HalfAsstic.com

Remember my plans to take it easy and chill out on Easter Sunday?  Well, I was well into doing that and just hanging out in my nightgown cause, hey, I could.  And John won’t be off work until late.  Henrietta plans on staying in bed and watching a DVD of The Stations of The Cross.  So I am on my hands and knees in my raggedy nightgown, scrubbing the bathroom floor, (around the toilet, no less) flitting around the house in my finest lingerie when what happens?  The *&^%$#! doorbell rings.  I looked out the window and I don’t recognize the car, can’t see the front porch from where I am and so I walk over and snatch the door open because whoever is showing up on Easter UNANNOUNCED deserves to see me like this and smell the bleach emminating from my hands and knees.  (Plus they need to be appreciative of the fact that there is no pee on the floor in my guest bathroom.)

There, followed by her SIX children is Henrietta’s grand-daughter.  The one that shows up once or twice every few years.

She said, “Sorry, I didn’t call, I lost the number.”

Dude, we are LISTED.

“We’re just going to pay a short visit.”

I was not the least bit apologetic about my appearance and the state of things.  I told her H was on the bed pan, which she was and the smell of poop probably snuck in and visited her as soon as I went in and hauled her off of it.

*Why does spell check say “snuck” is not a word?  It most certainly is… English According to Krissa.  Look it up.*

Of course then I had to dress her and put her in the wheel chair and the whole nine yards.

Those six kids must have completed the circuit of living room, breakfast area, kitchen, dining room, foyer, living room, breakfast area, kitchen, dining room, foyer… etc., a milliondy-two times.

Running.

She got here at 3:00.  It is now 3:53.  She is here to see her Mimi, not me.  I am trying to be ensconced in the riffraff room by myself, only “they” keep running in here.

Soon I will scoop out my eyeballs with a spoon.

I can see into my dining room from here and there are children hiding under the table and pulling the tablecloth down to hide themselves.  I have all my bill paying crap all over the table. (Did I mention I wasn’t expecting company?)  An avalanche of paperwork slid off the table and onto the floor.

Kids scattered like cockroaches.

The bathroom door just opened and kids came out.  If there is pee on the floor in there I will hurt someone.

All I was waiting for was H to do the poo thing so I could put in the DVD for her and I could go and take a bath and clean up for John to come home.

It is 4:10 and I just heard her say that they have to get going.

Now?  How ’bout now?  Oh, come on!  Now?

It’s 4:11 now.

I’m not having fun.  Please comment and tell me about your good holiday experience.

What a day!  I have spent the majority of it on the phone with the state and other people trying to set H up with a new Provider Care company.  Last Friday I FINALLY managed to track down the owner of the company that sent out our little thief that swiped the hundred dollar bill from my purse.  I had left multiple messages throughout the week for her to call me back and she never did.  I finally just managed to get somebody to answer the phone in the office that didn’t know that she wasn’t wanting to talk to me.

She was a bitch.

I was very nice and told her that I just wanted to make sure she had been told what had happened as I would want to know if it was my company and she simply stated that yes, she knew and the aide had denied it and she was made to fill out an incident report.

I said something to the effect of, “Yes, I am sure she did deny it.  I mean if she stole money from me, why would she have a problem with lying?”.

To which she said… nothing.

That’s about all I got.  No apology, nothing.

I told her that I hadn’t heard from anyone to ask me any questions about what had happened and if anyone wanted to contact me to fluff up the incident report with, ooooh, I dunno, MY SIDE OF WHAT HAPPENED, I would be here, 24/7 to answer the phone or door and help them out.  Cause, hey, you know me, HERE TO SERVE!

She actually indicated that that would not be necessary.  NOT NECESSARY.  So the incident report about the employee stealing from me is filled out entirely by… the employee.  Needless to say I decided to move on to the big boys.

So I called the state of Texas, after all this is a state funded agency.  It’s services are paid for by Henrietta’s medicare.  So the Texas Department of Aging and Disability was contacted.  I tried to nail down the case worker that was assigned to her long ago, but she has been moved to another department.  They gave me another very nice little lady that was horrified to hear what had happened to us and, even though I KNOW she probably hears of stuff like this everyday, (I mean she was in the complaint department), she was courteous enough to be understanding.  She looked and said that the agency was supposed to report what had happened to the state as a matter of law and, guess what?, they hadn’t.

