In two days I'll drive up to Georgia for a short weekend visit with Mom. I always get nervous beforehand about the 7+ hour drive and about the possibility of something going wrong, but it's always fine and I'm sure it'll be fine this time too.
This time it'll be just me and Mom, no other relatives going out to lunch with us, so that'll be better. Mom has such trouble hearing that when we go to a restaurant everyone ends up talking around her and mostly ignoring her, which I hate. If it's just the two of us, even if we don't speak a lot, it'll at least be to each other. I'm hoping to take her out to lunch at Red Lobster on Saturday, and then maybe out to breakfast at IHOP on Monday before I leave to drive back.
She's not up to shopping anymore, so while she's taking her afternoon nap I plan to go to a nearby mall and see if I can't find her some new clothes. If I can do that on Saturday, then Sunday I could return anything that didn't fit.
Unfortunately this retirement home doesn't have a dedicated Guest room like the place where she used to live. It was a small studio apartment, but it was comfortable with a TV and a mini refrigerator and fresh linens. It cost $50 but included meals, and it was invaluable to be able to just walk down the hall in my pajamas and slippers to hang out with Mom at night. This place in the past has let me stay in empty "show" apartments, which was hit or miss with things like fresh linens or TVs, but they let me stay for free. Now they have a new corporate policy to charge $125 a night, and that doesn't even include a guaranteed TV or linens. Good grief. Clearly they don't want people to stay. So I'll be a mile away at a small hotel that I got at an employee discount rate of $39. I won't be down the hall from Mom, but I'll at least have wifi. And I am going to not care about driving a mile in my pj's and slippers.
Showing posts with label Georgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Georgia. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Christmas Eve
Greg and I drove up to Georgia with our Jetta packed with prettily-wrapped Christmas presents, laptops, our giant suitcase, snacks and our pillows (the secret to sleeping on an uncomfortable bed is to bring your own pillow).
We went out for our usual breakfast for dinner at the local IHOP, and the pancakes with hot syrup and butter were as delicious a treat as always.
The next morning Mom called me while we were still waking up and said she'd fallen and hit her chest on the corner of the table in her apartment. We ran, and she seemed relatively okay, but in a lot of pain. She said she felt a sharp pain whenever she breathed. I looked at her chest and she had a minor bruise, but I know (I think?) with elderly people sometimes things take longer to show up. She is typically very anti-going to the doctor or hospital, so when she tearfully asked about getting medical attention I knew she must be really hurt. She insisted we take her to an urgent care clinic, because she was scared of having x-rays and being admitted to a hospital.
We went, in the freezing Christmas Eve morning fog and rain, and found a packed waiting room run by a cold-faced woman who said she had no idea how long the wait would be and waved a long sign-in sheet at me saying, "All these people are ahead of you."
We left and put Mom back in the car, Greg holding the umbrella over our heads while I helped her in, and I told her that if she needed to get medical care, I thought maybe the best plan would be to go back to her apartment and call an ambulance. That way, she'd be taken right in, without spending hours in a crowded emergency room waiting room. I told her they couldn't admit her if she didn't agree to be admitted, and she said okay.
In the hallway, I looked at Greg. Help me figure out what to do, I said, I'm freaking out. He held my hand and told me to take care of my Mom, and he'd take care of me.
They got there quickly and a bunch of EMTs crowded into her apartment. I noticed one or two stayed in the hallway, not bringing the gurney in right away. They were all nice Georgia boys with heavy accents, going out of their way to be polite to Mom and address her as Ma'am and direct their questions to her, speaking louder when she couldn't hear them. Feeling exactly like a scared 12-year old I tried hard to be the adult in charge, and I told them directly and succinctly what had happened.
They asked her if it was okay to examine her chest, and I knelt by her chair and held her hand, knowing it's hard at any age to have your chest examined after having two mastectomies. The one who appeared to be in charge said he didn't believe any bones were broken or cracked, that he thought she had a bruised sternum. They listened to her breathing with a stethoscope and took her blood pressure, and said she was breathing just fine. He cautioned me that he didn't have "x-ray vision" and there was no way to know for sure without an x-ray.
She's 91 and has back problems and going in for x-rays will be extremely hard on her and painful for her, I told them. I don't want to put her through that if it's not vitally necessary. What would happen if she does have a cracked or broken sternum?
