A Doctor in the House

We've had a few brave visitors during the husband's surgery incarceration. Last night, I came out of another room to find our doctor in the kitchen. (Not the surgeon, the internist.) And to think there are people who don't believe in answered prayers.

Since I don't have "M.D." after my name, my opinions about medical and surgical expectations are met with a certain amount of skepticism. It's nice to have some back up.

Plus, the golf talk was a great distraction and I'm not good at it.

Unplugged

I am married to a very tough guy. (He was an Army Ranger after all.) But having his sinuses packed is driving him nuts. He's handled it like a trooper but he is ready for the unplugging.

Today is the day. He has asked me five times about his appointment time. Our appointment isn't for about five hours but he wants to go now. We have the first appointment after our doctor gets out of surgery so we are not going early but this logic does not seem to register.

He doesn't want logic; he wants relief. Plus, he's been trapped with me for days. I'm pretty sure he wants relief from that too.

Matzo Ball Soup

In preparation for the husband's surgery, I reminded him that he will need to keep something in his stomach to avoid any side effects from pain meds. Crazy me, I asked what he might want us to have on hand.

"Patsy would've brought me matzo ball soup."

Yes, she would have. It would've been on our front porch before we returned home.

They had a very cantankerous relationship so it cracks me up that he wants her soup. Of course, I don't know how to make it. I can make chicken noodle soup or chicken and dumplings. I can make a mean chicken pot pie.

I called her husband. "Did you save any of Patsy's recipes?" Of course not, they were all in her head. I called her daughter. She talked me through it but ultimately, she is as clueless as we all are -- add this to taste, season to taste, etc.

I made the soup. It's not as good as Patsy's but we're enjoying it.

I used to make meals for her too. The last thing I made her was chicken enchiladas.

Food connects us all.

Back to Fantasyland

The doctor who performed the husband's surgery yesterday is a friend of ours. In fact, he and the husband were on a golf trip last week and managed to win a trophy as partners.

Obsession does not begin to describe the husband's passion for golf. During their trip, he kept asking the surgeon, "I can play the weekend after surgery, can't I?" Prior to surgery (no drugs yet,) he told me he had booked a golf game for the weekend. Trying to remain calm -- the man is headed to surgery -- I explained that he is nuts. And not just a little.

About that time, the nurse came in to check vitals or whatever and he started talking to her about playing golf this weekend.

Her response was, "Well I'm going to dim these lights so you can go back to fantasyland."

It's What Moms Do Best

The husband had surgery yesterday and he is fine. Well, he's in pain and cranky but all went according to plan.

My mom was there. I know she had genuine concern for the husband but she was mainly there to hold my hand and make sure I was okay.

We sat together and did the crossword puzzle. We read our books. When I started getting antsy, she held my hand again. As she pointed out, "If the Belle was still with us, she would be here."

Sometimes it frightens me how much I depend on the emotional support of my parents.

Nervous Times

The economy is a mess. I realize this is not news to you but it's scary. All of us are feeling the pinch in different ways.

The election is less than a month away. I try to be an independent thinker and study the candidates and the issues that I care about. I'm still nervous about both teams.

The husband is having surgery tomorrow. I am not worried about the actual surgery; I'm worried that he will be trapped with me for at least three days. We are used to coffee and crosswords in the morning and evenings together. Even when we go on vacation, he plays golf and I go to the beach.

Some years are better than others. We lost the Belle in January and the Captain in March.

I don't need to get on a treadmill; I'm pacing enough to get my workout done.

Drunk on Air

My father and I used to have dates to go out to dinner. For the last few weeks, our dates have been going to the doctor. He had sinus surgery last week and we were all anxious to know the results.

I tagged along for my father's post-surgery appointment. In the parking lot, he commented that he was almost light-headed. With open nasal passages and sinuses, breathing is a whole new experience.

He said, "If this is what breathing is supposed to feel like, I don't know what I've been doing all these years."

"We're Your Oldies Now."

My father had surgery this morning. He is fine...resting uncomfortably and probably trying to figure out how he let his daughter get him into this situation.

For a surgery day, we had lots of laughs. My mother and I teased my father about his cute gown and hair bonnet. When he was registering for surgery, he went up alone. Oh no -- not going to happen. I tagged along. (Secretly, I think he likes it when I do that.)

During his surgery, my mother and I tried to distract ourselves. We both did the crossword puzzle.

I listened for our name. If someone came in and said, "Riley," I jumped to my feet and said, "Here!" (I would've been great in the military.)

After surgery, the doctor met with us. "Do you have any questions?" is the standard question. My mother had none. I had several.

My parents are not old and they are extremely self-sufficient. But I like to tease them. I told my mother that they'd still be waiting around for someone to call them. She laughed and said, "We're your oldies now."

Not true. But, they have been very accommodating of my quirks. They let me lurk and listen. They let me say, "No, we're going to do it another way."

We did have a little battle in the surgery prep room. Sinus surgery involves several days of breathing only through the mouth. No bending, no stress on the face, no blood rushing to your head. My mother and I decided to exchange words about whether or not the dogs could sleep with them for the next three days. Guess what? "No!" This provided a lot of amusement for my father and if I find out she let those dogs in bed, I will kidnap him and bring him here.

