Archive for the ‘ Like a game show but without good prizes ’ Category

Polling, polling… now I'm polling.

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!

Good news, good news, good news!

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*


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

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.


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!

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!


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…