Big surprise.  (Can you hear the sarcasm dripping off here?)  I asked if they were gonna get in trouble for it and felt like a little kid that had been wronged and wanted their brother to “get it” for what he’d done.  Vengeful, ugly, spiteful feelings.

Felt sooo good when she said, Yes”.

She then put me in contact with my new case worker and they are faxing John a list of new agencies at his work for him to bring home and me throw darts at and pick out a new one.

*****************************************************************************

In Poop News today, Henrietta is still without a catheter.

How is this Poop News, Krissa?  A catheter is only a font for urine.

Well, don’t worry, I will tell you, ( read sounding a bit vicious), BECAUSE I KNOW YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW.

We are going through tons of diapers and latex gloves and poor H is usually opting to stay in bed almost all day since she has to be changed so often.  I am getting up well before dawn with John and changing her and then again about 10:00 AM and so on.  Well, after I had fed her breakfast she rang for the bedpan and said she had messed her diaper.  This is not unusual, but the amount of it was something else.   The…. stuff, (trying to be nice here and not offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities), was squirting out the sides of the diaper and covered a good part of the hospital chux that she was lying on.  It also managed to get it on a little pink pillow that I had been using to put between her knobby knees.  I did not see this and picked the pillow up and tossed it over against the wall on the other side of her bed to get it out of the way.  I was a bit frantic and, indeed, was on hold for some agency office or another.

I know my previous little soliloquy about the locating of the proper people to talk to was fairly straight forward, but come on, we’ve all been on the other end of phone trying to do business with a government agency before…  I went through 5 or 6 different people and called tons of numbers, some of which didn’t work, and was on hold all. freakin. day.

So I am trying to get a move on with this diaper so I don’t have to hang up or lose the person I’m waiting on and start all over again.  I have a look of …. shock and awe(?) on my face apparently, as Henrietta repeatedly asks me if she has diarrhea.  I tell her no, she just has… a lot.  Period.

I had thrown on a robe to go in when the bell rang as I was in the process of changing clothes.  Yes, I do multiple things like this while on the phone taking care of business.  Witchypoo, over at Psychicgeek can relate to the whole being-tied-to-the-phone-while-attempting-to-move-about-your-life scenario.  Well, at some point the tie around the waist of my fluffy pink robe had swung forward and drug through the poo.  Henrietta just innocently lay her hand down by her side,  In the poo.  The little pink pillow I threw up against the wall to get it out of the way?  Trail of poo going down the wall.  I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING.  It was gruesome.

I kept thinking, “Oh my gawd.  These are the very last two gloves… what if there’s more of it?”  There is no way there is anymore shit left in that little old lady.  And John is bringing home more gloves.  And diapers.  And,  sadly, Miralax.

I got her dressed and all squared away eventually and she just looked at me and said, “Krissa, I think I’ll just stay in bed for a little while…”

Ya think?

Poor thing.  It wore her out.  All that hauling up her butt and cleaning from the back of her thighs to the middle of her back.  Me too.

Needless to say, I took a long hot bath and read a little bit in my book, About the Author.  It’s the book club book for the present at Holly’s blog, Anglophile Football Fanatic.  Go check it out and read along with us!I

I swear, by my very own little old lady, the next post I am doing is a giveaway.  I have acquired some really pretty darn cool prizes and have a Unconsicous Mutterings coming up.  If you will play, I will pay!  heh heh.

Please stay tuned for further bowel movements developements.

This morning long before H was up the nurse called and said she was bringing by some supplies for me and doing a “supervisory visit”.  Well, this is all new to me.  I told her that the other nurse was just out here day before yesterday and they only come about once a month, unless there is something wrong and I call them.  She was surprised and said she was just supposed to bring by some supplies anyway.  I couldn’t imagine what, but told her to come on along.

She showed up in a few minutes and went on in to wake up and see H.  I went about my business and saw no reason to go in as there was no need for me to stand and scream what the nurse was saying at H because the nurse is too lazy to raise her voice and do it herself interpretation.  Sometimes Henrietta is having a particular complaint that she wants to address and so I go in and relay the answers back to her, but not today.  Not that I knew of.

