Archive for November 2010

“Do you wanna date my avatar…”

Which quality best describes your life–exciting, organised, dull–and why?

How about none of the above? Well, ok maybe just not organized, and somewhere in between exciting and dull. There is no such thing as a dull life with kids, but the excitement is limited to little bursts of drama. Same with having 6 dogs and 3 cats. And 3 vehicles. And one of the church vans (the old one). And a money pit house. And pre-menopause.

Just because…

Medical Horrors Week, day 4

The more I think of these, the more I wonder how I am still alive, and I am only telling stories that resulted in a trip to the doctor/hospital/ER. Maybe next week we should do “Dumb things that should have resulted in serious injury or death.” Not that this story is really in that category.

My first normal year in college, I lived in the dorm. I tried really hard not to schedule any 8am classes, but Chemistry I lab was at 8am on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Or maybe it was just Thursdays. I forget as that has been a LONG time ago. This story starts on the Thursday before Labor Day, which was the first full week of classes. Not being one to willingly rise early, I didn’t get up in time to go get breakfast, which I rarely ate breakfast anyway back then. My allergies were bothering me so I took a Benadryl that I chased down with a Dr. Pepper, and had my morning cigarette on the way to Chem lab.

Standing at my station in the lab, as Dr Krause was going over the lab, I got hot like there was no ac on. That should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right because the ac was on, and I was wearing shorts and a tank top. But I just tried to position myself into the draft from the ac vent, and failed. Then I started feeling dizzy. I remember looking into the connecting hall/room between the 2 labs and thinking about grabbing one of the chairs to sit down on until my head cleared. Instead, I kind of leaned across the lab table, and the next thing I knew, I was in bed with blurry vision and people in white around me doing stuff. That happened a couple more times (maybe), but the rest I remember my mom being there. Not that I could really see her well, but I could hear her very well as she would try to calm me down. I was a bit agitated until she got through to me that I was in the hospital after passing out in lab.

As far as the fainting details, I got them second hand. One of the women in Chem I with me also had a class with my cousin Sharon. She filled in Sharon on what went on, and Sharon filled the family in. When I fainted, she said my head hit the tile floor hard. That explained why my head hurt so bad when I did finally come around. But I didn’t come around in lab. One of the guys in lab with me was a lifeguard, and took over the first aid. When I didn’t come to right away as should have happened with a normal faint, Dr Krause called the school nurse and an ambulance. Mom said the first Doc who saw me in the ER was 99% sure that I was ok, and just had a concussion from the fall itself. That doubt I guess kept him from discharging me until another Doc could come in and evaluate. Doc #2 was concerned about why I fainted in the first place since I had no history of fainting. He had me sent from Conway to a hospital in North Little Rock for testing.
There was concern that I might have had meningitis, so I got put in an isolated (but not completely quarantine) private room at the NLR hospital. The doc there did a spinal tap to test for meningitis. I remember that, and it kind of hurt. But I guess I should add at this point I decided I was just dreaming. None of what was going on seemed real to me, but I had one killer of a headache. The results of the meningitis test were negative, and so he wanted to test for an aneurism. But they couldn’t do that until after Labor Day, so I got to spend the weekend there.

Now again, I was so out of it, I wouldn’t even eat the first couple of days, and can remember Mom feeding me. Anyway, after lunch one day (which she pretty much force-fed me), as she was eating or cleaning up, I had an episode. I absolutely thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest it was beating so hard. Finally, I said “Mom, I think I’m dying.” She said, “No, you’re not. They are giving you codeine. I’ll go tell them to change your pain med.” LOL I didn’t have any more panic attacks after that either.

When they did the test to check to see if I had an aneurism, they inserted a tube into my groin and when they got it in place they shot in a dye while they xrayed my brain. And yes, that is all kind of fuzzy. I remember it, but I don’t, hence the lack of detail. But there was no aneurism, so they discharged me, and I went back to UCA where I remained about halfway out of it for another couple weeks. And Mom is still convinced the first doc was correct that I just had a concussion from smacking my noggin on the hard tile floor, and that the school nurse’s assessment as to why I fainted in the first place was probably correct too. When she called my parents to notify them, she asked my mom if it was time for my cycle noting that “freshman girls tend to drop like flies” in the first couple months when they get their periods. Naturally Aunt Flo made her visit shortly after I was checked in at NLR.

