Archive for February, 2009

She has been in hospital for a solid week today.  Is she ever getting out?  We don’t know.  She is having a hard time grasping her sanity still.  A couple of days ago, I pointed out that we were all assuming that the Levaquin antibiotics were making her loopy as she was hallucinating all manner of bizarre  things.  So they took her off of it and put her on some other kind.  Well, today she is still bat shit crazy.  Pointing to the TV and saying look at those two kids and their mother!  The TV was off.  Telling stories of the other patients coming in her room and arguing with the nurses and aides that, in her mind, want to congregate in there for gossip sessions.  Because, let me tell you people, she loves to hear the gossip.  While they are not really all assembling in her room for these sessions, she is coming up with some juicy hospital gossip on her own. And beating off the “large black men” all night that come in to terrorize her.  Re-freakin-diculous.

So I am heading up there again here in a minute to try to make sense of everything and get her set straight.

While she’s been gone, I can honestly say I’ve spent all my spare time getting lots of stuff done.  This house has a ton of wood paneled walls and I spent almost all of one afternoon and evening and almost all of the next, rubbing them down with Scott’s Liquid Gold.  I hadn’t done it all winter and they were dry.

I started in the Living Room and I rubbed every bit of these walls down with a rag and that oily crap.

Back here too.  Oh, and over the tops of the windows and underneath them…

Here’s Keelan trying to not look awed by the brilliant shine coming off of the freshly polished cabinets in the kitchen.  AAAAALL of them.  The teeny- tiny, microscopic sized kitchen has all wood cabinets.  All the way around.  I didn’t take any pics in there, but you get the picture… er, whatever.

The breakfast area has wood panels all around the bottom and trim around the windows and door, plus the door into the utility room, front and back.   On into the…

This is the other side of the breakfast area.  I have a confession.  I didn’t do the cabinets up above.  I’ve thought about it a good deal It crossed my mind that I could just do them real quick and call it all done, but, standing there in front of them, you really can’t tell they haven’t been done unless you squint and then again there’s the fact that I didn’t go ALL the way to the ceiling on some of the areas…  And then there was that time in first grade that I stole a rock from Dan Stembridge’s rock collection because I COVETED IT.

There.  That’s all the confession you’re getting out of me.  I won’t talk, I say!  JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT IT, PLEEEEASE!

Ok.  Moving right along…

Here we have the small, mildly retarded, dog.  She is being awed by the fresly oiled door behind her and the cabinets on both sides of her.  Quite possibly she is scared to move and cause one of her roving hairballs/ dustbunnies, as I am sure it would immediately stick to any oily spot it came across.

There is more of the oiled wood.  Both downstairs bathrooms have wood cabinets and then there’s the front and back of every. single. door.  I swear the doors in this house multiplied when they heard I was actually going to do some housework.  I really don’t remember having that many.

Today, I will dust ceiling fans because, they are the grossest thing you have ever seen.  Wads and balls of dust and hair are stuck to the sides of each blade.

Now, I know you’re probably thinking, Gee, wouldn’t it have been smarter to dust the ceiling fans first and then, after all the dust has settled, oil the doors?

Well, I am SURE you’re just over thinking things and this will turn out fine and I will certainly not have hairy, dusty walls and doors.

Crap.

The freakin’ give away was SUPPOSED to be yesterday and I forgot!  So here it is, today.  I did the random number generator thing as I said I was going to and our winning number is 5.  When numbered in order, the unconscious mutterings number 1-12 and number 5 is… (drum roll please)… Sabrina!

So, dear, please send me your info and I will get them sent right out to you when I head to the post office here sometime in the next 6 months.

I really will try to get them straight out.  Soon. ish.

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Henrietta is doing better today.

Oh, I don’t think I ever let on what was going on with her.  Well, she was going a bit… bat shit crazy and we couldn’t figure out why.  I left strict instructions that they were not to, under ANY circumstances, run any bizarre tests on her or give her any extra, (different) meds without contacting me for approval first.

