Time Travel

Let's go back in time so a tale can be told.

Let's go back to yesterday.

We were headed for the big city! I was finally going to see Brother, he of terrible surgery and oft times life threatening daring do. I had not seen him since before the surgery and I was excited. I got his wife some peanut M&M's and the the paper with  my column in it.

Ready, set, wait a minute.

See, our dog had a terrible seizure and she had a hard time coming out of it. We had to wait around a little, take her outside several times, make sure she was okay.

And of course, there was the cleaning up of the mess from seizure, putting dog cover in the wash, etc.

We have a brand new, super dooper DEE LUX GPS that Husband used to get us to Emory. He carefully typed in Emory University Hospital at Decatur's address.

Checked it twice, because a. He is prone to errors and b. He is O. C. D.

I am dressed in my layers, leggings, onesie, wool socks, heavy jeans, sweat shirt, etc. because when I am sitting still my legs get worse due to poor circulation. And while I am prone to hot flashes, the lower half will still freeze.

Down the road we go. A little later than anticipated, but still plenty of time.

About Canton I begin to hurt so badly I confess we have to stop and get something for my stomach. I am on a strong antibiotic for the bladder infection that resulted from the kidney stone last week, and the medicine is killing my gut.

Husband bat turns into Publics, Daughter agrees to run in. "Xanax, right?"

"Ye - NO! Zantac, not Xanax!"

Off she flies, and hurries back with Zantac and Sprite in hand.

We continue down the road. By now it is well past lunch time and we decide Steak N Shake is a great idea. After a terrifying U-turn that Husband makes for no apparent reason other than because he can, we get to Steak N Shake, shook up.

Husband suddenly remembers he forgot to give Dog her mid-day seizure medication.

What a wonderful time to forget that! I cross my fingers Dog doesn't have a seizure and do you-know-what all over the rug.

The waiter seats us, hands us our menus, tells us his name (Josh) and then looks at me and says, "I want to know about your book."

I'm stunned. Flattered. I'm famous! Wow! How does this kid know about my books? Daughter's face looks like I am feeling.

Then Josh continues, "It says to ask, so I figured I better." He says this as he stares at my bosom.

I, too, look down. I have on my sweat shirt that says: Ask About My Book. Oh.

Moving right along:

After eating, we sit in the parking lot so Husband can turn on the brand new super dooper DEE LUX  GPS and check the address. Twice. (See above)

He says he's making absolutely sure the address is right, because we don't want to go to Emory University Hospital Midtown.

The brand new super dooper DEE LUX GPS takes us to Midtown.

We are now at the tip of the beginning of Midtown rush hour. I'm hurting like a son of a gun, and we know if we can even figure out how to get to 85, we are going to be in bumper to bumper traffic all the way to the hospital.

We have a decision to make: Try it or admit our defeat. The other mitigating factor is this: Daughter has an engagement with a friend that she feels she needs to honor.

She's meeting him at the funeral home.

Sigh.

So I pull up the old big girl drawers and call Brother's Wife. I tell her where we are and she says, "Oh. That's not good."

I tell her of Daughter's previously promised engagement and for her to get there on time, we need to turn around and go home.

She understands.

I am very disappointed. (Not that she understands, but that I don't get to see them)

So we turn around, head home and see the lovely flashing signs that a wreck has all four lanes blocked up ahead and to take an alternate route.

Seriously?
Isn't that what we've done all day?

Fortunately, as we creep forward, the wreck is cleared and we go home.

So close, and yet so far away... sniff.

Dog is fine. Carpets are dry.

I am in pain and exhausted.

And, in trying to stack my pillows on my bed, I knock Jesus to the floor.

Don't ask.