Why I hate my brother-in-law

I've probably railed about this guy before. I think the only reason my sister is still married is that one of her kids has some mental instability that makes it doubtful he'd survive a divorce very well. The kids idolize their dad, of course. He's a Marine in Afghanistan. He's a hero. To them.

Not to me. Can't stand the guy. He's a complete asswipe, in my humble opinion. He'll be here for Christmas, though, and I couldn't dread it more. I just don't know if I can make nice for that long.

So, he has this leave coming up for Christmas. Of course, the kids are over the moon about seeing him. He's been in Afghanistan for a long time, which is not only far away, but also quite scary for them.

For my sister's part of this, she caught him cheating last year. With a woman involved with the youth group one of their kids was enjoying. Thanks, Dad, for making it impossible for this child to return to something he loved doing. While he's been gone, he's been swearing he's working on changing, that he wants to save his marriage. He's a new man, who makes his family more important now.

Yeah. Right.

My sister plans a big reunion for them in December. She books his flight from California to Salt Lake City, so they can meet him there, see the sights, enjoy the pretty Christmas lights, then come here together for Christmas. The kids are beside themselves, counting the days to seeing their Daddy again.

Asswipe calls the other day. "I think I'd rather go see my mom during my leave," he says.

Instead of seeing his kids.

After months of being gone from them.

At Christmas.

Asswipe.

My sister refused to change the plans. So, instead, his mom is coming here, too. A day before Daughter and I leave for San Antonio. Lucky us! His mom is an asswipe, too. The type of woman who deliberately gives her grandkids things my sister says they are allergic to.

But...can you believe the man would actually think this was reasonable?

Whew

So, the cardiologist visit went well.

He looked at my EKG and said that he actually would not have run the stress test based on that. He showed me the report from the stress test, which basically said I possibly had a "small area" that possibly had a "minor" problem.

In other words, it's the possibility of the possibility of a minor issue. I'm a lot less worried now.

The doctor wasn't worried at all, but will look in on me when I'm in the hospital.

Surgery is still on, for the 24th.

When we left the office, Ranger crumbled a little. He held on to me, right there in the hallway, and let the tears of relief go. He'd been holding in his worry, so he didn't upset me more, and now it was over, so he just let it go.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he said into my shoulder.

Next week will be rough. I know I'll be out of it for most of the time. He plans to be at the hospital the whole time, watching over me. Then, he'll be at my house, watching over me.

My mother is a little intimidated by this, but she'll just have to deal. She's talked to me more in the last couple of days, since thinking I had a life-threatening problem, than she has in months. But Ranger is constant and consistent, so I know he'll take good care of me.

STILL scared and impatient

11/17/09 - UPDATE AT THE END OF THIS POST!!
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They scheduled the stress test and scans for Friday the 13th. So appropriate, given how that number follows me around.

On Thursday, the nuclear medicine department calls me to change the schedule.

"We ran out of the stuff that makes it easier and faster for the patient," the guy said. "So, we have to give you the other stuff."

Don't you love that?

So, I was to report to the hospital at 8:45 AM - fasting - for a 9:30 appointment. They'd do a chemically-induced stress test on me, since my back and knee won't allow me to be on a treadmill for long. Then, I receive the radioactive stuff (Thalium, I think) and get scanned. Then, I get more radioactive stuff and go home for four hours, and come back for more scans.

About 3:30 AM on Thursday, I woke up panicked. I was sure I'd just eaten some licorice and blown the whole test day. But wait....I didn't have any licorice. It was a dream. A very vivid dream. I tried to go back to sleep, but no good.

About 7:30 AM, my sister tells me to come down for breakfast. She's made waffles.

"I can't eat," I said.

"Oh no!" she said. "I'm sorry! And you've been smelling these cooking, too!"

Uhm, yeah.

Ranger picked me up to go to the hospital. He was super worried, I could tell. I changed into that lovely gown they give you and got an IV started. Then, I waited to be called for the test. Ranger and I made fun of a magazine in the waiting area. National Geographic....from July 1998!

Soon, a woman named Marijana (if that doesn't make you do a double-take....) came and got me for the test. They hooked me up to all the cords and the stuff that would simulate a physical stress test. It's day-glo yellow. Once it started, I felt flush and my head buzzed. And a headache started. And my stomach hurt. The test lasted for about 15 minutes. Then, I got the radioactive stuff and went to the scan room.

It looks like a feet-first open-air MRI. They strap you in and put your arms up, and you sit still while huge camera rotate around your chest, taking pictures of your radioactive, glow-in-the-dark heart.

Then, you get another dose of radioactivity and go away for four hours. This is when I noticed that they bring the medication to you in a lead container. Kind of intimidating....

When she put the medicine in my IV, she asked, "Does it give you a bad taste in your mouth?"

I said no. "It makes everything smell funny."

She gave me an odd look. "I've never had anyone say that before."

Hmm.

And I'm free to go. The headache has gotten worse, though. She gave me the remedy: "Go take a couple of ibuprofen and two cups of coffee. It'll reverse the effects of the stress test."

So, with that prescription, I head out with Ranger to find food and caffeine.

I made it about three blocks before the dry heaves set in. I was completely miserable.

We found food I could tolerate. While we waited for our order, Ranger ran across the street and bought some ibuprofen for me from a convenience store. It actually relieved him to have something to do that would help me. The poor guy just doesn't know what to do with himself when I'm feeling bad.

Long story short, four hours later, my headache was gone, and I went back for the second scan.

"When will I get the results?" I asked the radiology tech.

"It takes a couple of days to get the report," she said. "So, call your doctor on Tuesday and see if she has it yet."

Tuesday. Wait for Tuesday. Four days. Ugh. That's a big stretch of my patience.

So, I set about distracting myself. Ranger took me over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I don't move so quickly these days, since they took me off of my anti-inflammatory in preparation for the surgery. The pain has been incredible. So, I made my slow-poke way around the store, looking for a new pillow and birthday ideas for my dad.

This is about when I realized that I left my cell phone at home. Dangit! So, I texted my mom and my daughter (she's in Vegas on a school trip right now) from Ranger's phone, to let them know to call me there.

Ranger and I decided to go to dinner, then call it a day. We had a delightful dinner out, with him being sweet to me. I'd taken some pain medicine, so I had the illusion of being pain-free for a short time.

We spoke loving words, and I appreciate so much how supportive he is of me. The health issues have been heavy lately. We talked about our first few dates, how we did some hiking around the Monument. Now, I couldn't do that. I look forward to being better able to move, without pain. There's a light at the end of the tunnel....

Back at home, we chatted with my mom and sister for awhile, watched a little TV. But it had been a long day, so Ranger headed for home early. Time to turn in.

"Where's my phone," I asked, before heading to bed. I'd missed a couple of Tweets. A text from Daughter, that she had re-texted to Ranger's phone. And a call from "Blocked ID" with a voicemail.

Probably a telemarketer, I thought, but I dialed voicemail anyhow.

But it wasn't a telemarketer. It was my doctor, calling from her private phone. At 5:30 PM. After office hours.

"Hi Blogget. Your test results show you definitely need more workup. We'll start first thing Monday morning to get you to a cardiologist before surgery time. You definitely need to be seen before you have surgery. This needs a closer look. If you have any questions, call me Monday. We open at 8:00 AM. Otherwise, we'll call you about your cardiologist appointment."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. She sounded urgent. Concerned. I started to kick myself for forgetting my phone, but realized I wouldn't have answered a Blocked ID, anyhow. And she called after hours, so I couldn't have called her back right then, either.

I have to wait for Monday to get details. I don't even know what exactly is wrong with me. But I now know for sure, something is definitely wrong. With my heart. My heart. And it could have been going on for awhile.

My mother thinks it started when Son beat the crap out of me in April. She says that the week after that incident, I complained about my chest hurting. I just remember being bruised and sore. She says I haven't felt well since then. Then again, I have a family history of heart trouble that's scary, too.

