… but that third cosmo yesterday just about did me in. Oh four peeps – I am too old to be drinking THREE cosmos in the mid-afternoon. I last remember lounging in a plushy chair on the deck, sipping on my (third) tasty cool beverage and the next thing I know, I’m upstairs in the bathroom, sweating my ass off for some reason. I vaguely remember going upstairs but have no recollection for what reason. I lurched over to the bed and passed out there, still all sweaty. (I sound so very, very attractive, do I not?)

One cosmo = nice, pleasant buzz
Two cosmos = nicer, even more pleasant buzz when all is right with the world and I hear birdies chirping and singing
Three cosmos = sweaty, lurching, forgetful mess. Blarf. (to coin a term)

The evening was spent trying to recover from the egregious choices I made earlier. Duty was nice and went to buy me some soda to ease my tummy. Man, vodka is rough on my stomach. How do all those alcoholics do it?

Announcing: AN ADVENTURE!!

Duty and I decided to take a mini-break and head up to Portland, Maine! Don’t ask why Portland. It was a spur of the moment “Let’s do it!” thing. We are going to celebrate our tenth anniversary. We’ll be driving there (about 8 hours) and plan to visit Boston and see some sights. Last time I was up thataway was 1993 with my buddy Charlie. (That is a story for another time. I’ll sum it up thusly: as he dropped me off after a week long jaunt up north, he said “I don’t want to see you again for a very long time.” Yes, fun was had by all!!)

Anyway, YEY for vacations because I cannot take another minute of that job. I’m gonna rock some mad manifesting skillz and get my ass on out the door in the relative near future because those people make me crazeeeee.

(stabs self in head and runs away)

Yes, folks, it’s your long awaited part two of “Tour of Duty: the hospital years”. Although now that I’m thinking it through, it’s really not as much fun or as entertaining as part one. Still, I will endeavor to add some humor to the retelling as is my wont.

Once we got past the blarf-fest that was the morning, things were fairly smooth. The doctor had ordered some Ativan for Duty since he was wigging out only slightly. Apparently, someone vomiting blood took precedence over chill pills and I had to go in search of the nurse to get them. (I know, right?) The pill knocked his ass out so I took the opportunity to go eat lunch in the cafeteria. My half-eaten breakfast bar (abandoned when blarf-fest started) seemed rather unappealing. The procedure was scheduled for 1:30 and it was 11:30 so I figured I had time to spare and Duty was snoring happily on the bed.

After a mediocre lunch of fish sammich and soda, I decided it was time to head back. I mean, what else was I gonna do, right? Now, let me say this- being admitted to the emergency area required something akin to high level government security clearance as well as the ability to navigate large crowds of sick and sometimes unruly people. I had neither. While I was waiting for someone to accompany me back there, I saw Duty’s really nice nurse race by and wondered where she was going. Probably to her 37th blarf-fest of the day.

My chauffeur (aka: the person who takes you right to where your loved one is stashed) showed up and let me tell you – damn, everyone moves fast there which is a good thing in a life-threatening situation but not so good for a fat ass like me! I could barely keep up with the old farty peeps. Anyway, they took me back to Duty’s room and …. no Duty. Is he dead? Did I hit a weird time/space continuum? It’s barely 12:15. Oops! They were taking him off to be prepped for the procedure and his nurse that I saw flying by? She had run her butt all the way down to the cafeteria looking for me. Isn’t that sweet?

I quickly got into the swing of things and *ran* all the way up to the prep room with another nurse just to kiss Duty on the head before he went in. YEY for wonderful nurses! So, I settled myself in for a nice wait in the family room outside the critical care unit. And waited. And waited. …. and then waited some more. (snore) Checking on his status, I was told he was still in the procedure area so I decided I’d make another visit to the cafeteria for a soda and sit outside in the sun because it was hella cold in that hospital. The nice (but a bit high strung) lady at the nurse’s desk gave me one of those beepy things they give you in restaurants when your table is ready and said it will work anywhere in the hospital. The doctor would come chat with me after the procedure.

(Damn this is getting long and I’m not even to the bedpan part of it! Sorry.)

I had just sat my butt down outside when … BEEEEEEEP! So, I go racing back to the area to talk to the (adorable, funny and talented) doctor. Duty looked well, if a bit out of it and things went just fine. They cleared up the 90% blockage and he has to go back in a month for the next round. All well and good and I thank you, Dr. Gorgeous McCuterson.

