So, I don't really have time to write; it's a busy last week of school for me. By next Monday, I need to have finished one assignment, one project, 1/2 book, and my last final. However, I'd compiled these two little video blurbs and wanted to toss 'em up online. They are much too precious to keep to myself.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Body for Sale or Rent
Remember that old country song by Roger Miller...King of the Road. Well, I wrote my own first stanza.
Body for sale or rent,
Limbs to let, 50 cents.
No phone, no pool, no pets
Won’t take no prime regrets
Ah, but..two hours of living here
Might help me persevere
I'm a woman of means by no means
Queen of this joint!
I’m sitting here itching like a hound dog with fleas. Can’t you just see me picking up my hind leg to scratch a spot behind my ear because my front paws are busy with some other spot? Too bad I’m not that flexible.
For any of you whom I neglected to email the other day, there have been more interesting/strange developments since last I wrote. Aside from me visiting an orthopedic surgeon (to make sure the staph hadn’t gotten into my knee joint), I’m still waiting to hear back from the CDC regarding if it’s positive for MRSA. That’s the brief version.
Yesterday, however, I woke up itching, and saw two tiny little bites on my skin. More kept popping up and I thought, “Great. I’ve got bed bugs, chiggers, or some little dirty microscopic bug attacking me.” I showered, changed my clothes, was planning to pull the sheets off the bed, but I got busy chasing the little cranky man around (no, not Jeff). By the time Jeff got home, I was covered with the stuff, and itching like crazy.
He attempted to persuade me to go back to Urgent Care, since it was too late for me to get into my doctor. “I don’t want to go back to Urgent Care and have them tell me I’ve got bed bugs in my house.” Finally, though, he convinced me to go, and take Scarlett, so he could finally shower and put Gideon to bed.
This would make my fourth visit to a doctor this week. They remembered me in Urgent Care. Sad, isn’t it, when the only times I get out of the house are for the doctor (and church) and that’s where I have to make my friends?
A different doctor was on call. He took one look at me and said I was having an allergic reaction to the medicine. It brought me back to a few days before when my eyelids swoll up like mini pillows just as they did in D.C. from a Mary Kay reaction (remember, Bev? Only this time they didn’t shed skin). Jeff said this happened because I was up until 1:00 working on my sister-in-law’s thesis (not your fault, though, Heather).
Then he told me his full-time job was working at a correctional facility (that certainly got my attention and made me sit up a little straighter) and saw MRSA all the time. We looked at my oozing boil, which had stopped so much oozing and I asked him what the yellow thing was in the middle. “That’s a pus pocket, and we need to get it out because it’s blocking the healing.” Without even pausing for air, he snapped on his gloves and went to work to squeeze it out. I didn’t get a numbing shot this time, so it was fairly painful. He’d try to put his fingers in the hole to pull it out…my knee hole was not big enough to be housing intrusive man fingers, but I guarantee by the time he pulled it out (nasty thing that it was), Gideon could have put his whole hand in there and dug around for playmates. I now had a gaping, hollow hole in my knee; I felt like I was looking down a well. Made me feel a little woozy, so I guess I clamped my eyes shut, and that’s when he asked me if it hurt.
“Well, not as bad as earlier in the week. It’s just gross.” Such a girl.
He then told me (this is for you, Q) that when the lesion finally healed, to take a bath, once a week for about 5 or so minutes, with half a cup of bleach (hair up) up to my neck, and then take a shower to get it all off. That would kill any staph living on my skin.
He was seriously the nicest doctor ever. But when he told me I was going to get a shot, I froze up. Remember me telling you all I wasn’t about to have a shot in my hiney-hole…well, tonight was the night that was about to change.
The nurse came in and I prematurely hopped off the bed, turned myself around, and proceeded to wonder how much I had to pull my pants down. All I could picture was my pants at my knees and my fat, sunless cheeks bent over waving to her before they turned bright red from embarrassment.
She readied the needle, oochy-coochy-cooed at Scarlett, and came towards me.
