Not Your Usual Friday

FAIR WARNING: Medical procedures are going to be talked about here. If you are squeamish about blood and the process of drawing it, you might want to stop right here.

I don't remember what I was dreaming about, I only knew that I was suddenly in horrible pain. I straightened my leg out as best I could and took shallow breaths trying to control the pain. Little did I know that the leg cramp that woke me up first this morning was just a taste of what the rest of the day would bring...

I did manage to fall asleep again. The second time I woke, it wasn't my leg that was hurting - it was my chest. Nothing big, nothing awful, just a little twinge like someone had reached inside and given my heart a quick squeeze. I sat up and it went away. Heartburn. Acid reflux. Gas. Something normal. No big deal.

I got up, got dressed, got ZBoy up and ready to go. Today was Friday - my day to volunteer at the "Mistletoe Mall" at ZBoy's school. We drove to school and went our separate ways.

Volunteering was fun! There was a roomful of inexpensive, non-crappy gifts, and the kids could come with money or vouchers and a list of people they wanted to buy presents for. My job was to go around with the kids and help them pick stuff out and keep them to whatever cash amount they brought with them. One kid showed up with $20 and a list of 7 people. I got down to his level and told him that it would be a real challenge - he was going to have to be an EXCELLENT shopper to pull this off. He nodded solemnly and we started looking at stuff. On the $2 table, there was a really nice little cosmetics bag which could also be used as a clutch. I suggested this to him, but he had zeroed in on the bathtime body paint (for little kids). He just KNEW his mom would love it. He would not be dissuaded. Each child that I helped had a similar amount, and we made the most of it. I stayed a half hour longer than I'd signed up for, then went out to my car to get my purse because I wanted to do a little shopping there of my own.

As I walked back in the school, I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. That squeezing thing was happening in my chest again, only it hurt more this time. I went, did my shopping, checked out of the school and sat in my car for a few minutes. The KenPo gym was just down the street, and I needed to pay them for Darling Man and ZBoy, so I stopped there to give Master Jerry a check. While I was talking to him, another chest pain hit. I must have gone pale, because he asked me if I was okay. I told him what was going on, and told him I was calling the doctor. I got back in my car and did just that. After hearing my symptoms, they asked if I could come straight away - and I did.

I only had to wait about 5 minutes before being whisked to the back and hooked up to an EKG. Not a heart attack.

I was moved to a regular examining room, where the Doctor and a medical student came in. Doc started asking me questions. Symptoms, how were my legs? He listened to my chest and my lungs, then asked me to show him where it hurt. I pressed the area just to the left of my sternum. He pressed there and on the other side and both sides felt tender, but the left side was more so. I told him about the shortness of breath and he speculated about a possible blood clot.

I laughed. That would be just too ironic, I told him. My brother just got out of the hospital in Atlanta with a blood clot in his lung (pneumonia). That set off all kinds of alarm bells with the doctor. He asked about my legs, and you know I plum forgot about the cramp that woke me first today. I said my legs were fine. He started asking if there was any other family history, but other than the fact that we seem to drop dead of heart attacks and strokes, I couldn't think of any.

He filled out paper work and sent me over to the lab for bloodwork and a CTPE scan.

I love this lab. I go there every three months for blood work because of my cholesterol issues and my other issues regarding the drug side effects for controlling my cholesterol. The nurses there are the gentlest needle pushers ever. My veins aren't always cooperative, and it usually takes them a couple of tries to get a good one - even when I am able to prepare (drink lots of water) beforehand. Still, when I saw this sign, I was happy:

They could use the same stick for the IV as for drawing my blood! Hurray!

At least, that's how it should work in theory. They had a special IV nurse come in. She tried in the crook of my elbow. Nada. She tried in my wrist - found one - and then it blew out. Rather than keep stabbing me, she suggested that the regular nurses go ahead and get my blood for the tests (10 TUBES WORTH!), and she'd install the IV back in the CT room.