They didn’t.  She has just been getting the same old Levaquin IV antibiotic that she always gets and she has been hallucinating all kinds of totally off the wall stuff.  In true Henrietta fashion it is all very dark, negative, and pessimistic.

We finally decided the antibiotic must be doing it and the nurses were tired of reassuring her that there were no “large black men” going in her room through her window at night scaring her.  Did not matter how many times I explained she was on the forth floor and no one could get to it, she insisted that men were sitting their chair up against her window outside.  Children were looking in at her and she kept telling me to look for myself the children were looking in right then and I could see them too if I tried.  Last night she told John and I, with tears in her eyes, that the nurse had told her that she has multiple sclerosis and is going to die from it.

I am sure that what happened was the nurse mentioned something about her scoliosis and she, (being THE most negative person in the world), mixed it up to be multiple sclerosis.  Given opportunity, she would have incorporated Lyme disease in there somehow.  But, no.  I had to nix everything and tell her the truth.  I am such a joy kill morose mood destroyer.

Yup.  Just call me MMD.

Well, they took her off the Levaquin and started her on something else yesterday and she seems fine today.  Woo-Hoo!

Chillin' out.

Earlier today, John called me and said,

Hey, there’s a wine chiller here we sell during Christmas that usually goes for $110.00.  It’s been marked down to $10.00.  Do you want it?

I immediately pictured a bottle of wine cooler.  Who, in their right mind would pay $110.00 for a wine cooler?

Then my next immediate reaction was, I don’t care how good a deal it is and how good it tastes, I don’t want to pay $10.00 for a wine cooler either.

I said, “A wine cooler?

And he said, “Yeah, it holds eight bottles, I think.”

Ding, ding, ding!  We have a winner!  I’m slow, dumb and stupid from time to time, but the whole problem is exacerbated by men who don’t explain themselves well…

Well…that’s my story, anyway. ;-)

Urine for it now.

Not really.  I was just really trying hard to be clever.  Relax.  It’s passed.

Monday morning, 4 AMish, H rang the bell and I went in to see what was up.  She was having a very bad anxiety attack, with her whole body shaking violently.  She has done this a good many times before so it was easy for me to recognize.  Like always she insisted she was having a heart attack.  (I am assuming she always thinks this because her accelerated heartbeat.)  I assured her it wasn’t a heart attack and went and got her an Ativan.

She ate it and I sat there with her for about 10 to 15 minutes while it took affect and she stopped shaking and went to sleep.

Monday about noon I went in to wake her up and see how she was feeling.  Her speech was slurred and, what I could understand wasn’t quite making sense.  The catheter bag was full of darkish, cloudy urine.  (Though, not the dark pumpkin colored pee from yesterday.)

I called the EMT’s.  (Pay close attention, SSG), They sent out a couple of them and one was entirely too cute.  They gave her the once over and announced that she has a urinary tract infection.

Ya think?

So they hauled her bony butt to hospital and I rode up front and this was about 2:00 PM.  Last night at one in the freakin’ AM, John and I left her there in the ER, because they promised she was about to be put in room 428 and she had finally gotten some antibiotics about midnight.  John was dead on his feet and I was in no mood to be expected to be nice to anyone.  John and I had just had a big, whispered fight in the ER exam room while H dozed off and on and I didn’t want anyone else to have to be admitted. (John)

*side note: whispered fighting is harder than it should be.  Avoid this at all costs in future.*

So there it is.  I will be off to see her here in a little bit when Kes drops me off at the hospital and I will stay until John gets off work at 8:00 or 9:00 tonight.

Here are a few pics of Henrietta, cute EMT/firefighter (BONUS!), oh, and John.

Henrietta’s not too happy to be here.  Must have asked me a million times when she was going to be put in a room.  LIKE I KNEW.

Here she is trying to muster up the strength to flirt  with this cute EMT.  This is NOT something that is beneath her.

