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Well, when John left the doctor’s office he dropped in at the house before heading back to work.  I told him I knew he was trying to catch me with men in the house.  He sail no, it was his mom he was trying to catch.

OK.  I can accept this.

Anyway, I was really glad he thought to come by to tell me what was discussed at his appointment.  And, almost best of all, he really liked the doctor and said that he put him at ease and seemed very reasonable.
This, coming from a man that repeatedly said something to the effect of, “I’m not going to let them make me do a whole bunch of shit!”.  Defensive, much?  Yeah.

He told John that it could very well be one of two things: Thyroid, (hyper active) or diabetes.

Anyway, doc suggested that they START with a full blood panel and see what that reveals.  Then take it from there.

Gee.  This just seems so reasonable.

So, he has a hole in his arm is running a few test tubes low, but other than that he feels MUCH better.  For now.

I am extremely relieved.

It’s 4:45 AM and I can’t go back to sleep.  John left for work earlier than usual today since he’s got a doctor’s appointment at 9:00.

John.  Who would let a limb rot off his body before he would voluntarily go to the doctor has decided to go in and “check this thing out”.

John is a large man.  He stands a bit over six feet tall and is quite broad shouldered and big statured.  He was over weight at 250 lbs.  But in the past, oh, 3 1/2 months he’s lost about 60 lbs.

We don’t know why.

He hasn’t been “dieting” at all.  We eat healthy for the most part here at chez Lopez, but he has always just packed away the food.  Let’s call it a “healthy” appetite, though I suppose that’s not entirely accurate.  Anyway, best case scenario, he has miraculously had the metabolism of a teenager restored to him and everyone I know will hate him for it (and I will be a tad bitter myself).

Actually what I’m thinking has happened is he has developed a case of diabetes.  He is urinating a bit more frequently and that, along with the weight loss makes me think that may be the case.  Compared to all the other possible scenarios I can think of, this is something we can live with. He can get outfitted with whatever he needs today and I have no problems with jabbing him with a needle.

This is one of those times when I would dearly love to have some idea about his ancestors.  Heredity would be so nice to know about, but he was adopted as a baby and we don’t really have any clue about his people.  I don’t even think he’s Hispanic, at least not all.  The girls keep telling him he’s an alien. Good guess.

Anyway, I’m not going to be able to sleep until he calls me and tells me that the doc has done a blood test and he’s just diabetic.  At least that’s what I’m hoping happens.

This morning I had a conversation with Lisa in which she informed me that she was feeding her fish.  Naked.

Needless to say I had a lot of comebacks to this and then she told me they were all excited because they thought they were going to be breast fed.

I would have just gone back to sleep, but I really don’t think I could have.  And really?  Can’t even imagine the nightmares that were possible.  Scarred. For. Life.

The other day, after realizing that I had been missing one of my favorite bras for a couple of days and was about to REALLY go through the dirty clothes hamper and wash EVERYTHING, I happened to look over at John’s side of the bed and notice that he had attempted to decorate the area.

Lamely.

What’s so brassiere bizarre is that I hadn’t noticed it there for at least 24 hours.

Remember this, yesterday-when I managed to lose my mind phone and was lamenting how I had searched high and low, never finding it?  Well, guess who commented and then sent me subsequent emails telling me where to look to find it?

Witchypoo over at Psychicgeek.

She told me to, “Look within, or under, an unmade bed.”  So I responded by saying something to the effect that I was shocked that she thought I would have unmade beds.  She pointed out that I have teenagers and that, of course, means unmade beds.   *sigh* She is right.

At this point I still wasn’t thinking about the psychic thing.  I was still just, “Oh she must have found something she lost in the bed and that really is a good place to look…”

So we emailed back and forth several times and she finally just kicked me in the butt told me that the “coverlet is turned back and the phone is right under the edge of it, close to the pillow”.

So I got my happy ass up and went first into H’s room and patted around on her bed and wasn’t really even thinking about the fact that she had given me a “seeing” tip.  Oh, and Henrietta was IN the bed when I was looking around, so OF COURSE IT WAS UNMADE… I mean I am not a complete slob, so I am sure it would  have been made if she hadn’t been in it.

OK, THAT’S THE STORY I’M GOING WITH.

