Archive for the ‘ John ’ Category

Oh, for the love of God!

Do you guys remember waaaay back, over a year ago when John was in hospital and I discovered that he had been misled into believing his test for diabetes was negative when in fact, it was positive and his blood sugar was 566 upon admission?

Well, (refresher here), he had been losing weight at a really alarming rate and so had figured he must have diabetes. We have never known anyone with this disease before and really had nothing to go on besides Wikipedia and medical websites, but it seemed obvious.

Also, understand that John was adopted, so there was no family history.

So, he made an appointment and went in and got his blood drawn and peed in a cup and just basically gave them all the info he could.

For some reason I will never understand the doctor didn’t just prick his finger right there in the office and look at a glucose meter. But, who am I to wonder at the wise and mysterious ways of quacks?

Aaaaanyway, a couple of days later the chick with the test results called and told John he was fine. His cholesterol was just a tad high-he needed to work on that.

He came right out and asked her, “So… I don’t have diabetes?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Lopez.” He was good to go.

So now, I am panicked. How could he have lost literally close to 60 lbs in 2 1/2 months?

Crap.

You know what I was thinking, don’t you? Cancer. And so was John.

We were scared to death.

OK, cutting to the chase now.  That was in February. In October John was admitted to the hospital with congestive heart failure and that’s when his blood sugar was 566.

I had the presence of mind to call the old doctor that USED to see him and ask for a copy of those test results from back in February.

You guessed it. He was very clearly diabetic. It was circled and everything. It was on the page after the cholesterol count and apparently she just hadn’t bothered to look at it.

Color me livid. And panicked, since there was some misinformation at the bottom of the page that said he tested positive for some kind of cancer. Come to find out that bit of info was for another patient and John was fine, which we knew as soon as the hospital ran the same test on him.

OK, now. Guess what I received in the mail from the same clinic that screwed up the delivery of his test results? Go ahead. You never will.

Unless you are skipping ahead before I tell you…

Are you?

Stop it!

OK. I received the test results for a Juan Lopez. Along with his correct address on the INSIDE.

The good news is Juan’s culture was negative. The bad news is I’m pretty sure I am supposed to be oblivious to this.

When I called the clinic and told them I had his test results in my hand there was a lot of gasping and a collective “Oops!”. They asked me if I would please mail it back to them. I asked why not just tear it up and throw it away? She indicated I could do anything I want with it, but they would prefer I mail it back to them.

I would prefer they get their shit together and communicate better with their clients.

Too much to ask?

AND, Is it evil of me to want to just hop in the car with this and run it over to Juan’s house and hand deliver it while explaining why it’s opened and the envelope is addressed to a John Lopez?

Last October, when John was first diagnosed with congestive heart failure and also pronounced a newly diagnosed diabetic, we were managing all kinds of shit you can’t even imagine. Nothing was just “cut and dried”, simple. So many problems and so many issues. Feet and legs swelling, blood sugar levels, trouble breathing, coughing, constant running nose, sleep apnea, amazingly severe stomach aches, etc.

It was very touch and go for a good while there and finally it looked as if he was out of the woods and was definitely going to live.

He was in the hospital for a rock solid month. Of course I was too and the girls and my SIL were left with patching together a way to take care of Henrietta.

I suppose I should point out to any new readers that Henrietta was my MIL who lived with us and is now deceased. She was wheelchair bound and incontinent, and requiring of much care.

When John was admitted to the hospital and the diabetes was discovered, his blood sugar was 566. Normal is between 100 and 130ish. (At least that’s what we’re supposed to be shooting for.) So he was immediately shot with insulin. His blood sugar was taken 4 times a day and he was given insulin. Every. Single. Time.

I am watching all this and they show me how to do it and I know I will have no problems with it. I give my dogs all their shots, (except rabies which has to be given by the vet due to state regulations). Anyway, I am just not a squeamish person.

So I begin giving his his injections in the hospital when they brought them in and on it went from there.

Once we got home and settled into a routine I got John to give himself a few of them and he saw how easy it is. He just really would rather I did it. And still does.

Now he was out of work for 3 months and was a little bit of a nervous wreck about going  back. I mean he was eager and all, just really worried about whether or not he could do it. He was way too thin and super weak compared to his old self. You would be surprised at the durability a grocery store manager has to have. So, by the time he convinced his doctors to release him to go back to work, we have been doing this insulin injection thing for a good long while.

Simple. Check it 3 times during the day and give meds, (Novolog), according to what the blood sugar level is.

Then take it at night and give the night time dose of the other kind of insulin that works when you are fasting. As in overnight. (Lantus)

We had it DOWN, baby

The Novolog, (remember-daytime) I only gave him 6 units, three times a day.

Novolog

Novolog

The Lantus, (overnight) he was supposed to always get 30 units.

