Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Oh for pete's sake, solving personal problems
I am irritable this morning. Sleep wasn’t great last night, and consequently…well, you know. That’s all it is. A long time ago I tried to teach the kids the difference between irritation (that’s what happens when a fly is buzzing your head, or you get stung by a mosquito,or you spill a spoonful of sugar on it’s way to the coffee mug), piss-offedness (a mockingbird is buzzing your head thus threatening the sanctity of your scalp, you get stung by a wasp, you spill the casserole meant for a sick friend), and genuine anger ( bullies threatening the sanctity of a friend’s scalp, someone else hits a wasp nest in your vicinity, a car hits your buggy full of 2 weeks worth of groceries you spent your last $200 on). No one has wronged me or anyone close to me. Thus, I am merely irritated due to circumstances not entirely out of my control. However, this results in stuff, this minor irritation, and I am going to list them.
1. You know Facebook, when you’re typing stuff into the box so you can post it and that little thing comes up and says “what’s on your mind” and covers up what you’re trying to type, and you already KNOW you’re supposed to type it in that box? That stupid thing comes up all the time! If they could make it where it only comes up the first time the arrow thing waves over it…it’s the computer equivalent of swatting away a gnat- harmless,small, and irritating.
2. WordPress has a similar thing. Whenever you put the arrow over a thing as you’re typing up a post, perhaps it’s the button that says “Add media” a floater box pops up that says…wait for it…”add media”. Really? Are you sure? Could it possibly be that if I am typing a blog post I might already know how to read? Or maybe, because of lack of sleep, I look at the “Add Media” button with unfocused eyes, and need a popup thing to tell me, in smaller letters, just in case. Maybe it’s some person at the headquarters of wherever who has nothing better to do than code popups, because they’re someone’s cousin who needed a job. I can’t fault them for hiring an unemployed cousin. After all, I have an unemployed son and if he were hired to code in irritating popups I would be grateful for that. So maybe it’s time to get over the irritation. Refer to irritation #1 and accept my apologies.
3. Seals on condiments that are impossible to remove without longish fingernails. You know, that plastic bit underneath the lid of ketchup and mustard bottles that keep criminals from squirting cyanide into them while no one is looking. I get that they are important. But, since Great Value, the cheapest of the lot, uses the kind with the flip up little bit that makes it easy to grab (for those of us with no nails), why can’t Hellman’s and Heinz use them? I guarantee if they did, I would be more likely to buy them. Well, not the Hellman’s because I am totally a Duke’s girl, but still. It could be a powerful advertising point.
4. People who do things that I do that I shouldn’t do but do because I am lazy, like put stuff up when I/they am/are done with it. I am bad about that, and when I don’t put stuff up it’s no big deal, I’ll get to it later. When someone else doesn’t do it, I get cranky and feel taken advantage of, like I think they are expecting me to do it. Double standard much, Rootie? Yah you betcha.
5. Companies selling out to the Chinese. I was informed this morning that Smithfield (of the hams) was bought by a Chinese company. Smithfield. That would be like Dukes Mayo going to the Chinese. Or Cheerwine. Or y’know…Toyota coming to the US or something. Wait. They did. Himself has a new Toyota truck made in San Antonio of American made parts. It’s more American than the GMC truck he was driving. I guess it’s the whole global thing now. Smithfield better not change their methods, I tell you what. I don’t want to raise pigs but if that’s what it takes to get American ham…I may have to, and that would probably not go over well with the country club set 200 yards upwind of here.
6. And answer me this…how come a particular dog monthly medication is only $2 more for the twice as big tablet? Logic says it would be double tho I also understand marketing enough to know that if it were people wouldn’t buy it. I am not necessarily irritated by that, just puzzled and curious.
