Monday, September 27, 2010

Start Monday With a Positive Thought... and Being POSITIVE That You hate Mondays does not count :)

Yesterday started off nice enough. Each of the big girls had sleepovers with friends Saturday night, and then met up with me and Emi at church Sunday morning. That means by process of elimination I only had to get one child ready. Still didn't manage to get shoes on that kid. I think I thought I had them in my purse or the car, but no.

All the girls and I plus Nat's BFF made the trek over the hill late morning to go see Dad. He seemed well enough, and happy to see us. The kids bring a bit of light and laughter out of him that I like. Emi likes to share his snacks with him, and she knows where ALL of the wall mounted hand sanitizers are in the facility. It was a little rough though, having 4 kids to see dad, and I could tell he wasn't feeling all that peppy. We stay about an hour and then leave him be.

Back at home I try to convince Emi that it is time to take a nap and that she is tired, all the while trying to convince Lulu and Nat that Emi needed to sleep so they needed to be quiet inside or play outside. Really I just wanted to nap. Just short of threatening them to not wake me up except for an emergency... lo and behold there were FOUR such 'emergencies' in the span of 20 minutes. One about a sprinkler, one about Lulu not sharing, one about a missing pair of pants... and then I just quit caring... because Emi was up since she heard the girls talking and giggling without her.

I suppose I wasn't meant to take a nap. But I was still bitter about it, until I got a call from Dad. (that I would have otherwise missed had I been napping...) He said he didn't feel quite right, and was worried about his leg and the source of prior infection. His nurse said it didn't look good and didn't think he should wait until his Wednesday appt. I encouraged him to tell her that he either needed the doc on call for this SNF to see him today, or I would be coming back over and taking him to the ER. He said ok. He would relay the message. Meanwhile I got a quick 2 sentence email sent off to his surgeon. 5 minutes later his surgeon calls me! I swear this guy is the best. (and married... darn it.) He said that we should not wait, he will arrange for an ambulance to take dad back to the ER. He would orders labs, a CT of the leg, and place orders to admit him for treatment. I heart him.

Bless my in-laws who love my kids, and trust my judgement when I say I need to be with dad. Dropped the girls off with them with an overnight bag, and made my 2nd trip over to Stanford (really cause going once a day just doesn't cut it for me.) Here is where my head started to hurt again. And I was tired. And potentially a bit moody. Which I apologized to God for, but it didn't keep me from feeling any less moody.

The ER is chaotic. Even just the parking lot. They block ALL of the parking spots with cones, and you have to speak with a cop to tell him why you're there and beg him to let you park there. He asked if I would mind parking in the lower lot? Sure. Why not. It's free. And my hips could use the walk. They could also use a nap, but apparently that's not his concern, so I didn't mention it.

Upon entry into the hospital anyone going into the ER triage waiting area needs to be screened like going through airport security. I know the drill. The guards are usually rude. I take off my comfy sweatshirt and put it in the bin with my cell phone and my keys. Put my purse in the next one and say "Ready?" for him to have me walk through the metal detector. He waves me through. Then he picks up my sweatshirt and says, "Whose the Marine?" I tell him my husband. His eyes light up a little bit, and he tell me what unit he served with in the Corps. But then he lingers with that look and on his last word, like he wants to know where my husband is. Fair enough. But that dang moodiness and numbness crept back in when I wasn't looking. All I could say was "My husband's dead." And now I feel like an ass.

Dad's CT was positive for a large abscess in the lower thigh. It is still contained just to the thigh and has not spread to surrounding structures or his blood stream. All of his labs are still good. Kidneys good. No confusion. Just a bum leg. The MDs and RNs at Stanford are amazing. They are busy, and competent, and compassionate. I heart them too. And the volunteer lady who kept coming by and asking if I'd like a glass of water while I waited with dad. Each time I said no. On the fourth round she smiled again because she was going to ask the same thing, and I was still going to say no thanks. She did, and I declined, and then she asked if I could use tequila instead? Oh hell ya. Her reply? "Yup. Me too."

There's no way she could have known about the last time Dad was admitting (under much worse circumstances) to Stanford ER. But I am sensing a recurring theme. The last time two friends came and asked what they could bring me. I said a sweatshirt and a cheese burger. They obliged and then also handed me a flask of tequila. (Which I was TOTALLY going to ask for...kind of as a joke... but then thought better of it.) They must have known anyhow :)

James' mom brought the girls by this morning to say hi before I left for work. It was a nice idea and I loved getting morning hugs and snuggles from my babies. But waking up confirmed to me that this headache was worse and I was nauseous too. Well now there's no way I could be pregnant. I mean, really. I could be the next virgin Mary... but I'm neither a virgin, nor named Mary. So unless God is really changing things up a bit... well. ya. I'm just sick. That's all there is to it. I did get up and try to face the day and power through. Dressed for success and all the crap too. I got as far as SV while on my way into work and realized this was not going to work. Back up the mountain I go.

Jammies back on, hair back up, checked work emails, installed Norton on my home PC, did a load of laundry and took a 4 hour nap. Back up to check work emails again, and then back to bed.

I re-showered and dressed this evening so I could try and make it to singing tonight for worship team practice. That was fun. We are a funny, motley crew. There is one song that is extra fun to sing, and (who knew?) had little clapping parts I was supposed be partaking in. I tried. Really I did. They snuck up on me. Then I'd try to out-wit them and sneak up on THEM, but really I was just too early, and through off the tempo in my little headached head. The one time I DID manage to get it, it was such an awkward over zealous attempt like I was going to pounce and not let it get away. And then I was proud, and then I lost my place.

This song also has a place to dance and let loose. Good ol B made sure I knew that I was expected to dance too. Confessing: I don't know how to dance, people. And when I try to think about HOW I might dance, the first several thoughts are of my 'trying to keep her off the pole' child who seems to be channeling her inner-stripper every chance she gets. Trust me. Even I know that's not appropriate for church. I'll figure something out. But it wasn't happening tonight.

Here's hoping to a good night's sleep. :) Nighty night.

5 comments:

Brittany said...

See, here's the thing, the things I see in you are totally different then the things YOU see in you. You say you can't dance, but just shaking your booty works! ;) Just stay off the stripper pole in church and we'll be fine.

Anonymous said...

And who says any of the rest of us can dance? B laughs when I try to clap, so just move the feet a bit and call it good.

Save some of that tequila for the rest of us.

Hugs,
Yo, Momma

Lauren said...

Have you forgotten how to dance since high school?! Or is your dancing like my singing, he he.

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