There's still not much they can do, the EMT told me, except give her pain medication. I know Mom's history with pain medication, and it's basically nonexistent; even after fracturing two vertebrae she took mild pain pills only rarely, and under great protest.
What would you do, if she were your mother, or grandmother, I asked them. They looked at Mom. "Ma'am, do you want to go to the hospital?"
She shook her head. "No, unless I have to."
Everyone looked at me. I said that I thought it would be best if we just kept her at home and kept an eye on her. They all looked relieved and told us to call again if she got worse and they would come right back, it would be no problem. One guy told me that that's exactly the decision he would have made, but he wasn't allowed to tell me that before.
We all apologized for bringing them out, and they said that it was no problem at all. Merry Christmas, they wished Mom as they left, telling her they hoped she'd feel better real soon.
Greg and I gave Mom a bunch of ibuprofen and she got back in bed, and by noon the next day she felt well enough to get dressed and have lunch in the dining room with me and Greg and my sister and her husband. I could tell she was in pain, but she seemed to hold up okay.
She's still having trouble moving around, but has been able to shower and get dressed and undressed, and she said today she thinks it's starting to get better.
We went out for our usual breakfast for dinner at the local IHOP, and the pancakes with hot syrup and butter were as delicious a treat as always.
The next morning Mom called me while we were still waking up and said she'd fallen and hit her chest on the corner of the table in her apartment. We ran, and she seemed relatively okay, but in a lot of pain. She said she felt a sharp pain whenever she breathed. I looked at her chest and she had a minor bruise, but I know (I think?) with elderly people sometimes things take longer to show up. She is typically very anti-going to the doctor or hospital, so when she tearfully asked about getting medical attention I knew she must be really hurt. She insisted we take her to an urgent care clinic, because she was scared of having x-rays and being admitted to a hospital.
We went, in the freezing Christmas Eve morning fog and rain, and found a packed waiting room run by a cold-faced woman who said she had no idea how long the wait would be and waved a long sign-in sheet at me saying, "All these people are ahead of you."
We left and put Mom back in the car, Greg holding the umbrella over our heads while I helped her in, and I told her that if she needed to get medical care, I thought maybe the best plan would be to go back to her apartment and call an ambulance. That way, she'd be taken right in, without spending hours in a crowded emergency room waiting room. I told her they couldn't admit her if she didn't agree to be admitted, and she said okay.
In the hallway, I looked at Greg. Help me figure out what to do, I said, I'm freaking out. He held my hand and told me to take care of my Mom, and he'd take care of me.
They got there quickly and a bunch of EMTs crowded into her apartment. I noticed one or two stayed in the hallway, not bringing the gurney in right away. They were all nice Georgia boys with heavy accents, going out of their way to be polite to Mom and address her as Ma'am and direct their questions to her, speaking louder when she couldn't hear them. Feeling exactly like a scared 12-year old I tried hard to be the adult in charge, and I told them directly and succinctly what had happened.
They asked her if it was okay to examine her chest, and I knelt by her chair and held her hand, knowing it's hard at any age to have your chest examined after having two mastectomies. The one who appeared to be in charge said he didn't believe any bones were broken or cracked, that he thought she had a bruised sternum. They listened to her breathing with a stethoscope and took her blood pressure, and said she was breathing just fine. He cautioned me that he didn't have "x-ray vision" and there was no way to know for sure without an x-ray.
She's 91 and has back problems and going in for x-rays will be extremely hard on her and painful for her, I told them. I don't want to put her through that if it's not vitally necessary. What would happen if she does have a cracked or broken sternum?
There's still not much they can do, the EMT told me, except give her pain medication. I know Mom's history with pain medication, and it's basically nonexistent; even after fracturing two vertebrae she took mild pain pills only rarely, and under great protest.
What would you do, if she were your mother, or grandmother, I asked them. They looked at Mom. "Ma'am, do you want to go to the hospital?"
She shook her head. "No, unless I have to."
Everyone looked at me. I said that I thought it would be best if we just kept her at home and kept an eye on her. They all looked relieved and told us to call again if she got worse and they would come right back, it would be no problem. One guy told me that that's exactly the decision he would have made, but he wasn't allowed to tell me that before.
We all apologized for bringing them out, and they said that it was no problem at all. Merry Christmas, they wished Mom as they left, telling her they hoped she'd feel better real soon.
Greg and I gave Mom a bunch of ibuprofen and she got back in bed, and by noon the next day she felt well enough to get dressed and have lunch in the dining room with me and Greg and my sister and her husband. I could tell she was in pain, but she seemed to hold up okay.