A Possible Christmas Photo

When this is posted, I will be sitting in a waiting room while my father has sinus surgery.

A few years ago, my mother had knee surgery and in the recovery room, my father and I got hysterical laughing at her in the surgical cap gone askew. I called tonight to remind him that I might bring a camera. It's his turn. He will have a surgical cap. He will have a mask over his face to catch whatever (ick!) comes out of his nose.

We've been warned that the inability to breathe through your nose can cause panic attacks. We've been told that he will not sleep well for the few days until the nasal packing is removed. I'm thinking this is prime photo opportunity.

Sensitive

My entire life has been filled with people trying to toughen me up. When kids on the school bus threatened to hit me and I told my mother about it, she told me to hit them back HARD or she would hit me. For the record, she didn't hit me but her point was well taken.

I'm tougher than I used to be -- it's only taken 45 years. But, I'm still a weenie. Music makes me cry. Commercials can make me weepy. I can burst into tears with an old note or photo.

Yesterday, my goddaughter had her wisdom teeth removed. When I talked to her, the conversation ended with her saying, "I wuv ooh." I remember when the baby had his wisdom teeth removed. I kept talking to him (as he came out of the anesthesia) and I was mean. I was doing little impressions of him. He kept saying, "Op it, Op it."

I have also been through this surgery. My dad and my fiance took me. When I woke up in the recovery room, they would only allow one person to come back and they asked me who to send back.

"I want my Dad!"

I may be a weenie but I'm not stupid.

Entitled to a Vacation

"Cross check and call forward" is one of my favorite phrases. Lately, it hasn't been for happy occasions. I've been on more planes and in more rental cars than I care to count.

Yes, I'm being selfish. Go ahead. Label me. "She's an only child. She's used to getting her way." I'll laugh at that one all the way to the bank. Then I'll take my quarter and throw it at you.

My January escape is Phoenix. I didn't go. The Belle was ill and I wanted to be here. My next escape is Florida in March. I went, knowing Hangdog was facing surgery. I went knowing the husband was on the opposite coast. Then, I learned the brothers were coming in to support their father. I had two days in glorious sunshine before I cut my trip short due to his death.

The airlines must love me. I've paid to change flights and rearrange plans. Somehow, in the midst of these plans, I've missed my vacations.

When the Belle died, the husband and I schlepped Hangdog to Mississippi for the funeral. You cannot consider yourself a veteran traveler until you've arranged for wheelchairs and taken someone with a pacemaker through security. Twice we propped him at the gate and ran -- RAN! -- for a Bloody Mary.

This trip was just the two of us. No security snafus. No need to stop in the men's room nineteen times. However, we did deal with plane changes, missed connections, luggage due at another time, changing rental cars in a different city, tracking down luggage at 5:30 AM and more.

Hangdog took every offered item (useful or not) that he might be entitled to have. I have a sh** load of stuff in my basement to prove it.

Selfish Sheri wants a vacation.

Feeling Like a Fool

I'm not sure if Hangdog's plot was successful or I'm a total idiot. Maybe both.

His hip is not just broken, it's shattered. Bone fragments and metal pieces have run amok. Throw in his heart condition and we're having some really enlightening conversations of the pros and cons of surgery. That is, if we can find an orthopedic surgeon who thinks this might be plausible And, if the brothers agree this is a good idea.

I'm still getting on a plane tomorrow morning, albeit with a heavy heart and a ton of reservations.

My self examination tonight is not good. If this were the Belle versus Hangdog, I would've been in the waiting room all day. I'm not proud of myself. Our doctor assures me there is nothing to be done and he is resting comfortably. But the guilt lingers.

I Want to Hold Your Hand

It's cold and flu season. According to the experts, the best way to protect yourself is constant hand-washing, get a flu shot and avoid hand-to-hand contact. I'm about as likely to do that as I am to sell a kidney on eBay.

Holding hands gives me comfort. It makes me feel loved and safe.

I've had doctor's appointments that frightened me. My mother or Mickey held my hand. I've had biopsies and minor surgeries. My parents or Big Sal held my hand. When I put my old dog to sleep, Abby held my hand. When Pam's daughter and the baby both headed off for college, we shared some laughs and tears. We held hands and walked down memory lane. I've been to funerals and memorials where I held hands with lots of people. It's comforting and I need it.

Cynthia has let me weep uncontrollably. She reaches for my hand.

Jan used to grab my hand in public. She knew I was horrified so she found this very funny. Today, I would find it an honor. She's held my hand through an awful lot of things in my life.

When the baby was little, we would kneel and say our prayers. I put my hands over his during this ritual. When we say grace in our home, we hold hands. When the husband and I go for a walk, we hold hands. Sometimes I watch my parents meander into a restaurant or some other function. They still hold hands. When I go to church with my parents, I hold their hands.

If I'm sharing a memory or a laugh with you, I will probably hold your hand. In some ways, it's complete intimacy. It's raw, honest and vulnerable. It says, "I trust you. I need you. Let's help each other."

Lots of other people have held my hand or let me reach for theirs. I remember. I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. But I won't stop holding hands.