Typhoid Mary - That's Me!

I have begun to feel a lot like Typhoid Mary.

As you know, I have been on my deathbed. (Okay, okay, but I was really, really, sick.)  Anyway, I gave the illness to Daughter, who hasn't been as severely ill as I, but still had to go to the doctor and has been pretty miserable. We thought Husband had managed to slide by with nothing more than a mild sore throat, but no.

After waking up worse every morning, he finally went to the doctor day before yesterday and got medications and an injection.

Of course today, he feels worse than ever, as this is the way this stuff progresses. He sounds bullfroggie and yesterday he got the hiccups.

He still has them. He even hiccuped in his sleep last night.

I told him I thought they were caused by the injection he received, and of course, Husband thought that was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard.

So, Husband asked Pharmacist, whom he thinks is the smartest man on earth.  Pharmacist told Husband it was a side effect from the injection he'd received.

(Insert dancing bananas here)

It's nice to be right about something.

Husband was told to expect the hiccups to hang around another day or so before they run their course.

So for the near future I have a bullfroggie, hiccuping spouse.

At least now he thinks I'm the smartest person on earth, so step aside Pharmacist.

He probably shouldn't get too close to us anyway.

Facing the Enemy

There are some enemies in one's life that you can ignore, at least for a while.

But if it is a true enemy, it will always come back. Eventually one must come face to face with the enemy and prepare for battle.

I've known for some weeks this was coming. Oh, the enemy has always been there, in the back of my mind. But it hasn't been a worry for me. Not until now.

As time has drawn nearer, my thoughts have been gradually coming back more often to this old enemy.

I remember when we were friends. One I relied on, always made me look good, as friends do, and never let me down.

But then, several years ago, things began to change. A slip there, an ugly look here. I tried to change to accommodate, but it has never been enough. And now there is nothing. Things have gone too far to ever think of having a good relationship ever, ever, again.

Unfortunately, we must be seen together in the future. I suppose I could avoid it, but it would be a real inconvenience for me and those around me. Avoidance would probably make me look as bad as going ahead and dealing with the situation.

So, yesterday, I went to the enemy. I knew exactly where to look, even though it had been several years.

We faced off. I shook my head. With trembling hand I reached out. We touched. Then we grappled and wrestled for control.

The enemy won. I was left in tears, remorseful, and of course, with the inevitable conclusion that I had been right all along. We would never be friends again.

Man, I hate bathing suits.

Soap Sally

I took a shower this afternoon, because the dear person who gives me massages agreed to come to my house to give me a massage, due to my continued illness.

I had not had a shower in, um, wow. Nor had my hair been washed.

Think  Don King.

Soap does wonders for a person.

Made me think back to when I was a child. I had a soap on a rope (raise your hand if you remember those). We had a big old claw foot tub that I had to be lifted into until I was about eight because the sides were so high. So once I was in, I stayed for a while.

I loved bubble bath, too. I remember I had some bubble bath that came in a container that looked like a whale. I played with that thing for years, long after the bubble bath was gone.

Of course, Ivory soap was the best because it floated! I would try to catch it and it would slip out of my hand, just like a fish. It's a wonder my mother let me play with it so much, it seems that sure wasted a lot of soap.

When you are a little kid, taking a bath with a buddy is fun too. Especially if the grown ups leave you alone until the whole bathroom is a lake from all the splashing.

You learn a lot about anatomy, too.

Which, come to think of it, leads to sharing the bath when you are a lot older (and married, of course!)

Of course, that only looks romantic in movies. In reality, unless you have a really biiiig tub, it's just uncomfortable. Ah well, another fantasy bites the dust.

Today, there are so many different brands of soap you could spend all day trying to figure out what you really want. I hate the ones that are gone after two showers because they were mostly lotion. But I don't want to bathe in lye soap either.

So, I usually go by smell. If I like the way it smells, I buy it.

Now shampoo, which is really just soap for hair, I am very picky about. Some of it just treats my hair better than others. Or so I imagine.

I guess I could think of all other kinds of soap too: dish soap, soap for the floors, dog shampoo, cat shampoo, shampoo for lice, carpet shampoo, etc.

But for  now, I'll close with this little story: When Husband was a little boy, if he behaved too badly, or if he got that twinkle in his eye saying he might roam too far from home, he was told he better beware of Soap Sally. She lived in the woods above their house. When she caught little boys, she turned 'em into soap. What fate worse for a little boy, I ask you? There is none!

Smile when you take your bath tonight and think of stories from when you were a child.

Just don't get any soap in  your eyes.

I Have To Admit It's Getting Better

For one hour this morning and a couple of hours this afternoon I was able to do more than: blow nose, whine, double sneeze, hold ribs, cough, whine, eat cough drops, take medication, spray my throat, and of course, whine some more.

I did lots of stuff: I put shirts on the rod when Daughter handed them to me and put some stuff in the drawers. I put bleach in my fountain and clicked the button so it would run all day, hopefully destroying all the little baby mosquitoes in the process that had been stewing for a week in the still water. I sat in a chair and scrubbed the toilet. I glued the spout back on the broken tea pot. I fed the cats. See? I was productive!