She's still having trouble moving around, but has been able to shower and get dressed and undressed, and she said today she thinks it's starting to get better.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Visiting My Mother
I drove up on Monday morning, leaving home at 7:30am, stopping once to drive through Burger King for breakfast and once to get gas and pee. At 4:00, 500 miles later, I arrived and checked into my room.
Except this time the managers put me in a 2 bedroom 2 bath "show" apartment, which was much nicer than the guest apartment, and closer to Mom. I really don't mind staying in the little guest room, which is just one small room with a mini-refrigerator and a tv and a bed and a chair (well, and a bathroom), but having room to walk around in was a lot more comfortable. Having a big flat-screen HDTV and a couch to sit on and a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking the magnolia trees was way better.
Mom and I always go to the IHOP to have breakfast for dinner the evening I arrive, it's our ritual. She always gets the Senior Rooty, with blueberries or strawberries on her pancakes. I always get the 2x2x2, which is 2 eggs, 2 pancakes and 2 pieces of bacon. We always get the Splashberry drinks, which are Sprite, orange juice, and strawberries. For some reason Mom always eats pretty much everything on her plate at IHOP.
Afterwards we hang out in her apartment, she gives me the stack of things she has been saving for me (interesting articles from our local paper in VA, letters and cards that she's gotten, and magazine articles about eating healthy and finding a job), and we watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. She has turned on the closed-captioning and doesn't use the sound at all any more.
Mom's hearing is not great. She has hearing loss and has a hearing aid, but she also has nerve damage that distorts sound. The doctor says it won't get worse, but there's nothing to do to help it, either. The past time or two that I've visited I've noticed that Mom doesn't drag me all over the retirement home to introduce me to people like she used to, and I think it's because she is afraid that she won't be able to understand them.
At this point, there are plenty of people there who know me. When Rhea, the manager, walked me down the hall to my room I ran into Paul; he lives across the hall from Mom. He's from Florida, so we have that in common. "How are things down in Orlando?" he called when he saw me coming. "Too hot, like everywhere else," I answered.
My fancy 2 bedroom apartment was right next door to Dee. Dee is still very mobile for her age, tall and slender with curly white hair, and she's always dressed well. Dee has breakfast with Mom every morning, and sometimes sits with her at lunch, depending on who else is there. Dee doesn't come down to dinner, though, because she eats in her apartment with her boyfriend from down the hall.
Mom typically has lunch with Wilma and Mickie, who are her two closest friends. Wilma is a lovely woman with painted nails and pretty jewelry, who flirts with the waiters in the dining room. I won't say she flirts with every man, because I wouldn't want to hurt Greg's feelings. She always asks about Greg and talks about how she's looking forward to seeing him again.
I think some women, regardless of age, just have a flirt gene. I am not one of those women.
Mickie is very, very sweet. She walks with a walker, and she is always smiling. When I visited in March, Mickie gave me a birthday card, and signed it Your Mother's Friend. When I sit in the dining room with them, I always try to put my back to the room so Mom and Mickie can watch everyone coming in, see who sits where, and discuss what's been going on with whom.
At some point I always run into Connie, either in the lobby or the dining room or the elevator. She's a friendly Southern lady and always gives me a big hug.
On Tuesday Mom and I met my sister Mary and my niece Susan at Red Lobster for lunch. I try to include Mom in the conversation, but I know she misses as much as she hears. She says she hears enough, and she seems to enjoy herself. She feels overwhelmed by all the food, though, and is only happy if someone will split a meal with her, because she thinks it's just too much. I split lunch with her this time, sharing a salad, shrimp scampi, and broccoli. There is always a small argument over how much goes on my plate and how much goes on hers.
On Wednesday I took Mom to Belks to try to find a blouse. She can get along pretty well in a store with her walker, but we ended up having to walk too much this time, and she didn't find anything she liked so it felt like a waste of time. Then the two of us went back to Red Lobster. She likes it and she's comfortable there, so it's certainly fine with me. This time we split a fish and chips lunch, and it was surprisingly good.
Each afternoon I would leave Mom alone to rest a while. There was no wifi in the retirement home this time, the person from whom I usually steal it is farther away from the fancy apartment so I couldn't get it. But I had my computer, and my Kindle, and the fancy TV, so it was relaxing for me, too.
