Sunday, July 20, 2014

Conflated

I have the irrational tendency to blend painful events together, especially when they happen within a similar time frame.  I think it gives me something tangible to be angry/sad/frustrated over when I feel helpless about life.

For example, several years ago, a person I thought of as a dear friend proved herself, in terrific fashion, to be anything but a friend.  She revealed herself not just to be not at all the person I believed her to be, but also she was vicious and horrible.  Shortly after this event, the Old Woman got sick and started her spiral towards her last days.  It was easier to be even MORE angry with my ex-friend than to shake my fists at the skies because one of the people I love most in the world was suffering.

Now that I have, pretty much, fully recovered from my bizarro medical issue, I find that not only do I have some delayed trauma reactions, but I've also tied, in my mind, some of the pain to the loss of my dear friend who committed suicide about a year ago.

In the last six months, I've experienced:

5 emergency room visits
2 ambulance transfers to another hospital
3 surgeries
3 CTs
3 radiology guided procedures
2 blood transfusions
10 staples
6 weeks of home health care
7 weeks with a wound-vac
4 hospital admissions totaling 18 days
and more needles, blood draws, IVs than I can count.

And, as I start to think about just exactly how serious my condition was, I find myself thinking more and more about how much I miss my friend.  Allowing myself to be sad over his death seems to be protecting me from being too freaked out about thinking about my whole abdomen being opened up.

Damn I miss my friend.

Monday, July 14, 2014

I kinda asked for this.



This is the Pirate Jean Lafitte.  He is the only surviving kitten from a litter a stray dropped under one of our azalea bushes.  The Phenom has a thing for black and white cats.  When this one survived, I thought Phenom would have real difficulty not bringing it indoors.  As it turns out, I'm the weak link.  Saturday morning, as I was giving him his morning scritch, I decided I didn't want this little dude to end up like some of the other male cats that occasionally come to our back door for food . . . fights, injuries, etc.  So, to the vet we went.

I've named him the Pirate Jean Lafitte.  And, when you name a kitten after a pirate, you kinda get what you are asking for.  This little dude has some serious cat crazies.  He LOVES attacking my fingers as I type on the computer.  He thinks the computer mouse is his mortal enemy, and he must smack at the images on the computer screen.

He likes running at top speed around the bathroom/bedroom (he's in temporary isolation from the other cats).  He and Phenom play "hide and pounce."  He has a most impressive crab walk while playing with the Phenom.

While I was sick, I often thought it would be nice to have a kitten to keep me company/amused during those weeks in bed.  Now that I'm better, I've brought in a kitten.  Good thing, it would have been too much to have this crazy little critter around the wound vac or the other various tubes/pouches/medications.

A friend, who also loves black and white kitties, has expressed an interest in him.  On one hand, I'm happy to think he might end up in a really excellent household with just two other kitties . . . but already, Phenom is showing signs of deep attachment.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Damn You, Esquire!

So, in my little world, there has been much discussion about the recent Esquire Mag. article about how some wanker has sent out the word to other wankers (and I use the term wanker as a noun and a verb) that "42 year old women" are now totally "boner worthy."

Yeah, it's offensive. These are the dudes who couldn't work up the courage to talk to a woman in their 20's, had crushes on totally out of their league women in their 30's, had some fairly unsatisfying trysts in their 40's, and now that they are balding, sporting a beer gut, and realizing they will probably die alone, have decided to do woman-kind the favor of expanding their definition of those worthy of their attentions.  Barf.

But, it annoys me for another, totally selfish, reason. If the creepers out there are now going to be turning their sights on persons in their 40's, I lose my invisibility.  DAMN IT.

When I was a teen monkey, and hit puberty, it was a weird mix of exciting and mortifying.  Then, by college, I'd kinda gotten use to it.  AND SHAZAM! in college the dudes appreciated me for being smart and cute.  So much different from high school where I was pretty much an undateable nerd.  It was fun.  There was some power in it.

When I settled down to being an adult with a real relationship and real job, I wanted to be taken seriously for my character and hard work, so I became very modest.  In my 30's, I decided that I was no longer in danger of not being taken seriously because of my age.  Then, I hit my 40's.  And I became invisible.  Men no longer looked at me like bait anymore.  Any flirting that happens is of the totally harmless sort.  And, I have the luxury of not giving a flip about what people think about how I dress or what I do, because I'm mostly invisible anyway.