I actually felt some anticipation of our upcoming vacation, which I had been unable to do because I have been sick for a DANG WEEK. I haven't been this sick this long since I was fourteen and had the flu.

I pretty much missed Father's Day. I missed Vacation Bible School. I missed my massage, people!

If I am not 80% better by Wednesday, I'm going back to the doctor. Enough is enough.

But for now, I have to admit, it's getting better, a little better all the time....

Memories of My Father

Without a clue, I was awakened with an emotional force telling me that once again the anniversary of my father’s death was hitting me square in the face as always, just before this Country’s celebration of Father’s Day.

            My eyes filled with tears at the loss, but my mind filled with memories of the 34 years I had him as a father.

            He was so proud of the Cherokee blood that was a part of his heritage. His dark good looks were strikingly similar to some Native American ancestor, and it prompted my then soon-to-be husband to comment that my father looked like “the other side of a Buffalo Nickel” upon their first introduction.

            My father chose to be a boy well into his mid-thirties, with pals whose nicknames

included Teb, Yale, Cricket, Lob, Kaiser, Hog, Coon, Hugo, Dub, and Ears. His own nickname was “Lash” after the cowboy actor Lash LaRue. They fished, camped, and hunted together, wildly adventurous, living on the edge with gambling and cockfights.

            Almost always when I think of him, it’s with a book in his hands, looking over the top of it menacingly at my date (how did I ever have another?!), or totally engrossed in the tale, oblivious to his surroundings.

            I see my toddler-self on his shoulders in the middle of the stream while he fishes for trout, or him dashing down the street coatless in the snow, or stopping the car at night on the side of the road for me to hear the far away screams of a mountain lion.

            He never had much money, although he made a good salary. When he saw someone in need, he gave his money away. My mother was brought to tears again and again over it, out of frustration at times, and at times over the kindness of his generosity.

            I remember the look on his face as he burst through the door, snow in his hair, shouting, “Twins!” to my grandfather and me, and neither of us believing my mother had done any such thing, because my father was such a practical joker.

            Ah – Daddy – if your first taste of bad habits had been your last. If instead of walking a mile for those Camels you’d run the other way, my last memories of you wouldn’t be speaking to me with your eyes only, because the respirator had stopped your voice. Of eyes that halted my own rambling speech cold because they said, “Don’t kid yourself, I’m not coming home again. And you know it.” Of my husband sharing later his own conversation with him, Daddy struggling to speak, “Take care of my daughter,” imploring eyes, grasping hands.

            We all make choices in our lives, good and bad. But in the end we have no choice at all.

            We buried him on June 7, 1988. Two years later, on June 7, my daughter, his granddaughter, was born. It doesn’t take much imagination to envision his delight of granddaughters, and I wish I could see it with my eyes as I do with my heart. I grieve the fact that he’s not here to watch her grow, as his father was for me, but she knows about him, and I teach her the pride of her own Cherokee heritage. I watch my child and her sweet daddy together, and I know how precious her memories will be.

            May this Father’s Day bless each of you in some way with precious memories of your own. Ludlow Porch always admonished one to “Call your mama.” But if your father is still of this earth, call your daddy today.

            

Mothers Know Best

I hate when my mother is right. Well, I don't hate when she's right unless I happen to be wrong at the same time about the same thing.

She was sorta right on this. She was ranting and raving about me going to the doctor on Tuesday or I'd just get worse. I argued that if it was viral a doctor visit wouldn't help.

Well, I did get worse. I finally saw a doctor yesterday. I was right about the viral part, except he was concerned I was so ill it was turning into bacterial because of the uh, gunk in my head. So he gave me a liquid to stop coughing and coat the vocal chords, (which were being attacked by the virus) and an antibiotic. Said if anything turned green, start on the antibiotic.

It did. I did.

Yesterday I couldn't speak above a whisper. I told my husband it was an early Father's Day gift.

It is a little after two p.m. and my first foray out of bed today, except when the dryer repairman came and I had to talk to him a bit.

I'm weak as a kitten, grouchy as an old bear, and ugly as a stump.

What time would you like to (cough,sneeze) come visit?

Food is welcome.

That part of me, of course, is working great.

Signed,
 If this keeps up I'll look like a beached whale

Oh My Aching Everything

Kathi logs on to blog page. Clears throat, coughs. Blinks. Whines.

I've been up all night off and on, sick. Fever, coughing, sneezing, my throat feels like someone slipped into my bedroom and slit my throat from ear to ear. My head hurts, too.

Every joint I have is aching and I can hardly hold my head up. In fact, I'm going back to bed.

Husband has been sweet and helped me, gave me salt water to gargle with, ibuprofen to bring down my fever, made me a banana sandwich.

Makes me grateful for him, sad for myself being in such a sorry state when I was supposed to have lunch with a friend.

Oh, and my dryer won't dry. It turns on nicely, but it won't heat up. So we have wet laundry lying about that Daughter has to take to my mother's.

They say stuff comes in threes.

That's two.

Good thing I'm not superstitious.