Dear Diary – My mother’s winter coat is molting. The squirrels also seem to be getting frisky. Does that mean Spring is on its way?
Dear Diary – I like surprises, especially when they’re pleasant and I don’t know they’re coming. I’m not very patient.
I didn’t see Monday’s surprise coming but it was no pleasure. I finally saw my rheumatologist who confirmed that my ankle was not fractured. Considering I had the xray at the beginning of February, that was a relief. He still wants me to get an MRI done, which I’ve been waiting on since the beginning of February and has now been scheduled for the end of April. Unless they put me in feet first and only halfway, this may be a huge problem for me. I’m claustraphobic and my first experience was extremely unpleasant too. (I was given happy pills for the second one and all I remember is thinking how ridiculous it was that I was singing along to the sounds the machine was making. Those pills were supposed to wear off in hours, but 12 hours later I was still happy, happy, happy!)
The next thing I know, he’s talking about possible changes to my medication, which would have rather serious pitfalls, including self-injections. Uh…no thanks!?! And finally, surprise! He’s going to give me a cortisone shot.
“Lie down on the table and make yourself comfortable,” he says, as he’s fixing a giant needle in his hand.
I knew it would hurt, having had a cortisone shot in my shoulder less than a year ago. But I was unprepared for this. First, he poked around the spot on my ankle that made me yell when he was being gentle before stabbing me with a giant needle. Time slowed to a crawl as he pondered the meaning of life while slowly injected me with the clear, burning jelly. Finally, he slapped a bandaid on my ankle and said, “sorry,” but not like he meant it. The sadistic melonhead didn’t even get the bandaid on right, so I bled all over my pink socks. I could feel the blood drain from my face as I pulled on my sock and shoe and hobbled from the tiny torture chamber. I knew I had yelled but having nearly lost consciousness, I wasn’t sure how much or how loud. I’m not even sure if I spoke actual words or just a series of primeval animalistic sounds. But the waiting room was completely empty when I got out. I think every
victim patient heard my dying scream and fled for their lives. I may have saved someone the same fate and that brings me comfort.
On the plus side, I only had to make it to the car, which was parked at the far end of the lot, and through only one lake-sized puddle. I prayed the gaping hole in my ankle wouldn’t become infected and I’d develop gangrene. Last time I had a cortisone shot, I had to practice shallow breathing while I visited the pharmacy next door to replace the serum for his next
victim patient before I could go to the car and lick my wounds. I’m not sure I would have made it to the pharmacy. I probably would have just laid down on the bricks and let the neighbourhood cats eats my body.
I texted Hubby, replacing a few choice words with asterisks between panting breaths. I was freezing cold and yet miraculously sweating through my winter coat. Hubby texted back sad faces and kissy faces. What else could he do? They made me smile.
The drive home was punctuated with gasps and moans as I squeezed the steering wheel and concentrated on the road in front of me. I was thankful now that I had scooted around the house all weekend, packing to run away from home. Youngest Son had to pack the car alone as I sat on the stairs and felt sorry for myself. I washed my sock before I left – the pink ones are among my favourites, and started the long drive “home” to Mama for some TLC.
Dear Diary – I am not in a happy place. Lately it feels like the universe is conspiring against me. I did “escape” to my parents, but I have to go home early. I’m needed. While it’s a nice feeling to be needed, more and more I wonder, what about what I need? If I’m everyone’s mommy, who is going to take care of me?
On top of multiple health issues amongst various family members, little things are piling up:
The rheotstat on my best oven burner is unreliable.
So is our one toilet.
My sewing machine is broken.
I’m not allowed to have a damn cat.
Certainly compared to world events, my small world disasters are very small.
Lately it feels like the things I need or want (and yes, I can logically separate the two), are delayed or denied. I made the mistake of posting my frustrations on Facebook regarding a delay, only to be snarked at by one person because others are suffering more. As if I lacked compassion for those others. As if I’m selfish, and not allowed to hurt too.
A few good night’s sleep would solve a lot of woes, but I don’t get to sleep in because I’m “needed”. I realize there are people who wish they were in my position, and no doubt, one of them will let me know I’m selfish and have no right to feel this way! 😉
I am convinced that there is a sensor in my butt that alerts my husband and any kids in the house of the exact moment I sit down.
Dear Diary – My friend, Plain and Fancy Girl, Marian, shared a hilarious story this week! It reminded me of the times my cell phone number was posted in ads for “masseuses”. Sure, it would have been an interesting career move and I certainly would have met meany colourful people, but it’s also up there on the Creep-o-meter!
This too shall pass they say.
It might pass like a kidney stone…but it will pass.