Hopefully, the knuckle draggers around here are too busy wanking to read the manifesto in over rated men's mags to make my existence to difficult.  However, I think that the dudes who are likely to think they are doing 42 year old women a "favor" by hitting on them may find that our bullshit meters are very delicately tuned these days.

Friday, July 04, 2014

Food snob rant

It is nearing midnight an the yokels' firework supply seems to be endless.  I'm glad we took Chester to the vet to board for the weekend; he'd be a mess by now.

This petty, misanthropic annoyance may be to blame for me breaking my silence on one of those facebook facts of life that I've kept my mouth shut about, until now.  (And, the reason this rant is going on the blog and not facebook is because I don't wish to invoke the looting villagers wrath of those who know their sin.)

HOW EFFIN' LAZY DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO USE YOUR CROCK POT FOR FOODS THAT NEED NEVER SEE A CROCK POT?

First, it was an intern who told me that she sets up eggs in her crock pot at night so that her breakfast is ready to eat in the morning when she wakes up.  I cannot even begin to imagine how dried out or rubbery crock pot scrambled eggs must be like.  And, how lazy do you have to be to run an appliance over night for EGGS!  (Seriously, when I come in from the gym, I slug down a glass of kefir and then scramble two eggs for my breakfast while the cats have their breakfast.  It takes all of 5 minutes to pull eggs out of the fridge, heat some butter in a pan, whisk the eggs, cook them, and slide them on a plate.)

But then I saw, on facebook, people going ape-shit happy over some giant pancake in a crock pot recipe.  WHAT THE EFF?  I get the appeal must be something like putting peeps in the microwave to see them puff up, but really? I find that novelty foods rarely are foods you actually want to eat.

Tonight, someone posted a crock pot french toast recipe.  Really?  You would go to all the trouble of putting together the ingredients (milk, eggs, flavorings and bread) but then leave it for hours in a crock pot rather than spend 10 minutes at the stove?

You people are strange.  Crock pots are a crock.  There.  I said it.  Crock pots are a total waste of time and space.

Wednesday, July 02, 2014

1st World Problems, again

I'm getting ever closer to no longer looking like a jr. high first aid class got hold of me.  Only one, small, bandage left!!!

In anticipation of having no more open wounds on my gut, I'm looking for a swimsuit so I can add lap swimming into my exercise routine.  OH DAMN am I having a hard time finding a swimsuit.

First, there is a difference between a swim and BATHING suit.  A bathing suit leaves plenty of open space for tanning, flimsy straps that you can move to avoid various tan lines.  A swim suit needs to be functional.  I need straps that will stay in place.  I need a suit that I won't be fighting to keep in place as I move.  I need it to hold up in a gym pool for several months, if not years.  I need it to be comfortable for exercise.

I've looked at several sites and am completely befuddled about sizes.  The most common issue I have is that I will look at the sizing chart for the particular brand I'm exploring and then find that the sizes on their sizing chart don't match the sizes listed on their web site.  WTF!?  (I showed this to the Phenom and he agreed it was strange.)

Additionally, I have a long torso, meaning I need either adjustable straps or a suit made for my freakish body.  I find that if I can match up my torso measurement to a size, the hip or chest measurement doesn't match.

It's damn frustrating.  I want something more substantial than what mega mart offers . . . but I might have to just buy two or three cheapo suits and hope they hang on until the next swimsuit season rolls around.  No one wants wardrobe failure in the gym pool.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Summertime Riches

It was a good weekend for local produce.  (Or, as I declared to the Phenom, "I'm supporting local farmers.  That makes me a damn patriot!"  He then muttered something about me carrying a gun and disposing of half my brain.  Sad that the tea party extremists have given "patriot" such a negative image.)

Our local tailgate farmer's market was having a big ol' mid-summer celebration, so many demonstrations of groovy ways to use produce and more stuff on sale.  Then, I headed to my favorite local farmer's roadside stand.

Side note: the Old Woman would be pleased that I get so much produce directly from the farmer.  She had two or three road side stands she frequented.

I bought peaches, blackberries, corn, tomatoes, squash, roasted peanuts, eggplant, and potatoes. I've made four jars of blackberry vodka.  I've eaten tomato sandwiches until I'm happy.  And, I leaned over the sink to eat peaches at least 5 times today.

