on each of the does and now all I have to do is reconstruct the kidding records. Yeah, right, like I've got all this free time I don't know what to do with. 
Tomorrow, I go to get the PICC line inserted (think of it as an IV line that stays in place) and Thursday is my first chemo treatment. I have a million projects I wanted to get done before starting treatment, so the computer stuff will have to wait, but thanks to the weather forecast, it doesn't look like I'm going to get a bunch of stuff finished anyway. We are completely out of last year's hay so, in desperation, we cut our small field last week. The weather here has been so dry some farmers have already written off their canola crops, but wouldn't you know it, the minute we cut our hay, it starts raining. It's supposed to be sunny today, then rain every day till Thursday. Guess who won't be baling that hay any time soon?
(edited for typo)
Tomorrow, I go to get the PICC line inserted (think of it as an IV line that stays in place) and Thursday is my first chemo treatment. I have a million projects I wanted to get done before starting treatment, so the computer stuff will have to wait, but thanks to the weather forecast, it doesn't look like I'm going to get a bunch of stuff finished anyway. We are completely out of last year's hay so, in desperation, we cut our small field last week. The weather here has been so dry some farmers have already written off their canola crops, but wouldn't you know it, the minute we cut our hay, it starts raining. It's supposed to be sunny today, then rain every day till Thursday. Guess who won't be baling that hay any time soon?
(edited for typo)
freemotion
Food Guru
Here is a big "AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGH!!!!" for you! 
2dream
Flibbertigibbet
Lets do this together.
I have not been completely without my computer. But more without than with for the last couple of weeks. So I feel your pain. Tack on no phone service at all and I really feel your pain.
I did not lose anything YET! And mine has just been a minor pain in the !@#. Sorry you had all that extra work to do. Thank goodness you did not lose it all.
Keeping my
for you and here is a big ole .
I have not been completely without my computer. But more without than with for the last couple of weeks. So I feel your pain. Tack on no phone service at all and I really feel your pain.
I did not lose anything YET! And mine has just been a minor pain in the !@#. Sorry you had all that extra work to do. Thank goodness you did not lose it all.
Keeping my
for you and here is a big ole .
miss_thenorth
Frugal Homesteader
We had our computer crash a few years ago. We lost all of our pictures that were on it. Now we back up everything onto an external box(hard drive? I am not a techno anything--hubby does it all)
the weather here has been weird in the sense that the weather man is never right. some people have cut their hay, just to have it rained on the next day (when the weatherman says ts gonna be nice out all week.) A couple farmers I know got rained on, but some have been lucky. We found a lucky farmer, and we're getting our hay from him on Monday.
Keeping you in our thoughts and prayers whil you go through chemo.
the weather here has been weird in the sense that the weather man is never right. some people have cut their hay, just to have it rained on the next day (when the weatherman says ts gonna be nice out all week.) A couple farmers I know got rained on, but some have been lucky. We found a lucky farmer, and we're getting our hay from him on Monday.
Keeping you in our thoughts and prayers whil you go through chemo.
TanksHill
Super Self-Sufficient
Sorry to hear about the files on your computer such a pain the the b@##.
You are in our thoughts and prayers.
You are in our thoughts and prayers.
keljonma
Epicurean Goddess
to you, Sheri! Praying that chemo will go well and healing will be quick.Can you make a hayrick instead of baling? This information is from
Country Life: A Handbook For Realists And Dreamers by Paul Heiney
Making A Hayrick
Move the hay from the field to the site of the rick. This is done with a cart or a trailer, and is called carting. Now start to build your hayrick.
Lay down a bed of straw to keep out moisture. Then, with a pitchfork, pile forkfuls of hay on the center of the bed. Once you have made a good-sized heap in the middle, start to build around the edges. As you build, keep the center higher than the sides; do not allow the stack to sag in the middle and provide a handy place for rain to collect.
Carting Hay
Build loads of hay carefully before carting them. Freshly forked hay is alive, and it will not take much of a jolt to have the whole load back on the ground.
Building The Rick
Place each forkful of hay carefully so as to make the sides straight, then straighten them further by combing down with a rake. The rick will shrink to half its size in six months.
Using The Rick
Take hay off the rick in slices, using a hay knife to cut the slice. Cut a piece the size of a bale, and carry the hay on a fork to the animals. In wet weather, cover the exposed parts of the rick with tarpaulin.
- Thread starter
- #189
SheriM
Lovin' The Homestead
The hayrick sounds like a neat idea, but I'm not sure how I'd feed 40 some odd goats at 40 below and with 3 feet of snow. I go through about 60 1000 lb bales in a year, so that would make for a pretty big hayrick.
It's a cinch I won't get the hay baled till after I've started chemo but I'm really hoping to tolerate the side effects better this time around. Only time will tell, though.
