My knee surgery is coming up tomorrow and I’m starting to feel a little stressed. I don’t think it’s the idea of the surgery that’s bothering me, but it’s the recovery and it’s impact on my so-called schedule.
I’ve been preparing Sam for several weeks now, telling that it looks like we’ll have to skip one of our Saturday’s worth of errands. Those are the errands which consist of him checking out the free samples at one grocery store, before we head over to another grocery store where he buys a couple of slices of pizza for lunch and then helps me with the grocery shopping- and hopefully picks up one or two more free samples along the way.
I’m pretty sure he’s ok with it, but I’m kind of surprised to find that it’s bothering me a good bit.
I’m hoping we can still keep up with our Friday night tradition of watching "Monk" together. I make popcorn, then he leans against me on the couch, munching away, as he comments throughout the show.
Missing that would be a real bummer.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Saturday, February 21, 2015
The Little Bit That's Left, That Is
When we ran our errands today, one of the ladies that gives out free samples at the grocery store told Sam that she was retiring.
On our way out of the store, Sam ran into another lady he knew, and by coincidence, she mentioned that she was retiring as well.
Sam was telling me about this on our ride home and he said he wished each of them good luck by telling them, "Well, I hope you have a good rest of your life!"
On our way out of the store, Sam ran into another lady he knew, and by coincidence, she mentioned that she was retiring as well.
Sam was telling me about this on our ride home and he said he wished each of them good luck by telling them, "Well, I hope you have a good rest of your life!"
Friday, February 20, 2015
Friday Video
Sometimes, people will believe technology over their own two eyes. I was reminded of this when I went in for my EKG today.
Everything at the EKG went fine- at least as far as I know. The woman running the machine didn't have to call anyone in for a second opinion or anything. When I left, I didn't have to walk through a gauntlet of med students, furiously writing on their clipboards as they stared at various parts of my body. And the surgery for next Friday still stands. So, I guess that's all good.
I'm not sure what to make of the woman who ran the machine, though. She had me unbutton my shirt, hop up on the table and lie down, then she hooked up all of the electrodes. It seemed to go just fine-except she had a hard time with one of the electrodes.
For some reason, she kept struggling with the one on the right side of my chest. She claimed it wasn't sticking, but as far as I was concerned, it was sticking just fine. Apparently, the blinking lights on the machine were saying otherwise.
Finally, she ripped the electrode off, along with a minute portion of my skin- thus proving that it was sticking just fine, and she tried it again, this time with a different electrode. This went on for three or four tries.
Then she asks if I'm wearing any VapoRub. Are you kidding me? Does she have a sense of smell? Well, I have a sense of smell- and my smell sure doesn't remind me of VapoRub. Anyway, by the third or fourth try, she finally managed to get the last electrode stuck on me to the machine's satisfaction.
So, I' m laying there, my shirt open- revealing my pasty, bloated body- not unlike one of those weird giant squids that sometimes washes up on a beach somewhere- the kind in those photographs that always has a crowd standing around them, looking down at them with expressions that range from disgust to out right revulsion- and as I'm lying there, she's standing next to me staring at the now non-blinking machine, and she says (and I'm not kidding), "Huh. Are you an athlete?"
Evidently, along with having lost her sense of smell, her eyesight is on it's way out as well.
I looked around to make sure that no one else had come in, and when I was sure she had indeed been talking to me, I laughed and asked her why she would ask such a thing. She said that it was because my pulse was low, "like an athlete".
So, despite all the evidence to the contrary- literally laid right out in front of her- this was the conclusion she came to? It seemed to me that a more obvious reaction might have been to stick a mirror in front of my mouth and see if I were still breathing.
My confidence in this whole operation is starting to melt.
Everything at the EKG went fine- at least as far as I know. The woman running the machine didn't have to call anyone in for a second opinion or anything. When I left, I didn't have to walk through a gauntlet of med students, furiously writing on their clipboards as they stared at various parts of my body. And the surgery for next Friday still stands. So, I guess that's all good.
I'm not sure what to make of the woman who ran the machine, though. She had me unbutton my shirt, hop up on the table and lie down, then she hooked up all of the electrodes. It seemed to go just fine-except she had a hard time with one of the electrodes.
For some reason, she kept struggling with the one on the right side of my chest. She claimed it wasn't sticking, but as far as I was concerned, it was sticking just fine. Apparently, the blinking lights on the machine were saying otherwise.