On Tuesday and Wednesday we had dinner in the dining room with Mickie and Wilma, and afterwards we watched TV and looked at pictures and talked about people back home.
We went back to IHOP, for actual breakfast this time, on Thursday morning. We got the same things, though, without bothering with menus. I was on the road headed south at 9:30am and drove up to my house at 5:00pm, literally just a moment before Greg pulled up.
I miss her already. I remember the first time that Greg and I drove Mom and Dad up there and helped them move in, and I cried as we drove away. Now, I don't usually cry, I just settle in for my long boring drive, feeling sad. I feel sad and think about Mom until around Macon, which is about 2 hours. Then after the Macon bypass I get on 75, the highway that'll take me into mid-Florida, and I start thinking about home.
Except this time the managers put me in a 2 bedroom 2 bath "show" apartment, which was much nicer than the guest apartment, and closer to Mom. I really don't mind staying in the little guest room, which is just one small room with a mini-refrigerator and a tv and a bed and a chair (well, and a bathroom), but having room to walk around in was a lot more comfortable. Having a big flat-screen HDTV and a couch to sit on and a kitchenette and a balcony overlooking the magnolia trees was way better.
 |
| Fancy living room |
 |
| Fancy bedroom which is in fact nowhere near a sea |
Mom and I always go to the IHOP to have breakfast for dinner the evening I arrive, it's our ritual. She always gets the Senior Rooty, with blueberries or strawberries on her pancakes. I always get the 2x2x2, which is 2 eggs, 2 pancakes and 2 pieces of bacon. We always get the Splashberry drinks, which are Sprite, orange juice, and strawberries. For some reason Mom always eats pretty much everything on her plate at IHOP.
 |
| Why even look at the menu, really? |
Afterwards we hang out in her apartment, she gives me the stack of things she has been saving for me (interesting articles from our local paper in VA, letters and cards that she's gotten, and magazine articles about eating healthy and finding a job), and we watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. She has turned on the closed-captioning and doesn't use the sound at all any more.
Mom's hearing is not great. She has hearing loss and has a hearing aid, but she also has nerve damage that distorts sound. The doctor says it won't get worse, but there's nothing to do to help it, either. The past time or two that I've visited I've noticed that Mom doesn't drag me all over the retirement home to introduce me to people like she used to, and I think it's because she is afraid that she won't be able to understand them.
At this point, there are plenty of people there who know me. When Rhea, the manager, walked me down the hall to my room I ran into Paul; he lives across the hall from Mom. He's from Florida, so we have that in common. "How are things down in Orlando?" he called when he saw me coming. "Too hot, like everywhere else," I answered.
My fancy 2 bedroom apartment was right next door to Dee. Dee is still very mobile for her age, tall and slender with curly white hair, and she's always dressed well. Dee has breakfast with Mom every morning, and sometimes sits with her at lunch, depending on who else is there. Dee doesn't come down to dinner, though, because she eats in her apartment with her boyfriend from down the hall.
Mom typically has lunch with Wilma and Mickie, who are her two closest friends. Wilma is a lovely woman with painted nails and pretty jewelry, who flirts with the waiters in the dining room. I won't say she flirts with every man, because I wouldn't want to hurt Greg's feelings. She always asks about Greg and talks about how she's looking forward to seeing him again.
I think some women, regardless of age, just have a flirt gene. I am not one of those women.
Mickie is very, very sweet. She walks with a walker, and she is always smiling. When I visited in March, Mickie gave me a birthday card, and signed it Your Mother's Friend. When I sit in the dining room with them, I always try to put my back to the room so Mom and Mickie can watch everyone coming in, see who sits where, and discuss what's been going on with whom.
At some point I always run into Connie, either in the lobby or the dining room or the elevator. She's a friendly Southern lady and always gives me a big hug.
On Tuesday Mom and I met my sister Mary and my niece Susan at Red Lobster for lunch. I try to include Mom in the conversation, but I know she misses as much as she hears. She says she hears enough, and she seems to enjoy herself. She feels overwhelmed by all the food, though, and is only happy if someone will split a meal with her, because she thinks it's just too much. I split lunch with her this time, sharing a salad, shrimp scampi, and broccoli. There is always a small argument over how much goes on my plate and how much goes on hers.
 |
| Yes, have another biscuit! |
On Wednesday I took Mom to Belks to try to find a blouse. She can get along pretty well in a store with her walker, but we ended up having to walk too much this time, and she didn't find anything she liked so it felt like a waste of time. Then the two of us went back to Red Lobster. She likes it and she's comfortable there, so it's certainly fine with me. This time we split a fish and chips lunch, and it was surprisingly good.