Except that they couldn't find one either. I have holes in both wrists, forearms, the back of my hand. Finally, one on an inside wrist worked and I managed to fill all 10 tubes.

They then turned me over to the IV nurse, who led me back to the CT area. I was again rubber-banded up as the search for a place to insert the IV began again. After one more try, the CT nurse bustled over and said SHE'D do it. She got out her magic wand and began thumping my arm and running it over my skin trying to find a vein that would work. Nada. She turned it off, straightened up and said, "I think we need to call Sean."

A minute or so later, a young man came in. I asked him if he was Sean, Sticker Supreme. He laughed and said yeah, he guessed he was. He then came around, took my arm and started thumping and feeling and waving his own Dr. McCoy magic wand up and down. As he shifted his grip to get a better hold, he stopped and said, okay, found one and it's a ROPE! The backside of my forearm is apparently the motherlode. They easily inserted the IV line, tested it with saline and then ran down the "What they're going to do and what I can expect" list. It didn't sound too awful. I laid there on the gurney in my hospital gown with a nice warm sheet on top, IV line in my arm and was told to put my hands over my head. This position almost always puts me to sleep - I don't know why. They shot me up with the contrasting iodine solution, which spread through me like wildfire - literally! My arms got hot, my ears, my neck, my chest - and then it moved downward. For a moment I wasn't sure I hadn't wet myself, but it was just the iodine heating up everything, right down to my toes.

A Star Trek-computer voice told me to inhale and hold my breath. I held it for 20 seconds before she told me to breathe. There was whirring and clicking and the gurney-thing moved through the tube and back again. A couple of minutes later, we repeated it again.

All this time, my chest was hurting with the occasional squeeze for good measure.

After the CT people released me, they told me to wait. But I still wasn't done - I had to go back over to the blood lab for a blotter-timed test. Apparently the idea behind this test was to see how long it would take me to stop bleeding after a "superficial" injury. They put a blood pressure cuff on me and kept the pressure at 40. Then a small incision was made on my arm and I was allowed to bleed for 30 seconds before a nurse held a blotter wheel to my arm to soak up the extra blood. For six minutes they would let me bleed for 30 seconds, then blot. It was a strange test. Then when that arm was done, they cut my other arm and did it all over again. When we were done, we had two round blotters with a scalloped design in blood. They looked like some kind of twisted homemade Christmas tree ornaments.

By the time we finished, the CT results were back. No clots. The IV line was removed and I was sent on my way.

It seems like such an anticlimatic ending to such an adventure. Lots of pain and blood and time to find out that there was no imminent danger. A good result, but at the same time a little disappointing. While I was glad that I wasn't going to die today, my chest was still hurting and no one seemed to know why. It seems to have backed off a little now, with only the occasional squeeze. And it will be early next week before the blood tests come back. So this weekend, I get to lick my wounds, take it easy and watch the bruises form.

Ask

In a couple of days, I'm going to write a post about the transition to digital TV from analog TV. Since I work for PBS, and PBS is at the forefront of this particular technology, I know quite a lot about it. We were talking at work today and I mentioned that I might do a blog post about it. I was then asked if I would mind having my blog post published in our local paper. So if you've got a question, ask it. I will answer it in that post.

Lots 'a' Stuff

LOST: One grey sweatsuit jacket, zippered with pockets and hoodie. Not much to look at but it had a $5 gift card from Starbucks in the pocket, which is what really pisses me off about losing it.

FOUND: One rusty wheelchair with broken wheel. This is my fault. We were driving around the neighborhood looking for Christmas lights when I spotted aforementioned found object on someone's trash pile. "Oh, look! Someone's tossing a wheelchair!" I said stupidly. Of course, we didn't hear the end of it until the thing came home in the back of Darling Man's truck at Zboy's behest.

