Machines – Part One 

As I sat with my leg pump for an hour this evening, I thought about all of the machines that help me do my work and provide health care for me.  The leg pump has a real name.  It’s a leg and ankle compression massager.  At least, that’s what I think it’s called, but I can’t find its paperwork.

 Several months ago, the pressure in my legs from hips to toes was measured and found to be deficient.  So, this machine was prescribed.   A representative from the company came to my  house and explained everything I need to know about it.  He brought only one leg of the set and, when the demonstration was over, the circumference of the demonstration leg was smaller than before the demonstration.  And, so, it was determined that, for me, this machine would be beneficial.

 It’s easier for me to remember “leg pump,” so that’s what I’ll call it.  When I wear it and the compression begins, my legs can feel the pressure on them.  It starts at the toes and the compression moves up the leg to the hip area.  The person using the machine sits with legs elevated.  It pushes the fluids from my legs back into my body.

 Of course, I was interested in knowing whether or not the machine was doing its job.  I was diligent about using it for the required hour each evening (evening because that is when my legs seem to be the most swollen with excess fluid).  Then, this week, my schedule was so full that I skipped the treatment for two days.  It became very clear that I should not have skipped the evening treatments.  The next day, the fluid had collected in my legs to the point that my socks and shoes were uncomfortable to wear.  This event made a believer out of me.  I WILL make time each evening to sit and have my legs massaged!

The leg pump is not the only machine designed to make my life better.  Of course, there are the dishwasher (used every night no matter how full it is), the clothes washer (I remember washing clothes by hand when sister Clara and I went with our parents to pick peaches), and the clothes dryer  (mine is electric and is far better than drying clothes outside where they freeze).

 This machine that I’m using – my new computer – is quite wonderful.  I do have another smaller laptop that I take with me when I travel or to use to take notes at meetings for writing minutes.  And, a third, very, very old computer (fifteen years is OLD in computer speak) that I keep because it is the only computer that will talk to my HP laser jet 4000 (also very, very, old).  But that laser jet is a workhorse and can print 100 black and white pages of something more quickly and with less toner than any of the other printers I have.

 My other printers – a new black and white printer on my work desk and a color printer in my “big room.”  And, I have a copier that is also a workhorse.  It has copied lots and lots of pages for me.  All of those pages come out black and white, but that’s okay.  It copies stuff.

 The paper shredder does its job when asked.  I know that we really need to destroy papers to keep fraud and stolen identities at bay.  But, I remember years ago when I met Larry, he was living with Dr. Borland, a professor emeritus at Western State.  She was a historian and used documents that most of us would consider without value to create the most complete picture of the histories that she wrote.  Because Larry kept the house and grounds for her, he recommended that she hire me to type some of those pages.  I could see the value of keeping documents that have no apparent value.

 Two machines critical to my health and well being are my CPAP machine and the oxygen concentrator that supplies 2 liter of oxygen, piped into the CPAP machine, every night.  When I retire at about midnight each night, my oxygen percentage is in the low nineties.  Sometimes, it’s only eighty-eight; low, but acceptable to my health care providers.  I am always – always – amazed at the quick rise in percentage when I put on the oxygen-assisted CPAP mask – as high as 98% or 99%.  I’m never sure just how the CPAP machine works.  I do know that it starts at a lower pressure and ramps up during the night.  I just don’t think about it much; I let the machine do its job.

 Probably the tiniest device I use is the oximeter.  It gives me the indication of oxygen percentage and my heart rate reading.  My heart rate is generally in the sixties (around sixty-five, most of the time).  So, when the oximeter heart rate shows a reading of eighty or more, I’m pretty sure I’m in trouble.  My kind of atrial fibrillation (AFIB) produces an event about once a month by the calendar.  When that happens, I spend the day not driving anywhere and not doing much at home.  It will fluctuate between the extremes.  Sometimes, under 100.  Sometimes, well over 100.  Even 145.  Or 160.  This goes on until it returns to the sixties.  You can tell that this little machine is critically important to me.

 There are other machines in my kitchen.  My microwave.  My kitchen range with very large oven.  When we bought the stove, I wanted the largest oven possible.  At that time, I often roasted thirty-pound turkeys for family dinners.  I suppose that, technically, these are not machines.  Neither is the under-the-counter oven.  Or the refrigerator.  They do, however, make my life better.

 There are machines in my house that I do not use any longer or that I’ve never used.  The garbage disposal, for example, has not been used for months.  A plumber told me that the garbage disposal was the worst possible invention for plumbing.  So, I stopped using mine, years ago.  I also have a machine that turns garbage into  useable dirt.  And, neighbors Keith and Rita gave me an air fryer.   Neither machine (the composter or air flyer) has been used.  I think that is because I’ve never learned how to use them.  Or, maybe, I’m afraid of them.  I would like to use them.  Maybe soon, I’ll learn how.

 My outside machines are my battery-powered lawn mower and snow blower.  Neither of which I’ve been allowed to use; friends use them and do the work.  They are very kind to do so.

 And, then, there is my car.  I love my Chevy Tahoe.  I  love to drive but driving these days is only around town.  And, only during the daylight hours.  No more night-time driving for me.  Of course, that means that I have to be very aware of time.  If I am somewhere away from home and darkness falls, I’m in trouble.  Also, no driving on long trips.  Daughter #1 has kindly been the driver for any long trips.  She also drives me around town as needed, as has my good friend, Rita.

 There are so many other critical machines in my home.  But, I’ll leave them for another day. 

 Have a pleasant Valentine’s Day!

 (Continued next week.)
 Be Safe and Be Well
The Cranky Crone
Thoughtful comments are appreciated.