Each afternoon I would leave Mom alone to rest a while. There was no wifi in the retirement home this time, the person from whom I usually steal it is farther away from the fancy apartment so I couldn't get it. But I had my computer, and my Kindle, and the fancy TV, so it was relaxing for me, too.
 |
| Hanging out in my Gryffindor t-shirt, taking an iPhone pic of myself blowing a kiss to Greg |
On Tuesday and Wednesday we had dinner in the dining room with Mickie and Wilma, and afterwards we watched TV and looked at pictures and talked about people back home.
We went back to IHOP, for actual breakfast this time, on Thursday morning. We got the same things, though, without bothering with menus. I was on the road headed south at 9:30am and drove up to my house at 5:00pm, literally just a moment before Greg pulled up.
I miss her already. I remember the first time that Greg and I drove Mom and Dad up there and helped them move in, and I cried as we drove away. Now, I don't usually cry, I just settle in for my long boring drive, feeling sad. I feel sad and think about Mom until around Macon, which is about 2 hours. Then after the Macon bypass I get on 75, the highway that'll take me into mid-Florida, and I start thinking about home.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Everyone Goes On Vacation To Florida On July 4
For somebody who doesn't have a job to go to, I've been kind of busy.
Greg and I had originally planned for a vacation week over July 4. My pre-approved vacation days are a moot point now, but Greg still took the week off.
Last Saturday we had lunch with a writer friend that I met on Twitter. I am trying to cultivate writerly friends, and how awesome is it that we met on Twitter? She and her husband live over near the coast but drove over for lunch and tour of Orlando's finest comic shops.
Monday we went to Cape Canaveral to have lunch with my cousin, her husband and their son. Despite hours of hard thinking, I couldn't even remember the last time I saw this cousin. We've kept in touch through Facebook, but I swear it was at least the 1990's, and could possibly have been the 1980's when we last met. They were on vacation and had a lovely timeshare right on the beach. We had a great time catching up, it's nice to connect with someone who knows your history and your childhood.
Tuesday we went to various hardware stores to buy stuff to put up many many shelves in our living room to hold Greg's many many DVDs and Blu-rays. It was one of the main things we wanted to get done during our vacation week, but it turned out to be more expensive than we expected so we're putting it off until I find a job.
Wednesday we stayed home for a quiet Independence day celebration, had hamburgers and corn on the cob, and watched The Sound of Music, which Greg had never seen. Never! He loved it, of course. Days later I'm still humming Sixteen Going on Seventeen, and A Problem Like Maria.
Thursday was supposed to be beach day, which I've been looking forward to for weeks, but I got my period and felt awful, so we didn't go. I consoled myself by whining a lot. Greg and I watched Die Hard, which he also had never seen. I know, right?
Friday at 7am we took little, tiny, baby Alabama in to be spayed. Then we sat around and worried about her all day. I honestly don't know what we would do if either of us had to go in the hospital for a serious procedure, we were wrecks all day for a cat having a completely routine surgery. At 6pm we brought her home and were tortured by her grogginess and by having to put a cone on her poor little head. The second the cone comes off she tries to lick her incision, so we had to leave it on her, even though she is clearly completely tormented by it. At first she freaked out and tried to pull her head out or pull it off or run away from it, then she just broke and lay down sadly in defeat, while Greg and I stood over her wringing our hands and apologizing to her.
Yesterday we managed to tear ourselves away from the kitten, who is healing just fine but still hates the cone, to go to lunch with one of Greg's old friends and two of her daughters. They were in town on vacation for a few days, and it was fun.
Today I'm getting ready to drive up to GA to visit Mom. I can't wait to see her, phone calls are just not the same at all. Over time, it seems like fewer and fewer of those little daily life details get said on the phone, and I feel like I'm missing things. And we just feel so much closer after seeing each other in person.
I'll drive back home on Thursday, and we are going to the beach for sure this Saturday. I'm already looking forward to it.
Greg and I had originally planned for a vacation week over July 4. My pre-approved vacation days are a moot point now, but Greg still took the week off.
Last Saturday we had lunch with a writer friend that I met on Twitter. I am trying to cultivate writerly friends, and how awesome is it that we met on Twitter? She and her husband live over near the coast but drove over for lunch and tour of Orlando's finest comic shops.