When we were recently in NOLA, I had maque choux with my BBQ shrimp one night.  I've read about it.  I've been curious.  So, I made some.  IT WAS YUMMY!!!  I have extra I will take to the office to feed the minions in the morning . . . and some shrimp I'll quickly cook up to add in.  They will sing my praises!

Cut the corn off the cobs, then use the back of the knife to scrape the "milk" from the cobs into another bowl.  I did it with 10 ears, but I was once again stood up by the Red Army.  3-5 ears should be plenty.

Dice up celery, red bell pepper, onion.  Chop 2-3 cloves of garlic.  Chop 3-4 green onions and chop up 1 cup worth of tomatoes.  (I had a few large cherry tomatoes that needed to be used, so I left the skin on them.)

Melt some bacon fat (you do keep your bacon fat in the freezer, right?  I have three types of bacon fat in my freezer, for this I used the Benton's bacon fat for it's smokey flavor.  I also have applewood smoked and maple smoked bacon.)  I melted enough to coat the bottom of a large skillet.  Then, saute the celery, onion, and pepper.  Add in about 1/2 tsp dry thyme.  Let the veggies get soft.  Add in the corn, corn "milk" (I added 2-3 tbs heavy cream and about the same amount of milk).  Cook for about 5 minutes, then add in the green onion, tomato and 1-2 tsp tony chachere's cajun seasoning (I always add salt and pepper to trinity while it's cooking.  But, do it to your taste.)  Cover and let cook 10-15 minutes.  Try to avoid eating it straight from the pan.

Friday, June 27, 2014

Thoughts on the Tattoo

There are some cathartic events that you know it, you feel it as it is happening.  Like getting married.  Or attending the funeral of a loved one.

The tattoo has been slower in developing meaning.

I'd joked about getting a tattoo for years.  A couple of years ago, there was a half-hearted attempt to acquire one.  Then, last winter, when it was decided that my Bestie would be joining us in NOLA in June, the conversation got serious.  We both agreed we were into the tattoo.  We found the place we wanted to do it, and worked on our designs.

I, originally, had asked my oldest friend in the world to design one for me.  But, then he killed himself.  I poured through his artwork to see if I could find something usable.  Nada.  Then, one night, at the end of yoga, I envisioned a lotus flower.  Later, the same evening, a friend asked me for a recipe.  I consulted the Southeast Asian cookbook I'd inherited from my friend.  Stuck in the book, which I know to have been his "go to" cookbook, was a drawing he was using as a bookmark.  In the center of his drawing was a lotus flower.

The tattoo place said they'd have to make it HUGE in order to insure the detail would come out properly.  Much too large for what I was looking for.  So, it seemed I might not get a tattoo after all.  Then, as I gathered my friend's letters for his father, who is working on a collection of writings/art in memory of his son, I found a letter with doodles in it.  And, that's how I settled on the design.

The tattoo was more painful than I expected.  I didn't jerk my arm or cry, but there were moments when I gritted my teeth and wondered if it were worth it.

It is nearly healed now, and settling into becoming a part of me.  Like the way my friend will always be a part of me.

Let's face it.  Since my 40th birthday, it's been a long, painful march through crappy situation after crappy situation.  I learned that a person I thought of as a dear friend was everything but a friend.  I've had to watch the Old Woman struggle with the end of her life.  I've experienced the death of two of the most important people in my life.  And, I've had this bizarro medical journey with multiple hospital stays and surgeries.  I need a bookend to these years of crap.  I hope that this tattoo will become symbolic of what I've survived, and that the pendulum will swing back to the quiet, drama free life I once knew.

That is a lot to pin on 30 minutes of gritted teeth and a bit of ink.  But, humans are kinda silly in what they put their faith in, no?


Saturday, June 21, 2014

In memory

Several years ago, when the Bestie and I first came to NOLA together, we decided to get tattoos.  At the time, we were a tad drunk and it was the middle of the night.  I couldn't find a design I liked in their catalog and she wanted custom work they wouldn't do on the fly.