At the foot of her bed is a coverlet/large throw thing that we always keep there for her in case she gets cold.  It is folded in half across the end of the bed.  I patted the thing down and, well, there it was.  Right there, just a few inches in, right at the edge.  So I immediately picked it up and went back in to re-read her last email.   It said it was “close to the pillow.”  Well, the coverlet was over the end of the bed not close to the head.  But look!  You can see in this picture that there is a stack of pillows in the seat of the chair that is pushed up to the end of the bed.

Now, granted I put the phone back in the bed to take the picture, but that is almost exactly where it was, but the coverlet was pulled over it of course and I couldn’t see it.  (I’m not that lame.  I would have already found it if it had been lying out on the bed!  OH, YES, I WOULD!)  Anyway, see the stack of pillows in the chair that I still haven’t found anything to do with since she got the *&%$#! hospital bed?  They are about two feet from the phone.

So I would say that is pretty dead on accurate. I was amazed.  That was one of the neatest things to happen to me in a long time.  And not just because being without the extra phone was such a hassle.  It was just super neat.

That Witchypoo is amazing AND FABULOUS!  Yes, I said FABULOUS!

Amended to add that I forgot to point out that the coverlet is always folded in half, “turned back” as it was indicated.  And while it is kinda messy in the pic it is turned back on itself…  Completely in half.

First off at Chez Lopez, the freakin phone is missing.  This irritates me no end as I have to carry the remaining downstairs phone around with me everywhere I go or sprint from one end of the house to the other when the damn thing rings because I will, inevitably, be where it’s not.  It doesn’t make much difference if I’m not expecting a phone call.  They can just leave a message or not.  But when I am waiting for the nurse to call me back or one of the kids to call or some such thing, it is damn inconvenient.

Have you seen this phone, except with “Handset 1″ on the screen?  I will pay you to tell me where it is.  No, that’s not like a ransom… that would be desperate, and hey, I’m not desperate.  Not at all.  NOW WHERE IS IT!

The last time it was missing I found it in the window sill in the bathroom.  Yeah.  In answer to your question, oh obvious one, I don’t know.  Since I refuse to take it in with me to potty I am assuming it was hanging on my waistband when I went to empty H’s pee can, but who can really be sure?  Not me.

This is where it was before and now it’s not and yes I looked inside that candle thing.  It’s not there.  I have also looked all the other places.

Oh, by now you realize how serious this is to me and are thinking, “Gee, Krissa, why not just page it from the base?”  Well aren’t you brilliant?  (Ooo.  Did that sound snarky?  I’m a touch irritable today, bare with me.)  I will tell you why.  The ringer is turned off.  This is a gift(?) from my husband who hates the phones ringing and turns off the ringers when he comes home from work because the kids are the only ones getting calls on them by that time anyway.  They answer them upstairs.  This is the second day it’s been missing, so it will be dead soon anyway.

So I am awaiting that info on the phone location and will take anonymous tips if you are too scared to tell me you took it.

You should be.

Moving right along.

Remember this?  Well, it turns out that the $10.00 wine cooler/chiller (whatever!) was missing a little pin in the top of the door to hold it on the hinge.  No biggie, right?  So John and I hunted around at the local hardware store for something that would work and we picked up a little 49 cent deal that looked like it would work and, indeed, it fit fine.  However it would shimmy up, out of the hole a bit every time the door was opened and closed.  So I went online to Emersonradio.com, got the phone number and called.  The guy made no promises but told me that they had some replacement parts in the warehouse to send out, but the things are made in China and he kind of doubted that the door hinge pin was one of the things that were kept over here.  In the good ol’ US.  So he was going to put in a request and if they had it they would send it to me.

I never expected to hear from them again.

Well, yesterday Fedex dropped this on my doorstep.

I mean, can you see why I had no idea what it could be?  It is, quite literally, the size of my toaster oven.

Filled to the top with the huge-bubble bubble wrap.  (The kind that is REALLY fun to pop and scare the dogs with!)  And nothing else.

At least that’s what I thought at first.  And then on closer inspection, MUCH closer, I finally found a teeny-tiny pin for the door hinge.

Here it is.  In place and holding the door perfectly.