Finally, she ripped the electrode off, along with a minute portion of my skin- thus proving that it was sticking just fine, and she tried it again, this time with a different electrode. This went on for three or four tries.
Then she asks if I'm wearing any VapoRub. Are you kidding me? Does she have a sense of smell? Well, I have a sense of smell- and my smell sure doesn't remind me of VapoRub. Anyway, by the third or fourth try, she finally managed to get the last electrode stuck on me to the machine's satisfaction.
So, I' m laying there, my shirt open- revealing my pasty, bloated body- not unlike one of those weird giant squids that sometimes washes up on a beach somewhere- the kind in those photographs that always has a crowd standing around them, looking down at them with expressions that range from disgust to out right revulsion- and as I'm lying there, she's standing next to me staring at the now non-blinking machine, and she says (and I'm not kidding), "Huh. Are you an athlete?"
Evidently, along with having lost her sense of smell, her eyesight is on it's way out as well.
I looked around to make sure that no one else had come in, and when I was sure she had indeed been talking to me, I laughed and asked her why she would ask such a thing. She said that it was because my pulse was low, "like an athlete".
So, despite all the evidence to the contrary- literally laid right out in front of her- this was the conclusion she came to? It seemed to me that a more obvious reaction might have been to stick a mirror in front of my mouth and see if I were still breathing.
My confidence in this whole operation is starting to melt.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
The Clock is Ticking
When I was at work today, I had a sudden realization that I don't have a whole lot of free time left before I have knee surgery.
As soon as I got home, I trudged into waste deep snow, madly digging around looking for the sump pump outlet- just in case this snow ever starts melting.
From there I continued my blind panic- knocking off icicles and raking snow off my roof with my roof rake. When I was done, I noticed a clapboard pulling away on the gable end of my house. At first it didn't look all that high up, but then I realized it's higher than the lower roof line which I hate climbing up to.
I tried to figure out how to set a ladder on an icy driveway, and then climb it with a bad knee, but by this point it was dark and I gave up- but boy, that loose clapboard is going to bug me.
As soon as I got home, I trudged into waste deep snow, madly digging around looking for the sump pump outlet- just in case this snow ever starts melting.
From there I continued my blind panic- knocking off icicles and raking snow off my roof with my roof rake. When I was done, I noticed a clapboard pulling away on the gable end of my house. At first it didn't look all that high up, but then I realized it's higher than the lower roof line which I hate climbing up to.
I tried to figure out how to set a ladder on an icy driveway, and then climb it with a bad knee, but by this point it was dark and I gave up- but boy, that loose clapboard is going to bug me.
Friday, February 13, 2015
Just in Case
Like usual, Sam called me at work the other day, for his daily “home from school” check-in. But unlike usual, he was clearly upset. It took a little bit for him to gather his thoughts, and it took a little longer than usual to draw things out of him. Turns out, he had a fine day at school, the problem was on the bus ride home.
Sam’s school was holding some kind of special function the following day and it was going to impact Sam's schedule. The bus driver wanted to know what time he needed to be picked up and Sam couldn't quite remember. Whatever he told the driver, he was pretty sure it wasn't quite right. He was pretty frazzled and upset.
We talked and I said I was sure we could figure out what to do, we just needed to come up with a plan. Sam and his speech group had been working on how to deal with problems and the importance of having, not only a "Plan A", but also a "Plan B".
So, we talked and put together, not only a Plan A, and not only a Plan B, but as an extra bonus, we would add a Plan C, "just in case".
So, Plan A was that Sam would have to remind me to look for the bus driver's phone number when I got home, and if I found it, I would give the driver a call and tell him the correct time that Sam needed to be picked up.
If I couldn’t get a hold of the driver, our Plan B would be for me to write a note for his bus driver which Sam would give to him in the morning. The note would tell the driver the correct time to be at Sam's school and it would give him my cellphone number to call if there was going to be any problem.
Bonus Plan C was that Sam would bring his cellphone to school, and if there was a problem or any confusion, Sam could call me and I would come and get him. I told him to remember that I was about an hour away, so he should take out his book, find a quiet and warm spot to sit, and read until I got there- and if he got worried, then he could always call me again. I also wanted him to write a reminder to himself and leave it on table, so he wouldn’t forget his phone in the morning. This all calmed him down considerably.
When I got home, I barely had a foot in the door before Sam reminded me to call the bus driver. I managed to get a hold of the driver and the driver said there shouldn't be any problem. Sam reminded me to write a note to him for the morning, "just in case”. He had already written himself a reminder to bring his phone.