Fast forward, and we still wanted tattoos on this trip.  Only, this time, I'd asked my dear friend to design something for me.  Sadly, my friend died last year before fulfilling this promise.  I went through pages and pages and pages of his art work, looking for something usable.  Then, I found a piece of a larger design that had some "it came from beyond" attachments to it.  But, the tattoo place we'd picked out said they could only do the design HUGE . . . like wrapped around my arm.

I was ready to forgo the tat, until I found a doodle in a letter he sent me about a year before he died.  (Yeah, we still wrote old fashioned letters to each other, we're cool like that.)

Here is my new tattoo:


(Notice the really excellent shave job on my arm?  Totally human like.)

Right now, it's in "recovery" but it will soon just be a part of me . . . like my friend.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Lagniappe

is a creole/cajun term for "a little bit extra" or "bonus."

I'm home, in New Orleans, with two other couples (ranging from my age to retired).  So far, I think everyone is having a good time (possibly even TOO good a time.)

We've also enjoyed some lagniappe.  At the first bar we visited (where we've become friends with the owner) the bartender refilled my glass with the extra of the drink she made for us.  She said that it was either me or her drinking it, because she wasn't going to waste good booze.

Yesterday, after a morning cup of coffee, we headed to my favorite jewelry store.  We picked out the perfect birthday gift for a friend.  Then, I found a really really really pretty diamond ring.  And, Phenom directed my attentions to the case of fleur dis lis jewelry.  I saw a pretty necklace.  He saw another.  I ended up with both.  But the chain on one wasn't the right length for me, so we looked to swap it for a longer one.  The store owner, of course, remembered us from our many previous purchases.  So, rather than charging us for the chain and the pendant, she gave us the replacement chain free.

Before dinner, we popped into the French 75 bar; a favorite.  And, for a time, we had the place to ourselves.  We talked with the bartender, who we've drunk with before.  I explained that we were "drinking the alphabet" and I had some hard to find letters.  He started thinking aloud about what sort of drink he could make and call it "Queen Victoria" for me.  Then my BFF and her husband joined us, and I ordered a "Queen Victoria."  She was disappointed she didn't have "Q" on her list.  After we left, he told her that the drink was our spontaneous invention.  hee hee.  Oh, and he comped us some gougeres and souffled potatoes.

Today, BFF and I are getting tattoos.  More about that later.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Shifting

We go on vacation tomorrow.  It will be interesting because we are joining two other couples on our usual June NOLA trip.  One couple, we've traveled with before and know we do well together, but the other couple we've never traveled WITH.  We've traveled to see them.  They've traveled to see us.  And, one member this couple has met one member of the other couple, but it was a very long time ago in a totally different context.  Everyone else knows us or are strangers.

But, it's NOLA!  How bad could it be?

I am a planner.  I normally like to have a rough outline of what restaurants/bars we plan to visit, but nothing else is planned out on NOLA trips.  But, since I'm the common denominator with all the couples, I felt that some structure was needed.  We were more specific in our restaurant planning . . . and there will be a side excursion that all or any can attend.

But, that isn't what this post is about.  THIS post is about how funny the behavior of our household shifts with little changes.  In preparation of our travels, half the critters have been taken for boarding.  The Old one, the one that pees if she doesn't get a fresh box every day, the one who bullies the other cats, and the one on a special diet are all unhappily at the vet's tonight.  This means the remaining cats are on one hand worried it's a matter of time before they get boxed up too, but on the other hand are enjoying less competition of our hands.  Also, since the one who pees isn't here, I can open the door to the bedroom.  (This winter, the one who pees claimed TWO pairs of my suede boots . . . little troll.)  Right now, as I write, two cats are on the bed and there might be one under the bed too.  (The last cat is hiding under the kitchen table, hoping that if more cats are boxed up, we will forget about her.)

Oscar the Bold (well, he was bold as a kitten, he's kinda a weenie now) is next to me on the bed.  He is waiting for any sort of gesture from me that might be more petting.  Pretty much, this is the happiest he's ever been.  ON THE BED!!! WITH THE MAMA!!!  TWO HAND AFFECTION!!!