$10.00 for wine cooler.

Free shipping on the free pin for the door.

About $12.00 for the two bottles of cheapish wine we got on sale inside it.

This is where I’m supposed to say something is “Priceless”, but, really?  Who am I kidding?

Ok the latest debate/gossip around the coffee pot with the girlfriends and I is a touchy little question that has come up in one of our lives.  I will not say who.  Persecute Protect the innocent. Yeah.  That’s what I’m all about. heh

Please chime in and leave your honest opinion, even if you have never commented before, PLEASE leave one this time.  (I am trying to make you feel as if you owe me this.  Is it working?)  This whole debate really needs settling before any of us will just BE ABLE TO CHANGE THE DAMN SUBJECT ALREADY!  Oops… was I shouting?  I don’t want to scare you away, dear.  Now just sit back down and relax.  There, comfy?  Good, now turn the phone off and pay close attention.

Here is question # 1 for expert consideration:

When a person of one sex text’s another person of the other sex every night and says, “I’m going to bed now.  Good night.  Sweet dreams.”, is that considered “pillow talk” or just being friendly?

Question # 2 is this:

When the person receiving the texts is a happily married individual, and of course the person doing the texting is not the spouse, is it inappropriate?

OK, ready?  GO!

For the good news, I am happy to announce my somewhat shaky grasp on sanity is scheduled to continue, uninterrupted for the foreseeable future.  There has been an endless stream of people parading in and out of this house today.  The nurse with her scheduled visit, Lisa with her unscheduled one, (yet, I let her in like the best friend I am), and the state case worker for the Aged and Disabled, of which Henrietta is both.  Together.  At the same time.  You’d think this would get me twice as much help.  Oh, really?  You wouldn’t?

Well anyway, it doesn’t matter what YOU thought cause I AM getting more help.  Can you hear me squealing like a little girl on a carnival ride?  I am.  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!  How obnoxious is that?

The chick was here doing a re-certification that is done once a year and she happened to mention something about the caregiver provider person being able to come out and stay with H and provide help caring for her anywhere between one and four times a week.  To which I perked up and said, “Would I be eligible for her coming more often than twice a week?”  And dear, sweet Lisa chimed in, (and I swear this is true), “Yeah.  She is really, honestly going bat shit crazy up in here.”  She laid it out there evenly and calmly, as if providing evidence at a trial or something.

This is why I love her.

So the lady shuffled through some papers and mumbled some encouraging things because she was afraid for her life and had seen the crazed look in my eyes before she came up with some things that seemed to spell out a way for her to escape without injury to do just this.

So the new deal is that FOUR TIMES A WEEK I am going to get a body here to help me with H AND I will get to escape and go where ever I want and do whatever I want for THREE HOURS AT A TIME on those days.

TWELVE HOURS A WEEK. Me?  I am beside myself.  Yup.  I just looked and there I was, right beside me.  This is supposed to go into effect sometime next week and I am counting the days.

Here is H in her shiny new hospital bed.  It has got to be a solid foot longer than the twin bed.  So far she has rung her bell for me to come in and raise and lower the head of the bed for her every time she wants it changed.  It has an electric remote control just like the ones in the hospital.  She knew how to do it for herself when she was there… just not now that she’s home.  *sigh*

BUT I AM ESCAPING SOON, PEOPLE!

Am I ever coming back?  THAT IS THE QUESTION!  BWAHAHAHA! Fade out to maniacal laughter…

John went to work this morning at the butt crack of dawn.  He is expected home sometime within the next hour or two.  It’s 8:00PM.  Being a holiday, he has to work twice three times as hard selling flowers and food and crap like that, that people want on holidays.

This is totally unfair to ME.

And that’s what it’s all about, right?  OK, shut up.

Around here holidays are something to fear and loath.  Something that takes away the husband/father and spits him back out, after the date has passed, a used up, hull of a man.  A man who only wants to sleep and get some decent rest.  When he passes out nods off in his comfy chair in the living room and we mess with him because he is totally defenseless and cannot wake up and protect himself say something to him, his response is something to the effect of, “Go clean up the back room and then start reorganizing isle 9.”  This without ever opening his eyes, of course.

