In Beijing it’s a stomach bug

Perhaps the Olympics inspired me. On Monday, I started boot camp. I wasn’t nervous, though it seems I should have been. I wasn’t too excited about our first ‘activity’. It seems there were some birthdays for some of the ladies in the class. So, at 5:30 on a Monday morning, there were 20-30 grown women running around a parking lot like crazy fiends, with balloons tied to our shoes, trying to ‘pop’ others’ balloons, while protecting ours from danger. This is not how we get me to participate in things - by starting off with goofy-ass games I mean.

Our workout was quickly interrupted by rain, so we moved from the parking lot to a semi-covered but partially flooded pavillion. The rest of the workout was typical I thought, and when I left, I felt that I hadn’t worked hard enough.

Oh silly me. By the time I got home, my muscles started to ache, and I could tell that I had put in enough effort. Way more effort than I should have probably. This was total head to toe pain. By the time I got to work, getting in and out of my chair was a workout itself.

On Tuesday, my phone alarm at 4:30 am brought a groan. Still sore and barely able to don my sports bra and tie my shoes without grimacing severely, I still made it to boot camp. I actually enjoyed that morning’s workout, even though they were called ’suicides’. But at home, things quickly went from bad to worse. The pain in all my muscles was constant and throbbing. Not a good sign. By the time I made it to work, I knew I was going to come down sick. And, just as I predicted, that afternoon I started running a fever.

A visit to my chiro gave me brief respite. Bless the stim machine and hot pads. I continued to run a low-grade fever Tuesday night into Wednesday morning. I emailed in sick to the boot camp instructor and my project manager. I didn’t go to the doctor. After Nick made me take a cold bath, my fever broke, and I thought I was on my way to recovery. Then the throat started to hurt.

Wednesday night I tossed and turned on the couch, trying to stay away from Nick so my sickness didn’t spread around the house. My throat felt like I was choking down hot, spiked coals. I didn’t sleep well, and when I looked in the mirror, I looked like a puffer fish. OK, slight exaggeration, but that’s what it felt like anyway.

Thursday morning I called my Dr and got an appointment. The rapid strep test came back negative. On Monday the lab culture will come back to confirm the negative diagnosis. I shoveled four ibuprofen and some Mucinex D and headed to work. People looked at me warily, and I croaked around all afternoon.

Before I sat down to watch the hours and hours of Olympics coverage on my DVR, I shoveled another 4 ibuprofen and some Mucinex D. Then I tossed and turned on the couch, the hot, spikey coals having returned. We are talking excruciating pain when I swallow, from the bottom of my jaw, up to my ears, which feel like they are stuffed with cotton.

I’ve missed 3 days of boot camp, which wasn’t cheap. I’m sure the instructor thinks I’m a total flake, making excuses because I’m a pansy. I assure you this is not true. I haven’t been sick in years, and now I’ve got this strange, random throat issue. Ibuprofen dulls the pain and swelling to a bearable level, but I’m not getting any better. One of the ladies at work mentioned a throat virus that’s been going around, saying it last weeks, ebbing, then returning. I am not cool with this. I don’t have a couple of weeks to be sick. I have boot camp and the corporate challenge going on this next month or so, and I don’t have time to be sick!

So, for now, I’m probably going to OD myself on ibuprofen and Mucinex D, gargle warm salt water frequently, and pray that my mystery illness magically disappears. My one hope is that if I’m not better Monday, my boot camp instructor will let me move to the next session so I can recover and not lose my investment. I can bowl for the corporate team with a sore throat, but other events like kickball, the bike ride, run, swimming, etc. I can’t do while I’m down without making myself worse.

It’s days like today when I wish I had access to the Olympic physicians and trainers, and thankful I’m not being dope tested.

How’s that now???

I spent part of another day at my mom’s house today, helping her reduce from a 3/2 home to a 1/1 apartment. The going, she is slow. But, we are making progress. One of the things I am taking from the house is my mom’s dining room furniture, china, crystal, and flatware. My mom is a little sad, because it’s the one ’super nice thing’ that she has, but apartment ‘dining’ rooms are, let’s say, tiny, and it just won’t fit.