She stayed back there talking to her, taking her vitals and getting information about the frequency, size, shape, color, smell and over all IQ of her stools.  I know this because the neighbors at the end of the street could hear her screaming the questions.  When every last bit of info about the poo, (classified and otherwise), was gathered.  She emerged victorious and held out two plastic bags to me proudly saying, “Here, I brought you supplies.”

Does it make me a bad person that my gut instinct, first response was, “You got booze in there?”

I took the bags and judged by weight and size of the bulges that there were several catheters, a box of latex gloves, and about 3 sterile catheter kits.

The latex gloves were a bit of a surprise and I am guessing the nice lady in the office, Paula had included them for me as that’s not part of the deal.  We are expected to buy our own gloves and I go through a shitload of them.  Hahaha!  Did you see what I did there?  I use the gloves to change shitty diapers and empty bedpans and I said I go through a shitload of them!  Hahahaha!  OK, maybe the shit jokes are a bit dense around here, but so is the shit.  (I bet that nurse didn’t even ask about density….)

Then the nurse leaves and almost immediately Henrietta rings the bell.  I go to see what’s up and am a bit surprised she rang and I hadn’t had time to get her breakfast in to her yet.

“Krissa, I hate to tell you this, but I have a dirty diaper.  That stuff just came out all of the sudden!”

It’s always called “that stuff”.  She has never referred to the poo as anything other than “stuff” once it has happened.

I must admit it helps to think of it this way…

So I assure her that it’s all OK and we set about the business of cleaning it up.  I see fairly soon that the reason she was so unaware of the situation is that it’s very loose.  (Am I getting too graphic, yet?  Cause I don’t mean to be, but really… YOU weren’t here cleaning this old lady’s butt up and changing gloves and swiping her with the required lotion.  SO DON’T JUDGE.)

We got done with that and I brought her the first course.  Oatmeal with a few cut up prunes and a dose of Miralax.

Now I know what you’re thinking.  Why would Krissa give H the Miralax if she just had a U. P. that was loose?

Well, my pretties, it’s like this.  It doesn’t matter what I do.  I’m screwed.

I have tried cutting off the fiber and shit-making producers as soon as there is any kind of disturbance in the digestive-go-about before.  It is all for not.  There would be an Abrupt Poop Stoppage and massive discomfort.

So we don’t do that anymore.  I mean the APS wouldn’t happen until the next day, but it WOULD happen.

Aaaaanywaaaay, I got her all cleaned and lotioned up and she has the rest of her breakfast.  An egg, breakfast sausage and an oven roll with a bit of jelly.   Of course, the U.P. has set her off her game and she prefers to stay in bed for the rest of the day.

Whatever.

A few hours later she rings for me to come in there and she has had another poopy diaper.

Well, shit.  I am just elbow deep in it today.

The day progresses and eventually I bring her in her supper.  (She never eats lunch and considering she doesn’t get up until noon, I can pretty much see why.

Remember she is being sickly today and playing it up big time.  No other complaints other than she is poopy.  Literally.  She wonders aloud numerous times what is the matter with the poops and why “all that stuff just keeps coming out…”.  I clearly have no new answers and have told her repeatedly that it’s OK.  Nothing to worry about.  Same ol’ same ol’…

Well, tonight I took her in the loaded toothbrush, fresh water, her two pills and a napkin and spit bowl.  She told me that when she was coughing during her soup she may have messed up her diaper.

So I peel it all back and there it is.  POOP.  From The Endless Font of Poopage.  AGAIN.

So I changed her again.  And ran like hell.

I want the hell out of here people!  I need a makeover!  WITH NO POOP!  Or even mudpacks, cause I don’t even think I like chocolate anymore due to the color and texture…..

I see these fairly often on other people’s sites and they are always much fun to do so I thought I’d try one, but I’m making up my own words.  Well, OK, not making up words, you know, but doing my own list of new words.  Well, OK, not new words, but a new list…

Oh for Pete’s sake, just give it a try.

Copy and paste the following words into the comment box and put your answer next to the given word.  You’ll find my answers below the list.  But, if you’re like me you won’t want to read anybody else’s answers until you put down your own because it makes me you focus on their answer and not as able to think freely of my your own.

Whatev.