Thanks for all the words of encouragement, everybody. I'll let you know how the PICC line goes tomorrow.
It's a cinch I won't get the hay baled till after I've started chemo but I'm really hoping to tolerate the side effects better this time around. Only time will tell, though.
Thanks for all the words of encouragement, everybody. I'll let you know how the PICC line goes tomorrow.
- Thread starter
- #190
SheriM
Lovin' The Homestead
A Control Freak's Worst Nightmare
I am a self-confessed control freak. I have to be to have any hope of managing this chaotic circus I call my life. In fact, I'm actually a wee bit proud of it. Being a total control freak is one of my best coping strategies, if I do say so myself.
However, when you're faced with something like cancer, being a control freak has its good points and its bad. Let's face it, you really don't have control over too much when something that incidious invades your body, but on the flip side, controlling anything you possibly can about the situation does give you at least a small hint of peace.
So, when I found out I had to do chemo again, I decided right then and there that it would be my way or not at all and at the very top of my list of "demands" was a PICC line. PICC stands for Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter. Essentially, it's like an IV that stays in for the whole course of treatment. They can deliver the IV chemo meds through it, draw blood, etc.
This little device was at the top of my list because of one of the drawbacks to being a control freak. I am NOT good with needles. It took me a long time to realize it wasnt the pain that I had a problem with. Ive had hang-nails that hurt worse. Its just that I don't like the idea of anyone doing something unpleasant to me. I know if I ever became diabetic and had to inject insulin every day, it wouldnt be a problem because it would be ME doing the injecting.
Turns out there was just one tiny little flaw in my plan to avoid the prospect of IVs every three weeks and blood work every week in between. PICC lines may look like normal IVs, but the part that goes into your vein isnt a half an inch long like it is with an IV. Instead, it is threaded from (in my case) the left bicep, all the way up into the main vein near the heart. Still, says I, how bad could it be? They said they freeze the insertion site so all I have to do is tolerate one or two more pokes for the freezing and were good to go, right?
Wrong.
Enter the control freaks worst nightmare. There I am, stretched out on this narrow table with my left arm flung out to the side on an extension that looks like those things you iron sleeves on. Im sure I looked like some sacrificial victim from one of those old B grade horror movies. Next comes a camera from a real-time x-ray machine, which is a big white square box lowered over your upper body to within a hairs breadth of skinning your nose. Okay, okay, I can handle this. Its open on the sides. If I turn my head just a bit I can still see the ceiling. I can handle this. I really can.
I almost had myself convinced of that when I got to crane my neck a bit and actually look at my own left humerus, clavicle, ribs, etc. Pretty cool and almost enough to take my mind off what was about to happentill it actually started to happen.
They had to tie a tourniquet around my arm, right up at the shoulder. Yeah, a little uncomfortable, but I can take it. Im a tough farmer broad, remember. I revised that opinion after what felt like a half an hour with my entire left arm in a very large bench vice. I know it wasnt actually half an hour, it just felt that way. I thought I was doing an admirable job of suffering in silenceuntil several people in the room felt it necessary to remind me to breathe.
It kind of went downhill from there. The long wire they have to insert into the vein to guide the PICC line kept getting stuck in the wall of the vein. Pull back, try again, push, prod, inject dye (which burns a little), try again, prod and poke some more. By this time, I dont think there was a person in that room except the doctor who wasnt telling me to breathe. He finally got the wire where he wanted it, but by then I was a blubbering basket case.
Giving in to the tears turned out to be the cathartic release I needed and after that, things went a little better. He warned me there would be two more really big mosquito bites. If youve ever seen Saskatchewan mosquitoes, youd realize just how apt that description was. Im sure the little devils snouts are at least the size of a 23 gauge needle! I got through those last two needles with remarkable ease and then, at last, I heard the words Id been waiting for: All done.
As soon as I was able to sit up, I looked at my watch. The whole procedure had taken just over half an hour, but it was half an hour that easily felt like a 40 hour marathon at the local torture chamber. At least, thats what it seemed like to me. Looking back on it with the objectivity afforded by the luxury of putting five hundred some odd kilometers between me and that room, it really wasnt nearly as bad as I have portrayed here. The tourniquet was painful, yes, but beyond that, there actually wasnt anything much more uncomfortable than the chemo nurses trying to find a vein after three or four treatments and I withstood that with far more aplomb.
It all comes back to that downside to being a control freak and herein lies another of those wonderful lessons God keeps handing out like pop spelling quizzes which, by the way, I was far better at than these oh-so-much-more important lessons Im learning now.