I don't know what to think. It's like I can feel my heart beat, constantly. I find myself thinking, Was that right? Did it beat wrong just then?

Ranger took the news hard. He became very depressed that night, and he was desperate to prove to me that he would always be there for me, no matter what. He was afraid he hasn't done enough to show me that now. I'm afraid I was weak on convincing him he has not let me down, that I know he's there for me. I mean, I told him that, repeatedly, but I was too worn out with my own reeling from the news to completely reassure him.

I was just ill-equipped in that moment to handle someone else's emotions. Especially when he told me that he kept thinking of his ex-wife's brother, who went in for routine surgery and died on the table, with a heart problem that had recently been diagnosed.

"That didn't help me feel better," I said. He apologized for sharing that with me, that he should have thought more before speaking. We were both overly emotional at the time. Sleeping on it, as much as I could, helped a little.

So, I'm waiting again. Monday, I have to find a way to deal with this AND the visit by the HLC reviewers. I'm not sure how I'll pull that off.

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11-17-09: My doctor got me an appointment with a cardiologist today at 12:45. Anxiously awaiting that appointment, to find out more details of what's wrong. My doctor explained yesterday that the radiologist called her Friday to say that I showed "borderline" reduced bloodflow to the coronary artery. The cardiologist will have to determine what needs to be done, if it can be done before my scheduled surgery, if the surgery needs to be rescheduled, or if the treatment can wait until after surgery. Stay tuned....

Scared and impatient

I know I've said this before, but I'm not a patient person.

Pain doesn't help that situation. With the upcoming surgery, I've been able to focus on a "deadline," of sorts. The point at which I'm likely to get some relief. I know, it'll hurt more before it gets better, but there's hope on the other side. I can make it to November 24th.

The other day, the hospital did all of it's pre-op testing. Yesterday, I went to my regular doctor to get medical clearance for surgery.

She furrowed her brow at the hospital's EKG report. "Have you ever had symptoms of a heart attack?"

Now, there's a question you don't like to hear.

"No. I've never had a problem. Why?"

She points at the piece of paper. "Right here, on your chart, we like to see a nice little bump there. Yours is flat. The report says this indicates that at some point you've had restricted bloodflow to this part of your heart."

Or, in other words, a heart attack.

"You've never had symptoms?"

No. I haven't. But neither did my dad, when he had two stints put in his heart and was told he could have had a major heart attack at any moment. And neither did my grandmother, when she had a heart attack no one saw coming, and died at age 56.

So, tomorrow morning, I go for a stress test. The doctor said the anomaly was "very minor" on the EKG, but we need to make sure. If anything shows, I need to see a cardiologist and surgery will be postponed. The thing that makes it worse is the waiting to find out. I'm a scared, impatient person.

Ranger is worried. He's always at a loss when I cry.

Not a peon....

Although, our VP has thought so. Until now.

Our school has applied to the Higher Learning Commission (HLC) to create fully-online degree programs. They're sending two reviewers to check out our distance program next week. Our VP is understandably stressed about this visit, which has a trickle-down effect to my boss.

So, I'm sitting in my boss's office a couple of weeks ago, discussing this. He says, "I finally got the names of the reviewers and what schools they're from." He's digging around on his desk for the piece of paper, while he tells me the first name. It means nothing to me. He finds the second one.

"Here it is. Vince Paulman."

I laughed out loud, startling him. "Really?" My boss is looking at me like he's considering calling security.

Dear Diary, do you remember last summer, when my favorite conference was approaching, and I decided I wasn't going to do any presentations that year? I let the proposal deadline pass, but my phone rang a week later. One of the organization's big-wigs called me and said, "We noticed you didn't submit a proposal. I'm calling to ask you to please reconsider. If you need a topic, I'll give you one. If you need help, I'll co-present with you. How about it?"

That call came from Vince Paulman. I ended up doing two presentations, one with him.

So, back to my boss's office.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why?"

I gave a thumbs up. "Vince is my bud. I've known him since 2003." I explained how I knew him, and my boss started picking my brain about him. I went to my office, pulled up some titles of Vince's articles, and sent them to my boss.

Pretty soon, I get an email from the VP. "Do you have copies of any of these articles that I could read?" I sent what I had, including the one that described Vince as "America's foremost expert" on the history of our industry.

What I didn't know was that at the same time I was talking to my boss, my other co-presenter for the conference last year was in a meeting with the VP and the President of the college. The names of the HLC reviewers came up, and she had just about the same reaction I did.

The President looked at her and said, "You know him?"

"No," she said, waving away the suggestion. "Blogget Jones does. They go way back."

She said his head about spun around. She described it as seeing a light bulb come on with him and the VP.

Maybe Blogget isn't such a peon after all. Maybe she actually accomplishes things at these conferences.

Other than having a good time, that is. Although, I do have that. The post about this year's conference is coming!

SisterWorld

The thing is, I just don't want to live at my house anymore. It's become a very unpleasant place to be. But for now, I'm stuck.

Here's a run-down of the situation. Since my divorce, I've shared a home with my parents. We buy two-story homes together, where they have a wing of their own and the kids and I have the upstairs. We share the kitchen area. I've always been close to my mother, considering her a friend in adulthood. Sometimes, it's obvious I'm her only friend. She isn't a social person.

My sister has always been the loose cannon. She's the one who got into all kinds of trouble as a teenager, including alcohol and drugs. She has also demonstrated a frightening ability to turn her back on family (including her own children) when she finds something else she'd rather do. The maternal instinct seems to have missed that one. In short, she's a flake.

I've learned in recent years, though, that when she comes to visit now, she becomes the center of my mother's universe. Our relationship goes on the back burner. My sister does what she can to make sure it stays back there. She snipes about me behind my back. She exaggerates or even makes up situations, with a spin to put me in a bad light. She says I've said terrible things about my mother. And she makes sure my mother and I don't have any private conversations, as much as possible.

After a couple of weeks, Mom usually realize this is happening and makes an effort to repair the damage, rebuild the bridge. And we start over.

Then, last summer happened.

My sister came to visit and stayed for the entire summer. This was a couple of months after her near-electrocution. Later, my mother said, "Maybe it's because I felt I nearly lost her that I soaked up everything around her." As she put it, she got "lost in SisterWorld" and saw only what she constructed for her. And that was a world where I was the bad seed and Ranger was my evil partner. She picked on Daughter, and bought her way into Son's brain. He soaked it up, too. He has the same frightening ability to turn on the people who most support him, too, when he sees advantage in being close to someone else. It scares me and breaks my heart.

The thing is, my sister doesn't like her life. A husband who constantly cheats. Health problems. Children who are difficult to manage. No career or skills for getting a career. She sees the life I've made, and she longs for it.

After my sister had gone back home, it took a couple of weeks for my mother to come back to reality. She felt bad that she'd gotten so immersed in it, especially when she realized the damage to our relationship. She felt a little foolish to have allowed herself to be blinded. She even made an effort to get close to Ranger again. Things got back to normal.

When I knew my sister was coming this summer, I tried to talk to my mother about how to keep her from taking over again this year. I was too late. "That never happened," my mother said, when I used her words about "SisterWorld" back at her.

"You're paranoid," she said. That's her new buzz word, by the way. I'm not sure she knows what it means.

"You're just jealous of your sister," she said. That is laughable. Jealous of what? The difficult children? The cheating husband? Yep, that has to be it.

"You're just trying to cause trouble," she said. When have I ever done that? I've always been the peaceful child. But she had already forgotten that. Apparently, the sniping had begun. I was indeed too late. SisterWorld had arrived, even before my sister had.

It's been downhill from there.

Early in the summer, I had problems with migraines. I went to the doctor and the ER several times. My mother not only never asked about accompanying me (something she actually likes to do), but she also never asked how it went. She'd criticize that it was taking me too long to feel better. She would try to pick arguments with me. As I was taking morphine to try to dull the pain, she and my sister would holler across the house, slam doors, turn up the television in the common room, and berate me for not cooking dinner or doing dishes.