Poor Oscar.  Maybe he could still be bold if he got this level of attention and loving everyday.  Or not.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The Journey

I have a friend who is walking across America.  He's on the American Discovery Trail, which I didn't know existed until he took off.  He started in March on the east coast.  He camped in snow.  He has dealt with thunderstorms and freezing weather and heat.  Some nights, he stays in inexpensive hotels, others he camps.  He isn't wearing headphones, he has a phone and some form of computer with him, because he posts to a blog nightly.  He clearly is using apps to check weather and navigate.  (Which makes me wonder how people did it before smart phones.)  He had planned on taking 9 months to complete the trip, but personal circumstances have caused him to bump up his time line and attempt to finish in 7 months.

This week, he hit the "half way" point.  Although, as he nears the Rocky Mountains, I suspect his pace will slow quite a bit.  He has mentioned, in his blog, that the further west he goes, the more nights camping he will have.  I'm concerned about him getting enough food and water.  Carrying large quantities of water is difficult, as it adds tremendous weight to his pack.

Reading his blog, what I am most struck by (and he seems to be as well) is how tremendously kind and generous everyone is to him.  He is a vet, and isn't afraid to identify himself as such, which I think probably helps.  He's also older, mature . . . so not some hippie kid shirking their responsibilities on the bank of mom and dad.  He has an open and kind and calm demeanor.  All of which, I think, helps people respond in kind.

Nearly daily, someone pulls over on the road to offer him water or food or a place to rest.  He has had wonderful conversations with people from all walks of life: from folks hanging out in East St. Louis to elderly women tending their gardens.  He even had a homeless person give him $2 because the guy thought my friend was also homeless.  He tried to refuse it and the homeless guy told him to not question a person's freely offered generosity.  A great life lesson, to be sure.  He has asked to camp in people's yards and been greeted with dinner and hot coffee brought to his tent in the morning.  In fact, the only hassle he's faced is from the state troopers who stop him about once a week to check his ID and want to know his particulars.

In a time when we are bombarded with messages of how much danger lurks just beyond our finger tips, it is refreshing to see that someone could walk half way across America and have only good interactions with the people he encounters along the way.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The Bestie

I have a friend who has been my friend, literally, forever.  It is rare that we go more than a few days without some form of communication (generally instant messaging since she's not a phone sort of human).  We live 3000 miles apart, but still manage to get together every couple of years.

The other night, she told me that she thinks of me as her sister. In fact, I nearly got to be her sister when the Grad Student was looking for a safe place to stash me.

The Bestie and I know all the intimate details of our lives.  We can complain and whine to each other.  We know when the other has a doctor's appointment or when to back off a touchy subject.  And, we can give each other shit like no one else.

Next week, Bestie and I are getting together in New Orleans.  We have a pre-arranged adventure I'll admit to later.  But, in a drunken text conversation last week, we set up the shit we are going to inflict upon each other next week.  At some point "hey, I have a nice ass.  Very kickable" got texted to me and "I will help you find your tongue" got texted to her.  Now, in an act of mutually assured humiliation, we are preparing t-shirts with those lovely sentiments on them.  heh heh.

Also, we like to play drinking games.  This trip, we're going to drink the alphabet.  There are prizes for the two people in our party who get the most letters checked off.  And, I need to remember to bring her the last liquor loaf.  She's that sort of friend . . . the one I'd give my last liquor loaf to.

Monday, June 02, 2014

Fame! Power! Influence! Fortune!

And, most importantly, applause.

The Phenom pegged me years ago . . . I cook for the humans because I love the applause.  (A tap dancing monkey isn't that special for long.)  I think I've reached a whole new low/high (? who knows) on my "culinary skills."

Our cat, Louie, has had "pee pee" issues.  He's had two surgeries in the last 6 months and spent two months living with out old vet.  Our old vet retired, moved away, then started treating animals part time because retirement bored her to tears.  She lives about 4 hours away, but for the really serious stuff, it's worth going to her.  Although, she thought Louie was such an excellent cat, she didn't want to give him back.  (Louie rehabbed in our vet's home rather than in a cage in the clinic.)

Since his surgery, Louie has been on a special, expensive, diet.  Our vet advised us to mix some water into the food to encourage him to get more fluid intake, and thus keep peeing.

Twice, last week, The Phenom has informed me that Louie not only refused to eat what the Phenom fixed, but actually growled at it.  I've had no such issues with Louie.  Again, today, when I came in from work, The Phenom informed me that Louie had not eaten.

I saw that Phenom had just poured water in Louie's food dish, rather than mixing it up.  I took the food bowl, poured off some of the water, mixed it well, and put it down for Louie . . . and he ate every bit.