Monday we went to Cape Canaveral to have lunch with my cousin, her husband and their son. Despite hours of hard thinking, I couldn't even remember the last time I saw this cousin. We've kept in touch through Facebook, but I swear it was at least the 1990's, and could possibly have been the 1980's when we last met. They were on vacation and had a lovely timeshare right on the beach. We had a great time catching up, it's nice to connect with someone who knows your history and your childhood.
Tuesday we went to various hardware stores to buy stuff to put up many many shelves in our living room to hold Greg's many many DVDs and Blu-rays. It was one of the main things we wanted to get done during our vacation week, but it turned out to be more expensive than we expected so we're putting it off until I find a job.
Wednesday we stayed home for a quiet Independence day celebration, had hamburgers and corn on the cob, and watched The Sound of Music, which Greg had never seen. Never! He loved it, of course. Days later I'm still humming Sixteen Going on Seventeen, and A Problem Like Maria.
Thursday was supposed to be beach day, which I've been looking forward to for weeks, but I got my period and felt awful, so we didn't go. I consoled myself by whining a lot. Greg and I watched Die Hard, which he also had never seen. I know, right?
Friday at 7am we took little, tiny, baby Alabama in to be spayed. Then we sat around and worried about her all day. I honestly don't know what we would do if either of us had to go in the hospital for a serious procedure, we were wrecks all day for a cat having a completely routine surgery. At 6pm we brought her home and were tortured by her grogginess and by having to put a cone on her poor little head. The second the cone comes off she tries to lick her incision, so we had to leave it on her, even though she is clearly completely tormented by it. At first she freaked out and tried to pull her head out or pull it off or run away from it, then she just broke and lay down sadly in defeat, while Greg and I stood over her wringing our hands and apologizing to her.
Yesterday we managed to tear ourselves away from the kitten, who is healing just fine but still hates the cone, to go to lunch with one of Greg's old friends and two of her daughters. They were in town on vacation for a few days, and it was fun.
Today I'm getting ready to drive up to GA to visit Mom. I can't wait to see her, phone calls are just not the same at all. Over time, it seems like fewer and fewer of those little daily life details get said on the phone, and I feel like I'm missing things. And we just feel so much closer after seeing each other in person.
I'll drive back home on Thursday, and we are going to the beach for sure this Saturday. I'm already looking forward to it.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Up With Ruts
As I get older and get to know myself a little better, I am beginning to understand one thing about myself: I don't like change.
I would really like to be the kind of person who thrives on new experiences, finding new ways of doing things and being adventurous. But no, I am a stick in the mud old fuddy duddy who really enjoys a nice, comfortable, boring rut.
Things are busy, lately. Both Greg and I have had some kind of stomach problem that has lasted for around a month and a half. Not bad enough to call in sick to work, but bad enough to be no fun at all, and it just won't go away. Greg has had it worse, and he went to the doctor last week. Hopefully test results will show that it's something very quick and easy to get rid of. We are, as the saying goes, sick and tired of being sick and tired.
All of those changes that I mentioned earlier are starting to happen at work. The first of several major changes happened last week, and it's been stressful for everyone. The second and third major changes will happen at the exact same time mid-October, and we are all extra busy trying to prepare. The fourth major change, our company moving to a whole different building or our department moving to a different area of our current building, is still hanging over our heads like a cloud of doom. We don't even know when we'll know.
On Wednesday I'll drive up to Georgia to spend some time with Mom, and on Friday we'll go out to lunch to celebrate her 90th birthday. Saturday I'll have breakfast with her and then drive home, and will hopefully be home in time to have a nice dinner with Greg to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary. We took two vacation days to celebrate, so Sunday, Monday and Tuesday will be all about having fun and relaxing.
One good thing is that I'm now old enough to recognize those things about myself that I might have been reluctant to acknowledge during my thoughtless youth. I can at least plan ahead and make it a point to take care of myself.
I would really like to be the kind of person who thrives on new experiences, finding new ways of doing things and being adventurous. But no, I am a stick in the mud old fuddy duddy who really enjoys a nice, comfortable, boring rut.
Things are busy, lately. Both Greg and I have had some kind of stomach problem that has lasted for around a month and a half. Not bad enough to call in sick to work, but bad enough to be no fun at all, and it just won't go away. Greg has had it worse, and he went to the doctor last week. Hopefully test results will show that it's something very quick and easy to get rid of. We are, as the saying goes, sick and tired of being sick and tired.