I have no idea what he thinks he's going to do with it. I imagine that at some point, after his consciousness of its presence diminishes, I will take it to work and deposit it in the dumpster. Next time, I will keep my trap shut.

MEET STEVE: Darling Man and ZBoy are definitely getting into the holiday spirit. Last weekend, they brought home Steve.

Steve

It's not quite a Charlie Brown tree, but it spoke to ZBoy and he insisted that this was our tree. With the arrival of Steve, there was a massive hunt for Christmas ornaments, which necessitated our making more headway in the garage. We looked and looked and moved boxes and cleaned and unpacked - only to find that they'd been stashed in the shed outside. Oh well. Details to follow on Fun Monday.

CALL STACY AND CLINTON QUICK! IT'S AN EMERGENCY! That last cold front that moved through our area kicked up some nasty stuff. Not realizing how bad it would be, I didn't start snorting Astelin in time and wound up with a big lump where my sinuses used to be. The main effect of this besides a headache is feeling incredibly spacy. I had to go to work today, and did so with minimal effort. I figured that if I was dressed enough to stay warm and not get arrested, I was doing okay. Apparently not.

My friend Kelly walked in and asked me what, if anything I was wearing, actually belonged to me. Well, the doo-rag is mine. The t-shirt with the fish and "reel thrill" written on it is mine. The flip-flops are mine. Everything else was Darling Man's. She sat down and shook her head, "Sayre, Sayre... what am I going to do with you? Get that man to give you a gift certificate somewhere nice - you need some new clothes!!!" I replied that I had just bought some new jeans from Goodwill, thankyouverymuch and she GROANED. "Used clothes??? Buy something new for once, will 'ya?"

Sure. Spend money I don't have on stuff I won't wear. When all this excess me is gone, I'll be happy to go out and spend money on real clothes. Until then, Goodwill is good enough for me.

By the way, I usually DO look better than this...

Last one, I promise!

Last night, Darling Man and I went to the TGIO party (Thank God It's Over) for our local NaNoWriMo group.

This is not something we do easily as we are both kind of non-social hermit-types and for the most part, this entire group was comprised of strangers. I had laid eyes on some of them before at the initial meeting where we all pretty much sat in our chairs and listened to our Municiple Liasion Jenn give us a little pep talk and explain how it all worked. We didn't say much to each other then.

As the month progressed, we became a little more friendly online. Encouraging each other on, listening to tales of woe, challenging each other to get our words down on paper or screen. There were write-ins each weekend, but I never managed to make it to one, so I missed that comraderie-building potential. The other Municiple Liasion and I were neck and neck going into the last week on our word-count and it became a race to see who would beat who to the finish line (I beat him, but he surpassed me in ultimate word-count).

So while I felt like I knew some of these people better, there was still that shy-stranger quiet as we gathered together and waited for our table at a local Italian eatery. Ten people actually showed up and only two were non-writing significant others. Everyone else there had participated. And still, the quiet. It was a little odd, even for a social hermit like me. But as orders were placed for wine, martinis and sodas, people began to relax a little. Sitting across from me and Darling Man was Marilyn and her SO - a non-writing physician. Slowly we began to chat, asking about each other's stories and before long we were engaged in a marvelous conversation regarding how to commit murder-most-foul and creative ways to get rid of bodies and evidence and more creative ways to find the same. We talked about the different cultures we'd incorporated into our stories (I'm gonna have to edit mine to include something besides older, white-bread Americans) and then we began a conversation about cannibalism.

The rest of the table fell silent for a moment when exclamations were made about barbecue sauces.

By the time dinner was over and everyone had turned down dessert (people who spend so much time sitting on their butts can't really afford that luxury), we'd actually started to become a fairly cohesive group. We left amid promises to keep in touch and to see each other next year.

And the really weird thing is... I still don't know anyone's real name.