So, today I was there, helping her pack it all up. We did an inventory of all the items, looked up replacement values (for insurance purposes), and packed and wrapped and boxed. I quickly figured out the packing stuff I had purchased at my local UHaul place just weren’t going to be enough, so we went to the one by her house.

I had a long wait at both UHaul locations today. It’s 105 in Texas, and people still have to move. UGH! So, we grabbed the extra dish kits and glass kits we needed, along with the boxes, and stood in line forever. Please note my use of the word “kit” in the previous sentence. This is where it gets fuzzy.

On the packaging, the ‘kit’ says it includes the packing foamy pouch thingys, the box insert forms, and a box. The thing is, the boxes are also sold separately, which must have just caused a ton of confusion for our UHaul Salesman #2. Salesman #1 at my store was quite competent, and rang my purchases up, no problem, even getting the boxes for me that were included in my kit that I neglected to pick up.

I knew I was in trouble when Salesman #2 asked me how many boxes I had. “I have four boxes, one for each kit I bought” I replied. “Well, they’re not included you know, so I have to charge for those.” I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because on the package here it says (pointing): Kit includes: Bullet Point 1 - foam pouch thingys, Bullet Point 2 - box insert forms, Bullet Point 3 - Box.” To which he replied, “Yeah, I know that’s what it says, but the box isn’t included.”

I was floored. Clearly on the packaging it said box included. Salesman #1 told me box was included, and did not charge me for box. Salesman #2 obviously has issues with interpreting the written word. “I’m sorry, but I really believe the box is included, so I need you to ask someone else about this.” So, he whipped out his cell phone and called his manager. “Are boxes included in the dish and glass kits?” he asked. “Oh they are, for reals?” I about fell over.

Yeah, for reals, they are included. But wait! There’s more!

While Salesman #2 and I are having our training session, a girl who had previously been at the counter interrupts our discussion, needing to provide whatever thing she didn’t provide before in order to vacate the premises with a truck. Salesman #2 finishes the call with the manager, hangs up the phone, backs out my entire transaction, and finishes off the young *ahem* lady, then re-rings me up. I still can’t figure out why he couldn’t back out my four boxes, charge me, and let me leave.

Customer service. Don’t expect it at UHaul. But hey, at least I didn’t pay an extra $20 for boxes.

Feels like…what?

We’ve been in the new house for 6 weeks now. Well, one month and seven days anyway. And it still doesn’t feel like home yet. I mean sure, there’s the unfolded laundry on the bed, the dishes in the sink, and who knows what the kids’ rooms look like. But the feeling of ‘home’ eludes me still.

I haven’t gotten to my routine of grocery shopping and cooking yet, meaning we’ve been eating out way too much. I have made a few meals here on my new gas stove. And the gas stove still frightens me. Especially when I use the oven. I know the inspector inspected it and gave it all thumbs up (heated to a perfect 350F when set at 350F), but the on and off noises freak me out. And things cook faster, and handles get hotter. I still haven’t rearranged the kitchen from when my sister-in-law helpfully unpacked.

Our bedroom is done, for now. I have a drapery issue to overcome. But the painting and furniture is done. The new living room furniture is all here now. The backordered ottoman/coffee table arrived last week. The kids rooms are 80% unpacked. Nick’s office is shaping up nicely. My office has picture frames and books on the floor still. I’ll move my mom’s dining room furniture in the next week or so. The guest/craft room upstairs will continue to have it’s door closed. The guest/storage room upstairs will continue to wait on Nick to find the bed frame screws. I have about a hundred billion spackle spots to sand down (and then paint) on all the walls in this house. And I still have screws to pull from the high spots on the stairwell landing.

I will continue to look at my yard and it’s complete lack of landscaping, combined with it’s pleothora of weeds and cringe at the thought of trying to do even a little yard work in our sweltering 100+F degree days. Mowing is a pre-dawn activity around here. And the neighbors don’t get mad, because they’re all up doing their own yards. I continue to look at my back yard and laugh at myself that I thought I was going to get a garden planted back there next spring. I’d better start saving my sheckles.