Ok I feel better now. Sometimes just getting it off your chest helps.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, In the Southland, Oh for pete's sake, Oversharing, solving personal problems
You know how when you have an itch- bug bite or whatever- they tell you “DON’T SCRATCH IT!” and so you try not to. You can find all sorts of hints and tips like “rub it gently with a dry washcloth” or “Put a dab of vinegar on it with a q-tip.” and there’s some granola-head from Oregon who knows of a tree in India where if the roots are chewed by a Punjab Swami and pasted on the itchy spot, not only will the itch go away but it’s possible you’ll be reincarnated as a Siamese cat. Which, now that I think about it, might not be so bad. I digress.
I do not tolerate an itch. Ever. At all. I would rather pour lemon juice into an open cut than have an itch and I am not exaggerating. How do I know this? Because an intractable itch on this hide of mine is best dealt with (thank goodness I am not a Victoria’s Secret thong model…for more reasons than this but this one works for the topic) by scratching the damn thing open and dosing it with rubbing alcohol. Yes, I howl for a few seconds, but the afterburn is easier to live with than a niggling little itch.
er…hee.
One of the symptoms of kidney disease, which I have, is itchy skin. There was a while, back then when it was new and not quite controlled, that we went through a lot of isopropyl.
Now that it’s under control, that is no longer an issue. However, now that it is Summer and I’ve spent some time outside in the Country, there’s ticks. I hate ticks. They creep me out and with the whole Lyme disease/Deer tick thing, they are even creepier. Little crawling 8 legged dealers of doom and misery. Festering plague delivery devices. With creepy crawly little legs and eeeeeyuh…..brrrr.
And I found one.
In a spot where no one ever looks. And it’s not publicly acceptable to scratch if it itches there. What the hell. The tick was removed as best I could considering I’ve never been a contortionist with Cirque du Soleil, but alas, the head is probably still in there and well…you know.
So a search through the medicine cabinet and a bit of Southern Ingenuity came up with a plan. And you know what, it works. Not only does it work, it’s good for about 10 hours of relief, enough for a decent night’s sleep or a trip to Savannah free of having to hide behind men’s Izod rack at Belk. You want to know what it is?? Of course you do!
and you’re going to laugh…but I’m telling you, it’s the best remedy since a nurse told me to use Preparation H on a sunburn..
Orajel PM. The stuff for a toothache. A little dab of that, rubbed in. It tingles for a second, and the itch increases for about 10 seconds (control yourself,deep breathing or something!) and then…nothing. Numb, no itching. Wow! I saw the stuff in the first aid kit and thought “numb is numb, right? Right!”
Here’s where someone jumps in and tells me how wrong that is, but I think it’s probably better than having an open wound (because I scratched it to pieces during the night) in a place where open wounds aren’t the best idea.
There’s your Helpful Tip for the Day.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Christian Values, Coping mechanisms, Kids, Oversharing, perspective, responsible adult, solving personal problems
I’ve probably written about this before, but it’s on my mind so here it goes again.
Mother’s Day…I like it. However, it brings up so many mixed feelings. You know how parenting magazines are all about taking care of little ones and keeping them safe? I want one that talks about taking care of teenagers and young adults, and what you’re supposed to do when a situation comes up. When they get that age, emotion has to be set aside and logic used. What you emotionally want to do sometimes is directly opposite of the logic. What you did for them as little kids, the protection, the coddling and organic foods and careful tending…that doesn’t work when they’re teens and young adults, and you never hear that. You never…well I never did, anyway…see a Parents of People With Minds Of Their Own magazine.
They get to this point where…you have to let go. you don’t want to. You want to keep them safe and fed and content,but doing that does not help them. It stifles them. Even when they don’t see it that way. You don’t want them to hate you so you do whatever you can so they won’t hate you but that isn’t what they NEED. I hate that. It hurts. I don’t like hurting. It’s also not easy. I hate that too. I like easy. But easy isn’t best, or good for you or them.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my older sons. I don’t like calling them children or kids, because they aren’t. They are young men. Letting go is tough.
And where’s the rulebook? Where’s the guide that says “if this, then that?” How do you let your adult children be adults?
I think you just…let them be adults. Even when they don’t really want to. Give them the space to make decisions, good or bad. Put them out there,shove them out of the nest like a bird, and hope they fly? Boy that’s a tough one, but how would they ever figure out how to fly if you don’t?