1. Book:

2. angst:

3. drama:

4. paper plates:

5. toothpick:

6. leaves:

7. self-portrait:

8. sister:

9. light:

10. carpet:

OK, here are my answers results:

1. Book: Long hot bath with John Grisham… er, you KNOW what I mean.

2. angst: teenager

3. drama: teenage girl

4. paper plates: put dishwasher soap on the grocery list

5. toothpick: skinny

6. leaves: Rake!  Front yard looks like a bunch of Mexicans live here.  (Oops… I forgot.)

7. self-portrait: VanGogh

8. sister: argue

9. light: lamp

10. carpet: Flor catalog

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And if all this fun and frivolity wasn’t enough, get this.

I was reading Ree’s blog, Hotfessional yesterday and came across this worthy information:

Along with a good sized list of giving people who are making valuable contributions out there, Robeez is making donations for every eCard that is sent.  So for heaven’s sake send an ecard, heck, send a lot of them!  The money goes to K.I.D.S, (Kids In Distressed Situations).  It’s free to send them and they’re really cute.

And then!

My dear friend, SSG over at Confessions of a (Sometimes) Serendipitous Girl, has awarded me with a shiny new award!  Good old brother, Cam has already got it all squared away in my sidebar.  Love the love!  It says I’m a “Superior Scribbler”…What I think she meant was “Demented”, but, I’m not gonna split hairs.  It was very sweet and I loves her for it!

Thanks SSG!

That’s it for me.  I gotta go wipe H’s butt.

Oh.  You think I’m kidding?

I’m not. 

Well, here it is.  Sunday.  About twice a month my SIL sees fit to come and visit her mother for an average of about an hour and a half.  NORMALLY she shows up long after the “poop-time-frame”.  Today, however, she miscalculated and appeared before H was off the bedpan.  So, by default, (and CAUSE I SAY SO), the bedpan duty and diapering and dressing of H falls to her.

I was sitting in here doing bloggy stuff and I realized that she was running the water in the tub in the guest bath.

Well, this is odd.

Normally, you just go in and dump the, ahem, contents of the bedpan into the potty and run water in it from the sink and dump again and wipe out whatever… stuck, with a bit of toilet paper.  You also dump the plastic, Folger’s coffee can full of urine from the catheter bag into the potty, fill with water and repeat.  All of this while wearing latex gloves and then following up behind yourself spraying the facet handles and bedpan handles and coffee can handles with spray bleach.  Not to mention the interior of the receptacles.

Well, cuorisity got the better of me when I heard her spraying something over and over and the bathtub running.

Crap, the only thing in there that sprays right now is the spray bleach and last time she used it she ruined the bathmats… somehow, both of them.

So I go in there and she has the toilet brush in one hand and the urine bucket in the other and she is “cleaning” the thing out and dumping the contents into the bathtub.

“Millie!  You don’t do that in the bathtub!”

“Oh, I didn’t dump the pee in there!”  As she sticks the toilet brush under the tap.

I just left.  It really doesn’t matter at this point what I say, cause it all has to be cleaned anyway.  People really do bathe in that tub.

Does anyone want to come and visit me?

I don’t know what to do next.  Holiday decorating is going… well, slowly.  *sigh*  Just can’t seem to get in the spirit of things…  My whole house seems to smell of poop and sadness.    Well, maybe that’s just my take on things, cause nobody else has mentioned it.  No.  Do NOT call the health department.  Really.  STEP AWAY FROM THE PHONE.

The tree is up and it’s one of those pre-lit ones that looks wonderful when the lights actually WORK on it.  Last year, (only the third year we had it), the entire middle section didn’t light up.  So I just piled on more lights and it looked OK.  For some reason I was expecting it to work this year when I plugged it in.  No.  It hates me.  It’s been talking to those elitist live bushes in the front yard that are (still) pissed off about the snow.

I DID, however, come across this most excellent recipe for a holiday… favorite(?) that I am willing to share with you all.  You may have seen it before… but it’s worth a re-read.

World’s Greatest Fruitcake

1c water

1c sugar

4 large eggs

2 c dried fruit

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

1c brown sugar

Lemon juice

nuts

1 bottle of whiskey

This is very easy to make and awesomely delicious, especially for the tiny amount of trouble.  Assemble all ingredients and be sure you have enough counter space.

Sample the whiskey to check for quality.  Grab a large bowl.  To be sure the whiskey is of highest quality, pour one cup and drink.

Repeat process.

