Want to have fun? Go to lunch with you granddaughter or grandson at her or his elementary school. Poppy and I had the opportunity to do this just today, and it was an interesting adventure! For starters, grandparents had two choices: a) purchase a school prepared lunch, which we did, or b) pack your own healthy lunch and juice, which we should have done. We bought chicken(?) (I've never seen gray chicken meat before) nuggets, and it didn't actually tastes very much like chicken, either; nonetheless I ate a few pieces before I put the rest on Poppy's plate. The mashed potatoes and gravy were delicious, as were the Mandarin orange pieces. Both Poppy and I agreed that the vanilla fat-free milk was a little strange tasting; perhaps if we had tried the chocolate instead...? But, Sam and I liked the Cinnamon Goldfish so well that we shared two packs of them!
Then we had a few minutes to visit Sam's classroom and see his desk. It is a newer school, well appointed, great staff, extra classes in the arts, very, very up to date and impressive. The Principal was rightfully proud of his school which is an Ohio School of Excellence. Moreover, he was friendly and appropriately close to the students. We left feeling confident that this school is well-equipped to meet the special needs of our grandson's special condition. Sam's Tourette Syndrome won't hold him back in this well-equipped learning environment. He is just another one of the kids!
Somewhat quiet during lunch, Sam was quick with the hugs and kisses when it came time for us to leave. He didn't seem the least bit embarrassed that his Grandma was a bit older, heavier and slower than most of the other grandmas. He understood why I couldn't climb the long, wide stairway that led to his art classroom. Poppy accompanied him up there and that was their time. Lee was grinning from ear to ear as he bounded down the stairs. Looked like Poppy may have gotten a hug or two himself!
On the way home we discussed how much Sam is growing and learning and making his way in life, Tourette Syndrome and all. He is very bright, gifted in art (like his Dad and his Poppy), has a love of nature, music and acrobatics. He's a Boy Scout, has earned a higher level belt in Karate, swims and climbs walls. Actually, there isn't much Sam can't or doesn't do. He's eight and great! And he is a blessing to his family!
SLICES OF MY LIFE
"It may be a crazy life, but it's my life"
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Requiem For Three Charlys
At first I didn't see it. I was putting away clean towels in the hall bathroom. As I turned around I saw it, a small black dot in the corner behind the pedestal sink. I guessed it to be a spider, yet I wasn't quite sure. It didn't move, so I did. Once I got close enough I realized that it was, indeed, a spider. A tiny one at that. There was no web, just some dust and a narrow space between the floor and the bottom of the baseboard, where the corner occurs.
Suddenly the little spider began to retreat. I stood still, as I meant it no harm. After a short time, she disappeared into the narrow opening in the corner. I finished my task of putting away the laundry and forgot about the spider which I had, for no apparent reason, named Charly .
For awhile Charly and I would keep a respectable distance between us whenever I would be in the hall bathroom. Charly would venture out from the crack in the corner slowly; an inch, then two. Each time I would largely ignore the little spider because it basically stayed in the corner. It was so tiny that I found myself singing and signing "The Teensy Weensy Spider Climbed Up The Water Spout" whenever I saw it there.
After a few weeks, Charly appeared to have grown a little bigger, and a little braver. I really have little knowledge of scientific matters, as I studied sociology and socializing. So, to me, Charly was a girl, and a timid one at that. " Sit in the corner Charly, while I take care of bathroom business," I would command. Even while I would wash my hands in the sink, she would sit there obediently.
Then, late one night, while I was in the loo, I noticed Charly right where she always was, in her corner. Something didn't seem right. I ventured closer to Charly and then I noticed that all of her little legs were tucked under her little body. She didn't try to move as I approached her. I realized then that Charly was dead. Surprisingly sad, I used a tissue to pick up Charly's Eensy Weensy Spider body and looked at it. What had happened? Of course! I had sprayed the hall bathroom and the utility room with an insect poison after seeing one too many of those creepy bugs with a million legs.
At first I was wracked by terrible guilt. Then I remembered the dreams I had about Charly growing and hunting me down through the hall closet, into our bedroom, climbing up the footboard of our bed, then climbing right up my oxygen tubing and into my nostril. Dear God! It was horrifying, even if it were only a dream. Well, that's all over now. Charly left via a swift-moving toilet current to her burial at sea, sort of.
For a while, everything was peaceful and quiet. Then one night a few weeks later I walked into the hall bathroom and stopped dead in my tracks. There on the edge of the basin was another spider. It was not an eensy weensy one, either! The Second Charly was a little too close for comfort for me. As I reached to get lots of toilet paper (Why are you always out of tissues when you need them most?), I saw an even larger spider trying to climb up the side of the bathtub which is, fortunately, quite slippery. Instictively I covered Charly Number Two, or was it now Number Three? I quickly tossed Charly Number Three (Yes, that was chronologically correct.) into the loo and flushed him off to eventually join poor Little Charly.
Eww, did I ever need to wash my hands! That's when I remembered Basin Charly who had been there just a few minutes before. I turned around and Charly Number Two was nowhere to be seen. I looked around behind the toilet and saw a larger space between the baseboard and the floor in the corner. It certainly could be an escape route for a speedy spider.
That spider had witnessed the execution of Bathtub Charly. They appeared to be the same kind of spider as Charly, the original Charly, that is. What if they were her parents? What if Charly Number Two were off somewhere plotting her revenge? That corner where she had probably escaped is on the other side of our master bathroom wall. It would be easy for Surviving Charly to simply crawl over to our bathroom. Once there she could quickly make her way over the bathroom floor, onto the bedroom carpet, climb up the bedpost, scurry up the down coverlet, up my oxygen tubing, and crawl into my nostril. I would awaken just before Revenge Charly bit me, sending me into anaphelactic shock due to my severe allergy to insect bites. I would be unable to wake my husband up in time and he would find my dead body next to him in the morning.