Anyway…I am both amused and resentful that there’s no parenting support out there (that I can find…do you know of one) beyond the organic juice boxes and Dr. Seuss. It’s kind of like society says if you can keep them alive until they’re 10, you’re on your own. And frankly, I think parents of teens and young adults need MORE help than the ones of little kids. God know I did, and I didn’t have it beyond “Oh…you have teens? Make them memorize scripture and rebuke them when they’re bad.” Say what?
The best I can do is the best I have done, even though it hasn’t been that great. I love them,I feed them, and each morning is a new day where grudges and resentment are forgotten…sort of. There’s stress…oh my word there’s stress. I haven’t seen a magazine that tells you how to deal with that sort of stress that comes from your kid acting like he hates you one minute then needing you the next and you’re wondering when he’s going to hate you again. I have my own coping mechanisms that come in a big bottle of chilled white wine, a bit of talk therapy, and occasionally pharmaceuticals. Probably not the best way, but it’s how I roll. Do you know how hard it is to pray for someone when you’re so tense your ears are ringing? The only coherent prayer I can form is “God help me…”
I need a group. I need a group of women who’s children have broken their hearts and scared them and made them wonder what they did when the child was 4 that resulted in this. I want them to still be there, still wondering. And I want a couple or three women who’ve been there and survived,who can say it may or may not be ok, but it is possible to survive and not feel this tension and fear, to simply love them, those sons and daughters who have taken a path that I don’t understand.
I googled it, to see what’s said out there about mothers of adult children, and what I got was stuff about adults abusing their mothers, and about how to deal with a terrible mother when you’re an adult. Nothing about how to love your adult children, how to guide them when they don’t want your guidance, or how to show them you love them when they think you don’t.
I will always love them. Always. But I don’t always understand.
Lord,give me the wisdom to love my children the way You want me to, and the courage to do it.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Oversharing, solving personal problems, Spouse
Men and dogs share this one characteristic. They can fall asleep like flipping a light switch. Yesterday, Terry and I drove 4 hours (one way) to spend some time with CJ and help get his trailer set up. On the way there, (I was driving) Terry said “I’m going to take a quick nap” and within moments…like 30 seconds…there was a soft snoring coming from the seat. It lasted about 15 minutes, then he woke up. Same thing on the way home.
This morning, I got up, let the dogs out, poured a cup of coffee, and got in the recliner. Rusty jumped up next to my legs, flopped his head on my ankle and within moments was snoring softly. He’s still there. Snoring softly and smelling like old cheese (hm…).
Fortunately Terry never smells like old cheese.
Anyway, how do they DO that? I can’t fall asleep like that. I have to go through a process, a long and involved one. Dinner will have to have been something light like a bowl of cereal or a salad. After 27 years of being an adult and responsible for the meals, I finally figured that one out.First, a cup of warm (not hot! Not cold for that makes me cough, it has to be about 120 degrees) herbal tea heavy on the chamomile. Then, a large handful of all the prescription stuff. Then, quiet reading for however long it takes to get sleepy. No action stuff, no really good books that make me wonder what happens next or requires thinking. It has to be some kind of formulaic fluff where you know that Protagonist A will end up with Protagonist B and the antagonist is something like the weather or a mean horse. Dim light, pillows in the proper position for optimal spinal support and comfort (Terry calls it my nest), ambient temperature has to be somewhere between 67 and 70 degrees (in the winter) or 78 and 80 degrees (in the Summer). After laying on my right side, and cracking all the joints there are, I will finally be ready to start the real process of attempting to go to sleep. Earplugs-check. Water bottle that blocks the glare of light from the large-number clock-check. Fluff the pillows again. Try laying on my left side for variety’s sake. Decide that doesn’t work and return to right side. Legs straight. No, bent. No, straight. Right leg straight and left one bent. Ok. Left foot reaching over to see if Terry’s there. Ok he is. ahhh…finally falling asleeWHAT WAS THAT NOISE?! *sigh*
and all the while, Terry is softly snoring next to me, having fallen asleep 30 seconds after he turned out his bedside light.
