Blue Moon

One of those occurrences as rare as a Blue Moon is about to occur.  I’m going to be alone for the weekend.  My two youngest children will be away from home, my significant other will be swamped with work obligations and my best friend is beginning a week long practice session.  

It’s not like I haven’t had time alone in the past 28 years, in the past I’ve had to run away from home to get “me” time. I will be home, just me. I will have the puppy and two fat cats for company, following me and fight for that prize spot on the bed every night. 

What to do?  There are about 5 junk drawers screaming for attention, twice as many “catch all” baskets over flowing in corners of every room. (Yes, I am still working on the “less is more” theory.)  We all have these cleaning projects we need to accomplish when no one is around and underfoot. We never seem to have the time to do it or when we do, never remember.

I could call up some of my neglected friends and make plans but I hesitate, why not savor the “me” time?   There are fun things to do alone, a long walk with the puppy,  a bike ride at my own pace without kids turning around giving the “what’s taking you so long look?”. I could read one of the five books I have started, although deciding which one might be a chore in itself.

And then there is the biggie, the journal article that I have been working on for several months. An article that’s at a standstill, pieces that I just can’t decide how to put together the way I want.   A friend has been urging me to just do it.  I need a big block of time to sit down uninterrupted and write.  Time that I can get up from the keyboard and not worry that my 7 year old will come to computer and start painting a picture if I take a break, forcing me into a discussion of what’s more important,  sunflowers and rainbows or Mom’s creative spark.

 Once in a blue moon you get it Right?  Write. 

The Order

The order from the Neurologist only listed 7 or so items to screen.  Okay blood work, I am used to this. Not wanting to waste any sick time I went to my small town hospital during my lunch hour to get the lab work done, there shouldn’t be any crowds at 1 o’clock in the afternoon,  no biggie.

This is one of the good things about living in a small college town in the summer.  Our population shrinks by ~25,000.  The students are gone. Lines everywhere are gone.  Residents are in and out of town on vacation or goofing off in our beautiful scenic wonderland. 

 Nope!  They were at the hospital getting procedures done while the town was in sleepy mode.   Walking through the front door, I stopped dead in my tracks wondering if I had walked into the wrong place.  Am I dreaming?  Has there been some problem I don’t know about? Maybe these are just families waiting with their patients.

I fought with myself for a little bit, deciding whether to go back to the office and try on a different day. It didn’t have to be done today after all.  I finally decided to wait it out so I registered at the desk and took a seat.  Grumpy  all the while because I had left my book in the car thinking it wouldn’t take long. 

When my number was finally called and I was allowed to go to the lab I sat in the chair and answered the obligatory questions. The technician spent several minutes entering the order in the computer, while I sat across the room, looking on a little puzzled at the time this task was taking.  Another technician was called, questions were asked, no answer.  Draw the specimen anyway, the answer would come later.  

  The technician turned her attention to me, and asked which arm I preferred.  I am I informed her, she could only access one arm.  She nodded, proceed to open her specimen drawer and pull out vials. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10…I stopped counting around 15, wait!  The order only had 7 items listed. 

“Do I need to chug some water really quick?” I asked looking around in a little bit of a panic. I’m thinking to myself, she’s going to get all that out of one arm?  No, no, no,no,no.  Now I’m not afraid of much, I had Chemo for 18 months. Needles don’t scare me; Being injected doesn’t scare me.   I still see my Oncologist every 6 months but they only take 2 vials.  The tech must have seen my apprehension.  She said they didn’t all have to be full vials. Well that’s a relief.   “Okay, Ready?”  “Sure, just do it”.   15 minutes later and 17 or so vials later, it was all over and not a moment too soon.  I practically took the catheter out of myself just so I could get out of that room faster. No long good byes necessary here.  I heard the technician calling after me to “leave that wrap on there for a while….. we took a lot of blood from you honey…….”    Echo echo echo through my hollowed out veins.

My neurologist better find whatever the world she is looking for.  Maybe she will find cure for my awful cooking, I hope so.   The children will be so happy.

 (results: all is well. Mystery remains. Wobble on, Bike harder!)

Swiss Cheese

You may have heard it called CRS amongst the over 40 female crowd, Can’t Remember S***.  Women who suffer from this syndrome usually (I am stereotyping here, forgive me) have multiple children, work more than 30 hours week and the children each have at least 1 extracurricular activity. We simply can’t remember everything family or society expects us to remember.

I have been using a different excuse for my lack of memory  for the past 4 years.  Chemo brain: It is a scientifically proven "non-fact".  (For more on this you can look it up on the American Cancer website)  My oldest daughter rolls her eyes and ask me “How long are you going to use that chemo excuse?” when I say I can’t remember something.  It appears she doesn’t appreciate the chemo card any more, and can’t possibly understand it.  Maybe she will understand this.  Swiss Cheese.

Yes, Swiss Cheese. I think my brain has turned into a big round of Swiss cheese, tunnels of holes intertwined with really great solid parts. Problem is you have to navigate through the emptiness to get to the great parts. 

 Swiss Cheese: The next time I go to the grocery store with the list that I spent 10 minutes digging for through my compartmentalized handbag (sure! That was supposed to help) I can blame it on Swiss Cheese. 

Swiss Cheese that caused me to write an unintelligible  word on that list, which I will only realize when I finally remember what in the world I am cooking for dinner. (special note: I rarely cook:  I can never remember what I am doing ahead of time to plan correctly)

Swiss Cheese is to blame when I carry an empty bag upstairs to my child’s room, knock on the door and stare blankly at them, grimace and walk back down the steps.  They won that round.  I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I walk into a room and forget why I am there.  I never remember.  What was I saying?

My 15 year old says my theory is completely flawed.  In his highly educated way he informed me that the holes in Swiss cheese are caused by the bacteria introduced into the milk whey during the process.   My problem he informed me, is over-load and too much hair dye, not bacteria.  “ You could get that fixed with a drug Mom”  He laughed.  

As many of the over-loaded population have done, I have turned to assistant  devices.  Mine are far less technology driven than most: The planner/calendar with pockets, the notebook gadget on my cell phone and calendar with alerts 

.  One would think that with these 3 helpers I could remember the simple daily routine.  Not so, Swiss cheese wins more often than I care to admit.

For now I will continue to struggle, listen to the advice of fellow Swiss cheese sufferers for  helpful hints and pick up a box of crackers the next time I am grocery shopping. 5 grain goes really well with Swiss cheese.