Maybe it will start to feel more like home when the kids come back next week. July has alternately dragged and sped by. They’re staying a couple of extra days since we needed to juggle the weekend visitation schedule so they’re with their dad the weekend he gets married. Am I the only one that thinks 13 and 9 are too old for a ring bearer and flower girl? Not my event though, so I bit my tongue at that news.

I’m not sure what to do ‘next’ on the list. It all seems to happen on a whim. I’ll walk in the door from work, get an urge to hang a picture, get tired of looking for the hammer, grab my sanding block and sand a few spackle spots until my arm is tired, and then move a box from one room to another before sitting down, exhausted and go to bed watch a few episodes of Deadliest Catch off my DVR. (Sig & Phil are my favorites. Sig’s brother Edgar is totally insane, but is the closest person I can think of to a real-life MacGyver.)

It will all get done over time, I know. But my perfectionist ‘get it done right now!’ attitude is irritating me. And if I can’t make it perfect, I’m not going to bother to do it at all. Yeah, I know. I’ve got a sickness. And it wasn’t even all my years of therapy that helped me figure that out.

Fun & Educational

The brilliance of putting things into a blender is on par with watching CDs flash lightening in a microwave. But when it’s educational too, I give it an extra rating star.

Update: Trying to update the link. Sorry this hasn’t been working.

Who knew you could do this with sugar?

Flashback

So, my mom is moving soon, and all four of us kids still have stuff at her house. I went over today to help throw old stuff away, and find anything remaining that might be mine. I didn’t find much, but what I did find put me in the Way Back Machine.

When I was a wee Lass, I read voraciously. Seriously. I read all the time. Nick doesn’t believe me, because nowadays, if I read a book a year, it’s a miracle. It’s not that I don’t like to read anymore, but time is precious and my attention span has withered. But when I was a girl, I would read 3 or 4 books a week, depending on how long they were.

So today, when I opened a box and found these, I jumped up and down like a little kid at Christmas and yelled “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”. For reals y’all.

The Sunfire Romance series. Distributed by Scholastic books, written by four or five of the same authors, and all about as formulaic as you can get. Young girl in historical time period falls in love with two guys, has to figure out which one is the right one for her. And I fell for them hook, line and sinker. Sad, pathetic, but I.LOVED.THEM. (No, I will not give back my Bachelor’s in English with a Concentration in British Literature, thankyouverymuch.)

I have several favorites. Kathleen, Caroline, Joanna, Roxanne. Some of the girls were like my best friends. They were all smart, stood up for themselves, and made their way in the world. All of the books have dog-eared covers, creased spines, and were read more than once. I thought I had them all, but it seems I stopped at book 27. I will be buying the last five in the series. Also, I am missing book 4. I know I had it, but I wonder if it fell out of the box at some point on the way home. I will have to look in the car tomorrow.

I found some other nostalgia today too, like a pair of my pointe shoes from my ballet days, and a few photos - like one of me and my first boyfriend. I also scored a box of vinyl albums that my step-dad didn’t take when he and my mom divorced. Lots of Willie Nelson, some Led Zepplin, Bee Gees, Elton John, etc. Nick like those best.

Our unpacking is coming along. Last week one of Nick’s friends (and some of his friends) came over to help us move some big stuff around that we didn’t figure out what to do with until after the movers were long gone. There are still a few boxes, and the kids’ rooms need LOTS of work. The rest is just organizing stuff that isn’t used everyday, so of course that will go on for some time to come.

Nick is just back from Target, with lots of picture frames for pictures we need to hang, and a new turntable (Zed has one on his stereo in his room, but that’s upstairs and it’s old and doesn’t work well) so we can listen to the vinyl.

Anyone else come across something lately from the way back yesteryears?

Her Big Sister in a Shining SUV

This evening, my sisters and I were supposed to head over to my mom’s house and help her with some stuff. So I changed after work and was headed for the elevator when my phone rang. It was my mom, and I figured she was checking on my ETA. Instead, she informed me my sister had a blow-out, and was stranded on the side of the freeway. I immediately assured her I would get to her and get the tire fixed.

So I called my baby sister, and she was on the verge of tears. She’s young, and was somewhat unprepared for the situation. OK, totally unprepared for the situation. No spare, no jack. But, her phone was charged AND she had the tire key. I took control, came up with the plan, and calmed her down.