Duty must lie still for 4-6 hours and not move his right leg AT ALL because if the place where they inserted the catheter (groin-age) starts to bleed, they have to start the 4 hours all over again. Still in a haze, Duty doesn’t overly care. We chat, I rub his head and all is well with the world. That is, until he decides he has to pee. Urinals are offered. He is not happy. He’s never had to pee in a bottle-like thing before. “This is humiliating” he says. And oh, by the way, what does one do when a poo event is on the way? The nice nurse says “need a bedpan?” and he just about has a conniption. “This is humiliating and barbaric” he proclaims.

Yes, yes it is, I agree. Still, what are your options? Nurse brings both bottle and bedpan and Duty says he wants me to stay but not her. (Oh sure, I get all the fun, right?) Guys have no idea how easy they have it with peeing in a bottle. I want to smack him on the head with said (empty) bottle but he is in a delicate state and it’s just not love and light and all that other woo-woo crap I espouse. Panic ensues when the nurse puts the bedpan under him. Seriously, y’all – this is more traumatizing to him than having a heart attack. Nurse reminds him that his situation is just temporary and that lots of people have to live this way and he is brought back to reality.

Finally, after much angst and whatnot, we have pee-age in a bottle (which is not at all like time in a bottle, just sayin) and all is right with the world. I leave to go feed cats and will be back in a couple hours once he’s in a room. I come back later and hang out for a bit and find out that he’s been cleared to use the toilet. AH! Life! She is good again!

After a decent night’s sleep, he’s ousted from the room because peeps need it and he’s halfway to being well so they stick him in some alcove (I’m not kidding) to wait out his remaining time before I can take him home. Fun!

And that’s the end of the story – I don’t think part two was worth waiting a week for, alas.

A week later and he’s doing just fine. We get to go back and do it again in a month (minus the heart attack and attendant drama) and this time, he swears he will do all his bathroom business BEFORE the procedure. We’ll see how that works out!

Duty had a heart attack.

There. I said it. And he’s just fine. Which is good. But at the time, it was rather scary.

This might be long. Please forgive me in advance and know that writing about it is cathartic for me plus added snark makes me feel alive.

Act 1 Scene 1

I, weary from work and in one of those “I feel and look gross” kind of moods, come home to find Duty home early because the baseball game he went to was rained out. He mentions that his left arm doesn’t feel right. I, still weary, mumble something and decide I’m going to take a nap. (Clearly, I’m not paying attention that it’s the LEFT ARM.)

Weary old me trudges upstairs, gets undressed and actually thinks these very thoughts: “I’m so glad that I don’t have anywhere I have to be or anything I have to do.” and curl up in bed, drifting off to a peaceful sleep.  Karma, she is not so nice.

Act 1 Scene 2

About 10 minutes later, I am somewhat rudely awakened by Duty saying that he really doesn’t feel well and I agree that he’s a sweaty mess.  I dress quickly and we head off in search of the local urgent care.  Guess what? It’s no longer open!  I decide we will drive into Annapolis to the hospital but remember that there is another urgent care on the way.  We go in there where they take him back right away and call me in to the room.  Yep, he has had (or is sorta having at that moment) a heart attack.  Doc says he must go to the hospital and in an ambulance yet.  Duty, such a hard ass, says he will not go by said ambulance and that I can drive him.  (Uhhh, whut?) Doc retorts:  ”What if you go into cardiac arrest while she’s driving you over the bridge? Do you want to put her through that? (Way to go, Doc! He’s had practice at this!)

Duty begrudgingly consents. An ambulance magically arrives and they strap his ass in and off he goes.  I decide I have time to stop at Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee because it’s gonna be a long night.   Tra la la.

Act 1 Scene 3

Now I know what people on various political forums are talking about with the chaos in emergency rooms. Good God almighty.  I am thankful that Duty’s ailment necessitates immediate action or else I’d probably still be there.  (I silently thank God for our good Tricare insurance thanks to D being retired Navy. I can’t imagine going through this without that.)

Blah blah blah some medical stuff – blood pressure is high, they took blood, yada yada yada. Duty’s arm no longer hurt (yey for meds) and he held hopes that they would release him. (hahahah thought I. You ain’t going nowhere.) And that’s right. They are keeping him overnight.  I leave about 10:30pm.

Read More »

Oh, four readers of Love, the past few days have been …. shall we say … interesting? I will write about it at length soon but for now let me say this:

1. To quote Tom Petty: “Waiting is the hardest part”
2. I truly dislike hospitals but who really does like them? (besides the Cousin O’Love who runs one)
3. Emergency rooms are not for people who are well and truly grossed out by sounds of vomiting in stereo. (i.e.: me)
4. I am fine as is Duty so no worries.