As I was inching down my shorts millimeter by millimeter, I asked, “Uh, how far do I need to go?”
“Right there, honey. I don’t need much.”
“Oh. Really? That’s all?” I wasn’t going to have to feel the cold air on my jiggles? For some reason, I’d got it into my head that they stick the bottom part of the fanny with their faces stuck right up in my eliminating business, and what if I got nervous, or what something of a gaseous nature came out?…whew. What a relief. It was over before I finished digesting the thought.
Body for sale or rent,
Limbs to let, 50 cents.
No phone, no pool, no pets
Won’t take no prime regrets
Ah, but..two hours of living here
Might help me persevere
I'm a woman of means by no means
Queen of this joint!
I’m sitting here itching like a hound dog with fleas. Can’t you just see me picking up my hind leg to scratch a spot behind my ear because my front paws are busy with some other spot? Too bad I’m not that flexible.
For any of you whom I neglected to email the other day, there have been more interesting/strange developments since last I wrote. Aside from me visiting an orthopedic surgeon (to make sure the staph hadn’t gotten into my knee joint), I’m still waiting to hear back from the CDC regarding if it’s positive for MRSA. That’s the brief version.
Yesterday, however, I woke up itching, and saw two tiny little bites on my skin. More kept popping up and I thought, “Great. I’ve got bed bugs, chiggers, or some little dirty microscopic bug attacking me.” I showered, changed my clothes, was planning to pull the sheets off the bed, but I got busy chasing the little cranky man around (no, not Jeff). By the time Jeff got home, I was covered with the stuff, and itching like crazy.
He attempted to persuade me to go back to Urgent Care, since it was too late for me to get into my doctor. “I don’t want to go back to Urgent Care and have them tell me I’ve got bed bugs in my house.” Finally, though, he convinced me to go, and take Scarlett, so he could finally shower and put Gideon to bed.
This would make my fourth visit to a doctor this week. They remembered me in Urgent Care. Sad, isn’t it, when the only times I get out of the house are for the doctor (and church) and that’s where I have to make my friends?
A different doctor was on call. He took one look at me and said I was having an allergic reaction to the medicine. It brought me back to a few days before when my eyelids swoll up like mini pillows just as they did in D.C. from a Mary Kay reaction (remember, Bev? Only this time they didn’t shed skin). Jeff said this happened because I was up until 1:00 working on my sister-in-law’s thesis (not your fault, though, Heather).
Then he told me his full-time job was working at a correctional facility (that certainly got my attention and made me sit up a little straighter) and saw MRSA all the time. We looked at my oozing boil, which had stopped so much oozing and I asked him what the yellow thing was in the middle. “That’s a pus pocket, and we need to get it out because it’s blocking the healing.” Without even pausing for air, he snapped on his gloves and went to work to squeeze it out. I didn’t get a numbing shot this time, so it was fairly painful. He’d try to put his fingers in the hole to pull it out…my knee hole was not big enough to be housing intrusive man fingers, but I guarantee by the time he pulled it out (nasty thing that it was), Gideon could have put his whole hand in there and dug around for playmates. I now had a gaping, hollow hole in my knee; I felt like I was looking down a well. Made me feel a little woozy, so I guess I clamped my eyes shut, and that’s when he asked me if it hurt.
“Well, not as bad as earlier in the week. It’s just gross.” Such a girl.
He then told me (this is for you, Q) that when the lesion finally healed, to take a bath, once a week for about 5 or so minutes, with half a cup of bleach (hair up) up to my neck, and then take a shower to get it all off. That would kill any staph living on my skin.
He was seriously the nicest doctor ever. But when he told me I was going to get a shot, I froze up. Remember me telling you all I wasn’t about to have a shot in my hiney-hole…well, tonight was the night that was about to change.
The nurse came in and I prematurely hopped off the bed, turned myself around, and proceeded to wonder how much I had to pull my pants down. All I could picture was my pants at my knees and my fat, sunless cheeks bent over waving to her before they turned bright red from embarrassment.
She readied the needle, oochy-coochy-cooed at Scarlett, and came towards me.
As I was inching down my shorts millimeter by millimeter, I asked, “Uh, how far do I need to go?”
“Right there, honey. I don’t need much.”
“Oh. Really? That’s all?” I wasn’t going to have to feel the cold air on my jiggles? For some reason, I’d got it into my head that they stick the bottom part of the fanny with their faces stuck right up in my eliminating business, and what if I got nervous, or what something of a gaseous nature came out?…whew. What a relief. It was over before I finished digesting the thought.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Good Health - - What's That?
I’m reading through the book of Jeremiah for class and I came across this passage in chapter 31 earlier today:
“This is what the Lord says:
“Your wound is incurable,
your injury beyond healing.
There is no one to plead your cause,
no remedy for your sore,
no healing for you.”
Granted, God was giving this message, through the prophet Jeremiah, to his wicked and rebellious people (the Israelites) who had, yet again, forsaken his commandments and were engaging in all sorts of atrocious behaviors and idolatry. But, using a very bad hermeneutic, I latched onto this passage and chuckled at my own expense.
You see, I’ve got boils and MRSA staph again (the bad one). Several of you have emailed asking me about my last rash of those painful contusions and I was getting ready to respond with an “I’m All Better” post, when this hit. I mean, I went to a dermatologist for my eczema and by applying the goopiest goo on my hands and sleeping with vinyl gloves on every night for two weeks, we got that baby under control. However, back to the onslaught of boils: By Saturday I was having trouble walking, and we thought the “bump” on my leg was a spider bite. By Sunday morning, I’d slept barely a wink due to the pain, and I was hobbling most miserably. My knee was swollen almost three times the size of the other and swelling was down my leg, too. We went to an Urgent Care facility, where the nurses told me one of the bumps (I had small ones all over my left leg, one small one in my armpit, and then one very large and painful one on my right knee) looked like a Brown Recluse Spider bite. Once Jeff informed me that those types could be deadly, I panicked. You see, I wasn’t quite ready to die from a spider bite; and it wasn’t how I wanted to leave my legacy.
The doctor came in, affirmed, however, I had staph-infected boils, and proceeded to ready her surgical table. I knew what was coming until the nurse came in and told me she had a shot for me, IN MY KEISTER (her words, not mine)! Giving birth and letting it all hang out is one thing, but standing up and stripping one’s pants down, ON PURPOSE, is quite another. It's simply too undignified for a southern belle like meself.
“Uh, I’ve never had a shot there before and I don’t know how I feel about that. Is there anywhere else you can put it?”
Thankfully, she could. My large Stewart thigh worked nicely, though Jeff and his good-natured ribbing shall remain un-blog worthy.
So, there you have it, friends. I am back in boil-n-toil land, hobbling, shuffling and limping my way around the house unless Jeff happens to be home and has the energy to lift me. (I’ve gotten quite light after birthing that Scarlett, and don’t you forget it) I’ve got to ‘work up’ to a walk. If I’ve been lying down or sitting for more than a minute, the stand up and first step is excruciating, and I’m forced to give myself the Little Red Caboose champion speech – “You can do it. You can do it.”
Once again, I covet your prayers, for they are needed. Just three more weeks of school left and then I’ll be a SWBTS graduate. I CAN DO IT, I CAN DO IT!
“This is what the Lord says:
“Your wound is incurable,
your injury beyond healing.
There is no one to plead your cause,
no remedy for your sore,
no healing for you.”
Granted, God was giving this message, through the prophet Jeremiah, to his wicked and rebellious people (the Israelites) who had, yet again, forsaken his commandments and were engaging in all sorts of atrocious behaviors and idolatry. But, using a very bad hermeneutic, I latched onto this passage and chuckled at my own expense.
You see, I’ve got boils and MRSA staph again (the bad one). Several of you have emailed asking me about my last rash of those painful contusions and I was getting ready to respond with an “I’m All Better” post, when this hit. I mean, I went to a dermatologist for my eczema and by applying the goopiest goo on my hands and sleeping with vinyl gloves on every night for two weeks, we got that baby under control. However, back to the onslaught of boils: By Saturday I was having trouble walking, and we thought the “bump” on my leg was a spider bite. By Sunday morning, I’d slept barely a wink due to the pain, and I was hobbling most miserably. My knee was swollen almost three times the size of the other and swelling was down my leg, too. We went to an Urgent Care facility, where the nurses told me one of the bumps (I had small ones all over my left leg, one small one in my armpit, and then one very large and painful one on my right knee) looked like a Brown Recluse Spider bite. Once Jeff informed me that those types could be deadly, I panicked. You see, I wasn’t quite ready to die from a spider bite; and it wasn’t how I wanted to leave my legacy.
The doctor came in, affirmed, however, I had staph-infected boils, and proceeded to ready her surgical table. I knew what was coming until the nurse came in and told me she had a shot for me, IN MY KEISTER (her words, not mine)! Giving birth and letting it all hang out is one thing, but standing up and stripping one’s pants down, ON PURPOSE, is quite another. It's simply too undignified for a southern belle like meself.
“Uh, I’ve never had a shot there before and I don’t know how I feel about that. Is there anywhere else you can put it?”
Thankfully, she could. My large Stewart thigh worked nicely, though Jeff and his good-natured ribbing shall remain un-blog worthy.
So, there you have it, friends. I am back in boil-n-toil land, hobbling, shuffling and limping my way around the house unless Jeff happens to be home and has the energy to lift me. (I’ve gotten quite light after birthing that Scarlett, and don’t you forget it) I’ve got to ‘work up’ to a walk. If I’ve been lying down or sitting for more than a minute, the stand up and first step is excruciating, and I’m forced to give myself the Little Red Caboose champion speech – “You can do it. You can do it.”
Once again, I covet your prayers, for they are needed. Just three more weeks of school left and then I’ll be a SWBTS graduate. I CAN DO IT, I CAN DO IT!
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
In the Garden
Yesterday came and went, silently marking one week since my grandfather’s death. I flew, with Scarlett, my parents, and Alex, up to North Carolina over the weekend, to meet other members of our family for the funeral. I can honestly say it was the most beautiful funeral I’ve ever been a part of, and that includes my dear sweet grandmother’s two years ago. There's something just so peaceful in knowing that a loved one resides eternally with our risen Lord. It was a time of celebration of life, of saying farewells, and sharing laughter and memories. It was a blessed event.
I’ve put together a little montage in my grandpa’s honor, of the photos Adrian and I took. If any family member has photos or video footage they’d like added, just send them to me and I can easily include them….
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
He Beat Out the Brains With a Swiffer Mop
Yes, friends. Our illustrious, self-proclaimed Medical Examiner, who pronounced intruder #1 as dying of a heart attack met his very much alive friend in the wee hours this morning. I’m just so sure Jeff was expecting “another” heart attack that he wasn’t prepared for the beady eyes blinking at him from the lifted head. I’m also sure it almost caused my poor hubby to drop some pellets of his own. The only thing that saved us was the mouse firmly caught in the glue, unable to escape.
Jeff girded up his resolve, grabbed the broken Swiffer mop, and commenced to whacking. The dastardly diseased one breathed his last within a matter of blows. I must admit that even after my ranting yesterday, I was rather sickened when Jeff related the story of the termination to me. I think, if it can’t be killed by one shoe crunch or one fly swat, it’s too big for me - - those big deaths are a terrible thing. I kinda had hoped Jeff would take the trap (and the mouse) and toss it way back far in the woods and let natural predators take care of it. I guess my hero didn’t want to risk it escaping and returning to wreak havoc in our home.
There are so many days that I’m glad to be a woman, and I happily embrace the damsel in distress mode. This most assuredly was one of them.
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