All of those changes that I mentioned earlier are starting to happen at work. The first of several major changes happened last week, and it's been stressful for everyone. The second and third major changes will happen at the exact same time mid-October, and we are all extra busy trying to prepare. The fourth major change, our company moving to a whole different building or our department moving to a different area of our current building, is still hanging over our heads like a cloud of doom. We don't even know when we'll know.
On Wednesday I'll drive up to Georgia to spend some time with Mom, and on Friday we'll go out to lunch to celebrate her 90th birthday. Saturday I'll have breakfast with her and then drive home, and will hopefully be home in time to have a nice dinner with Greg to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary. We took two vacation days to celebrate, so Sunday, Monday and Tuesday will be all about having fun and relaxing.
One good thing is that I'm now old enough to recognize those things about myself that I might have been reluctant to acknowledge during my thoughtless youth. I can at least plan ahead and make it a point to take care of myself.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Georgia
Last week I set off for Gainesville, Ga early in the morning on Thursday. It was a lovely sunny Florida morning -- off I go!
I went to celebrate my Dad's 92nd birthday, and I got to see my sister and her husband (and her son and his new wife, whom I have never met before last week). My brother was there, and his daughter and her two daughters. We all went out for a steak lunch on Saturday. I took Dad several fancy cigars as a present.
I stayed in the Guest Room at Mom and Dad's retirement home, which is like an apartment building. It's a nice enough Guest Room, it has a little refrigerator and tv and stuff. Oddly, it doesn't have a phone, but my cell phone gets a little reception there, so it's okay.
Guest Room:
Dad once again brought up my writing his obituary. I have to admit, I haven't finished writing it from when I was there in March. He changed his mind, though, and decided to take out all of the stuff about his college degree (from Va Tech) and his time in the military (he served in the Army during World War II) and just leave in the stuff about his family and his dedication to the church. He also helped me figure out what to say for Mom's obituary, and he made me write down a list of things to do when either of them passes away, like who to call and what documents to file, etc.
Mom spent a lot of time trying to give me stuff, like old pictures and mementos, and cards from people who are no longer with us, and book and vases and things.
We had a good visit, despite all the talk of death. I guess when you are 90(ish), talking about it is better than not talking about it.
Early Sunday morning Mom and Dad and I went out for breakfast at the IHOP, and then I headed off to Florida in the gray Georgia morning.
Somehow I didn't have to pee as often as usual during the trip back, and I made it with only one stop (in Tifton, GA, which is almost exactly half-way between Orlando and Gainesville).
I have made this trip a zillion or so times, and it seems like it is always the same: gray cloudiness in GA, then rain as soon as I cross the FL border, then sunshine when I get closer to Orlando.
Woo! Back in Orlando at last!
I went to celebrate my Dad's 92nd birthday, and I got to see my sister and her husband (and her son and his new wife, whom I have never met before last week). My brother was there, and his daughter and her two daughters. We all went out for a steak lunch on Saturday. I took Dad several fancy cigars as a present.
I stayed in the Guest Room at Mom and Dad's retirement home, which is like an apartment building. It's a nice enough Guest Room, it has a little refrigerator and tv and stuff. Oddly, it doesn't have a phone, but my cell phone gets a little reception there, so it's okay.
Guest Room:
Dad once again brought up my writing his obituary. I have to admit, I haven't finished writing it from when I was there in March. He changed his mind, though, and decided to take out all of the stuff about his college degree (from Va Tech) and his time in the military (he served in the Army during World War II) and just leave in the stuff about his family and his dedication to the church. He also helped me figure out what to say for Mom's obituary, and he made me write down a list of things to do when either of them passes away, like who to call and what documents to file, etc.
Mom spent a lot of time trying to give me stuff, like old pictures and mementos, and cards from people who are no longer with us, and book and vases and things.
We had a good visit, despite all the talk of death. I guess when you are 90(ish), talking about it is better than not talking about it.
Early Sunday morning Mom and Dad and I went out for breakfast at the IHOP, and then I headed off to Florida in the gray Georgia morning.
Somehow I didn't have to pee as often as usual during the trip back, and I made it with only one stop (in Tifton, GA, which is almost exactly half-way between Orlando and Gainesville).
I have made this trip a zillion or so times, and it seems like it is always the same: gray cloudiness in GA, then rain as soon as I cross the FL border, then sunshine when I get closer to Orlando.