And finally, John after being up for the last 20 hours.  Literally.  He’s tired.  And we’re both feeling poopy.  Spell check says I misspelled poopy.  Clearly, they don’t know us.

Don’t forget to go here and do the unconscious mutterings thing to be entered in my giveaway!

TOE-GAH TOE-GAH TOE-GAH!

You know how it is when people are waiting to see something that you are responsible for showing them and you show up and give it to them and everyone is like, “What?  That’s IT?  That’s ALL?  That’s all you’ve got?” ?  And there are some disgusted looks and rude remarks about your being incompetent and how you talk a good game but don’t deliver and let downs and rude assumptions about your parentage…

Well, don’t worry.  I’ve got pictures.  Just not a lot of them.  And it’s not cause John wouldn’t let me, either.  It’s mostly because there just didn’t seem to be any time.

Yesterday afternoon the lady throwing the shindig at her house, next door, came over and told me that it wasn’t going to start until 8:00 instead of 7:00.  At the time I thought this was a good thing since John is having to work such long days right now and is getting in so late in general.  It would make it easier for him to finish up at work and make it on time.  Well, he barely did.  I was all ready to go and I threw him together and we took off for next door.  The party went on till after 1:00 AM, people.  We sat around the table and discussed our theories of who did what and played our roles and it really was fun but, by the end, everyone was stifling yawns.  And poor John had gotten up at 5:30 AM and had to do it again this morning along with having an incredibly busy day with it being Superbowl Sunday.

In the end, NOBODY guessed the murderer.  Out of 20 people.  NOBODY.  So the person who was throwing it, pulled a name out of a bowl and it was Cesar.  I screamed out that it was rigged and I wanted a recount.  Cesar issued a warrant for my arrest and,  eventually, when I reached “trial”, he sentenced me to be beheaded.  Luckily the party ended soon and I escaped with my head.  (Lucky?  Whatever.)

Here’s the group of us.  John is the pretty, tall woman in the pink organza veil in the back.  I am the proud Roman Senator oozing testosterone and struggling not to adjust my crotch while the picture is being snapped, standing in front of him to the right a tad.

I would like to point out here that John started out with false eyelashes that had glitter on them and you can maybe see the bunch of grapes hanging around his neck on a gold cord?  Yeah, there were two of them, strategically placed so that he had fruit hanging in front of each “boob”.  I can’t tell you how many times I had to snap at men there to keep their hands off his, (I mean her)  melons, er, I mean grapes.  I mean you’d be surprised how hard it is to look after the virtue of a Vestal Virgin.  Repeatedly, I had to tell people to keep their hands off him her.  She was so cute and coy, blushing and batting her eyelashes when I slapped her on the butt…  I told her that I’d take her home with me and show her my etchings.

It worked!

John’s glittered eyelashes…  He didn’t keep them on very long.  About two hours into the party he said they were bugging him too much and he snatched them off.  There was disappointment from all the men in the room who had told him he “looked pretty”.  And, frankly, I think some of the women were jealous.

Clearly, I need a shave.  But I think the most disturbing thing is how BIG some of my hair follicles are.  There’s something strange going on here…  I don’t know why they aren’t all showing up on my upper lip.  I had it there just as heavy, OR, maybe I wasn’t done with the application when I took this.  I don’t remember.

And remember that UTI that I so lovingly shared about with you, yesterday?  Yeah.  Still haven’t gotten a thank you card for that and I am considering holding my breath till I do.  I’m just saying…

Well to show what kind of a good sport I am, I am including a gratuitous shot of the full catheter bag this morning.

I have two immediate emotions here:

1. Yeaaaaaa!  A working catheter!  No more pee diapers!!!

2. What the hell is that in the bag?

Crap.  It looks like…. pumpkin juice?  Now, do you really think she’s going to be able to wait until Tuesday or Wednesday when the analysis is back and the Dr. gets around to prescribing an antibiotic?  I bet she’s in the hospital by tomorrow or Tuesday…