Fast forward a few years, and I was rummaging through the desk at my parent’s house looking for something. I found a piece of paper that had my signature on it that I didn’t recognize, and proceeded to read it. It was a release form for that xray procedure in NLR. The procedure carried a risk of stroke, seizure, death, and so had to have a release form, and since I was 18, I had to sign it myself. Only I have absolutely no recollection of signing that release form. Was definitely my signature, but no memory of signing it.

Anger is one letter away from danger

When you are angry, how do you look?

I look angry. LOL Depending on just how angry I am, I might be crying too, which makes me angrier, which becomes a vicious circle. Really, it’s not so much how I look as how I act. I make snide remarks, or just downright mean statements. I’ll make myself sick dwelling on whatever or whoever is the target of my anger before I finally give up and let it go.

Don’t make me angry. Not even I like me when I’m angry…

“If I could turn back time…”

Y’all are welcome for that. :rofl2:

I wish I had a million… Then I would…

I guess the ellipses mean I have to fill in the blanks? Hmm, a million of what? The only thing I can think of that I would like to have a million of is dollars (or the equivalent). Then I would pay off all my debt, fix this money pit of a house up, and quit my job to work closer to home, which would mean lower pay which I could do if the house and credit cards were paid off and the house was fixed up.

Or maybe I would quit completely and let the hubby go to work so I could be a stay-at-home mom. *sigh*

I don’t like this question either.

Medical Horrors Week, day 3

This story had the potential for being really and truly a horror (and is long…sorry…kind of). The summer I was 16, was supposed to be the perfect summer. I had a season pass to the city pool, and planned to spend the whole summer there. That’s how the summer started, too. I was well on my way to that gorgeously tanned body that I always wanted, denying the majority European ancestry that leaves me nearly as pale as Casper as I tried to will out the tiny bit of American Indian ancestry into my skin tone.

This paragraph contains a female stuff alert. Guys, feel free to skip this paragraph altogether. At this point in my life, I had a very irregular cycle. I would go anywhere from 3 to 6 weeks between periods, so I wasn’t alarmed by the initial one that summer that was only 3 weeks from the last. It was an annoyance, but not totally unexpected. Then it was 2 weeks. Then every other week. That was seriously cutting into my pool time.

Now despite some setbacks, I had a pretty decent tan for my skin tone by early August. One August Sunday afternoon (which was generally most afternoons/evenings), I was up at Brenda’s house when my belly started hurting. I assumed it was just gas, though it was a bit more painful than usual, but nothing too intense. So I went home a bit earlier than I normally would have to try and relieve the pressure, but rather than passing gas, my belly just steadily hurt worse. It was centered kind of high around my stomach, and by 5am the next morning, it was bad enough to wake up my parents.

I never woke my parents up during the night or early morning unless I was really sick. So I expected to be taken seriously. Well, Daddy wasn’t hearing it, but Mom did get up and take me to the ER. And yes, same ER as in the previous 2 accounts. The on-call doc that morning just happened to be the one my dad liked. So when I told him where my belly was hurting, which again was high around the stomach, he poked around that area only-no other part of my abdomen. He did no blood work either. Just told us I had a stomach virus and gave me a prescription for Mylanta and Phenobarbital.

We went home with neither prescription because Mom said, “You are not going to take barbiturates.” I don’t know why she didn’t at least get the Mylanta, but I figure it was because of Daddy’s tightwadedness. Not that it would have mattered.