Turn on electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.  Add one tsp. sugar and 1 cup baking soda and give it a beating.  Check the whiskey and turn off the mix machine thingy.  Add two whole eggs to the bowl and chuck in the dried fruit.  Mix on the turner.  When the fruit gets stuck in the beaters pry ‘em loose with a drewscriver.

Check whiskey once more for tonsisticity.  Shtir in two cups of salt.  Or something white.  Pour another cup of whiskey, use both hands so you don’t spill.  Sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.  Add one table.  Spoon.  Of sugar or whatever you have handy.

Grease the oven.  Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees.  Don’t forget to time the setter.  Aw, heck save time and put it where it would end up anyway: in the garbage.  Except the whiskey.  Finish the whiskey and crawl to bed.

Now, see.  Wasn’t that a simple recipe?  I believe I’ve made it before, but for some reason the whole episode seems kinda foggy to me…

Merry Christmas, everybody!

I promised John I wouldn’t post about his… stomach virus issues, so I’m not.

HOWEVER, this does not mean Lisa is safe from my marauding posting.

Years ago, Lisa and I and her daughter Brittany, Kessa  and Keelan were on our way to, (or from… can’t remember) my parents house when they lived in Trinity, Texas.  Kessa and Brittany were both 10 years old and Keelan was 8.  It was a good three hour drive and we were on the north side of Houston…. somewhere.  Not any area we were terribly familiar with.

Lisa and I were chatting away, as usual, while she drove and the girls were doing their own thing in the back seat.  Lisa squirmed a little bit and mentioned that her stomach was feeling bad.  A few minutes later she was moving around in her seat looking pained and she said her stomach was really hurting.  Seconds later she was speculating that she was going to have diarrhea.  Momentarily there was some deep breathing and rapid panting that I swear she had done in the delivery room, combined with extreme butt clenching exercises.  She was writhing in the seat as she drove us faster and faster down the highway and we all searched frantically for a convenient place for her to go potty.

The priceless thing I will NEVER forget was when we were up to about 80 miles an hour and Lisa was bouncing up and down in the drivers seat, I glanced back at the girls in the back.  It had gone deathly quiet back there and three pairs of eye’s had grown saucer sized and were bouncing back and forth from me to Lisa on mildly terrified faces.

I wanted to laugh so hard right then!  I mean I felt SO bad for Lisa and was really a little worried myself that we weren’t going to find a bathroom in time, but you should have seen the looks on those girl’s faces!

We finally spied a Target and zoomed in the parking lot where Lisa leaped out of the car and raced in while I got out and went around to the driver’s side to get us out of the firelane.  We drove over to a parking spot and watched and one of the girls piped up and said, “… ya think she made it?”

In a few minutes she came out with a sack in her hands and headed for the car.

She had purchased a potent anti-diarrheal and a box of Tucks Medicated Wipes after she came out of the bathroom.

There were no more incidences the rest of the way home, but I glanced back several times just to see the difference in the looks on the girls faces from when we were desperatly seeking a bathroom.  I laughed every time I looked at them and the memory of the sheer terror in their eyes still makes me grin.

This far into this month, what do you really expect?  Two loads of laundry, cleaned up the kitchen, swept and mopped the living room, (I did the hall and H’s room yesterday), wiped down the doors with Scott’s Liquid Gold, and a host of other mundane, boring, somewhat depressing things.  At least it seems depressing NOW!  Thanks a lot for making me THINK about it!

H had a U.P. and it was handled without incident.  It happened this morning when she woke up and was in the process of doing a poo.  I was instantly alerted to the unfolding situation.  Oh joy.  Oh Gawd!  Just let me finish this cup of coffee! “Oh sure, Henrietta, no problem!”  And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t!

She did the usual thing about talking it to death just because it worries her so much for anything unexpected to happen to her body.  I assured her that everybody poops and she will do it when she has food that is ready to come out the other end.  It’s natural and not a bad thing and yadda, yadda, yadda, we’ve been through this a million times.

On the up side the paranoid little freak is taking it much better than she used to!  No tears or headache pills were needed.  The day progressed as usual and she even got out of bed as usual.

The younger offspring is probably going to suffer an untimely death tomorrow and that will give me something to write about then.  She is about to drive me nuts.  She was fine with me all day and as soon as John gets home she turns on me like a devil child.  And neither one of us can understand why.  It’s not like she’s even pitting us against one another.  John doesn’t put up with her acting like that anymore than I do.  I hope the doctor gave it her best guess cause, I swear, if this medication doesn’t work, she may not live long enough to try any other kind.