A strange thing happens when you have a chronic illness. Those who cared for you in the beginning get tired of it. They forget about it. They carry on without you. This is what happened with my mother. She never asked how I was doing anymore. She never visited with me. She hardly spoke to me.

She came down with a flu about this time. I went to her room one day to check on her. She was depressed. She was watching TV by herself, listening to my dad and my sister laughing in the next room.

"After a couple of days, they forget about you," she said. "They forget you need anything. I think I've been guilty of that with you lately, and I'm sorry." Wow. Some insight happened. Maybe things would change.

Then, the car accident happened.

I have to pat myself on the back for a moment here. In that accident, I had the presence of mind to avoid what could have been a much worse collision. I consciously avoiding t-boning that woman's car, which would have probably killed her and put us in a head-on situation. I also swerved so the impact was on the right front corner of the car, instead of on the passenger doors of my car, which would have injured Ranger and Daughter.

Did I hear about "thank goodness you were able to do that"? No. See, the woman was still accelerating when she hit me. I couldn't stop the skid into the other side of the highway. I could have gone into the ditch or into the oncoming lane. No cars were coming, so I stayed in the lane.

What did I hear? "You could have been killed, going to the other side like that."

Funny thing, the migraines stopped. I dealt with pain in my hand, neck, back, and chest. Everything got better, except the back. My degenerative disc disease had been under control for a couple of years. Little pain, until the accident. It pushed the issue and bent me up again, like I haven't been in years.

One Sunday morning, I could hardly move. I could feel the bone-on-bone sharply. "Why aren't you ready for church?" she said.

"Are you serious?" I said. "Look at me!"

"You haven't been to church in a couple of weeks," she said. "It's always some excuse like this."

I exploded that morning. An excuse? I can't walk, and it's an "excuse"? Her priority was how it would look to others for me to not be in church that day. No concern whatsoever for what was happening with me.

And the walls in our house are thin. As she went back to her room, I could hear her voice and my dad's, as she told him all about my "excuse" and what a poor example I was to my children. This from my mother, who had once been my friend. The one I'd always be able to lean on.

The sniping continued with my sister. See, Ranger comes to see me. He dotes on me. He takes care of me and my kids. He makes sure I have anything I need, and that I don't have to do anything that hurts. My sister has never had that.

So, again, we became a target for her, together. She actually combed through his photos on Facebook. She found some that were taken in his old apartment, but she ran them to my parents with a new spin. "Look! They're in a hotel room together! And they posted this where the kids can see it!"

Can you believe it?

When confronted, I showed my mother what the pics really were. "Oh, she made a mistake," my mother said.

"No," I said. "She wanted to cause trouble between my and you and Dad. She wanted to make me look bad."

"She'd never do that." That's the view from SisterWorld.

So, then I came down with a recurrence of the infection that caused the cyst last summer.  I came back from the doctor and sat gingerly on the couch. I've become accustomed to having no one ask how I'm doing and pretty much ignore me. My mother watched me sit down, though.

"So, when do they think you'll be well?" she said. I looked at her in disbelief. It was not said with concern. It was said with a sneer, with full condescension. I looked at the two of them, a matched pair, completely put out with my obvious discomfort, and the inconvenience it caused them. As if I enjoy feeling like an invalid.

I went to my room. When I'm in there, I'm "out of sight, out of mind" to them. But it shelters me from a lot of crap. Still, it breaks my heart that crossing that threshold pretty much means I cease to exist in my parents' world. And that it gives my sister what she wants, in the end.

The clearest example I can give is one particular evening, when I got home from work. My folks, my sister, and her kids were in the driveway, laughing about something. I pulled in, literally parking among them. I waved at my nephew and started gathering my things to go in the house.

I looked up to see my sister ushering everyone inside. Then, they shut the garage door, almost literally in my face. I opened it again, walked through the house, and upstairs. I've never felt so invisible.

Sometimes, I have to remind myself that the pain medication is there for physical pain, not for the emotions I want to numb.

Things were a little better when my folks traveled to Florida recently. My mother texted and called me, just to say "How are you?" I'd answer, and sometimes get a little conversation about it. I had to wonder, was she feeling the end of my sister's visit coming? They should be leaving after Christmas. Maybe she's a little scared that she's burned the bridge with me, and she will be without a buddy when my sister leaves.

See, since being here, my mom and sister have become peas-in-a-pod, as I called them. Mom goes to work on her own, but outside of that, they do everything together. And to the exclusion of others. Well, the exclusion of me. They ask Dad to join them sometimes. They don't even tell me if they go somewhere. They're just gone, leaving the kids with me without my knowledge. I've gotten to where I don't tell them if I have plans. I just take care of my stuff, and Daughter's stuff. She's left out, too.

Then, Mom and Dad got home. Things went back to "normal." Mom stopped talking to me. She and my sister stayed in her room, talking about the trip. I went in and, again, might as well have been invisible. When I chimed in, suddenly it was time for bed. I didn't even get to finish what I was asking.

The next morning, I figured out why my mother's attitude changed. Sometime the night before, it had been determined that my sister and her kids would be with us another year. Her husband is being deployed again after Christmas. Mom's buddy is not going away.

This is a nightmare for me. Family has always been my #1 priority, where friends have been my sister's. Now, I see their backs turned on me. I see her manipulating things, and I'm just not up to fighting for it anymore.

Ranger is worried about my upcoming surgery. He's worried about the care, or lack thereof, I'll receive at home. Already, he is the one who goes to the doctor's appointments with me. He is my other set of ears. He's the one I discuss my options with.

I asked him the other day, "Do you want to be there when I'm coming out of anesthesia?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"Then I should warn you...."

"Anesthesia makes you sick?"

I laughed. "No. That would probably be better. It pisses me off. I will apologize now for how foul I will undoubtedly be." He laughed, but I'm serious.

So, now, I spend a lot of time thinking about what IS worth fighting for.

My kids. Son is always a little tenuous. You never know when that tide will turn. He's 18. He's wanting to be his own person, have his own space. College is coming soon. Daughter is devoted to me. We have a unique bond. She's loving her high school years, and I'm here to support her for that.

Ranger. My relationship with him is what I always thought love should be. We are strong together. We support one another.

And there you have it. What I think I should do is pay off the debt I have and find my own house, for the kids and I. Then, help Ranger get financially stable (which is getting there - he just reopened his business), and get married. Go on a honeymoon. See my kids through to independence-hood.

When I retire, Ranger and I can buy an RV. We'll tour the country, seeing everything we just talk about now.

And my folks? Well, I think they always counted on me to take care of them in their twilight years. Now I think they can stay in SisterWorld.

Fall is upon us again!

I love Fall. The changing weather. The cloudy days. Dragging out the heated mattress pad so you can still sleep with the window open and not freeze your ass off at night. Cocoa. Fire in the woodstove. Just love it all!

I took the above picture as I was walking to work this morning. It was a cloudy morning, but the colors were still so lovely. It almost made me like the walk to my office.

But those injections have very much worn off, so walking isn't so fun. I feel like an invalid. I walk at a steady pace, but everyone still passes me. I need a shorter walk, so I'll have to beg the parking people for that.

What to do now? Surgery. Injections are no longer an option because they made my diabetes go completely haywire. That's too dangerous. On November 24th, I'll go under the knife. They'll remove the almost-gone discs and start fusing the vertebrae. I'll probably be in the hospital for Thanksgiving, but Ranger promises me a picnic dinner in my room. I love stuffing, with Worcestershire sauce all over it!

And Daughter is anxious to take care of me. "I'll be here for you, Mommy!" she said. Fourteen and still is comfortable calling me Mommy. Gotta love that. She's really coming into her own lately. Marching band has given her a place to be and an identity. Not only is she a proud band geek, but she's also a DRUMLINE band geek. That's legit, she says.

While other bands are winding down their season, hers is getting ready for competition in Las Vegas and halftime at the Alamo Bowl. It's going to get cold out on that practice field!

I'm getting ready for that favorite conference of mine, the first week of November. It's in Alabama this time. South Carolina will not be there...again. That's okay. According to his Facebook page, he's engaged to his ex-wife. I spoke with him the other day, and he said, "It's going okay, and I'm taking it slow." What?!?! You're engaged to her! The woman whose cheating caused your divorce, and who you've already caught cheating again. Good luck, dude!

For my relationship wonderfulness, my horrid outbreak is almost healed. Three weeks, my ass. It's been six miserable, painful weeks. No sex since September 1. Not that I've felt oh-so-romantic with this crap going on....

I've bitten off more than I can chew with this conference. I've agreed to two presentations, one workshop, and presenting the annual research report. Yep. I'm an idiot.

Dang, this is a rambling post. I don't have anything in particular to tell, but a lot of here-and-there for you, dear Diary. Except the surgery. I'm a little worried about that.

According to the Mesa County Sheriff’s Department....

(And I quote, from the newspaper's police blotter)

"Deputies were dispatched to the 400 block of 30 1/4 Road on a report that a juvenile boy was getting bad grades and not listening to his parents. Deputies advised everyone on possible solutions."

Seriously.

His folks called 911 for this.

And the Sheriff's department really responded.

And the paper really printed it.

You just gotta love small town life.

I think I saw....

...a ghost.

She seemed real. I was walking down the hall, to the bathroom. She came from the stairs and stepped in front of me. She looked over her shoulder at me, then kept walking ahead of me. I noticed a tattoo of Marilyn Monroe's face on her shoulder.

Coincidentally, this happened on the anniversary of Marilyn's death. (Yeah, so I know that date.... She's one of my morbid fascinations.)

Anyhow, we're both headed to the bathroom. Yeah, really...the toilet. That bathroom has two little stalls. She goes to the furthest one, and I go to the close one. From my stall, I can see the feet of anyone leaving the restroom or washing their hands, before they get to the door.

A moment later, the bathroom door opens again. I think, that lady will have to wait because both stalls are full. But no....the newcomer walks past my stall and enters the other one. She uses it. Flushes. Leaves.

WTF?

That girl never left. She never used the potty, even. I saw her enter the stall. I heard her latch the door. Literally, a moment later, the other woman entered.

I repeat....WTF??

Go figure. We have a potty ghost.

Things aren't always what they appear

Son passed his driver's test yesterday! I can't tell you how many people have responded with, "Stay off the sidewalks!" Ha. Ha...

He had an appointment yesterday afternoon, so we took his car. He's pretty puffed-up, considering he didn't get marked off for anything on his test. He just exhuded an I'm-the-best-driver-ever attitude.

So, we're cruising along the road, and this guy in a pickup pulls up beside Son. We look over, and he's doing this thumbs-up motion at Son.

"Look!" my confident kiddo says. "He likes my car!" Goofy grin in place, he returns the thumbs-up sign and says, "Thank you!" He looks like a proud daddy.

He pulls ahead, but the guy comes alongside again. This time, he's rolling his window down.

"Up top!" he says, motioning again. "Your iPod is on top of the car!"

Son's grin falls, and he reaches to the top. He drops his iPod on the console. I'm starting to laugh, when the guy pulls up again.

"Your phone!"

Son reaches up again and retrieves his precious cell phone.

Good thing for soft Landau tops, or I'm sure the things would have flown off miles ago.

I wave a huge "Thank you!" to the man and he pulls away.

Son is slightly humbled.

I laughed all the way home. "Thumbs-up" indeed!

Sometimes I have conversations....

....that I can't believe happened.

One of the college's education courses has an online component in which students participate in online discussions. It's a message board, and the students are graded on their participation.

Three instructors co-teach this course. Each has her own discussion topic in the online course. One of those instructors is my friend and co-presenter from last year's fall conference, Cathy.

I got a frantic message from Cathy:

"Big, big, BIG problem. That new teacher, Lonnie, just deleted some of our discussions. I don't know how, but she did. Please tell me you can restore it from somewhere. Please?"

Well, no good news there. I can't restore it.

Next, I got a call from Lonnie. She told me what she'd done, then said:

"Can't you just restore it from a backup?"

"No," I said. "We do regularly scheduled maintenance, which includes backups, throughout the year, usually at the end of a term. If an instructor wants a backup done at a different time, they have the capability of doing it themselves."

"Well, that's weird," she said. "I don't know why you all can't just keep continual backups of my course yourself."

"The drain on our manpower and servers would be incredible," I said. "That's why instructors can choose to do periodic backups themselves."

"I don't know how to do that," she said. "And no one has told the others how, either."

"Yes, I have. It's in the training workshops they took." I reminded her that we're offering said workshops in a couple of weeks.

"Then I guess I need to take a workshop. You never trained me properly when I started. Cathy showed me what to do, but I shouldn't have been allowed to touch this until I'd had a workshop."

I smiled. "True. If I had my way, no one would use the system until they'd taken the workshops. But too many of your colleagues take exception to being told they HAVE to do something, so it hasn't happened."

"Then you should have had one when I started." Which was about two weeks ago. Yes, ma'am, I should hold four-hour workshops each time a new faculty comes to work at the college. Just for them. I'd never get anything else done.

And I said so. She had me repeat the dates of the workshops to her, and she picked two.

"You know," she said. "I should call the publisher and see if they can do anything about this."

"The publisher?"

"Yeah. The people we bought this WebCT thing from. I'll just call Novell."

WTF?! I tried my best to explain who Novell is and what they do. I ended with, "They have nothing to do with WebCT."

"Then who did we get it from?"

"WebCT."

"Then I'll call them."

"That won't help. Like you said, we bought this from them. It's ours. We maintain it on our own servers. The company of WebCT has nothing to do with what's on our campus."

"Oh," she said. "Still, I don't know how this happened. I was just trying to delete my own stuff."

"Well, it sounds like you just accidentally hit the wrong checkbox. That's all."

"I just can't imagine myself doing something like that." Of course not.

"How about this," I said. "Just don't click anything that says "Delete," anymore. OK?"

So, in the end, it was still everyone's fault but her own.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to having her in my workshop class. Oh joy! Can't wait for that day!

Ugh.

The Summer of Insanity

Well, technically, it's not still summer. The weather is cooling down. We're just starting to see fall color in the leaves. Kids are back in school. But for me, it's an Indian summer of insanity.

Since going to the after-hours place, I've learned a couple of things. First, that asswipe doctor didn't believe me that this is the first time I've had an outbreak like this. He put me on the dose of Valtrex that's for recurrences. It's half the dose, for a shorter time, than I should have had. How's that for judgment?

They didn't even tell my regular doctor I'd been there. They are two doors down from her office and didn't send the note that they are apparently supposed to send, to update my records with her. See, in the Grand Valley, the medical community has this great policy of sharing. The hospital here can pull up my x-rays from Montrose, in a moment. But when someone isn't sharing nicely, the system breaks down.

So, I finish that course of Veltrex and am hurting like all hell still. I call my regular doctor. Imagine her surprise to hear I'd been at her neighbors, and she had no idea. She checks it out and calls me back. I get on the right dose of Valtrex, well after the time I should have had it. She's still scrambling to get the lab results from what they ran.

Friday night, about 8:30, I get a call from the after hours place. It's a different doctor, a woman I've seen before. She asks how I'm doing and if I'd gotten all the lab results.

"I think so," I said. I explained about the Valtrex dose.

"What about the urinary infection?" she asked.

"He said it was just a trace," I said. I had a sudden feeling that Dr. Asswipe was about to strike again.

"Oh, no," she said. "We got the culture back from the lab, and it's a severe infection. Have you had fever?"

"Yes."

"Lower back pain? Painful urinating?"

"Yes. And yes," I said. "Plus, I have a really sensitive urinary system." And I explained the whole three-kidney thing.

"Oh, dear. Have you had trouble with infections before?"

"All my life. They even hospitalized me for it when I was a kid."

"Oh, honey," she said. "Can you go pick up a prescription right now?"

Well, no. My pharmacy was already closed.

"All right," she said. "But you go first thing in the morning." Her tone was very "you poor dear." She kept calling me "honey." On some level, I really appreciated that.

Now, I'll finish the Valtrex and the new antibiotic today. I'm nauseous all the time from this, and I'm still having serious pain. Yuck. Please remember, I don't have a low pain threshhold. I haven't had a day without pain since I was 15 years old, when I came down with Junior Rheumatoid Arthritis. It went into remission four years later, but those were some excruciating years. I'm accustomed to pain.

And poor Ranger has had the stomach flu for three days. It's just as well, because he has to come and go through a dirt road. We've had three days of rain. He's not going anywhere, anyhow.

The only thing pleasant has been the weather. I love rain. I adore thunderstorms. We had a nice one Sunday night. Right now, it's 57 degrees outside and cloudy. I can't get enough of that! Bring on autumn. Please!

A milestone for Son

Son turned eighteen on Saturday. I still can't get over that. In a year, he'll be in college. College?! When did that happen?

I talked to him about this milestone the other day. "I know you are about to be a legal adult," I said. "And you think that means you automatically get a lot of responsibilities and freedoms. But you need to remember something. You are still accountable to me. You still rely on me to make a lot of things possible. There's things you have to take care of for that to continue."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I can't act like a kid anymore."

"Like, I feel like you are more than ready to keep your room in decent shape."

He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know that. If I expect to drive around town on my own, I should be able to handle that."

Well, knock me over with a feather.

He's doing well lately. This new girlfriend has been good for him. She's low-maintenance. Her parents don't let them go unsupervised. I've had a brief run-in with them at my house. They heard me coming close, and I saw her leap from his lap into another chair. I called him aside.

"Certainly, you don't think I didn't see that," I said.

"Yeah," he said.

"You know what's appropriate and what's not. Don't push it. I won't tolerate what I went through with Drama Queen."

"Okay, I'll handle it."

Later, I came upon them again, making out in my living room. This time, I said something. "When you come in my house and behave like that, I feel disrespected," I said. "Disrespect me again, and you won't like what happens."

They stopped, but she didn't move away from him. I took note. However, nothing else has happened.

Ranger has a $50 gift certificate to a local Mexican food restaurant. It's a use-it-or-lose-it kind of deal, so he wants to take me, Son, and the new girlfriend (I need to come up with a name for her) to dinner for Son's birthday. I think that might help us get to know her better.

Son has had trouble finding anyone to talk to him about a job before he's 18. So, he's been doing little jobs. He's refereeing soccer games on the weekends. It's decent money, for a teenager. He'll train to be a baseball umpire in December. He's really looking forward to that.

He decided to take his car to professionals to get some basic things fixed. He looked at some of the problems himself, but found that someone else had tried to fix the wiring and made a mess of it. So, he shelled out some dough and got the heater and turn signals fixed.

See, it dawned on him the other day that having a working heater isn't a big deal when you have to keep rolling down the windows to do arm signals!

On Saturday, I watched this 6'2" man-child roaming around my house and thought about him so many years ago. Is it possible that so many years have gone by? I remember turning on morning PBS cartoons while he played with his beloved trains. He had a train track playset that would end up meandering all over the living room by the time lunch came around.

We also marveled at how fast his feet grew. I could never say, "Act your age, not your shoe size," because his shoe size was way ahead of his age. He stopped at size 15. His dad had a puppy who liked to make a bed out of the top of Son's feet.


We adopted Son when he was 18 months old. For those who don't know the story, his birth mother is my sister. She was quite young when she had him. She met a man and married him when Son was about a year old. He was horrible and abusive, so the marriage lasted about 5 months. After that, she decided single parenthood wasn't for her. She asked me and my now-ex to adopt him.

Immediately, he ate like there was no tomorrow. Breakfast was waffles, fruit cocktail, cereal or oatmeal, eggs, toast, milk, and juice. And he loved cottage cheese. After breakfast, I'd send him off to his trains while I cleaned the kitchen.

One day, he hollered, "Mommy! Come see what I did!"

He had his Tinker-toys out and had been building away. He proudly showed me his handiwork and demonstrated it for me.

The child had built a catapult.

"Oh, sweetie," I said. "Mommy has to go back to school now, to keep up with you!" He beamed.

I love him so much. At times, he's been my greatest love, and my greatest heartache. I hope life is good to him, and he's good to life. And that he makes the most of what God's given him.

Our quick trip to Denver (but a long blog!)

Just a quick note here, before getting into the Denver thing. It's just unbelievable, so I have to mention it. Five days later, and Greg is still asking me for money. Asking, begging, lying, threatening, insulting...anything he can think of to get me to send some cash. Some of his tactics I don't get, like threatening to not speak to me if I don't send something. He even tried, "I want a day off. Send me something so I don't have to work today." Really, dude? I mean...really? Grow up.

All in all, Denver went well. We had a rocky start, though.

See, I finally got my car back from the collision repair place on Friday. Yay! It was 56 days at the shop....yikes.

Saturday morning, there's a big puddle of transmission fluid under it.

Back to the shop it goes. They couldn't finish it on Monday, so they got me a rental again. A little GMC Canyon pickup truck. Ranger was about beside himself with I pulled up. "Oh my God, you look so sexy driving a truck!" he said as he got in the car and nuzzled my neck.

Off to Denver we went. I hate driving long distances myself, but in a rental, I have no choice. The pickup makes my back feel weird because your feet are out in front of you, rather than in a more chair-like position as in my little SUV. Took some adjusting, but I managed! Every once in awhile, the bottom of my foot would go numb, so we'd stop and walk around until it came back.

We made a rest stop at the top of Vail pass. It's so lovely up there! So breezy and cool. When I left the bathroom, I found Ranger looking at a map on the wall. "Hey, on the way back, want to stop in Central City?"

"I've never been there," I said.

"It's a refurbished mining town," he said. "Wooden boardwalks and all. It's like stepping back in time. You'll love it." And it's true. That sounds like my kind of town.

Usually, I like to stay in an extended stay hotel in Aurora. I like the kitchenette. Sunday night, though, I got looking at that plan again. Ranger's court time was 8:30 on Tuesday morning. How early did I want to get up to drive through morning rush hour to get there?

Not.

And my back needed a better mattress than previous trips, so I went hotel deal hunting. I found a discount site running 40% if you booked over the weekend. I looked up the court building on Google maps, then matched the downtown hotels to that. Well, the ones I could afford. The court building location wasn't precise, but I knew I was closer than Aurora!

And then I found the Hotel Monaco. This is what the room looked like:


It's a funky hotel. They describe it as "whimsical." And here's an unusual amenity. Look what you can request to have in your room, during your stay (for free):

Yep. A pet goldfish. You just gotta love that.

We finally made our way into Denver close to 8:00 Monday night. Thank God for GPS routing us through traffic and to the hotel. You have no choice but to valet park your car, but they let us take about 20 minutes to get freshened up and snag the car again for dinner.

I've been dying to try this place in Denver. It's the oldest restaurant in the city, established in 1893. The Buckhorn Exchange. The walls are covered in game trophies and signed photos of famous people who have visited there. Among the appetizers are a rattlesnake dip, alligator tail, and Rocky Mountain Oysters. Guess what I had?

Yep. Bull's balls. Sliced up and fried, dipped in horseradish. Yum!

And beer cheese soup. Oh yum.

Ranger had buffalo prime rib and I had elk medallions. The most amazing flavors you can imagine! We about rolled out of that place.

By the time we made it back to the room, I was about to drop. I decided to shower while Ranger watched some TV. I got undressed, then realized I'd left my toiletry bag on the other side of the room. I had to cross between Ranger and his show.

"Pardon me," I said. "Sorry about that...."

"Wait a minute," he said. He turned off the TV. "Did you just apologize for walking naked in front of me?"

I nodded.

"Let's get something straight here and now," he said. "Never apologize for that! Just make sure you do it more often."

I had to laugh. The shower felt nice, and I climbed into bed sleepy and happy. I made a conscious effort to not think about the morning. I welcomed Ranger's hands sliding across the sheets to me. I let him just take me away in sensations. He was in a pleasing and teasing mood. One of the things I like about him is that he's not at all intimidated by sex toys. He's completely into the playfulness of all things sexual.

Things were going just fine when suddenly he dialed the intensity of the thing way high. I yelped and noticed the bizarre look on his face. He held up the buzzing toy.

"Uhm....it's stuck."

And sure enough, he's pushing the button on the thing, but it's not helping. It was an absolutely hilarious picture...Ranger trying to calm the thing by madly pushing the button, while the buzzing was going off the charts.

So, he turned it off and abandoned the thing. Fine with me!

But it would not be ignored! As Ranger and I engaged in our delightful maneuvers in the dark, a sound came from the sheets beside us.

Buzz. (pause) Buzz. (pause) Buzz. Buzz.

We had a haunted sex toy.

That was just it. We busted out laughing. And this is another thing I love. The ability to laugh together during sex, and not take ourselves too seriously.

We lounged against each other until way too late, watching "Futurama" and "King of the Hill." We finally drifted off, but morning came way too early.

Time to face the reality of this trip. We were both pretty quiet that morning. We had a good breakfast. Dressed nice for court. I repacked my purse, to make the security entry easier to manage. We headed to the valet to get the car, and get directions to the court building and public parking.

I handed the tag to the valet guy, and told him where we needed to be. When I asked for directions, he blinked at me.

"You're going where?"

I repeated myself.

"Uhm," he said. "It's right there."

I turned to see where he was pointing. Two blocks away.

"Seriously?" I said.

"Yeah," he chuckled.

I got the car tag back from him. "Thanks." Ranger and I were laughing, too, as we started down the sidewalk.

"You didn't know you'd gotten us that close?" he asked me.

"Nope. I knew I was closer, but not that close!"

In the court building, I hung back and let Ranger take care of things. I sat in the courtroom and listened to them reiterate everything. I listened to the possible sentence, the recommended sentence, and finally, the real sentence.

Five years probation. Pay restitution. Don't incur any debt until restitution is paid. No halfway house recommended. Congratulations, you're now a sentenced felon. All rise.

My brain was screaming. My chest felt tight. But I sat quiet. I waited while all the paperwork and red tape traipsed by.

Ranger was visibly relieved when we left. He hugged me tight. "Thank you so much for being with me here," he said. We walked back to the hotel, holding hands. It was 9:30. Checkout time was 12:00. Time for a nap.

As we got undressed and slipped back into bed, the words in my mind were burning a path to my mouth. "I need something from you," I said.

"Anything," he said, as we pulled the sheets over us.

I turned to face him, looking straight into his eyes. "I need a promise," I said. I felt my throat constricting, forcing my voice to a whisper. "That nothing like this will ever, EVER happen again."

Tears came with the words. I'd been strong and supportive, but I needed to fall apart a little. I'd held it in, and now it was time for it to flow.

I could see this register on his face. He watched my fascade crumble, and it broke his heart a little to know it was for him. He held my face in his hands. He wiped my tears with his thumbs. He looked into my eyes, and said with a solid resolve, "I promise. Never again. It's all over."

The words kept tumbling from me. "Because I can't see you like that again. The man in the courtroom is not the man I know. This was a really bad decision, but it's one that put me and us and everything on the line. You risked it all. I can't be risked again."

His eyes were welling up now. "I know. And I'm so sorry. I won't every do anything to risk us again. I promise."

So, I let it all out. I cried into his shoulder until I fell asleep. We napped, then we got ready to check out and get some lunch. We had our stomachs set on burgers and wings at The Cherry Cricket. I got some special dog treats for the four-legged kids at home at Three Dog Bakery. Then, we hit the road.

It's a pretty short trip to the turnoff for Central City. And they want to make sure you don't miss it:


The town itself isn't too far off the highway, as the crow flies. But this is the route the Parkway takes from I-70 (near the bottom of the pic):


But what scenery! I wish I hadn't been driving, so I could have looked around some more.

Central City is kind of compact. Many buildings, most original to the town, and narrow streets. Here's a look at Main Street:

The fronts of the buildings are protected as historical landmarks. The insides are another story. While the town has kept it's wild-west-mining-town flavor, the old boardwalks that Ranger remembered are now paved. As you pass what you think might be quaint storefronts, only a few have merchandise. Through the others, you see the flashing lights and quietly desperate faces scattered around casinos.

The gamblers have taken over the mining town.

We spent a little while in the Visitor's Center, talking to a very enthusiastic woman who was an absolute fountain of knowledge. We'll do some research on the area and the history before we go back. It's a good place to still experience a chunk of Colorado history and explore what had been a very rich mining area. We'll plan a getaway, some quiet weekend.

Then we headed home. The truck turned out to not be too bad on my back, but I was glad to see the massage therapist the next day.

And now we start putting together the pieces of what make become a life together. We have many ducks floating around, and have yet to see if we can get them in a row enough to turn fantasies of life into realities of life.

Cloudy with a chance of sunshine

So, here's the cloudy part:

I'm feeling a little spiritually downtrodden today. It's a cumulative effect, I think, of pain and stress.

Tomorrow is Ranger's next court date. Trying to psyche myself up for it. I'm calm and collected when I'm at the courthouse and such, but inside I'm just screaming and wanting to run around like a crazy woman, unloading all of the frustration and angst about this into the sky.

But no, the only indication that you'll get that I have something twisting inside is that my hair is also twisted, crazy, curly.

Then it'll be over. And the consequences will begin. I don't know that I fully fathom those yet. But I do know that I still believe in Ranger. He screwed up. Big time. But he wants the better life that I want. And as long as he steps up to that plate and does his part to make it work, then I'll still believe.

For awhile, that walking-on-eggshells feeling is going to be with me, though. I have to learn that he's not going to shake my foundation again. And he understands that, too, which is important.

And speaking of believing in people....I don't believe in dear Greg. I had a hunch. I followed it. And I found him lying to me again. Remember the asking for money thing? The last try was "I need a loan because if my phone gets cut off, I can't pick up shifts, and I'll stay homeless."

I sent nothing. So, I get this: "So, my phone is going to be off until the first. I miss you and can't wait to talk to you again!"

I tested those waters during the "outage." The phone wasn't out. I know how a phone on Sprint behaves when it's been cut off. He doesn't know I know this. So, he pretends it's out. He just thinks I'm worrying about him being homeless and out of touch, and he thinks it's a good idea to let me worry. And misses me? I don't think so.

So, I busted him. How did he react?

He made up a new lie.

I busted that one. What did he do?

He made up yet another lie.

I told him to cut the shit. I'd heard enough. I've supported him in all ways I can and will, and I get lied to. Repeatedly. I am not an idiot. I am not a fool. And I won't be treated like one.

Was there an apology? No. He stayed silent yesterday. This morning, I get a text:

"I threw my back out and couldn't walk for four days. So, I really need help now, if you could send me something...."

Really? I mean, WTF, dude?

I don't think that I'll hear from Greg anymore, as he's finding my pockets - and other parts of my pants - remain closed.

So, want to see the sunshine now?

I have a colleague in Ohio who is retiring. She's been a mover and shaker in our industry, and I really respect her. We've worked together in a national organization, and she recently sent her retirement announcement to that group's email list. I sent my congratulations to her and said I'd miss her, but asked that she please keep in touch.

She replied and said, "Of course I'll keep in touch with you! I consider you one of the best up and coming young professionals in our field."

Blink. Blink. Really?

How cool is that?

I can put the umbrella away for a few moments to warm my face in this ray of sunshine.

I hate pain medication

I had the injection yesterday. The office is wonderful. They give you the standard, fanny-exposing hospital gown, but with a robe to cover that fanny. I took a Xanax an hour and a half before the procedure. They recommend 30 minutes before, but it doesn't it me fast enough. I was also nauseous, so I had 1/2 a Phenergan.

I learned something. The woozieness from the medication disappears when you're face down on the table, with someone painting chilly Betadine (sp?) on your back.

I needed four shots, two on each side of the problem spot. My doctor comes in and works quickly. "A stick and a burn," he says.

I feel the stick. "There's the stick," he says.

I feel the burn. A big burn. "There's the burn," he says.

"Now a small stick. That's the needle going in." I feel that, too, all the way in.

Three more times.

I feel things being hooked to the needles. Tubing for the medication. "As the medication goes in," he says. "You'll feel a fullness in there. Some pressure."

I felt that. Like a balloon inflating in my bones. The pressure hurts, more than the stick-and-a-burn.

Four times, and it's done. He says it went well and will see me in my exam room in a moment.

The nurses clean me off and put big bandages over the small of my back. They tie the gown and help me up. "Are your feet numb?" No, they're fine.

We walk back to the exam room. We chat about how Daughter is friends with the son of one of the other doctors in the practice. A good kid.

My mom is in the exam room. She insisted on being in there, instead of Ranger. She can be very pushy, and thought it more appropriate she help me if I needed assistance getting dressed again.

I'm still sore. Is it my regular pain or from the injections? I can't be sure.

The doctor comes in, all smiles. "How are you feeling?"

"It's still a little sore, but that just might be the shots," I said.

His smile dimmed. "Well, there's numbing medicine in there right now. It'll last for a few hours. That should give you a good idea of how you'll feel when the anti-inflammatory kicks in. In about 4 days."

I thought about this. My pain was better, but not gone. So, I had a few more days before the real stuff kicked in. The pain wasn't yet over, and I was suspecting this wasn't going to work like I thought.

"Just don't push it for a few days, then we'll see how it works," he said.

"I might need to go to Denver on Monday," I said. "Is that driving safe?"

He nodded vigorously. "That's just fine. It would feel better if you left right now, before the numbing meds wear off," he laughed.

So, I left. The wooziness was returning. Ranger was in the waiting room, looking anxious and worried. He took my arm, whispering to me. "How are you? Are you okay?"

"It hurt," I said. He guided me to the car. Helped me inside so gently. He sat in the back seat behind me, as it was my Mom's car. On the way home, I filled him in on how it went. He was so worried about me.

He helped me settle into the recliner at home, with an ice pack. I started dozing off. My mom and sister left, so he helped me up the stairs to my room, where Daughter helped me to bed. I was asleep in no time. Ranger waited for another adult to get home, told them where I was and how I was doing, and went home to wait for me to call him later.

My oldest nephew's birthday was last night. They woke me for chili for dinner, which Daughter brought to me in bed. I made my way downstairs for ice cream sundaes and presents for him.

My mother let me sleep this morning and took Daughter to school. The pain is back, and I have a Xanax hangover. I slowly got ready for work, but had to make a stop at Wal-Mart on the way in. That did me in. The pain was terrible. I was exhausted. I went home.

I took the pain medicine that I hoped I wouldn't have to take again. I really hate that stuff.

But I'm in the waiting stage. Four days to see how this works. If the numbing medication was a "preview," then I don't hold much hope for this plan of action.

It's a discouraging day. I have one glimmer of light today. I get my car back. The last time I saw it was when it was crippled on the highway, having just saved us. I'll be so glad to have it back!

If I haven't said it before, I hate my rental car. I'm noticing as a toodle around town in it that I don't see anyone else driving a Hyundai Elantra. I think I know why!

Pain, pain, go away....

I learned something last week. Xanax takes a long time to hit me, but when it does....WHAM! I'm out cold.

I had a few moments of nearly hyperventilating in the MRI, so I knew it hadn't really hit me yet. When I got home, I felt woozy, so I went to bed. Five hours later, my mother is standing over me, saying something about "Who is picking up Daughter from school?" I was so addled, I picked up my phone to text my answer to her!

She picked up Daughter from school.

My birthday was lovely. I got many books about things I love. I got movie bucks from Daughter, which means she wants to go with me to see "The Time Traveler's Wife." And I got Star Wars toys and a stuffed Yoda. How cool is that?

Monday, I traipsed off to get my MRI results and finally meet my doctor. He looks like he still needs to go out for recess, a juice box, and a nap on a towel. Wait....that doesn't sound half bad, anyhow.....

I had to wait an hour and a half. My back was absolutely killing me! But the computers were down and he couldn't get to the dictation from his PA. Finally, he showed me the MRI.

I actually have three discs that are degenerating. Yep, I'm officially a degenerate. They are the lowest three in your spine. The lowest is significantly gone. The one up from that is barely there and is the source of most of the pain. It has some bone-on-bone action. And the one above that still has good space to it, but also shows a small break in it.

So, the vertebrae and facet joints are banging against each other. The only surgery that can help that is one to fuse the vertebrae together. "But you're to young for me to want to do that," he said.

The child doctor said I was too young. That made me about giddy. Bless him.

So today I start facet joint injections. I take another Xanax (earlier this time), and they put me under an x-ray to guide the needle between the bones. A local anesthetic is involved. Thank God. I remember doing trigger point injections, which can't use an anesthetic. "Ouch" doesn't begin to cover it.

The injections are a combination of anti-inflammatory and pain medication. I'm nervous, but I'm very anxious for relief, too. If these don't help, or stop helping, then it's to the operating room for me.

Oh! And my boss approved a fancy new chair for me! My chair of two years started making holes in the carpet, so they traded it for one that wants to flip me over backwards. And not in a good way. So, I get a new chair with lovely lumbar support.

My, the things that make me happy these days.....

In two days....

....I'll be 41. August 22nd, 1968. All I can say is praise the Lord for birthday cake! I want to corner piece, with all the icing! I've earned it!

You hear me Son?? That piece is mine!

Another year, and what a year it's been. No recap. I don't know if I could actually take writing all that out, again.... Oh, by the way, the court date changed again. September 1st, now. THAT is driving me crazy.

So, I saw the orthopedic surgeon today. Or rather, his physician's assistant. He does the intake and initial evaluation. I'm in oodles of pain today, so it was probably a good day to see the reality of it.

Ranger went with me. He couldn't stand just waiting for me to call with the results. We go into the little exam room, where I have to change into shorts that have elastic instead of metal fasteners. Then, off to x-ray I go. Ranger stayed in the exam room while they led me to the x-ray and MRI area. This place runs like a well-oiled machine, I swear. I walk past the scheduling offices, the checkout offices, the other exam room "pods", and finally to the waiting area outside the x-ray room door.

And I sit. Uncomfortably. The door opens and a man says to a woman still inside, "Just sit here for a couple of minutes while I check the films."

Then, she makes her entrance. A big poof of ponytail tops a body draped in hospital gown and bathrobe, with men's tube socks stretching off her toes. She literally flounces into the chair. I mean, she is the definition of flounce.

"Hi!" she exclaims to me. "Are you getting pictures today, too?"

I nod. She throws herself across the empty chairs, tossing her head back. "Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up!"

Dang, she's funny! I'm laughing at her performance. The scheduling office is, too.

"May I ask, who is your doctor?"

"Cliff," I said.

"Oh, I hear good things about him!" We chat about how much easier it is to have all the facilities you need in one place, then the door opens, and the man leads her back to her exam room. She waves at me from down the hall.

Soon, he's back and it's my turn. More "ben this way," and "bend that way." And not the fun kind of bending, either. Ugh. The pictures look good, so I'm back to the exam room.

The man pauses to pull up my x-rays on the room's computer. Then leaves. Ranger and I stare at the screen.

You can see it. Plain as day. Lovely-spaced vertebrae, then you get to the end of my spine. Or near it. The white cloudiness of my bones blends together, with sharp points protruding from the sides. Bone on bone, with bone spurs.

Ouch.

I mean, it's one thing to hurt. It's another to know why you hurt. It's yet another to see it so clearly, right in front of you.

It was a little much for Ranger. I looked at him and tears were welling up in his eyes. "Oh my God, baby," he said. He came to me and held me. "You must hurt so much. I don't want you to hurt like that."

I almost cried, too. He loves me so very much. His world is wrapped around me. All he wants is to make me happy and satisfied. All the problems he has right now, and I still know I'm lucky to have a love like this. He loves unselfishly. And lets me love as I want to, also. It's what I've always wanted and needed. The rest just needs to work out, too.

The PA finally arrived and put me through more bending. More questions. One thing I never get tired of is the look on people's faces when I say I have three kidneys. Cracks me the hell up. I know....I'm a sick puppy sometimes.

So, we have three possibilities. The pain is either from the disc itself (which is hard to treat), the joints there rubbing together, or damage to the nerve sacks. The need an MRI to see those details. In any case, I need physical therapy to strengthen my core for any treatment they do.

I have the MRI tomorrow morning. I see the doctor and get the results on Monday. And I start physical therapy on Monday.

Should be a fun start to the week....but maybe, just maybe, I'll get some answers and a course of treatment. I just hope they're on the ball with this. I don't need conservative treatment. I've had this for 16 years. Let's do something about it, fellas!

But on Saturday, I get cake. Eye on the prize, dear Diary!

Another year older....

....doesn't mean another year brighter.

No, not me! My birthday is another week or so off.... No, it's Greg. He turned 30 last month.

I still hear from him somewhat regularly. It was daily, until the accident. I got pissed that day because he texted "What's up?" and I told him. His response? "That sucks. Can you send me $50?"

Not "Are you okay?" Not "What happened?" No. "Can you send me $50?"

Just a few short months ago, he was moving up in the world. A good job as a manager at a major chain restaurant in Houston. They were even paying for him to have a rental until he got a paycheck to buy his own car. And he walked out. Why? Because they didn't like a suggestion he made about staffing.

You've got a $975 a month apartment, plus utilities, no vehicle, and you walk out of the job that supports it. Brilliant. He almost got another good job, but he thought the training process was too long. So, he walked out of the training. Brilliant again.

I'm not sending him $50. And his lack of concern for me was quite telling.

He called about a month later. He'd bought a scratch-off ticket and won $500. That went to his $650 utility bill. But he was happy something good had happened and called me to tell me about it. That was nice.

A couple of weeks ago, he apologized for acting unconcerned about what I'm going through right now. He said he's just had so many of his own worries that he's been kind of a jerk. Okay, I can accept that. Until....

He finally couldn't make rent and got tossed from his apartment. Had to find a home for his dog and sell his other belongings of significance. He's had some friends come through with a couch to sleep on for a couple of weeks, but that will eventually run out. So, I get this text.

"Hey, would you send me $100 so I can stay in a hotel instead of on a couch?"

WTF?!?!

You've got nothing. Someone is offering a free couch to stay on. But you'd rather be in a hotel. (And wouldn't we all, might I add?)

And you want ME to finance it? Not hardly.

Now, please know that I wouldn't send him money anyhow. Enabling is an issue with Greg. You help him once, and he becomes dependent on it. When I was visiting in Lubbock once, I gave him a generous tip, but the next time I sat in his section, he complained that my tip was smaller. This situation just seems particularly numb-skulled.

Also, I added it up. He didn't make rent, but he had some of the money. He sold his stuff. AND he is working quite a lot. What happened to that money? Not that it's my business. But I have a feeling he spent too much on pot....and now he wants to live in a hotel.

I've spent a lot of time and energy worrying over Greg and his life. Way too much time, especially if his apparent concern for me goes as far as a dollar sign. So, dear Greg, you're now 30 years old. Time to set some grown-up priorities, bud.

Sometimes....

...what you have to blog about just isn't pretty. Finally, I'll catch myself over-thinking it and just say, "Spill it, Blogget." So, here I am. Spilling it.

Pain is a constant companion now. And an unwelcome one. I don't want to take pain meds because (1) I don't want to be an addict (and I seriously feel I could become one now), and (2) I just can't function that way. I went to the ER two weeks ago because of the pain in my back. I thought it might be kidney stones. Nope. The x-rays from the day of the accident show that my problem in my lower back is worse. The disc is almost gone. Bone spurs are rubbing bones spurs, on the adjacent vertebrae. So, it's time to do something real about it. I think ignoring it for 16 years has finally come to an end. I made an appointment with an orthopaedic surgeon. August 20th seems a long way away, though, to cope with pain until then.

Ranger is a big help, but wishes he could do more. He wants to watch over me all the time. Keep me safe. Run interference with the insanity that is my household right now. He wants to be my refuge, my shelter. But he doesn't live with me, so we make do. He wishes he was there a lot, when I'm hurting. Daughter helps, too.

She went to band camp for a week. It's the longest time she's been away from home, without me nearby. The camp was just for her high school marching band. An intensive week of marching and fun, bringing the band together into a cohesive unit. It paid off, too. Their show looks great so far. They'll march at halftime at the Alamo Bowl in January. You can bet, I'll be there, too.

That week, she proved her independence. She's a young woman now. She stands her own ground and is her own person. When they got home, they gave the parents a preview of their show for this year. My God, she's so grown up now. I watched her, doing this astounding new thing she's learned, and I got tears in my eyes. I remember all the other astounding things she's learned - crawling, walking, taking toys apart, putting them together, feeding herself, dressing herself, climbing trees, her wonderful art. It goes on and on. But this is the first big thing she's learned that I didn't already know how to do! Whatta girl.

We spotted Drama Queen at the band performance. Apparently, her new boyfriend is in the band. (You remember...the one she said her mother was making her go out with. Like anyone bought that....) She walked past all 10 of our group (like you can miss us) with her nose in the air, not looking at us or acknowledging our presence at all. We did a lot for that kid, and here we are. She went to the fence in front of the bleachers, clinging to the chain link, and staring longingly into the field, as though waiting for her long lost love to come home from war.

Gag. Pardon me.

Thank God that's gone. Son has a new girl. She likes his car. Her daddy had one just like it when he was a teenager. So, he likes Son's car, too. She comes over to play video games. They watch a lot of movies. Ones Son used to turn his nose up at, but now....he's learning to like something new. Old movies. Fred Astaire. Cary Grant. Judy Garland. Gene Kelly. So far, I like this one.

Ranger had a court date on July 24th. Well, he was supposed to. Coincidentally, I had a conference in Denver on July 23rd, so we made plans to go over the mountains together. Two days before, his date was changed to August 24th. This pissed me off.

See, I don't switch gears on a plan very well. Especially for a trip with that particular purpose. I have to mentally prepare myself to see Ranger as the convicted felon in the courtroom. That hurts to even say. This is the man who loves me how people should love. Like no one ever has before. It's what I've wished for and dreamed of, and was starting to think was impossible.

Then, there we are. And I hate it. I just want to bolt and cry and rail at God and say why? for so many things. And I look at Ranger, and I wonder why, too. He doesn't know that I think that when he did this thing, he was willing to risk me, us, in the whole thing. He played with our future and lost. How lost is it?

So, I get braced for it and...there's no impact. It's delayed. I get pissy.

He went with me anyhow. We had some time alone together. We talk with each other about things no one else undertands. We listen to music and laugh and sing along. We explored Leadville and nearby ghost towns, too, which was fun.

Driving in the car was hard on me, though. Stupid rental car. Ranger can't drive it, so it was all me. I miss my car. Allegedly, it will be healed this Friday. I can't wait!

We ended up staying an extra night out in Glenwood Springs. I was just too tired and in pain to make it the rest of the way that night.

In all this, he's still my solace in a lot of ways. He's some of my pain and some of my solace. How weird is that? For two nights he got to do what he wanted to do, and what I needed. He curled up around me and soothed me to sleep. Through the pain and torment, he has a unique way of soothing me into the rest that eludes me otherwise.

So, here we are again. The good, bad, and ugly.