The next day, when Sam came home from school, he called me once again for his daily "home from school" check-in. As it turned out, the day went just fine. Sam remembered his phone, and he gave the driver my note in the morning. And at the end of the day, the driver showed up close to when he said he would.
I couldn't help but notice the relief in his voice. I also noticed that Sam had decided to call me using his cellphone instead of the usual home phone.
I don't know for sure, but I think Sam had been holding onto that cellphone, pretty much all day long.
Sam’s school was holding some kind of special function the following day and it was going to impact Sam's schedule. The bus driver wanted to know what time he needed to be picked up and Sam couldn't quite remember. Whatever he told the driver, he was pretty sure it wasn't quite right. He was pretty frazzled and upset.
We talked and I said I was sure we could figure out what to do, we just needed to come up with a plan. Sam and his speech group had been working on how to deal with problems and the importance of having, not only a "Plan A", but also a "Plan B".
So, we talked and put together, not only a Plan A, and not only a Plan B, but as an extra bonus, we would add a Plan C, "just in case".
So, Plan A was that Sam would have to remind me to look for the bus driver's phone number when I got home, and if I found it, I would give the driver a call and tell him the correct time that Sam needed to be picked up.
If I couldn’t get a hold of the driver, our Plan B would be for me to write a note for his bus driver which Sam would give to him in the morning. The note would tell the driver the correct time to be at Sam's school and it would give him my cellphone number to call if there was going to be any problem.
Bonus Plan C was that Sam would bring his cellphone to school, and if there was a problem or any confusion, Sam could call me and I would come and get him. I told him to remember that I was about an hour away, so he should take out his book, find a quiet and warm spot to sit, and read until I got there- and if he got worried, then he could always call me again. I also wanted him to write a reminder to himself and leave it on table, so he wouldn’t forget his phone in the morning. This all calmed him down considerably.
When I got home, I barely had a foot in the door before Sam reminded me to call the bus driver. I managed to get a hold of the driver and the driver said there shouldn't be any problem. Sam reminded me to write a note to him for the morning, "just in case”. He had already written himself a reminder to bring his phone.
The next day, when Sam came home from school, he called me once again for his daily "home from school" check-in. As it turned out, the day went just fine. Sam remembered his phone, and he gave the driver my note in the morning. And at the end of the day, the driver showed up close to when he said he would.
I couldn't help but notice the relief in his voice. I also noticed that Sam had decided to call me using his cellphone instead of the usual home phone.
I don't know for sure, but I think Sam had been holding onto that cellphone, pretty much all day long.
 |
| Sam's reminder |
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Random Thoughts on My Drive to Work
My normally fifty minute ride into work was closer to an hour and a quarter this morning. This was because I was second in line behind a large pickup truck that was going about fifteen miles an hour slower than I usually do.
Traveling the same roads, at the same time every day, you begin to notice certain cars over and over. Some you know are trouble and you’re doomed if you get stuck behind them. The others can be team players and make an effort to keep up the pace.
I didn’t recognize this particular truck, so I was doubly offended- first, because he was driving so slow and secondly because he was driving so slow on roads I had long ago considered to be mine.
It also bothered me that the car between us didn’t seem to be offended by any of this. I figured this to be the case because this guy was not using the internationally accepted technique of bearing down on the other guy’s bumper. I stewed on this as I occasionally flicked on my wipers getting rid of the spray from the car in front of me.
The further we drove, the more my resentment grew. I sensed a conspiracy against me.
After several more miles, the car in front of me, Middle Man, ended up turning off, leaving me directly behind his buddy in the truck. I didn’t know if this was part of some clever ploy or not, but I kept an eye on my rear view mirror- just in case.
A few miles up the road, Big Truck slows down for the rotary as I bear to his right, passing him as I go onto a ramp. Even though it was still dark outside, I craned my neck as I passed him and gave him my patented “you are a moron who shouldn’t be on the road” glare. I don’t think he saw me, but it made me feel slightly better.
I didn’t make the green light up ahead. And as I sat at the red light, I thought about the bad mood I was now getting in, and how I was in a fine mood when I got up, and how, by my calculations, it was all the fault of that truck driver. By the time the light turned green, I had pretty much laid out the scenario for how bad the rest of the day was going to be and how it bugged me that people like him aren’t being held accountable for my bad mood.