The pain only intensified throughout the day, and late afternoon I started puking. I hadn’t eaten anything, so I wasn’t really puking up anything either. The puking didn’t last long (relatively speaking), and I wasn’t so sick by midnight, but still in serious pain. Mom was at work and missed the bulk of that day’s pain. Daddy, I am sure, was still feeling vindicated that I wasn’t that sick because his favorite doc called it a stomach bug.
Tuesday, the pain migrated to the lower right of my abdomen, and I felt vindicated because I was pretty sure Monday morning when we went to the ER that it was my appendix. But no one wanted to listen to me, and didn’t take the fact that I was barely eating and spending all my day in bed as an indication that maybe I really was sick. And then one morning I felt the pop. That was probably Thursday. But it wasn’t until Mom got home Sunday night to find me with a fever and a knot in my lower abdomen that she said “Enough. I’m taking you to Dr Lipsmeyer first thing tomorrow morning.”

Now I will add that by this time, it really didn’t hurt that much. Oh, I couldn’t lift my right leg, but there wasn’t really much pain. So we get to Dr Lipsmeyer’s office, and my only complaint with him was that he automatically assumed that I was pregnant, and it was tubal. There was no convincing him or anyone else that I wasn’t pregnant-couldn’t be pregnant. But, anyway, he sent me over to the hospital for an ultrasound. That was my first ultrasound and did I ever need to pee while they were mashing that wand around. They couldn’t determine what it was, but there was a round something that was causing the knot, and blocking the view of my right ovary. So they sent me to xray, and that was where I got my one and only enema (and why I call that area “Exit only”).

The xray entailed a barium enema, and that was just awful. It didn’t hurt, but stuff just shouldn’t flow backward. There was indication from the xray though that it just might be my appendix, but they couldn’t say it was with absolute certainty. So, I got scheduled for surgery as soon as the surgeon could get there. I was admitted right away, and there just happened to be an empty room right next to my Aunt Pearl who had been in the hospital all summer with terminal cancer. Sister Anacletus (I’m sure that is misspelled) was the nurse who did my IV, and the only one I didn’t want. Bless her heart. She was just as sweet as she could be, but not the greatest with a needle, particularly since you can’t find my veins when I’m sick. I think it took 3 tries. I was given a pre-op shot, and all was well with the world (for me) after that.

I say all was well. After the shot kicked in and I was high as a kite (and loud according to Aunt Pearl), I needed to pee. But Mom wouldn’t let me get out of bed to pee because of the shot (I guess they said I couldn’t get out of bed), and she was probably too freaked out to think of giving me a bed pan. She looked and acted calm to me, but I heard she wasn’t so much after I was taken back for surgery. Anyway, so when they wheeled me into the OR, I was not only wide awake (and high), but needing to pee really bad. Dr Lipsmeyer and the surgeon were sitting just inside the ward doors, and the surgeon asked how I was doing, and I said “Fine, but I need to pee really bad.” He laughed, and said, “Well, better now than later on.” So I was brought a bed pan after they got me into the actual room, and it was metal…and cold…as was the entire room. But I didn’t care because I had to go! LOL So then I laid down on the table, and they strapped me all down head to toe which would have been disturbing if I hadn’t been high still off that pre-op shot. The anesthesiologist hooked up the drip and told me to count backwards from 10. I think I got to 7.

So, it was my appendix, and my appendix had ruptured. But, instead of exploding all over my innards, it had encased itself in a ball that was about the size of a small orange. I was most certainly being protected because that isn’t normal for ruptured appendices. My dad’s appendix ruptured in the early 60’s, and he was given only a 20% chance of surviving. Oh, and he talked about his ruptured appendix the entire week I was in the hospital. To everyone.

Now, back to Aunt Pearl. She and Dr Lipsmeyer went way back, as in she used to babysit him. Mom thinks he knew she wouldn’t make it through the week, and he couldn’t bear to be there for it and so he went on vacation. He left his patients in the care of Dr Buchanan. The same Dr Buchanan from my 1st grade broken leg. I was not too happy with that, but it turned out fine. Dr Buchanan was nice after all. Anyway, Aunt Pearl passed away either late Wed night or very early Thurs morning. Needless to say, I couldn’t go to the funeral.