I located her, but due to some fouled up issues with the road, I was only able to get within about 100 yards of her car. Doh! So I called her and had her walk over to my car, then we toured the other side of the freeway and came back around.

Her tire was totally shredded. She’s really lucky she didn’t lose control of the car. So I got out my (manual! ugh!) jack and got the tire off the car with no issue. We drove to Wal Mart (yes, Nick, I actually by CHOICE entered a Wal Mart - it was for a good cause) and got the replacement tire.

We got back to her car, and I put the jack up all the way. But the tire wouldn’t fit. Crap. The angle of the car on the roadside put the right rear section of the car lower than the rest of the car. I decided to try to move the jack as far to the left as I could (about 4 inches), to see if that would give me the angle I needed. And it just barely did. Otherwise I was going to be calling emergency roadside assistance. All the nuts got tightened up properly, and she was ready to go.

And lest you all wonder if mankind is still helpful, they are. Before I arrived, four people stopped. Then, after I got there, another guy stopped (just as I got the tire off). And, as I was tightening down the last nut, another guy stopped. But, it’s all good. I had the knowledge and the ability.

So, the tire we got tonight will get turned into a full-sized spare that WILL be put into my sister’s car. We WILL make a trip to an auto parts store to buy her a jack. And we WILL be having a tire-changing lesson in the near future. And Elle WILL watch. Go Girl Power!

Monkey pajamas

I downloaded photos off my camera the other day. There was a photo of Elle and Pop that I took a couple of weeks before he died. It was when we realized that Pop wasn’t going to get better, and I had to talk to Elle about dying. She was quite upset, and she said she wanted a picture of Pop. So I suggested they take the photo together. Elle was wearing her monkey pajamas Pop bought her (well, Nick bought on behalf of Pop) for Christmas. She’s worn the heck out of those pajamas.

I love how Pop put on a smile for the camera. This was taken 12 days before he died. There was so much change in those last 12 days, but he actually looked really good in this picture. He still had the life in his eyes here. It was two weeks yesterday that he passed. We’re still in a fog.

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I traveled for work yesterday and today. After my obligations yesterday, I got to visit my grandfather. When I saw him in December, he was still himself, able to talk even though he didn’t make much sense. When I saw him yesterday, I was more prepared than before. And I think having seen Pop decline recently maybe numbed the shock of seeing my granddaddy. But he was much thinner, and has greatly lost his ability to speak. Supposedly he has been having small strokes, which mostly go undetected, but affect his cognative ability. He’s also stopped eating due to issues with being able to swallow. So, he’s had a feeding tube installed, which is keeping him alive. He’s had some therapy, but really there isn’t much more that can be done for him. I was glad to get to see him again.

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I feel like coming by here has been so depressing lately. It has been a sad time, but we aren’t just sitting around moping. We’re moving on with life as we should. We’re trying to figure out what the next steps for Nick will be. School is a possibility, which I think would be wonderful for him. We’re still exploring the options though. Right now he’s assembling furniture and moving things around. And being cute and sweet and stuff. Last weekend we celebrated the third anniversary of our first date (because we’re big dorks like that). He’s my sweetie.

Still unpacking

Yesterday I had my suit pants and jacket. I couldn’t find the top. I dug in a box that seemed right. Found it at the bottom. *sigh* There are professional packers. Aren’t there professional unpackers?

I’m taking a four day weekend. Still going to a work-related happy hour tomorrow. Hey, free booze.

I’ll be finishing my bedroom paiting this weekend too. I’ve come to loathe painting.

The kids have gone to their dad’s for the month. Missing them and Pop sent me into some slightly moist eyes in the middle of Ikea earlier.

Nick and I are readjusting to alone time. We haven’t had a night out in over a year where we didn’t feel we had to rush back home. I feel guilty for liking that a little.

Missing Him

On May 18, the person that bought our house came for their first showing. And while we were out at breakfast that morning, we realized that Pop had broken his arm again. He confessed to me after I pressed him why he wasn’t using his right arm. The next day, we had an offer, and the day after that we accepted. We also took Pop for an x-ray. Followed by an MRI, a bone scan, and blood tests, all in the midst of negotiating contracts, scheduling inspections, and re-negotiating terms for inspection results.

