I’ve never kissed a frog. I have, however, kissed a fish. (Mayport, FL, 1993)
People ask from time to time if our RV has a name.
It’s been 18 months since we bought the thing. Shouldn’t it have a name by now?
We already know, or know of, vehicles with adorable names like Kermie, Betsy, Goldie, and BART (Big Ass Red Truck). We ourselves once owned a GPS we called Dolores, pretty much from Day 1, because she sounded so much like a Dolores.
But it took until today for RV inspiration to strike. Or maybe it was my head’s unfortunate encounter with the screen door on Monday?
Anyway. Ladies? Gentlemen? Allow me to introduce you to our freshly christened home on wheels …
The Toad
Because as a fifth wheel, it goes where it’s towed.
And as an 8-year-old unit that has required numerous, frequent, and expensive repairs in its year and a half with us (this week: shorn off front shocks, probably as a result of the Tire Incident), I think it’s fair to say the beast’s got warts.
Thank you, Google. I’m not sure which definition I find more pleasing. Or accurate.
Our next move is Saturday, so if you’re driving between San Antonio and Castroville, be on the lookout for The BFT & The Toad!
It produces too much aldosterone, which is why it’s being ejected from the game next month. Ready for a little medical education in an RV lifestyle blog?
I’ll try to make this very long story (6 months worth of doctor’s appointments, imaging, testing, and waiting, to which I obliquely referred in this post) a little bit shorter:
Although Tim had no obvious lifestyle or dietary risk factors (genetic factors are an unknown because he was adopted), he was diagnosed with high blood pressure a little over ten years ago, in his late 30’s, and has been on medication ever since.
Within the last 3-5 years, he’s also had very low potassium levels, as in, “Sir? Are you sure you’re feeling OK? Because your readings are barely above the mandatory hospitalization mark.” Hello, gigantic horse pill potassium supplements.
Then last summer, right about the time we moved into the RV, Tim internet-stumbled upon a rare condition called Primary Aldosteronism, and asked his doctors to start the testing process.
“In primary aldosteronism, your adrenal glands produce too much aldosterone, causing you to lose potassium and retain sodium. The excess sodium in turn holds onto water, increasing your blood volume and blood pressure”
High blood pressure. Low potassium. Ah haaaaaa.
“Diagnosis and treatment of primary aldosteronism are important because people with this form of high blood pressure have a higher risk of heart disease and stroke. Also, the high blood pressure associated with primary aldosteronism may be curable.”
Ohhhhhhh. So… curing it means no more meds?
“Options for people with primary aldosteronism include medications, lifestyle modifications and surgery.”
Turns out that surgery is indeed an option for Tim, as the left adrenal gland was determined quite clearly to be the culprit. Had both glands been overproducing aldosterone, then the only recourse would have been daily, lifelong medication in the form of a hormone blocker — because like kidneys, you can live with one adrenal gland, but not with none.
Anyway, once the pesky left one’s out, Tim will be able to discontinue his potassium supplement for sure, and his BP meds can either be significantly reduced or eliminated entirely. So it’s a good thing, and we’re thankful we’ve got the military healthcare benefits to make it happen.
What it means though, is that we’ll be putting off our rolling adventures for another few months. Surgery is scheduled for 3/23, and it’s followed by 4-6 weeks of recovery and follow-up appointments to make sure the remaining adrenal gland picks up the slack, so San Antonio is home through at least the end of April.
Two really cool things
We’re talking laparoscopic, robot-assisted surgery. Robot, y’all. Oh, how I wish I could watch!
Tim’s surgeon is the same doc who saw me for follow-ups after my breast cancer surgery two years ago, and he remembered me when we showed up for Tim’s consult on Thursday. I greeted him with a cheerful, “Hi, Dr. N. You’ve seen me before. Quite a lot of me, actually!” He looked at me for a second and then said, “Oh I remember you. You’re the funny one.”
And then he drew a diagram for us, right there on the examining table paper:
The four dashes on the right side of the drawing, at the lower end of the kidney, represent 8-12 mm incisions where the laparoscopic instruments go in. If for some reason things go sideways during the operation, the doc will make a traditional abdominal incision instead, and take care of things “the old way.” This will mean more pain and a longer recovery for Tim, so we’re hoping all goes according to plan with Dr. N & the Robot.
And what other things aren’t working? As if a human gland weren’t enough?
Lola. Due to her age and kidney deterioration, we opted against surgery for her torn ACL. Thus, she has officially retired as our hiking dog. Also, she still willfully ignores her bed in the most in-your-face way possible.The RV clock/thermometer. It was in here when we bought the thing, and has since decided to ignore new batteries, and make us think it’s 105 degrees all the time. “Honey, the thermometer’s broken. We need a new RV!”