Lantus

Lantus

Two very different medicines to do the same thing, yet requiring VERY different doses.

So the morning of John’s first day back at work dawns and I am up with him helping him get ready mostly because I know how nervous he is. It has been, after all, three months. He is given all kinds of love and support from the girls as well and we are all in close to the back door with him when we realize he hasn’t had his insulin yet! I run to the fridge and grab the correct insulin pen, dial it to the amount I am going to give him, poke it into his stomach and push the plunger.

Now as the plunger on an insulin pen depresses it clicks once for every unit being given. There is a vast lot of difference between 8 clicks or units and 30.

John’s head snapped up as my eyes became large and roundish. We stood staring at each other for a minute with me thinking something along the lines of, “How can I suck it back out?!”. I pulled the needle out and he said, “How many units did you just give me?”.

And I replied, “Thirty?”.

Oh. Shit.

So immediately I am scrambling for Twinkies and ice cream cups, potato chips and even thought about offering him a beer.

Right… Before work.

It was not a pretty picture. He was fighting crashing all day. And I was at home crying all day. I felt SO awful.

He texted me about noon saying that he was doing OK and had consumed his weight in carbs trying to stay upright.

That day, his first day to go back to work, was the only time I have messed up with the insulin and honestly, his diabetes is such a non-issue now that he only gets insulin about once every couple of months.

Do you think he’d ever let me forget that though?  😉

AND I CAN DO IT WITHOUT SWEATING!

I have been taking Amberen for six weeks now and my hot flashes stopped after two.

However, before I started taking it, the paint right here, on the wall in HACK, was starting to blister due to the incendiary hot flashes I was experiencing. Not to mention the state of my bed on any given night. It was awash in sweat, tangled limbs and tossed off clothing.

Hummm, that sounds kinda hawt.  It was SO NOT.

And while having your wife sleep neck-ed may sound like a great idea to any husband, all the tossing and turning, huffing and puffing and yelling, “YOU’RE TOUCHING ME!”, anytime he rolled over my direction really did get a little old a little fast. I think I can safely speak for John when I say this.

I am a mere 47 years old, peoples. I have been having hot-flashes, at least some, since I was 45. You have no idea how severe these things got.

I was not allowed into crowded theaters.

I could slip into a cool tub of water and steam up my bathroom.

I seriously considered moving into an apartment by myself so I could run around neck-ed all the time.  Except for the guys that deliver takeout, I would have NO visitors. No way was I going to cook. Yeah. Those guys would just have to suck it up and get over it.

I had nightmares about spontaneously combusting only to awaken and find that there was a very real danger of it. If only I weren’t so damp.

The dogs were not allowed to sit on my lap. I was… sticky.

Life sucked and then, after one particularly whiny post about my hot flashes this strange guy, named Adam Hodson (By “strange” I mean unknown, and in no way intend to insinuate that Mr. Hodson is anything more or less than a superhero an upstanding American citizen.), wrote me an email and told me about Amberen. So I went to the website, investigated, googled it and and asked the dogs what they thought. It was unanimous. I got my three months worth and started taking them.

I swear, within two weeks I had stopped having hot flashes. Now my energy level is up there where it was years ago and John would boast that when he rolls over in bed and accidentally brushes against me I don’t shriek in his ear.

Yes. Life is like a dream here at the HalfAsstic House. :-)

It’s Father’s Day here at HACK, (HalfAsstic Central Kommand), and John has a post request. Who am I to disobey the king? (For ONE freakin’ day!)

I have a pair of shoes that were given to me by someone near and dear to my heart. They are hand-me-downs that the other lady couldn’t wear because of her bunion.

I took the shoes from her like the nice, appreciative person I am and yet was a little skeptical about the… age appropriateness.

Now before you start picturing something like this:

Or even this:

Try… going the other direction. You know. OLDER.

Now you’re thinking:

OR, maybe like this.

Well, it’s not quite THAT bad. However John thinks so.

I was wearing a pair of black capri’s with a yellow tank and an unbuttoned red eyelet, short-sleeved blouse over it.

Colorful much? Indeed. I don’t usually dress quite that colorfully. I mean, you know, unless it’s Christmas or I want to embarrass the kids something.

Anywho, John tried to DIE when he saw my shoes. Really. Almost literally. He hates them and says they are very old ladyish and NOT cute at all. I have a billiondy pairs of cute, stylish shoes and why am I not wearing ANYTHING else?

We had already left the house and he more than mentioned how much he disliked them several times. He then took me for a spa pedicure and almost moaned when I slid them back on afterward.

He teased me ALL DAY LONG.

While I found his antics comical. I did take his request into consideration and removed them when we got home.

Now, I want your vote. What do you think?

