Poking the Bear

Delve into the light and dark that is Mark

The past week has not been an easy one – for me, for my parents or my hospice care givers. The lovable me has transformed into a raving, savage bear, lashing out at everyone.

My pain and breathing medications tend to shut up my bodily functions causing undue to distress. Yes, I am a victim of opiod constipation.

During these times, I become overly cranky and demanding. I blame everyone and anything for my distress.

How my Mom and Dad, in their 80s, and Bill and Susie, in their 70s, deal with me, I don’t know. It is so difficult for them as well as my aides and nurses.

Today, after a decent movement last evening, I am slowly returning to the fluffy, lovable self most of you know. But I am not there 100% yet.

Discussions are going on about moving me to an assisted living facility, nursing home or leaving me here.

What I do know is that I can’t keep putting the pressure on my parents. It is sapping their strength and energy.

The only help is a miracle – a miracle that comes only from above. Please keep, not just me, but my parents and caregivers lifted up before the throne of grace.

That’s the way it is in Mark’s Den on this first Friday of the new year.

And how is your frigid weekend looking?

Christmas 2013 at Mom’s house in Sullivan

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I am Mark Ivy, a born and bred Hoosier. I am father to two wonderful sons, Dave and Kev, of whom I am very proud; two terrific daughters-in-law, Anna and Hailey; three beautiful granddaughters, Dylan, Alaina and Amelia. On May 9, 2017, my lung specialist hit me with the news I had maybe six months to live if the chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), the damage caused by the histoplasmosis described below, ran its normal course. I am now on hospice at home. Content and ready to cross over the river to the other side. On September 2, 2014, I was diagnosed with disseminated histoplasmosis, a fungal infection, discovered by a biopsy of my larynx. The infection is fatal if left untreated. For 2 1/2 years I lived under a death sentence being misdiagnosed with a non-specific bacterial infection which left my right lung a "dried up sponge" and non-functioning. I was aggressively treated for the infection with antifungals. The treatment ended October of 2015 and fortunately did not take two years. I suffer from chronic Horton's Syndrome. The effects vary widely causing various problems. Statistically, Horton's affects only 0.1% of the population. Major depression also attacks me regularly.