Poor critter doesn't realize that now, he'll always have to wait until I get home for his mid-day meal.  Little dork.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

Cheater

That would be me.  But, I have a reason.  Just listen.

I went to another community's farmer's market today.  And, I bought stuff.

I've been hearing about the farmer's market in the next big town over.  They show pretty pictures on their face book page.  I have a friend who is a regular there, and she brags about what she gets.

I discussed it with another foodie friend, and we decided that we'd drive over there today.

There weren't as many vendors selling food as in my farmer's market, but the offerings were more exotic.  It seemed more like the pickings of really enthusiastic gardeners.  (And lots of crafty types.)

My haul (and all are items not available at my market) bok choi, asparagus, honey sticks (they did have jarred honey and jams, but I can get good local jams and honey, so I didn't buy), carrots, and garlic/herb goat cheese.

I have beautiful new potatoes left over from last week, so we'll have potatoes and carrots for dinner tomorrow night (I'll figure out a protein), and then Monday night I'll make a veggie fried rice with the asparagus and bok choi.  I'm fairly sure I might have a squash or two left from last week as well.

I don't know if I'll make it back to that other farmer's market . . . but it's nice to know it exists.  It has been decades since I had asparagus from the garden.  The Old Woman use to love to taunt me during asparagus season, after I'd moved out on my own.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Yumminess

My favorite season has finally arrived . . . farmer's market season.  Tonight's dinner was my faux ratatouille.  Phenom isn't a fan of eggplant, so I use potatoes instead.  Tonight, I had some andouille sausage I sliced up and sauteed before throwing the veggies (peppers, potatoes, onion/garlic/ and squash) in the pan.  I added in some veggie broth and cooked until the squash was crisp/tender.  A new item on the table tonight was purple cauliflower.  Yes.  PURPLE.  See:


There are no filters on this picture.  After cooking, the blues in the purple came out and the steaming water was as purple as kool-aid.  It tasted exactly like white cauliflower, only better because it was locally grown and picked just yesterday.  I wish the Old Woman could have seen it.  She use to marvel at the beautiful color of purple onions.  She would have loved this.

However, my food snob has been tweaked.  One of the farmers was selling fresh blueberries at the market yesterday.  It is too early for the blueberries to have been local.  WHY WOULD YOU SELL NON LOCAL FOOD AT THE FARMER'S MARKET FOR CRISSAKES?  We are another month from local blueberries being available.  And, then one of my friends told me that at her big, urban farmer's market (same state), she bought fresh peaches.  Again, it's another two months from peaches.  WHY!!!!????  Just go to the grocery store and get some shit that got trucked in from South America.

Sorry.  That got a bit more passionate than I expected.  But, still . . . you defeat the whole "local and fresh" thing when you buy out of season, even at the farmer's market.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Phenomena? Confession?

I generally consider myself a highly functioning monkey/human.  I possess all the basic skills for taking care of myself/others.  I can do basic repairs to clothes.  I can cook meals. I can check the oil in my car.  I can instruct others in basic life skills.  I also have higher order skills like reasoning, creating objects that are useful/pretty, and reading maps/navigating large cities.

Since this, months long, medical adventure, I've found myself facing an interesting phenomena.  I can only describe it as a semi return to infancy.  And, I can't say I hate it.  I'm not actively seeking it out, but I have enjoyed it at the same time.  By return to infancy, I mean allowing others to care for me.

This goes beyond the necessity of nurses changing my dressings or Phenom bringing me food when I can't get out of bed.  I think I've spent so many years trying to blend in, go unnoticed as much as possible, it has been a nice reminder of my place on the planet when people have gone out of their way to show concern.

There have been flowers, phone calls, care packages, sweet notes, and cheering of milestones in recovery.

I think those years in a cage in the behavioral sciences lab made me forget what it feels like to be mothered/cared for on that level.

Not that I'd ever consider repeating any part of this "adventure"  . . . but I do appreciate the many ways my fellow humans have gone out of their way to remind me that I have a place in their lives, that I matter.

Thanks, Ya'll.


Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Damn it

I woke up in the middle of the night to discover the scar from the most recent surgery had opened up and oozing all over the place.  I jumped in the shower to clean off and drove myself to the emergency department.