The more I look at the pictures of the little owl fellow that flew around in our garage, the more I think it’s a baby.  And not just because it’s small, either.  No, I have found pictures of breeds that are much smaller.  See below.

Pygmy Owl

No, I think it’s a baby just because it’s so ruffled looking.  It doesn’t have the smoothness the adult owls have in the pictures I am finding online.  But then again, it was in MY garage.  I get ruffled every time I go out there too and that obnoxious little dog barking like that…  I bet he was thinking, “If ONLY I were bigger and I could just eat that damned thing to shut it up!”  I don’t know for sure, but since I am having trouble finding a picture that looks like it, I think that it’s a youngster.

Now here’s my story about the last time I had to deal with an owl.  I mean before this.

I was 18 years old and my brother, Cam was 10.  Our dad was in hospital having some heart bypasses, so we were staying at home by ourselves while our mother was at the hospital with him.  We lived in a big ol’ two story house and he and I had never stayed by ourselves before.  (I mean, OF COURSE, right?)  I had been hearing a strange little scratching noise in the wall of my bedroom at night and had decided we must have mice and made a mental note to tell Mither about it as soon as everything calmed down and got back to a more normal routine.  The chimney to the living room fireplace shared my bedroom wall and it never occurred to me that there could be anything in there.  This went on for three nights.  Then, one evening, I was sitting on the couch in the living room reading and all of the sudden there was this gigantic WHOOSH of ashes that flew up in the fireplace.  I couldn’t see anything and then this huge white face with two enormous eyes turned around and looked at me and blinked.  It was a gigantic barn owl.  IT WAS HUGE, PEOPLE.  It just stood there in the fireplace and looked around and at me.  I just sat on the couch without moving like a scared little kitten.  I wasn’t really scared even, I just had no idea what to do.  My brother was asleep and besides that… he was 10.  I called Mom and told her and by this time I watched the owl hop up on top of the damper and sit there.  I stuck my head in the fireplace and could see two great big talons wrapped around the metal edge of it.  I counted myself lucky that I hadn’t received any owl shit in the face, wondered briefly if it really was slick, (My pop was always saying one thing or another was “slicker than owl shit”.), and pulled my head back out.  Mom had said she didn’t know what to do either and she’d be home the next day.  So we agreed that it needed water and food, as it had been there for at least three days, (that’s what I’d been hearing in the wall, actually the chimney).  So I got a little bowl of water and some lunch meat and put it in the fireplace.  I then closed the heavy metal chain link screen…and went to bed.

I have to say that except for the initial whooshing landing in the fireplace I was never really scared of it.  I felt very sorry for it and was worried it was going to die of dehydration, but I just never got the feeling it was threatening.

It never touched the food or water at all, that I could tell.  Perhaps it wanted mayo and wheat bread with pickles.  Perhaps it was a mustard kind of owl.  I don’t know why it turned up it’s…beak to my dinner selection, I only know it did.

So, that next night my dear, brave mither came home and we set about getting the owl out of the house.  It had jumped back down in the fireplace.  Mither was terrified out of her mind awed by it.   I opened the screen and we waited for it to decide to come out.  It was probably a little shy and wondered why we kept peeking around the corner at it.   Finally, it did and we ran in to try to shoo it…somewhere, and it flew straight into the sliding glass door.  No, we had not thought to open it first.  It was freakin cold outside and that’s my excuse.  Whatever.  Anyway, it smacked it’s beak pretty hard and was dazed and confused.  It was like it was competing with us… still think we won the dazed and confused contest…

The poor thing flew around the living room for a short bit and landed on things you wouldn’t think it would choose to land on and then flew through the breakfast area, kitchen, utility room and into the game room, completely avoiding the sliding glass door that stood open.  We followed.  Finally we had it somewhere we thought we could get it out easily.  There was a pair of French doors that one of us opened all the way.  I kept trying to shoo it toward the doors and it seemed oblivious.  It flew all over and finally when I was wondering if we were keeping it and could it please live in my brother’s room, it looked straight at the doors and I almost heard it say, “Ah ha!”  I saw the little light bulb go on over it’s head and it took off.  With both full size doors open it had to tilt diagonally to fit through the opening.  The doors were six feet across.  I don’t even know what the diagonal measurement was.  A lot.  Freakin’ huge-ass owl.