Day of the funeral, Mom and Dad both went, and Brenda came to the hospital to sit with me. Now, she was sitting over in the corner eating a candy bar when Dr Buchanan came through doing his rounds. He decided that it was time to take the drain tube out. It didn’t hurt when he pulled it out, but it felt funny, and that was the worst sound ever. I looked over at Brenda and just died laughing at the look on her face. But anyway, I got to go home the following Monday, and after spending 2 weeks in the bed, I was ready to get out. So I went to basketball practice with my friend Corene. Now I just sat in the bleachers watching, and was threatened with a butt whoopin’ if I touched a ball, but I was there, and it was great. And Daddy never talked about his ruptured appendix again. LOL

“You say it’s your birthday…”

How do you feel when it’s your birthday? Why?

I feel a day older. HAHAHA Seriously, though, I really don’t give a lot of thought to the actual day anymore. It really is just another day. I guess that is a sign of my age, since I haven’t really looked forward to a birthday since my 21st.

Medical Horrors Week, day 2

I hesitate to speak of any more medical horror stories after Mel’s. I’ve had a miscarriage and it was easy compared to Mel’s. But, I don’t guess this is really a competition.

Horror #2 happened in the 6th grade when I was 11. Being the reckless little non-thinking child that I was, I was playing with a razor blade. They really do cut well. LOL Anyway, my right hand slipped as I was trying to cut something, and sliced across my left index finger. I immediately panicked and thought “Oh my God; I’m going to die.” But that was replace right away with “No, you’re not. You just need to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding.” I assume one or both of my parents had taught me some basic first aid. So I found an old tshirt (I was at the barn) and used that to soak up the blood while I was putting pressure on the cut. Oh, it was deep, and I knew I had to have some help.

Remember from my last post how I mentioned my dad had over-reacted to my broken leg? Yeah, so I didn’t go to him with the cut. Mom was in the bathroom getting ready for church, so I went up to the window and told her I needed help. She looked out and saw a bloody rag on my hand, and thought I had cut my finger off. She met me in the kitchen, and started cleaning it up-calmly, I might add. Then Daddy walked around the corner, and lost it. “THAT NEEDS STICHES WE HAVE TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM!” and proceeded to yell at me for being a dumb*** the whole way to the hospital. As an aside, Daddy’s index and middle fingers were chopped off when he was 5, so I understand part of the reasoning behind his over-reaction.

So finally, we get to the ER, and I don’t know if they took us right back because no one else was there or if it was because Daddy was still melting down, but I was taken right back regardless. Now, the deep cut was from right to left across my index finger, but I also nicked in between my index and middle knuckles. Well, as the doc is evaluating he makes the statement about the nick being a hesitation mark. I don’t know if he was joking (was not funny), or just an idiot (what my mom thought of him), but that immediately put him on my bad list.

Mom said she nearly had a cow when she saw the doc’s hand shaking as he was holding the needle. I don’t know if that was when he was giving the local anesthetic shot, or when he went to sew it up. Either way, she said that was torture watching him stitch me up with shaky hands. He wasn’t old either. Rumor mill said he was a drunk, and as far as she was concerned, that confirmed the rumors.

Now the only bright spot in the story was Norma Bryant was working in the ER that night. (Her husband Rick might have been too, but too many years have passed for me to correctly remember.) Norma held my hand the whole time I was on the table keeping me calm.

Thankful today, and everyday

When I asked myself what I am thankful for, I keep coming back to the same conclusion. Everything. What do I have to not be thankful for? No matter what happens or has happened in my life, I am endlessly blessed. A friend posted Habakkuk 3:17-18 on Facebook last night:
“Though the fig tree should not blossom
And there be no fruit on the vines,
Though the yield of the olive should fail
And the fields produce no food,
Though the flock should be cut off from the fold
And there be no cattle in the stalls,
Yet I will exult in the LORD,
I will rejoice in the God of my salvation.”
When Job’s property and children were taken away he said:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
And naked I shall return there
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away.
Blessed be the name of the LORD.”
Later after Job’s health fails, his wife finds him repulsive, and his friends wrongly rebuke him, Job says,
“Though He slay me,
I will hope in Him”

As Paul say in Romans 8:
“35Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?3 6Just as it is written,
37But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. 38For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I am thankful for a God who loves me, who sent his Son, Jesus Christ, to die for my sins. His great mercy saves me from the hell I deserve, and His wonderful grace provides me with an eternal reward in heaven that I do not deserve.