Another CAT SCAN, and another ambulance ride to a big, university associated hospital.

However, this time, the "surgery" was so minor they did it in my room and with just localized numbing agents.  It does seem a tad cruel that you have a sore, tender spot and they want to insert a needle (and a big one at that) multiple times in just that spot.  But, it did the trick because I didn't even feel any of the actual cutting.

There is talk of sending me home tomorrow. And, in between baggies of meds being dripped into my arm, they are disconnecting me so I can move about on my own.

But, again with the drama and the hospital.

You'd think karma would have moved on after I popped a tire driving into a parking lot in a city 100 miles from home yesterday.  Stupid karma.

Monday, May 19, 2014

Perspective

Two stories.

One:  I have dear friends in Portland, Oregon.  I've become a fan/friend of their teen aged daughter.  (Okay, I may have sent her some radical feminist reading materials.)  Their daughter is gay.  She's been openly gay, with girlfriend, since middle school.  I know it just killed her parents that they could not give their daughter a world in which she could enjoy the rights and freedom to marry the person of her heart's desires.  Until today.  I was so happy for this family when I heard about the federal judge striking down the ban on gay marriage in Oregon today.  And, I know that her parents are thrilled that someday, their child will have the chance to enjoy one of the dearest relationships humans can enjoy.

Two: I have a long time friend whose husband has serious kidney issues.  He has been waiting for a transplant for years.  Saturday morning, she texted me to say they were on the way to the big, university hospital because there might be a kidney for her husband.  I was so sad to hear from her Sunday evening that no kidney was available after all.  But, she said, she's okay because they are just disappointed, and somewhere there is a family grieving the loss of a loved one.

I love it when other humans make me wanna be a better monkey.

Friday, May 09, 2014

A week off the juice

Both Phenom and I are marking a full week off the juice.  His "juice" is steroids.  He was taking them for a rash that popped up due to the stress of trying to keep a monkey from climbing the walls during a prolonged confinement that seemed much too much like the lab days.  He finally worked his way down to the end of the graduated dose.  He loved being "juiced" . . . he said it made him feel alert and energetic.

My "juice" was narcotic pain killers.  I've been exposed to quite a range of narcotics in the last few months.  Morphine doesn't do much for me.  I spent three days on oxy being the happiest drunk you've ever seen.  I have a huge bottle of vicodin.  But, narcotics are a cruel mistress and I decided a few weeks ago to wean off of them.  I tried it about a month ago. . . just went cold turkey.  I woke up the next morning and couldn't lift my arms.

So, we've had conversations with my doctor and worked out another plan.  I'm trying to return to my old pain meds routine.  It's taken a while and I'm not entirely happy.  I might have to have another conversation with my doc and try one of the newer, fancy arthritis meds.

The upside for me is that I can now have a margarita with Friday night Mexicanish food.  Phenom just misses the days of 'roid rage.  I think I won this contest.

Wednesday, May 07, 2014

Another step

In reward for my being dedicated to getting into shape last year, I gifted myself (for Christmas. . . I may not go to church, but I don't pass up gifting opportunities) a pre-paid, year membership in a gym.  And, 10 days into the new year, I got sick.  Today, almost 4 months later, I finally walked back into the gym.

I like to do the exercise thing early in the morning.  Which, for those of you who actually know me, is shocking.  I love sleep.  I love my bed.  I love rolling over for another two hours of "nap" after I wake up.  I like the post breakfast nap and the after lunch nap and the before dinner nap and the after dinner nap.  I love sleep.  And, I do it really well.

I gave myself permission to reset my alarm if I didn't feel up to snuff at 5:30 this morning.  But, I didn't do that.  I got up and grabbed my shoes and water bottle and headed out the door.  Only, as I pulled out of my neighborhood, I realized I'd forgotten my iPod.  And, when I arrived at the gym, I saw they had a bunch of new machines and I could not figure out how to use them.  Finally, I found one of the older ones not being used.

I didn't do much of a work out.  But, I worked out.  And I had a yogurt and raspberry smoothie (homemade with real fruit, not fruity syrup) for breakfast.  Tomorrow, I'll remember my iPod.  I might even ask how the new machines work.

Now, if I could stop looking like Troop 48's first aid exhibit, we might actually think life has returned to normal.