I envy that. I am happy for him, really I am.
Do you remember as a child, when you didn’t have to go through this ridiculous 2 hour ritual in order to sleep? I remember the only ritual I had for getting into bed was making a sprint down the hallway so I could leap from the bedroom doorway (and hit the light switch at the same time) and land on the bed without ever touching the floor, so as to avoid the potential of being dragged under the bed and reduced to a pile of dry bones by whatever it was that lived there. I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything there but being a cautious sort of child, I wasn’t taking any chances. Mom always made me clean out from under the bed because I never could convince her that if the under-the-bed was crowded with stuff there was no room for whatever otherwise would have lived under there. Anyway, after the grand leap (and admonitions from downstairs to STOP RUNNING!) I would land on the bed and fall asleep, comfortable in the safety of sleeping right in the middle of it so nothing could reach, also protected by the Quilt Of Invincibility Which No Monster Could Cross.
image from http://www.garydrew.com
What happens as an adult that that ability to fall asleep so easily evaporates? It started happening right about when puberty hit. I began reading in bed, listening to soft music (Oh y’all…Mike Kellogg- Best. Night. Music. Ever.), then drinking the tea…etc. I noticed upon getting married that Terry could fall asleep so easily, and later also sleep the sleep of the innocent even while a baby was screaming 3 feet away from his ear. That one earned him a middle of the night punch when I was 3 weeks into motherhood and thought it was grossly unfair.
Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy that he (and other men, I have since found out) can fall asleep so easily. Our boys do it too. I wonder if their wives will be able to do it as well, or, like me, have to develop a 2 hour ritual with a contingency plan.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Home and hearth, Oh for pete's sake, solving personal problems
Do you ever consistently misplace things? Are there a few specific things you regularly misplace? (which is a variation of the first question). Car keys and reading glasses. And cell phone. And even though I buy a pack of 100 every week, I can never find a pen when one is needed. Also postage stamps. But that makes sense because those get used maybe twice a month.
What funny is how I can know where the most obscure doodad resides (“Mom have you seen the lase gun that goes with the Lego Star Wars guy?” Yes, it’s in the third desk drawer behind the empty staple box.), but the reading glasses could be sitting on top of my head (and frequently are) and I’ll have a fit because they’re nowhere to be found and probably irrevocably lost forever. (Don’t you love redundancies?) It usually takes someone else to point out their location, but because they know I know where everything else in the world is located, they have enough sense to not mock me (at least not to my face) about it.
Those things listed above are really the only things that are consistently lost. The cell phone is an issue because usually to find one of the boys phones I’ll call it but I can’t call my own because it’s lost,and when I need it, it’s to call one of the boys or Terry, and if I’m calling them it’s because they aren’t here and other than maybe emailing Terry to ask him to call my phone there’s nothing I can do but hope someone calls so I can find it. And no, there’s no landline. We got rid of it when we realized the only people who ever called on it were politicians. Usually the phone can be found in the pocket of whatever I was wearing yesterday, but I never remember that until after a 2 hour panicky search and being convinced that it was stolen or run over by a tank. Tho the tank issue might be ok because Terry understands that I am hard on small electronics, thus I have one of those super heavy-duty military grade phones that can double as a hammer or a tile on the skin of the Space Shuttle. It’s not cute or small or fancy like an iThing, but by golly I can have an arm spasm and hurl it into a brick wall with no ill consequences.
I’ve found the glasses on top of my head or hanging in the front of my shirt. I’ve lost the car keys simply by holding them in my left hand. Once I lost the dongle (giggle!) that goes with the embroidery program for the sewing machine and was coldly informed by Customer Service that I’d have to purchase a whole new program because obviously the dongle wasn’t lost, but was given to someone in an attempt to bypass the $550 cost of the program. I understand where they’re coming from, but I don’t KNOW anyone with the same machine…obviously they don’t know that. The dongle was later found under a stack of papers, most of which were the instructions on how to use it. That was a relief because it was hard enough asking for the program the first time.