And if you ask him questions?  You can even get him to argue with you.  This is one of our girls favorite pastimes.

Daughter: “What do I use to mop up the soda with?”

John, never moving a mussel or cracking an eyelid except to speak: “A MOP!”

Daughters and wife: massive giggles.

Daughter: “Can I go home early, Mr. Lopez?”

John: “No!  Get back on that check stand!  Now there’s a line!”

This can go on and on.

It gets them to snickering and laughing everytime.  And the only thing I feel badly about is the fact that when we are having close, fun, family moments like this… he won’t remember them.  Completely absent.  But at least he is HERE!

Every night about 9:30 to 10:00, I notice that the dogs are milling about looking at me expectantly.  Standing in front of the door way into the utility room, staring at me. Intensely.   If I am in my bedroom they stand in the doorway out in the hall and look at me.  When I walk toward them they take off running toward the utility room and stop and look back to make sure I am indeed coming and not going into any other areas of the house.  The simple question, “You ready for bed?” garners much excitement.

Kissy is staring at the utility room HARD.  Her telepathic messages were beginning to give me a headache.

Baby is just doing the pouty thing that says, “Hey, you really do need to snap to and carry out your duties, but I’m still on your side.”.

Maybe if we both stare at it at the same time…WHILE looking pathetic…

That’s all they want.  For me to put them to bed.

The door to the utility room stays open.  All the time.  All they need to do is walk in there and get in bed.  The spoiled brat little freaks little dears are just waiting for me to cover them up, pet them, tell them good night, and turn out the light before shutting the door.

Baby is even smiling for her photo op, she’s so happy to be in bed.

I SWEAR I DON’T WORK THEM ALL DAY, DEPRIVING THEM OF REST, THEY’RE JUST WEIRD!

I am the official “owner” and operator of one little old lady, once again.  She came back yesterday afternoon after HOURS of John and me waiting around at the hospital.  They were trying to discharge 7 patients at once and it was, I’m assuming, a complex process.  Or so they would have me believe.

At one point she looked at me and said, “Krissa… What would happen to us if we just went ahead and left?”

Don’t think I wasn’t already thinking about doing it.

Right about that time they finally got her all fixed up with wheels to the car and we made a break for it exited the premises.

You have never met anyone as bitchy as she has become since she got home.  Well, actually, that’s not entirely true.  It started before she got home.  While she was still in there she commenced to tell me how I should be changing her diaper differently and I need to do it like the nurses do it there and every time she asked me to raise her up in bed she tried to die when I actually moved her.  Keep in mind that I laid the bed out completely flat and grabbed the hospital chux and slid her upward as slowly as I could.  She is no longer the light weight she used to be and I can’t just suspend animation anymore.  She seems to think everything should be in slow mo and I can’t just stop midway between the wheelchair and bed while holding her.  Or move any slower than I already am.  I certainly am gentle and I don’t just toss her around.

Before she came home I received a call from a lady in charge of her case at the hospital and she said, “Ms. Lopez, it says here on her chart that you are interested in a hospital bed for her at home.”

Noooo… I’m not interested in one…

“Oh, well they must have just stuck this note in the wrong file.”

My wheels were turning at this point and I was remembering the two times she asked me if we needed one while she was in there.  I just shrugged and said, no, I didn’t see why, but she insisted it would  be easier for ME if we had one. Translation: She is pitiful and wants all the hospital equipment she can get around her.

We have been through this before.  Years ago when she was on hospice.  It was an enormous monstrosity that left very little room to move in her bedroom.  Well, comparatively.

Here is her room with a twin bed.  That bizarre looking thing with all the thousands of photos stuck on with ten pounds of scotch tape is her rolling cart of tricks.  It’s on wheels so I can move it out of the way to change her and get her in and out and what not.  It has shelves inside with all her accoutrements.

It’s an ancient, cheap, laminate, microwave cart.  And if something ever happened to it… well, we would all perish, I am sure.

The hospital bed we had ate up the walls when “sliding” the head of the bed up and down.  And since she sleeps in a fairly upright position the only thing we would need it to do is sit up some.  I can accomplish this with pillows.  AND a comfortable mattress, not a hospital one.

Bottom line, we’re getting another damn hospital bed delivered here this afternoon.