And during that month, as we finished all of the official paperwork, scheduling movers, and packing, Pop was quickly dying. He lost the ability to walk just over two weeks before he died. I caught him as he fell after taking what turned out to be his last unassisted step. Either the doctor or the hospital lost the blood work that would have gotten us closer to an official diagnosis, but looking back, it wouldn’t have made a difference, ‘knowing for sure’.

I felt horribly selfish, praying that he not die before we closed. Really I wanted him to get better. One of the reasons we picked this house was the bedroom, bathroom, and patio arrangements for him. I had plans to make him a sitting area just outside the front door, on the covered patio closest to his room. He had stopped eating about the time he fell. I was force feeding him, struggling to get 1200 calories into him every day. Pleading with him for one more bite. Then at the recommendation of a nurse, I switched him to body builder shakes. A $49.99 container of lean mass gainer from the health store, whole milk, ice cream and fruits. I became a gourmet chef of smoothies. He liked those, and it was easier than me feeding him.

I combed his hair, helped him shave, made him shakes, and shrugged my shoulders, saying ‘we don’t know yet’ when he asked me what I thought was wrong with him. In reality, we knew. Between the bone scan results and his medical records, I pieced it together with help from Dr. Google. An abnormal PSA test indicated prostate cancer as a likely source. The bone scan report had terms which lead me to metastasized bone cancer. He had ‘hot spots’ on his (broken) right arm, left clavicle, thoracic vertebrae, and ribs.

We didn’t expect him to get better. It was hard to watch, and the speed with which he declined caught us totally off guard. A few months before, Nick and I had discussed that we thought he was slowing down. I wondered if he was holding on until we moved, and then he would die soon after. Little did I know what I was foretelling. He knew where he was when we brought him to the new house last Friday. I was glad of that. Saturday and Sunday he was pretty out of it. Monday and Tuesday he was never concious. Just over a month after we figured out he was sick, he was gone.

We are missing him terribly. We haven’t had a meal where we haven’t thought about the empty space at our table. I’m looking at menus, wondering what I would select for him to eat. (I ordered for him whenever we went out.) Songs on the radio make us think of him. Nick and I hug several times a day, one of us with tears in our eyes, telling the other of the memory or the thing we’re missing.

I miss him greeting me each day. Nick sometimes complained that I looked forward to coming home to Pop more than to him. While that was never true, I can see why it seemed that way. I would walk in the door, say hi to Nick, but make a beeline to Pop’s room to see how his day was and tell him what we were doing for dinner. I would come around the door, and he would look up from the paper or the TV and smile and say “Well Hi!” as he reached his hand out for a shake and a hug and a kiss. “You have a good day?” he would ask. I would shrug, make the hand-sign for ’so-so’, or give a thumbs up.

Some nights he wasn’t hungry. Or so he said, until I told him what was for dinner. And then he would say “Well, that sounds good, I guess I can make a little room.” And then he’d eat a whole plate. Later, he would say “Got anything sweet?” He like his sweets.

When we were out, he would sometimes speak so softly I couldn’t hear him. Because he couldn’t hear himself, and he was afraid of talking too loud. “Am I talking too loud?” he would whisper. I would grab my ear and shake my head. And then he’d loudly say “Is that better?”. I would laugh and nod. “Make sure they bring extra napkins” he would tell me. Because the man could never have enough napkins or tissues.

He was my guy. Nick was there during the day, but when I was around, either at home or when we were out, Pop was right by my side. I fell for the old man, hard. At dinner some nights, especially out, when Pop was sitting by me, he would wait until he knew Nick was looking, and then he’d lean over and give me a kiss. “Oops, better be careful or the kid will get jealous!” and then he’d laugh with a mischevious twinkle in his eye. Nick would make a fist and point at his nose.

The last year plus was wonderful. At first, it was a major adjustment, but we transitioned from a family of 4 to a family of 5. And now one of our family is missing. And it hurts.

We love you Pop. We miss you so much. 249.

Passing

Edward - 1920-2008

We love you always. Thank you for coming into our lives.