So how is it I can know where everyone else’s stuff is and constantly lose my own? How can I know that the roll of packing tape is no longer on the hook in the utility room (where it belongs) but is now underneath the sideboard where it rolled 3 days ago after it got knocked off the dining table with the cat slid off the pile of mail?
Which made me think of this:
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Disease and infirmity, Oh for pete's sake, Oversharing, solving personal problems
Mabel’s back. After a 7 day vacation somewhere in the snowy Catskills apparently she decided East Nowhere, Georgia had a better climate and returned.
Even with the diligent application of fine and costly pharmaceuticals in the form of an inhaler that requires an engineering degree to figure out, still she returns. Also, that inhaler that caused the pharmacist to say “We don’t keep that in stock, it’s a peculiar dosage. It will be here tomorrow.” …well. Side effects. I was warned by The Good Dr. H. to be wary of side effects because of a past nasty reaction to a similar drug (that was administered in a different fashion) and for a week there were no bad reactions. Until last night. I guess it all built up or something because Boom. Bad reaction in the form of psych-ish stuff. It was the same reaction of 10 years ago that cause him to say “Never take this ever again unless it’s a matter of life or death!” Apparently I have the honor of being that one in 100,000 people who react funny to steroids. So not only does Mabel return without even a hostess gift or an apology for interfering, the very thing that was supposed to send her packing did no such thing and also made me crazy. That’s right. Lovely, lovely paranoia, panic attacks, vivid and disturbing nightmares (when I wasn’t busy being awake and paranoid).
There’s nothing so entertaining as a panic attack with a side order of paranoia. Especially when you are able to compartmentalize and a bit of your brain sits to the side and takes notes. It’s as if that asshole part of your brain says “Ooo…what will happen if I remind her of THIS (insert awful thing that was said in the 7th grade)?” Then you start worrying that the awful thing said in the 7th grade contributed to that person’s possible drug problem in their mid-20′s. What a burden. Then that obnoxious brain part says “I know! Panic attack at 2 am! with a side of ringing ears and a toe cramp!”
This is where you cock your head to the side and say “really?”
Yes. really. But you know, it’s ok. It’s one thing to have that sort of reaction to a medication and have no idea why it’s happening. That’s what went on 10 years ago the first time I was given a steroid. This time, caution was in order. It was not a surprise. It’s kind of along the order of knowing that if you eat the Texas Fajita Nachoes at El Sombrero it will be very likely that heartburn will happen, but that’s all there is to eat and you’re hungry. I’ve been through a veritabe pharmacopoea of respiratory medications, and none worked. All the doctors agreed that the steroids were worth a try. I knew there was a risk of psychological reactions,but was hopeful that this time (because it was an inhaled version and not an oral/systemic sort of thing) maybe it would work.
The good news is that there’s plenty of things I do NOT have, toe cramps and existential guilt notwithstanding. And there’s things I DO have, in the form of an apparently difficult-to-aquire appointment with a pulmonologist in 3 weeks time. Because if I’m breathing now I probably will still be doing so the end of March so there’s no great urgency.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: In sickness and in health, Oh for pete's sake, solving personal problems
Maybe Mabel’s finally moving out. 5 prescriptions (including 2 not covered by insurance. Thank you, Blue Cross, for refusing to join the 21st century pharmaceutical world. Your motto should be “If it’s good enough for Gramps, it’s good enough for you!”) and 3 inhalers later, one has finally been found that kicked Mabel in the tuchus and sent her on her way back from whence she came. wherever that is.
Only (tell me you didn’t see this coming)…
The new inhaler, a funky steroid thing in a completely inexplicable adminstration application delivery device (something about turn for 2 clicks but only 2 or you have to start all over again and the cap only comes off if you chant the pharmacy company’s motto in Tagalog…not to be confused with Tagalongs which are Girl Scout Cookies) but once it’s all figured out and administrated applied delivered…inhaled…everything smells strange. I mean…STRANGE strange. I rely heavily on my sense of smell. It is what wakes me up in the morning when the aroma of coffee wafts up the stairs. It’s when I know there’s enough garlic in the chicken soup and when it’s a good idea to never make that bean recipe again. When it’s screwed with, the entire day turns into something surreal.