Further down the road, I passed a guy hitchhiking. This guy is out there several times a week. I never see him walking. He’s always just standing there, staring down the road- his arm outstretched with his thumb pointing at the sky. He looks like a lawn jockey that had his lantern stolen (The white kind, not the black kind. Let’s not make this a racial thing).
When I first noticed this guy, I made an effort not to make eye contact with him. I always pretended that there was something way more interesting going on on the other side of the road. After a while, I stopped caring. Somewhere along the line, this guy became just another piece of blurry scenery that I passed by on my way to work.
As I passed by him this morning, I had the realization that maybe this guy wasn’t hitchhiking at all. Maybe what he’s been doing this whole time was rating the drivers that pass him by. This made a lot of sense to me and it made me feel pretty good that I was always getting the “thumbs up”. It felt nice to be appreciated.
As I got to the last turn before work, I slowed way down to make the corner- and I almost couldn’t stop.
It turned out that the glaze on my windshield hadn’t been coming from some car in front of me, but it was from a light freezing mist that must have been falling for some time now. I began to think that maybe the truck that had been going so slow, was doing it because it was so slippery out. Ultimately I decided that too much time had passed, and that it made more sense for me to continue my grudge.
As I rounded that final corner, the car fishtailed- but only slightly. I congratulated myself on my professional driving skills and I thought about how Lawn Jockey Man had been correct in giving me a thumbs-up for all these many months.
Maybe, just maybe, the day would be ok after all.
Traveling the same roads, at the same time every day, you begin to notice certain cars over and over. Some you know are trouble and you’re doomed if you get stuck behind them. The others can be team players and make an effort to keep up the pace.
I didn’t recognize this particular truck, so I was doubly offended- first, because he was driving so slow and secondly because he was driving so slow on roads I had long ago considered to be mine.
It also bothered me that the car between us didn’t seem to be offended by any of this. I figured this to be the case because this guy was not using the internationally accepted technique of bearing down on the other guy’s bumper. I stewed on this as I occasionally flicked on my wipers getting rid of the spray from the car in front of me.
The further we drove, the more my resentment grew. I sensed a conspiracy against me.
After several more miles, the car in front of me, Middle Man, ended up turning off, leaving me directly behind his buddy in the truck. I didn’t know if this was part of some clever ploy or not, but I kept an eye on my rear view mirror- just in case.
A few miles up the road, Big Truck slows down for the rotary as I bear to his right, passing him as I go onto a ramp. Even though it was still dark outside, I craned my neck as I passed him and gave him my patented “you are a moron who shouldn’t be on the road” glare. I don’t think he saw me, but it made me feel slightly better.
I didn’t make the green light up ahead. And as I sat at the red light, I thought about the bad mood I was now getting in, and how I was in a fine mood when I got up, and how, by my calculations, it was all the fault of that truck driver. By the time the light turned green, I had pretty much laid out the scenario for how bad the rest of the day was going to be and how it bugged me that people like him aren’t being held accountable for my bad mood.
Further down the road, I passed a guy hitchhiking. This guy is out there several times a week. I never see him walking. He’s always just standing there, staring down the road- his arm outstretched with his thumb pointing at the sky. He looks like a lawn jockey that had his lantern stolen (The white kind, not the black kind. Let’s not make this a racial thing).
When I first noticed this guy, I made an effort not to make eye contact with him. I always pretended that there was something way more interesting going on on the other side of the road. After a while, I stopped caring. Somewhere along the line, this guy became just another piece of blurry scenery that I passed by on my way to work.
As I passed by him this morning, I had the realization that maybe this guy wasn’t hitchhiking at all. Maybe what he’s been doing this whole time was rating the drivers that pass him by. This made a lot of sense to me and it made me feel pretty good that I was always getting the “thumbs up”. It felt nice to be appreciated.
As I got to the last turn before work, I slowed way down to make the corner- and I almost couldn’t stop.
It turned out that the glaze on my windshield hadn’t been coming from some car in front of me, but it was from a light freezing mist that must have been falling for some time now. I began to think that maybe the truck that had been going so slow, was doing it because it was so slippery out. Ultimately I decided that too much time had passed, and that it made more sense for me to continue my grudge.
As I rounded that final corner, the car fishtailed- but only slightly. I congratulated myself on my professional driving skills and I thought about how Lawn Jockey Man had been correct in giving me a thumbs-up for all these many months.
Maybe, just maybe, the day would be ok after all.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
Monday, February 2, 2015
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