I have to point out that my dear mither was a squealing mess, cowering against whatever wall she could back up against and standing in doorways ready to flee, whilst making small squeaking noises.  Pretty much useless for herding owls.  Luckily, she has proven invaluable for a large multitude of other things… and we all love her dearly.

If you head on over to Psychicgeek, Witchypoo has written a very moving post about Ivy, a two year old little girl that is desperatly ill and is having a life saving treatment withheld from her.  It’s all a bunch of bureaucracy and her mother is trying to do everything possible to help her.  This is an online company that does petitions and I want you to go there and sign up.  Ivy needs all the help she can get.

Hello boys and girls.  I have been spending time doing things other than reading my blog sites and I am so sorry!  I need to get caught up, but I need to do laundry worse.  I haven’t been here much in the past few days as Henrietta got herself in hospital.  OK, really, the ambulance got her there, but still…

About 3:30 Thursday morning she rang the bell and I went in and she was shaking really, really hard.  I felt of her and she had no fever so I thought she was surely having a really bad anxiety attack.  She has before, so I got her an ativan and gave it to her and told her not to worry she’d feel better soon and she did and fell asleep within about 10 to 15 minutes.  I left her bedside table lamp on and went back to bed.  Next morning I went in and looked at her and turned off the lamp and tiptoed out.  The anxiety attacks really take it out of her, though she doesn’t have them often, so I wasn’t surprised when she slept in late.  I went by her room about 11:30 and she was sleeping but the lamp was on.  Strange.  So she had been up, but why had she turned the lamp on, it’s daylight and there was plenty of light in the room.  I walked over and looked at her and fliped off the lamp and opened the blinds a bit and she opened her eyes and looked at me and started trying to talk.  It was like something out of a nightmare.  I couldn’t make out what she was saying at first, her words were slurred and she couldn’t talk loud enough at all either.  I got down and listened and asked her questions and she said things that made no sense at all.  So I started calling people and ended with 911.  They came and got her and while they were here assessing her, the hot, young cutie that was doing most of the talking said that yes, she could be having a stroke, but the fact that I was treating her for yet another UTI, (urinary tract infection), told him that she could possibly be septic and the symptoms mimic those of a stroke very closely.  I, personally, thought it wasn’t possible, just because her previous UTI had gotten much worse than this one.  With this one she didn’t even  have any symptoms.  I would have never known she had one without the urinalysis they did as a follow up from the previous UTI.  In hind site I can see that it was all the same one and the antibiotics from the first one didn’t completely get rid of it.

So H gets hauled off to the hospital and I went with her.  My friend, Lisa followed in her car.  This was about noon and she went straight to an ER room and stayed there for a few hours and was put in a room by about 9:30.  They have, by now run every test under the sun and determined that:

A) She freaks out when in the MRI machine.

B) She did not have a stroke.

C) “She’s a pistol.”

D) When she misses her dose of Miralax she can’t poo.

E) When she gets two doses of Miralax too close together she has diarrhea.

F) When I find out they are running all kinds of stupid tests that don’t make a hill of beans difference, just stress her out,  I get pissed off.

G) When I call and have them leave a note on her chart for the Dr. to call me, I mean it and will call and chew out everybody else in the nurse’s station if he doesn’t.  (He makes rounds at 6:00AM.)

The night before she had these problems at home, when I changed her diaper and put her to bed, I noticed she had a strange line of diaper rash kinda down on her thigh a little bit.  I was telling Lisa about it in the hospital after we got her in a room.  I looked down at H and asked her if she’d mind if I showed Lisa her diaper rash. (At this point I should point out that Lisa’s mom died of multiplemyloma and Lisa took care of her up until her death, so she knows at least some, and usually a lot, about every aspect of care giving.)  Immediately after I asked her if she’d mind me showing Lisa her rash, without pausing, she looked at Lisa, pulled a deadpan face, and said, “It’ll cost you $20.00.”  Lightning fast wit, that one.  The nurse came in and she looked at her and said “It’ll cost you 20, too!”  She died laughing and we were all giggling uncontrollably.   She also told us to tell the EMT that she’s single.  My gawd, I’ve got to watch her like a hawk!

H) She charges for a peek at her hooch.