This morning, all was fine. Then, after a dose of the stuff, David made a pot of coffee and I smelled…dog poo. It happens. We have 4 dogs and once in a while one of them will be too lazy to bother going outside. But I couldn’t find any. A thorough search all over the house and the absolute lack of guilt in the demeanor of any pooch meant that there probably wasn’t an unwelcome pile somewhere. Also the stench increased the closer the proximity of the coffee pot. Then, when the coffee/poo scent went away, an overwhelming odor of laundry-left-in-the-washing-machine-for-3-days took over. That hung around for a couple of hours and made me paranoid and asking a friend if I smelled bad. She said no…but that odor lingered.
As the day went on the effect lessened, but it was like the olfactory equivalent of those zinc tablets you suck on when a cold is impending. Food didn’t TASTE bad. Coffee tasted like coffee and cinnamon doughnuts like cinnamon…but smell was all messed up.
I have had olfactory hallucinations before. Usually they’re kind of fun, because I’ll smell bread baking or chocolate. But this time. ew. no.
It’s livable. Breathing is a nice thing to be able to do, and I recommend it. The stuff isn’t something that has to be used forever. In the mean time I will eat many, many Altoids.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, solving personal problems
Now I am dealing with the other half of the flu. 2 weeks ago it was the fever and body aches but that’s all. Now it’s the congestion and congestion and cough, but that’s all. I reckon God’s being kind to me, and for that I thank Him.
Anyway,last night I was all congested and sinusy and unhappy about it. Also, 3 nights of poor sleep was wearing on us both, thanks to my egregious snoring due to sinus issues. So I was sitting in the Cave with Terry as he was enjoying an evening cigar and I recalled something I read (on the internet, so you know it’s true) about how smoking can shrink sinuses and throats if they’re swollen. Terry handed me his cigar and dug out another one for himself.
Mind you, I do not like smoking. It changes the way I taste everything for several days and I am all about the flavor of the food. But, 3 nights poor sleep due to chainsaw-like snoring causing desperation and you know what they say:
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
and I smoked that cigar. It was a Romeo y Julieta double maduro, very dark with a sweet and slightly nutty aroma. Tasted like ass ,to me all cigars do, but smelled lovely. And…I could breathe. Terry said I didn’t start snoring until about 3am, so we both got a decent night’s sleep! Yay!
Here’s how I feel about smoking in general. Personally, I like the smell of burning tobacco, whether it’s a cigarette or certain brands of cigars and pretty much all pipe smoke. I do not like the stench of a Partagas cigar, I don’t care if they’re $20 a stick. They smell like an old guy sitting on the front porch of his row house in Queens,yelling at his wife to bring him another cheap beer. He’s wearing a wife-beater shirt with a bbq stain on the front. That’s what I think of Partagas. And Cohibas. I don’t care if they’re Cuban. Just because they’re illegal doesn’t make them smell any better. Don’t ask how I know that, I’ll deny it.
But your general basic cigarette, or a decent $8 cigar, those smell lovely. I enjoy sitting downwind of Terry on an evening when he’s enjoying a Montecristo or an Avo. I will (if practical) follow a person down the street if they’re smoking a cigarette, because I like the aroma of (most forms of) burning tobacco.
I do not smoke them (except very occasionally for Medicinal Purposes), because they taste nasty. They leave an aftertaste that is like licking an ashtray and it lingers for several days. However, last night I opined that the lingering aftertaste of burned tobacco was not any worse than the metallic flavor that zinc tablets cause, when I take them for cold issues.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Kids, perspective, responsible adult, solving personal problems
I knew it wouldn’t last! Grumpy moods rarely do around here. With a dog like this:
Rusty in the window
and a cat like that:
Gracie in the window
who can stay crabby for long? Not me.
Also, bagels!
Sunshine!