Psalm 100

1Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all ye lands.

2Serve the LORD with gladness: come before his presence with singing.

3Know ye that the LORD he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

4Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.

5For the LORD is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.

Yet not I

What do you like most about yourself?

I don’t even know how to begin to answer this one. The dislike question was much easier. LOL

Well, here goes. The things I like about myself, I cannot take any credit for because all of my “good” qualities are the fruit of the grace of God. I guess what I like most about myself now is that I am being given the courage I need to get out of my comfort zone(s) without “liquid courage.” It’s one thing to get all liquored up and post videos of myself playing along with Fleetwood Mac, but it took strength from through prayer to get up in front of the church and sing & play all by myself.

See, when I was in high school, I quit the youth choir before Bro Tommy got a chance to attempt to make me to a solo…because that was just not going to happen. No way was I going to sing all by myself in front of people. Yes, this kind of cowardice from the girl who wanted to be a rock star when she grew up. :giggle:

So, yeah. What I like most about myself is the change that is taking place in my life. I don’t know what is in store for me, and I doubt that it has anything to do with music, but it is ok if it does or if it doesn’t.

Galatians 2:20 (New American Standard Bible)

I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.

Medical Horrors Week, day 1

I am already 2 days behind on this, as I am 2 days behind on writing prompts posts. Mel threw it out after the suggestion by Curtal Friar. Saturday and Sunday, I was all motivated to blog. This week, not so much.

Ok, so I will start it off with the tale of my first broken bone. When I was in 1st grade, and still just 6 years old, I was involved in a playground incident that resulted in a broken leg. I won’t go into the details of how it happened, because it’s too hard to explain, but the gist of it was a fall. I also won’t go into the fit my dad threw over the incident because that is irrelevant to the rest of the story. Anywho, I will point out that at that time, we still didn’t have a telephone at the house so the school had to call Aunt Iris who had to send someone to our house to let my dad know. The incident happened in the morning before school started, which is relevant.

Daddy picked me up, and took me straight to town to the ER. Ok, again remember I was 6, and so my memory of some of the details are iffy (and I can’t ask Daddy anymore), so just go with it. I can remember someone coming out of the ER with Daddy to the car, but I never went inside the hospital. I think there wasn’t an xray tech there that day. Somehow we ended up at Dr. Buchanan’s office, though I don’t remember if the hospital sent us there or Daddy just went from dr’s office to dr’s office until he found one with an xray that could squeeze me in. I also don’t know exactly how long we sat in that office, but I remember sitting in the chair falling asleep. I am sure I was exhausted from crying all morning until Daddy picked me up. Anyway, my leg would “jump” while I was asleep and wake me up because it hurt when I moved it.

So finally, we went back to get the xray, and I hadn’t straightened out my leg the whole morning, because 1) I had been sitting since the accident and 2) it hurt to move it. Dr. Buchanan was not dealing well with my new meltdown, and Daddy wasn’t either. Daddy had to physically hold my upper body down so Dr Buchanan and the nurse(s) could straighten out my leg for the xray. 6 year old me was so mad at all of them, but projected that anger on Dr Buchanan for years.

But, my tibia was cracked, and I didn’t need a full cast, just a splint. I missed 6 weeks of school because I was a little *&% about the splint being so heavy, and wouldn’t use the crutches. The school didn’t hold the time missed against me because I think 1) they were probably grateful Daddy didn’t sue and 2) they had wanted to skip me up a grade or 2 in Kindergarten and knew I wasn’t going to fall behind.

And after the way my dad over-reacted to the whole incident, and my perceived “injustice” (for lack of a better word) at Dr Buchanan’s office, I never told my parents when I broke my wrist in the 5th or 6th grade. I’m also pretty sure I cracked my collar bone in 6th grade, but I kept that to myself too.

Oh, and I just remembered another incident resulting in a trip to the ER. I may milk posts for the rest of the week now. LOL