Is it ever a good idea?

It must have been the late walk. My daughters abandoned me and the Significant Other{SO} (don't necessarily like this definition) early from the street festival yesterday evening. I found myself without  a ride home, my SO not having brought an extra motor cycle helmet , I convinced him I could walk the mile home. Sure! No problem!  I had done it before.  After all every Saturday morning my two youngest children and I ride our bikes downtown to our charming farmers market.  I've walked it before, I could do it again.

Once home, feeling exhausted, all children settled, Saturday schedules confirmed, I set about my evening routine: email, bills, online news check, remembering to Google information a friend told me about (okay- this may have stressed me a little).Then remembering the busy family gathering the next day, a few chores shouted for my attention. Normally by this time of night I'm fading fast but I'm trying  not to be so forgetful. I wrote a previous blog about Swiss Cheese Syndrome-never being able to remember to do things. I did those chores.
 After getting ready for bed, I found myself doing more chores.  Why I asked myself, you will pay dearly for this tomorrow.
Why do we get in these modes where we feel the need to do everything all at once when we have let things go for weeks.  The giant pile of laundry I carried downstairs at midnight had been there all week.  I'm pretty sure it will be sitting right wear I left it for the next 24 hours.
Good idea gone bad?

Recylcling Cure for the Dog

Note: I have a small collie mutt who loves to help crush, chew and destroy anything plastic in an effort to help
with the amount of plastic disposables used in this household.

What an exciting life I have!   I was up on the stool in the kitchen this evening digging through the cabinets looking for something my oldest daughter requested. A bottle fell out. I paid no attention and went on with the search.  I have no idea how much time past, I was more concerned that my son's football
practice was running late and I was going to be picking up him at midnight.
  I walked out to the living room and found O'Keeffe, the perpetual puppy, chewing an open bottle of Mucinex, two pills laying in front of her.  I immediately questioned my 7 year old, where did the dog get that, who gave that to her? She of course had no idea.  Finally I figured out what had happened.  Then my son walked in from football practice.With a look of shock on my face, I explained the situation to him in a string of incoherent mumblings. This is all about 8:30, near by drug stores close at 9. My mind was  racing.  I was pacing around reading the bottle not knowing what to do, so I called my oldest child, the expert on everything.  She of course laughed herself silly for a bit.  I'm so entertaining right?   She must hit google first thing whenever I call, she always has an answer 20 seconds into any conversation.  She told me I could give the dog 10ml of Hydrogen peroxide to well, make her well .....  you know ... barf!  So out the door I raced , off to the drug store to buy a baby medicine syringe and hydrogen peroxide. 
My son held the dog and we gave it to her.  It didn't even take 10 minutes and the "cure" worked.  We don't know if she swallowed any of the pills.  The cure worked so good it emptied the entire contents of her stomach. We were not about to do an examination to check for pills.   Poor little thing didn't even know what hit her.  And to think she was just trying to help, crushing another plastic container down to size.
No more excitement of that nature for me please.

The Massage

The Massage.

What’s the point of getting a massage if you don’t totally relax, drift into never never land and forget your worries?  I had to stop my blogging brain this evening and let it all go so I could let my friend / therapist work her magic on my two day migraine.  At the start I was thinking “ I need to blog about this or I will forget” (remember the Swiss Cheese syndrome?) Then I started to reprimand myself, remembering why I was there in the first place. I was avoiding another trip to my neurologist, another increase in my medication, eww!  Not that I don’t like my neurologist, I think she is extremely smart and very likable. However, I really don’t want to increase my medication right now and she has suggested strongly that massage therapy is a highly proven treatment for migraines.

So there I lay, a few words exchanged and I said politely “okay, I’m going to zone out now” My friend understood.  I sunk into the table forgetting the stress of past 3 days; the pain of the migraine dissipated with every skilled move of my therapist hands. 

Half way into the massage, (maybe? I wasn’t keeping track) I felt myself in a dreamlike state, wanting to open my eyes I knew better than to break the momentum. I was waiting for that moment, when ever bit of your body lets go of its angst and worry.  It’s that moment just before you fall asleep: conscious yet not conscious, heavy yet weightless.  You are a blob of solution set free on a child’s bubble wand carried freely by the wind, drifting carelessly somewhere and you just don’t care where you land.

An hour later as I write this, I can close my eyes and go back to that massage table and still be the bubble floating freely.  That folks is a skilled massage therapist.
(nepb)

UnDone

Breast Cancer has claimed the live of another friend, a young friend.  I write this with such a heavy heart.  When I was diagnosed she came to me, she spoke to me in church and offered her support, at the time she had not been diagnosed.  One year later she began walking that same path.  
She asked me many questioned.  I offered suggestions as best I could, there was light at the end of the tunnel.  Our lives went on, we would run into each other infrequently due to our busy schedules. Whenever we did, checking in on each others medical updates was top priority.

Circumstances changed drastically late last summer and the downhill spiral began; along with it my guilt. I kept telling myself I would go see her.  I wanted to her know that as a sister in breast cancer I would be her voice.  I was willing to write it for her.I would give her a voice if needed and address those issues that not everyone is free to discuss.  Not to say that I am the best writer, I would give it my top effort.   This opportunity has now past. and I am filled with such regret.

It sounds so cliche, don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today, This has never rung so true as this morning. What have you left undone: a good deed left unfinished, a kind word unspoken, a promise unfulfilled?  

I sat this morning in a glorious mountain paradise looking out on a lake while two of my children play, thinking about what I have done and what I have left undone.   I don’t mean self- improvement or a physical household type chore.  I’m referring to the people in your life. Your family, friends, acquaintances and that new term, “frienamies”.

Can you find your cliche and avoid the regret?  I wish this for you.

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.