AND! it’s Friday, even though yesterday was kind of like Friday because I didn’t have to get dressed and haul #4 around, only not because today I did,but it wasn’t like Sunday either because there was no getting dressed nice and singing and stuff like is normally done on Sunday, also it’s not Monday, because there isn’t an entire week of getting dressed by 7:30 staring at me.
Did that make sense?
Now then…there’s stuff going on around here. Personal things I can’t really discuss, but it is interesting to watch your kids grow up. They aren’t kids anymore. One of them is, because he’s 13, but the other ones aren’t and it is very difficult to change patterns of thinking about them. I am trying, really hard I am. They are adults now, with adult decisions to make and I can NOT rescue them. I don’t want to and they don’t need it. Actually I kind of DO want to but that would not be what’s best for them, and I want what’s best for them more than I want to rescue them.
Ye With Adult Offspring: Do you ever get over wanting to rescue your kids? Does it feel fantastic when you see them get out of their own situations without your help? I need to know it will feel fantastic for them, because they did it, and for me, because I will see them as an adult when they do. I love my kids,and that means letting them leave the nest and make their own ways, however treacherous those ways may look to me. Right?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Coping mechanisms, Oversharing, solving personal problems
I suppose this is where I start griping about getting old, and arthritic pain, and kids these days and such. because right now I feel OLD. It hurts, the joints. Particularly hands and wrists, ankles and feet. But not the hip! Oh no! NOT THE HIP! Even 5 years later I can marvel at the miraculous difference having that nasty old hip replaced with a high quality space aged titanium model has made in my quality of life.
6 years ago, weather like this would have been incapacitating. I would have been scrounging through the medicine cabinet, looking for an old bottle of mostly ineffective Percocet, or downing handfulls of Motrin against the sharp advice of all the doctors. 6 years ago I couldn’t get any effective pain medication, because there wasn’t any. Narcotics? Phhht. They made me loopy so the pain wasn’t as big an issue,but didn’t actually DO anything for it. Motrin worked ok, but it took so much it fried my kidneys.
Kids, when you read the bottle of Motrin and it says Do Not Exceed The Recommended Dosage, believe them. If you exceed the recommended dosage for long enough (for me, it took about a year), it WILL damage your kidneys, your doctor WILL call you with panic in his voice after your quarterly exam w/bloodwork, and there WILL be noises made that sound a lot like “dialysis” and “transplant”. You can recover (some) enough for the “dialysis” and “transplant” noises to quiet down, but not the “you’d better take your kidney medications regularly for the rest of your life, and cancel the plans to become a racehorse.”
On the other hand…
Doctors, if you have a patient who appears to be young and healthy, yet complains of chronic pain, please read the X-ray first, before looking at the chart. Then you won’t make the automatic assumption that, just because she’s under the care of a psychiatrist for a completely unrelated condition, she’s a drug seeker. And for God’s sake, call her other doctor BEFORE you accuse her of being a drug seeker, because he might tell you that she tends to underplay pain and is probably in much worse than she’s telling you!
Ok anyway…there’s a weather system passing through (Bella! What’s happening there? Are you still on the map??), and even though we are pretty much south of it, we are still getting enough stuff to make me feel OLD and CREAKY. Terry has the flu, so he feels that way already, but I was sitting here reading Facebook or something when WHAM…my hands started hurting and wrists started with this alarming popping and if my feet were dogs they’d have started to howl. I looked over at Terry and asked if his arm (broken a couple of years ago, has plates in it) was hurting and he said “yes, just now, really bad.”
I remember as a kid, hearing some old person complaining about Barometric Arthritis and thinking they were full of beans,and that was just some excuse to complain. Dear Old Person Who I Thought Disrespectful Thoughts About, Please forgive me. I am so sorry. You were right and I was wrong to doubt you.
I suppose I could go online and look for remedies. I’ve heard some. Mom swears by 11 golden raisins soaked in gin, once a day. I would love to have a hot tub to soak in. I know for a solid FACT that would work. I’ve heard of copper bracelets, eating jello, and watching music videos that will keep you young (I watch the BeeGees,does that count?)
Do you have any remedies?