Woo! Back in Orlando at last!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Birthdays and Needles
Tomorrow morning I am driving to Georgia to visit my parents. It's my Dad's birthday, woo! We (my brother and sister in law, my sister and brother in law, my niece and her two daughters, my nephew and his wife, and Mom and Dad) are going out for lunch on Saturday to celebrate Dad's birthday. :)
I have no idea where we are going, apparently my brother in law was going to make reservations at Outback, but as they are not open for lunch on Saturday, I am not confident in that plan. Mom and Dad love Red Lobster, though, so maybe we'll end up there.
I am looking forward to seeing Mom and Dad, but I am not looking forward to the drive. I am going to burn a bunch of cd's to take with me -- including all the Harry Potter soundtracks. And possibly some Amy Winehouse. Maybe Psychedelic Furs... maybe Missy Elliott... definitely that Lip Gloss song by Lil Mama that has been stuck in my head for two months now.
So: my husband has a terrible fear of needles. It's funny, because he will watch really awful, disgusting, bloody, disturbing things in movies (I won't go into detail -- you're welcome) but if someone gets an allergy shot he has to look away.
Last week he had to have a blood test. He was very brave, I went with him and he did great. He did less great when, later in the week, the lab called to say that they had messed up the test and he had to go back in to have more blood drawn. Gah! Did I mention this is one of those fasting tests where you can't eat/drink anything for 12 hours prior? Geez. So he fasts and goes back in.
This time he decided it was time to get over his fear, and he watched everything. He watched the nurse/technician/whatever she's called get out the needle, and realized that it's not one of those little get-a-shot needles; it's a hollow pointy tube to suck his blood out. He watched her find a vein and insert the needle, and he watched her fill up a small tube with his blood. It didn't take as long this time, he said (I wasn't with him) so maybe the first chick hadn't been very good at it, anyway.
I was so proud of him! He called me from the parking lot and he was fine -- not woozy, not nauseous. Woo hoo! Then, the next morning, the phone rings... The nurse/technician/whatever she's called had actually NOT taken enough blood, and they weren't able to do all the tests. He has to go in AGAIN to have his blood drawn. And fast, AGAIN.
I said this is wonderful! The forces of the universe are helping you get over your fear of needles, yay! Poor thing, he is not so happy about it. :(
On a different note, here is a picture of my Yankee Candle tart burner:
I have no idea where we are going, apparently my brother in law was going to make reservations at Outback, but as they are not open for lunch on Saturday, I am not confident in that plan. Mom and Dad love Red Lobster, though, so maybe we'll end up there.
I am looking forward to seeing Mom and Dad, but I am not looking forward to the drive. I am going to burn a bunch of cd's to take with me -- including all the Harry Potter soundtracks. And possibly some Amy Winehouse. Maybe Psychedelic Furs... maybe Missy Elliott... definitely that Lip Gloss song by Lil Mama that has been stuck in my head for two months now.
So: my husband has a terrible fear of needles. It's funny, because he will watch really awful, disgusting, bloody, disturbing things in movies (I won't go into detail -- you're welcome) but if someone gets an allergy shot he has to look away.
Last week he had to have a blood test. He was very brave, I went with him and he did great. He did less great when, later in the week, the lab called to say that they had messed up the test and he had to go back in to have more blood drawn. Gah! Did I mention this is one of those fasting tests where you can't eat/drink anything for 12 hours prior? Geez. So he fasts and goes back in.
This time he decided it was time to get over his fear, and he watched everything. He watched the nurse/technician/whatever she's called get out the needle, and realized that it's not one of those little get-a-shot needles; it's a hollow pointy tube to suck his blood out. He watched her find a vein and insert the needle, and he watched her fill up a small tube with his blood. It didn't take as long this time, he said (I wasn't with him) so maybe the first chick hadn't been very good at it, anyway.
I was so proud of him! He called me from the parking lot and he was fine -- not woozy, not nauseous. Woo hoo! Then, the next morning, the phone rings... The nurse/technician/whatever she's called had actually NOT taken enough blood, and they weren't able to do all the tests. He has to go in AGAIN to have his blood drawn. And fast, AGAIN.
I said this is wonderful! The forces of the universe are helping you get over your fear of needles, yay! Poor thing, he is not so happy about it. :(
On a different note, here is a picture of my Yankee Candle tart burner:
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