More later, I promise.

LOL kitty just fuh U:

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

… we grossed out the doc!

Our doctor didn't really look like this. She was prettier.

Guess where I was this weekend, four peeps of love? The Air Force Base hospital with Duty. And what a fun adventure! Why? Let me ‘splain.

So yeah. Duty mentions to me that he made a doc appointment for Friday for this weird skin tag thing on his hip. Shows it to me. EWWW. It’s nasty and it looks more like a tick than a tag. Except it was gray. And the area around it? Bruised and gross. In a word – gag. I sez to Duty “Dude? I think that’s a tick and I don’t think you should wait for Friday to have someone take a look at it.”

Duty bows down to my infinite wisdom, as usual. (/fantasy life)

But before we visit the Urgent Care facility, we must haul ass to Northern VA to meet our friends Kim & Sal for dinner. Duty sez that instead of the Urgent Care, we can just bop by Andrews Air Force Base and visit the emergency room there. Yeah, that sounds like fun, sez I (who, admittedly, had one super-fine cosmo with dinner).

After dinner, we zoom by the emergency room. Waiting is fun. Duty can sleep anywhere. Isn’t that special? Yes.

About an hour goes by when we are escorted to a room that is also shared by another patient, separated by a curtain. That’s weird. Poor person. She had EIGHT teeth removed yesterday and was in immense pain that even the percoset couldn’t touch. They called an oral surgeon to take care of her. EIGHT TEETH. No. No one will be removing eight teeth outta my head. Uh uh.

Doc finally gets to us.

(As an aside, Duty, usually one who operates on a “need to know” basis with just about everyone, decides he’s going to share his medical history with the med techs, non-docs, whomever comes around to take blood pressure, etc. He gets hella chatty when faced with medical procedures.)

I digress. As usual.

Duty rolls down his jeans and underwear and shows the doc the inflamed, tick-ish area. Doctor (AIR FORCE DOCTOR, mind) sez “Oh sir. That’s just .. gross. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that gross. Oh my. Oh sir.” and she escapes from the room.

I think Duty is rather proud of grossing out a doctor. As we wait for her to return to remove the tick, we decide that this must be blogged about and bandied back and forth about the title of it. Once we got the cadence right, we were happy.

Doc returns, remarks once more about the grossness of it (“Oh sir. I’m sorry. But that’s gross.” – this from someone that’s probably seen a dead body or two in her time, I suspect.) and gets really kind of squeamy about it.

Hell, I’m a wuss and while it squicked me out a bit, I would have just pulled that dude right off. (Tick was dead, thanks to the high chlorination of our pool when he went swimming last weekend.) We informed her that she would be blogged about and she looked … hmmm, non-plussed is a good term, I think.

They give Duty a prescription for some crap that will ward off lyme disease (a bad mo-fo if ever there was one) and …. after waiting another 70 or so hours, we were on our way, minus a tick and not much the worse for wear. Of course, whatever small buzz I had from the cosmo had long worn off and we didn’t get home until almost midnight.

But wait! There’s more on Bill and Lisa’s big adventure.

We pull up into the driveway only to see flashing police lights right behind us. Yes, folks. After all the ER trauma (okay, I exaggerate), we had to endure a cop following us into our driveway. The charge? The taillight in the car was out. No ticket. Just a lot of flashing lights at midnight in a quiet neighborhood for nothing.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Don’t you wish you lived in the fast lane like me? You know you do.

Yep, still here. I wrote this big long post at work on Friday and then decided to let it sit and marinate. Talking with my coach on Saturday helped me put all this into perspective. And, FWIW, Jody, she was right there with you on your comment to me. I totally got it. Totally. This whole week has been about self-authority. And how I assert that. Most especially, handling it when others don’t overly like me doing that (coughDUTYcough) because they are used to something different.

So, below the cut is the rest of the story (as Paul Harvey would say). Be warned. It’s long and somewhat detailed. But if you wanna know how dissonance shows up when you shift a vibration, this is a good illustration.
Read More »

So, I have to announce my toxicity to one and all to get you guys to comment? heheh Alrighty. I think we have us a challenge! Thanks to all who did leave a comment this go ’round and to my family who wrote me privately to ask if I’m dying or what.

For the record, I am working with a doctor for this so fret not, y’all. It’s not that serious and I’m taking care of it. I’m not leaving just yet. I’ve got to attain my highest goal in life: to get a decent picture of me with David Cook. Then I will take the toxic liver express.

MWAH! Kisses to all of youse.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures