Monday's Check List

Kleenex. Check.
Nasal spray. Check.
Inhalers. Check, check.
Dayquil. Check.
Nyquil. Check.
Vick's Vapor Rub. Check.
Cough drops. Check.
Chap stick. Check.
Kleenex.  OH CRAP-O-LA THE BOX IS EMPTY.

Somewhere between Farmington and South County this horrible illness grabbed a hold of me and won't let go. The throat aches. The ears are clogged.  I can't breathe out of my nose.  I can't stop blowing my nose.  At times I can't stop my nose from running like a faucet.  Now I can't stop coughing, which has brought on a wheeze and a grab for the inhalers. I considered using some of my banked sick time today until a text came in from my BWF who said she was home sick with a stomach bug.  Then that dedicated employee syndrome kicked in...shot of Dayquil with an orange juice chaser, out the door--in body not in spirit.  My every move was so robotic today it's hard to remember how I got from point A to point B.  Not to mention with Fall on the breast of nature it was a blazing 90* making recess duty feel like a jail sentence.

I came home shed my professional wear for gym shorts and a tee, curled up in bed and vegged.

I made a semi-homemade chicken soup (semi-homemade is when you buy a baked chicken and frozen carrots...anyway Sandra Lee would be proud). Ate. Went back to bed.

I feel no healing powers from the chicken soup.  Who decided this?  That chicken soup heals?  It was tasty with it's fresh spinach, carrots, corn and noodles....but the doctor's office is still awaitin' me!

From the time I walked in the door this afternoon to the time I woke from my sick nap Princess A's bedroom went from Laura Ashley pink and light olive green to a bright lilac and grey.  Off came the flowered spread and on goes the white on white polka dot spread.  Gone are the marks of a childhood and welcomed are the marks of a girl inching towards twenty-one-- womanhood.

In one room M types away an English Lit paper, while D dinosaurs around the house in her PMDD state of being.  King Ralph, God love'm, he tolerates it all.      

Tomorrow.  Well that's a trip to the doctor before deciding if the truck should continue down the road to school...I mean work.

I feel like CRUDD! 

Mr. Hayes Has Been Calling Me "Judy Iron Lung" For A Good Reason

The doctor's orders were "if you aren't feeling better by Monday make an appointment to come into the office." So after I coughed so hard and long last night--and into the early morning-- kicking myself out of the marital bed for the couch...that I passed hacking up my lung and went deep to my liver (that's how hard and low I was pulling that cough); it was time to call the doc and use some of my accumulated sick hours.

There was nothing more difficult for me than to hold my cough back in the waiting room. I felt I should out of respect for the twenty-something guy sitting across from me. My cough grabs stares and sends folks running. I fashioned my coughs in this closed-mouth-soft-throat-encapsulated-manner. So by the time I got into my closed door closest of an examination room I let the seal in me bark and bark and bark.... I even think the doctor's assistant went for the fish in her pocket to toss at me. I'm like a zoo animal when I open my mouth.

What has made me so sick? Could it be....
1. watching Kate: Her Story
2. watching the Jon Gosselin and Hailey Glassman interview on Entertainment Tonight
3. mooching Milky Ways from third graders
4. working with kids who come to school riddled with fever and have the pig flu
5. extended marching band season
6. Joe Jackson requesting a stipend from his son's estate
7. the constant flux in the outside temperature and a month of rainy days...and nights.

Well, whatever the reason I heard the doctor say things to me today like, "this is how people die from asthma" and "it could be whopping cough but that takes a month for the tests results to come back and the CDC goes crazy over stuff like that." I just looked back at the doc with her facial expession of girlfriend you have felt bad for a month and just decided to do something about in the last four days. I was there, now, seeking medical intervention; so what good was a scolding a gal with a O2 level of 81. She scraped everything I was given Friday over the phone except the last pill in my Z-Pac and I left with enough steroid based drugs to guarantee I will turn into Lou Ferrigno by next week. Plus I have narcotics so I can sleep without the threat of King Ralph shipping me off to the zoo.

Hopefully by Wednesday I can go back to work fever free with my ear and sinus infection pain lulled, my constant head ache calmed, my lymph nodes returning to there normal size, air moving through my lungs easier and the dam seal living inside quieted.

Besides it is boring laying on this couch! With eight hundred channels to chose from I can't seem to find a darn thing to watch at 2am.

So honey hold off on buying my burial plot I think I might survive this one.

Blogging Bedside

In the last several days I have had plans to tell you about the perils of crazy sock day and how King Ralph threw away my dish soap bottle (because he didn't like it) which pissed me off like no other--instead I am totally to tired to say much more than...D is pretty sick.


I pulled out the big gun last night after she coughed for two straight hours not allowing anyone in the house to slumber--codeine cough syrup. She slumbered, yeah. I was awake till 2am, boo.

Here's hoping she can snap out of it fast because tomorrow is her day.

(I'm feeling like the bug got a nibble of me. Just a nibble.)

Is There Really Such Thing As A Sick Day

I come to you from the couch while I use some of that accumulated sick time that shows on my pay check every other week.

I drug through work yesterday trying to convince myself I just had a marching band trip hang over but that was not the case at all. Last night after dinner I tried to visit my mother-in-law when King Ralph suggested about 30 minutes into our visit I go home, he would walk home when visitors hours ended. I took him up on the offer and within 20 minutes I was in bed and fast asleep, from 730pm till 6am.

While I slept soundly last night King Ralph said M and D had one of those sister bonding moments...moments that seem to happen more often now that they are both in high school together. As they sat on the ground with a lap top, creeping around on Facebook laughing together, he snapped a picture with his camera phone and sent it to Princess A. Next thing you know he said M's phone ringing, no mention of the picture, while one far away sister broke bonding time to chew them for invading her wardrobe options left at home. The left behind fashion of a college sister is under that "do not wear, do not touch" microscope and a picture is worth a thousand words. They really should stop taking photos, this happens all the time. I'm just glad I was asleep for this one.

This morning, dragging still, I had to take D to the doctor for an 830am appointment. She has had a funky rash under her arms for nearly three weeks that started creeping down the trunk of body. I diagnosed the rash myself because I think at times I got my M.D. when I got my m-o-m title. With out running off to spend the bank account funds on doctor office co-pays I bought a cart full of over-the-counter creams and ointments helping to increase Walgreens weekly profits. Sunday night when I was about to pull my witch doctor potion book from the shelf to brew up a magic cure King Ralph suggested I call the pediatrician. Once I managed to maneuver my way through rush hour traffic and question my sanity for making this early morning appointment (which I made so I could also get to work on time, till I took a sick day) I was crowned smart as a doctor...my diagnosis was dead on. D also left with three needle pricks--flu shot, Guardasil number 2 shot and a meningitis shot (because the doctor made a note that she wanted her to get that when they did the second Guardasil shot). Poor kid got more than she bargained for. We left with two prescriptions for antibiotics which I am sure are going to be top tier on the prescription co-pay scale. It's just a feeling as I haven't picked up the meds but, it is how my luck goes.

I needed this sick day as I lay on the couch listening to an alien trying to escape from my intestine while I work on my suppressed track skills. The fifty yard dash may be my calling. How long I get to lay here is timed by the calender--piano lessons, guard practice....

In other words there is really no such thing as a sick day--for a mom.

I'll drag the screaming alien along for the car ride.

An Under Anestethic Conversation with Myself

While under [anesthetic] I had a bit of time to strike up a conversation with myself.

keeper: Hey Jo how you feeling

Jo: pretty relaxed

keeper: I know, the lengths we woman will go to get a good nap

Jo: I am not exactly sure this is the kind of nap I was looking for

keeper: are you still thinking about how the nurse who preregistered you suggested you bring along a copy of your Living Will

Jo: I know, freaky isn't it. But, you know when she said that since King Ralph was with me and he knows my wishes...I said I just want pink tulips on my casket. She laughed so she got my point with the nonsense I saw in all that. Humor, I back lashed with humor.

keeper: did you end up wearing a clip in your hair

Jo: Funny! Don't you remember after the nurse asked for my Living Will she told me if they needed to jump start my heart for any reason the clip would be a conductive and fry a hole in the top of my head.

keeper: Oh ya and then she asked if you wanted a hole in the top of your head. I do however see you broke the rule of no makeup.

Jo: Isn't it bad enough that I am laying here naked under this sheet having holes cut in my torso while my organ is sucked out and they stand around suggesting I should have a breast lift, a bikini wax and my eye brows could use a waxing too. Last thing I wanted was them commenting on my under eye bags. Besides that same nurse said when I asked if I shouldn't wear makeup today that she was having some surgery soon and she was going to wear makeup, but not to say she said so. I kept it light and natural.

keeper: sounds to me like since she has you near dead, she wants you like that Uncle of King Ralph's who comes to the family reunion picnics in his suit. Ya know looking good already just in case...

Jo: oh keeper, you are a funny one.

keeper: bikini wax...you should have...

Jo: Shut up. Can't you see you see I am having an organ removed.

keeper: wanna talk about that stimulus package. Say like $40million for condoms.

Jo: do you want them to jump start my heart?!

keeper: Tee-he. Hey girl, did you suggest a little lipo while they have the slits cut in your belly.