Being a control freak can be a good thing. It can ensure you get what you need, when you need it, for both you and your loved ones, but there comes a time when you need to let go, to trust in the well-trained, caring and compassionate people into whose care God has entrusted you. Face it. Farmer broad or not, you CANNOT insert your own PICC line, and youre the one who wanted the dog-gone thing in the first place!
p.s. Sorry this got to be so long, but it turned out to be a full fledged journaling experience and has been VERY theraputic.
I am a self-confessed control freak. I have to be to have any hope of managing this chaotic circus I call my life. In fact, I'm actually a wee bit proud of it. Being a total control freak is one of my best coping strategies, if I do say so myself.
However, when you're faced with something like cancer, being a control freak has its good points and its bad. Let's face it, you really don't have control over too much when something that incidious invades your body, but on the flip side, controlling anything you possibly can about the situation does give you at least a small hint of peace.
So, when I found out I had to do chemo again, I decided right then and there that it would be my way or not at all and at the very top of my list of "demands" was a PICC line. PICC stands for Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter. Essentially, it's like an IV that stays in for the whole course of treatment. They can deliver the IV chemo meds through it, draw blood, etc.
This little device was at the top of my list because of one of the drawbacks to being a control freak. I am NOT good with needles. It took me a long time to realize it wasnt the pain that I had a problem with. Ive had hang-nails that hurt worse. Its just that I don't like the idea of anyone doing something unpleasant to me. I know if I ever became diabetic and had to inject insulin every day, it wouldnt be a problem because it would be ME doing the injecting.
Turns out there was just one tiny little flaw in my plan to avoid the prospect of IVs every three weeks and blood work every week in between. PICC lines may look like normal IVs, but the part that goes into your vein isnt a half an inch long like it is with an IV. Instead, it is threaded from (in my case) the left bicep, all the way up into the main vein near the heart. Still, says I, how bad could it be? They said they freeze the insertion site so all I have to do is tolerate one or two more pokes for the freezing and were good to go, right?
Wrong.
Enter the control freaks worst nightmare. There I am, stretched out on this narrow table with my left arm flung out to the side on an extension that looks like those things you iron sleeves on. Im sure I looked like some sacrificial victim from one of those old B grade horror movies. Next comes a camera from a real-time x-ray machine, which is a big white square box lowered over your upper body to within a hairs breadth of skinning your nose. Okay, okay, I can handle this. Its open on the sides. If I turn my head just a bit I can still see the ceiling. I can handle this. I really can.
I almost had myself convinced of that when I got to crane my neck a bit and actually look at my own left humerus, clavicle, ribs, etc. Pretty cool and almost enough to take my mind off what was about to happentill it actually started to happen.
They had to tie a tourniquet around my arm, right up at the shoulder. Yeah, a little uncomfortable, but I can take it. Im a tough farmer broad, remember. I revised that opinion after what felt like a half an hour with my entire left arm in a very large bench vice. I know it wasnt actually half an hour, it just felt that way. I thought I was doing an admirable job of suffering in silenceuntil several people in the room felt it necessary to remind me to breathe.
It kind of went downhill from there. The long wire they have to insert into the vein to guide the PICC line kept getting stuck in the wall of the vein. Pull back, try again, push, prod, inject dye (which burns a little), try again, prod and poke some more. By this time, I dont think there was a person in that room except the doctor who wasnt telling me to breathe. He finally got the wire where he wanted it, but by then I was a blubbering basket case.
Giving in to the tears turned out to be the cathartic release I needed and after that, things went a little better. He warned me there would be two more really big mosquito bites. If youve ever seen Saskatchewan mosquitoes, youd realize just how apt that description was. Im sure the little devils snouts are at least the size of a 23 gauge needle! I got through those last two needles with remarkable ease and then, at last, I heard the words Id been waiting for: All done.
As soon as I was able to sit up, I looked at my watch. The whole procedure had taken just over half an hour, but it was half an hour that easily felt like a 40 hour marathon at the local torture chamber. At least, thats what it seemed like to me. Looking back on it with the objectivity afforded by the luxury of putting five hundred some odd kilometers between me and that room, it really wasnt nearly as bad as I have portrayed here. The tourniquet was painful, yes, but beyond that, there actually wasnt anything much more uncomfortable than the chemo nurses trying to find a vein after three or four treatments and I withstood that with far more aplomb.
It all comes back to that downside to being a control freak and herein lies another of those wonderful lessons God keeps handing out like pop spelling quizzes which, by the way, I was far better at than these oh-so-much-more important lessons Im learning now.
Being a control freak can be a good thing. It can ensure you get what you need, when you need it, for both you and your loved ones, but there comes a time when you need to let go, to trust in the well-trained, caring and compassionate people into whose care God has entrusted you. Face it. Farmer broad or not, you CANNOT insert your own PICC line, and youre the one who wanted the dog-gone thing in the first place!
p.s. Sorry this got to be so long, but it turned out to be a full fledged journaling experience and has been VERY theraputic.