Fun Monday - Blast from the Past (year)

Robinella is our host this week and this is what she wants:

Take a moment in this last month of 2007 to reflect on the past year. Okay? Done? Now…

In honor of exhaustion, color and self-love, I present you with this week’s assignment. I want you to dig through your blog files and show us your best effort. Why you consider it your best is up to you. C’mon, you know you have a favorite - show it to me one more time.

Oh man, she said this would be easy.

I am, if nothing else, prolific. With the exception of this past November when my writing time was taken up with other things, I have been a near-daily poster. That's A LOT of posts to weed through. This weekend, I have painted my livingroom, babysat my granddaughter, cleaned house and worked on the garage some more in a halfway successful search for Christmas decorations. Last night, I remembered that today would be Monday, so I dutifully sat down and started going through my blog. Got through February before my eyes began drifting downward. However, I did find one that made me laugh all over again. In light of Brittany Spears' problems since that post, it is actually all the funnier. Presenting THE MOMMY AWARDS:

YOU ARE THE WORST MOM EVER!!!!

Thanks, honey.

Last night, my son and I went to Ken Po. This, being the first full week back at school, he had homework, but he didn't bring it with him to do while I had MY class. He said he'd do it when we got home. He didn't. He said he would get up early and do it in the morning because he was "so exhausted from that hard workout." Guess what?

We had a little chat this morning about his being distracted by his toys, and that he needed to put them aside and get his homework done. Little chat quickly escalated in the face of his defiance to being dragged to his room and being given a couple of swats on the be-hind and being told to think about our little conversation because the repercussions could be bad.

I am not this kind of bad mom:



When I'm pissed, I'm THIS kind:



You wouldn't like me when I'm pissed.

I'd taken today off (comp day from working during the holidays) to take the cat to the vet (Z-boy let him out after being told not to), so I cancelled the appointment and now have the whole day on my hands. Guess what I'm doing?

Every homework "distraction" is being packed into a box for a week. If I get arguments, it will be two weeks.

He's been a real pill ever since Christmas and it is time for some TOUGH LOVE. Amazingly, my husband agrees.

Exerpt

I've had several requests for an exerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel. This is the one that I posted on my profile page, which introduces the character of Lena. I am putting my novel away until January, when I can look at it with a little more detachment and see how good or bad it really is. Then begins the process of editing, which is a lot of work. When I'm done with that, I'll be ready to send it out into the world to a few readers to get feedback. So probably, sometime in February, I'll be asking for some help...

King of the Shuffleboard

Working Title

I'd have to say that my life didn't really begin until Milton died.

We were of that age, you see. He went to the office every day while I stayed home and kept house. That's what we called it back then. There was none of this "domestic engineer" stuff. Women were the keepers of the hearth and home, with food on the table and a peck on the cheek when the husband arrived home. I was always dressed nicely with my hair combed and a touch of lipstick. It was comforting and stable - but it was also lonely.

When they were young, the kids kept me busy, but they grew up and moved away the way they do. When Milton passed, they all came flocking around, helping with the funeral arrangements, holding my hand, waiting for Milty's will to be read. My Milty was a very successful business man. He left each child a nice amount, which they didn't appreciate. And after perfunctory pecks on my cheek and stiff hugs, they all went back to their lives.

I guess they were too busy to really worry about me. I've always been the one to take care of things, take care of them. I suppose it never occurred to them that I might need some help.
I managed. Milton left me plenty of money to live on. He might not have been big on showing affection, but he took care of me financially so that I would never have to worry about money. He also left me with a huge house on a couple of acres in the right part of town. It took me about a year to go through all of our stuff, pare it down to just what I needed and a few things I wanted. I held an "estate sale" and the rest got auctioned off. Even after I paid the auctioneers and the movers, our... my things brought in enough for me to live on even if Milty hadn't left me any money at all. It seems we were quite materialistic coming up. We had the best of everything.

Now I had a bank account full of money and my life unencumbered by things.

I was free. For the first time in 52 years, I was free.