Jo: I did, weren't you listening? As I was slipping into this sleep I asked-- the doc said he didn't have those tools with him. I think. Who knows. This anesthetic has me jabbering nonsense I think. I think though ,maybe, I need my fat still to hang so it covers these scars I will have.

keeper: I think your sagging boob is what is going to do the trick for two of those scars.

Jo: keeper you are looking for a good ass kicking aren't you?

keeper: hey, wasn't it nice of Nikki to come down from her floor [above] to say hi-- not just once but twice.

Jo: I know. That's the love I get from my friend since high school who just happens to work at this hospital and loves me.

keeper: I don't want to be the one break it to you but they are filling you stomach with air so the scope can get in and when you wake you are gonna realize this air is a real "killer".

As I awoke it hit me--post-anesthetic nausea (I had to stay till 6pm instead of 3pm) and my stomach is distended with that gassy air in the abdomen--not the kind of gas you can pass with a hellacious fart. It just needs a day or two to dissipate. It is very uncomfortable. I only have three, not four cuts as expected... they told King Ralph it is because I am a small person (ha, who are they trying to kid). These three cuts feel like John Cena kicked my ass with one of those fancy unexpected WWE style full body slams.

The bedside service is great. I am ravenous, wanting everything I can get my hands on-- Ramon Noodle soup, strawberry ice cream, a sliver of a Poor Boy,a couple of Eggo's-- all to give base to the fabulous Vicodin I am popping every four hours. Pain killers can be a beautiful thing--for the right reasons, of course.

And, the Clapper-- the Clapper has turned out to be my God send. There has never been such joy in turning on my lamp as I have found today lounging in my bed--where I will remain most of the next week.

* I didn't eat all that food at one time. I ate, popped a pill, napped, ate, popped a pill, napped...

This is not a test...I've had them all already

This is a not a test. The blogger in voluntary cooperation with the doctors' recommendation is conducting a blogcation due to organ removal of a six percent functioning gall bladder.

Blogging will transmit once the blogger is done counting her stitches and staring at her battle scars.

Grease and the Gall Bladder

Or is it the gallbladder and grease?

I'll give the Reader's Digest version: felt like crap all week, sudden unexplained nausea on Sunday, some serious redneck belching, enough gas to fuel all of Ford Motor Co., and Chrysler, and GM's cars (just from consuming water)...then Thursday at work the WORST pain I have felt to date (okay second to childbirth, but at least there was a prize at the end of that pain; x3). The pain made me sweat. I read a book to my third classes and I can't even tell you what I read. I do remember telling myself not to let the kids know I was in pain so I concentrated on reading with affliction and pausing where there was a comma. Then I walked to the Guidance Office to grab work from my box, but before I could make it there I had to collapse in my co-worker's office and hold back my tears. "It's your gall bladder" my BWF says. Probably so. That was the doctor's speculation last July when I saw her for something similar...although I thought I probably just had a fart trapped in my chest. This was no trapped fart in the chest the pain was so sudden it had to be something bigger than gas. So after leaving work, heading to the doctor, then to the hospital for testing and blood draws this morning I await the verdict if I get to keep the organ or not.

If organs are exspellable why the hell do we have them to begin with? It could have spared myself a great deal of pain.

Then being the supportive mom I am I made my way over to the middle school to see D perform as Jan in the school's adaptation of Grease. Thankfully this week's performances are just dress rehearsals--a little tweaking is needed (not to mention line memorization).

THE LATEST
The doctor called me at work to say yep seems I am in need of lightening my organ load. I have tucked in my pocket the name of a surgeon.

Just when I thought I was going to go down in history as one of the few humans to keep every body part--I will soon lose on that claim.

In the mean time I am fearful of eating anything good, fatty and greasy; like a single square of pizza (the culprit of my extreme pain episode). So if you see me grazing in the yard on dried up grass and drinking from the hose--you'll understand.

Ty Funga Runga

I managed last year to stay very healthy while working in the elementary school system. This year not so. And the 08/09 school year has barely sprung from the calendar pages.

But I have it.

Again.

I'm not digging feeling like this; all tired and run down, sore throat, snot draining. Hot and cold.

The janitor named it--ty funga runga.

That may be code for: feeling like total shit...I mean crap.

I am off now to curl under my fresh sheets and drift away. First, a medicine cabinet concoction.

What's on Tap tonight

Nothing is on tap but, I am serving up shots of Nyquil to everyone in the house.

We might even have a contest as to who can throw there shot back the fastest.

I need to shake this. It's messing with my zen. My yin and yang are feeling off balance. I feel ick and crabby in my own skin.