WAY too old ladyish? Or just something that needs to be worn by someone young enough to pull it off? (Clearly, not me.) Heh

And yes, the heels are about 1 1/2 wedges. *sigh*

Clearly not up to Kelley’s standards. Yet, are they that bad?

You know. I have several friends, some of them extremely close, who have male children that are wonderful, sweet, mature for their age, able to show emotion, completely functional people that are not emotionally or psychologically stunted.

And then there are the others.

I am admitting to something here that is very hard for me. I am biased and prejudiced and probably not a decent human being. But, hey, I’ve still never had any hate mail and am waiting for it before my chest can swell up with pride and I can feel like a real blog writer!

I am prejudiced by sex.

No. This isn’t a “sexual” post. It is a sex post. Ok, that still sounds a bit creepy. Let’s try this again.

My whole life I have been around people with nice little girls and horrid little boys.

OK that’s not really true. Most of the people I have known have had it that way. I have to admit that there have been those that had very nice, sweet, well behaved, human little boys. But they were in the minority.

Not that they didn’t exist! And I am not by any far stretch of the imagination trying to say that all boys are vulgar, violent, hateful loudmouths who will do anything to draw attention to themselves…

Some of them just seem that way at times, and it throws the others in the fire.

Really, the problem is clearly MINE. We wanted girls both times. We got girls both times and I think we ended up feeling superior for obvious reasons. Not so much because we trumped the “dealer”. (Two out of two… Woo-Hoo!) But because we went into this whole thing with preconceptions about the differences between boys and girls. (I still feel bad about that.)

I remember telling John and the doctor that I really wanted to know what sex the baby was because we wanted a girl and if it was a boy we needed time to get to want him as much as we already did a gitl. And we would have, too. There would definitely have been no sad faces in that delivery room if the thing had popped out with a penis.

But we were forewarned and happily anticipating our first and second daughter.

Now comes the part that you are going to suspect is fiction more than fact.

I swear, I am telling the God’s honest truth.

Those two were the most perfect babies and toddlers that you have ever come across.

There is 17 1/2 months difference in their ages and they were thick as thieves in their early years. One did not ever do anything without the other and they constantly looked out for the other as well.

They have grown apart during Jr. High and High School, but are starting to pull back together again just as destiny dictates. They’ll be fast friends  before long and best friends for life.

I say so.

But that doesn’t make them the perfect children to raise, does it?

I swear, I am not lying, neither one of them ever had a “terrible two tantrum”, or three or anything else for that matter.

I never had to wrestle them to get them to take medicine. Even when tiny babies. I just put the foul tasting stuff into a medicine giver with a nipple on it and they made horrible faces while sucking it down. (I know, you’re wondering about intelligence here… turns out to be above average! Surprised me, too!)

They were so obedient that it made me stop and take stock and pray over and over that God wouldn’t second guess what he had given us and make it hard. Because it wasn’t. They did everything I told them to as if it was not comprehensible not to. It simply didn’t occur to them to test the system.

I feel so horrible for new mothers, or even mother’s of older children who are having a really hard time and I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.

I swear mine were perfect. I would do the entire thing again in a heartbeat.

Yes, I know the nursing every three hours was a pain and all that, but it didn’t last forever. Just a little blip in my lifetime and hers as well. Plus, I can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable. That’s the one time that I could see my daughters looking up at me knowing it’s only me that can do this for them. And it was so good to feel so connected.

They were cuddly and sweet and loved hugging and kissing. This is something that boys, in general just don’t do. (Note the “in general”, I DO know that there are those penis bearing types out there that are loving in this way, but I still feel they are very much in the minority.)

They never put anything in their mouths that did not belong. I swear, they didn’t try to eat everything in sight that would fit into their mouths. Only food that was put into a plate in front of them. They were clearly much smarter than other kids their ages in that they could identify FOOD. They had teething rings and what not and got through all that unhappy crap really early. Like, I’m not kidding you, between 5 and 12 months.

They didn’t pick up anything and attempt to make a weapon out of it. There was not beating or hitting.

Ever.

There was no screaming or yelling. They didn’t spend the majority of their time attempting to be so obnoxious that there was no way to not to notice them.

As a matter of fact they were so confident in themselves there was never any reason for them to scream.

They just calmly said what was on their mind and trusted that the world would see their insight or questions for what it was.

Heh. I like to think, “From the mouths of babes”, was coined after them.

It SO wasn’t.

I believe Jesus said it, though I can’t think why. Or what book it’s in… Oh well.

So does it make me a horrible person to feel like, just in general, girls are so superior to boys?

I am writing this while John is asleep beside me and baby is between us at the foot of the bed. She is making funny little grunting and sighing noises in her sleep. I wonder if she is dreaming of a hamburger? Every now and then she begins to run in her sleep… wonder if the burger is making her chase it?