No. I'm allergic to spider bites, right? That's why I sprayed the master bathroom thoroughly after I had seen Eensy Weensy Charly. One afternoon, a short time later, as I was running the dustmop in our master bathroom, there behind the toilet I found Charly Number Two with her legs tucked neatly beneath her lifeless body. I picked her up with a tissue and sent her off via the master throne to join Spider Number Three and Baby Charly wherever they awaited her. Then I scrubbed my hands, put new tubing on my oxygen tank, inserted the nasal cannula into my nostrils, layed down and took a long, peaceful and dream-free nap.
Suddenly the little spider began to retreat. I stood still, as I meant it no harm. After a short time, she disappeared into the narrow opening in the corner. I finished my task of putting away the laundry and forgot about the spider which I had, for no apparent reason, named Charly .
For awhile Charly and I would keep a respectable distance between us whenever I would be in the hall bathroom. Charly would venture out from the crack in the corner slowly; an inch, then two. Each time I would largely ignore the little spider because it basically stayed in the corner. It was so tiny that I found myself singing and signing "The Teensy Weensy Spider Climbed Up The Water Spout" whenever I saw it there.
After a few weeks, Charly appeared to have grown a little bigger, and a little braver. I really have little knowledge of scientific matters, as I studied sociology and socializing. So, to me, Charly was a girl, and a timid one at that. " Sit in the corner Charly, while I take care of bathroom business," I would command. Even while I would wash my hands in the sink, she would sit there obediently.
Then, late one night, while I was in the loo, I noticed Charly right where she always was, in her corner. Something didn't seem right. I ventured closer to Charly and then I noticed that all of her little legs were tucked under her little body. She didn't try to move as I approached her. I realized then that Charly was dead. Surprisingly sad, I used a tissue to pick up Charly's Eensy Weensy Spider body and looked at it. What had happened? Of course! I had sprayed the hall bathroom and the utility room with an insect poison after seeing one too many of those creepy bugs with a million legs.
At first I was wracked by terrible guilt. Then I remembered the dreams I had about Charly growing and hunting me down through the hall closet, into our bedroom, climbing up the footboard of our bed, then climbing right up my oxygen tubing and into my nostril. Dear God! It was horrifying, even if it were only a dream. Well, that's all over now. Charly left via a swift-moving toilet current to her burial at sea, sort of.
For a while, everything was peaceful and quiet. Then one night a few weeks later I walked into the hall bathroom and stopped dead in my tracks. There on the edge of the basin was another spider. It was not an eensy weensy one, either! The Second Charly was a little too close for comfort for me. As I reached to get lots of toilet paper (Why are you always out of tissues when you need them most?), I saw an even larger spider trying to climb up the side of the bathtub which is, fortunately, quite slippery. Instictively I covered Charly Number Two, or was it now Number Three? I quickly tossed Charly Number Three (Yes, that was chronologically correct.) into the loo and flushed him off to eventually join poor Little Charly.
Eww, did I ever need to wash my hands! That's when I remembered Basin Charly who had been there just a few minutes before. I turned around and Charly Number Two was nowhere to be seen. I looked around behind the toilet and saw a larger space between the baseboard and the floor in the corner. It certainly could be an escape route for a speedy spider.
That spider had witnessed the execution of Bathtub Charly. They appeared to be the same kind of spider as Charly, the original Charly, that is. What if they were her parents? What if Charly Number Two were off somewhere plotting her revenge? That corner where she had probably escaped is on the other side of our master bathroom wall. It would be easy for Surviving Charly to simply crawl over to our bathroom. Once there she could quickly make her way over the bathroom floor, onto the bedroom carpet, climb up the bedpost, scurry up the down coverlet, up my oxygen tubing, and crawl into my nostril. I would awaken just before Revenge Charly bit me, sending me into anaphelactic shock due to my severe allergy to insect bites. I would be unable to wake my husband up in time and he would find my dead body next to him in the morning.
No. I'm allergic to spider bites, right? That's why I sprayed the master bathroom thoroughly after I had seen Eensy Weensy Charly. One afternoon, a short time later, as I was running the dustmop in our master bathroom, there behind the toilet I found Charly Number Two with her legs tucked neatly beneath her lifeless body. I picked her up with a tissue and sent her off via the master throne to join Spider Number Three and Baby Charly wherever they awaited her. Then I scrubbed my hands, put new tubing on my oxygen tank, inserted the nasal cannula into my nostrils, layed down and took a long, peaceful and dream-free nap.
So Much For The Golden Years
Well, today is a typical late summer or early autumn day in SW Ohio. Dreary, rainy, and yes, depressing. So, of course, I am off anti-depressants right now. In the past several weeks I have been trying to find one that will work for me long term. I have had some relief from anti-depressants, but after a while they just don't seem to work any more. Several months ago I agreed to try the one I sarcastically call 'Vitamin P'. Before trying it, I talked to all the people I know who are either on it, or had been on it in the past. My best friend in Georgia was ecstatic about it. "I love, love, love it!" she gushed. "I will take it until the day I die!". OK; that was a pretty good endorsement. I called my cousin who also said it helps her and she is on it now, as is her husband. Another good point in its favor. A close relative was on it at one point in her life when she was suffering from an eating disorder. She thought it helped, but hasn't felt the need for it in many years. That encouraged me the most because she doesn't feel the need for it now. A limited run on 'Vitamin P'; that sounded just right.
So, I went on this little magic pill. After several weeks, I asked my husband if he could tell a difference, because I really didn't. He said that he did. So, I called my doctor and said I wanted to increase the doseage to the next level (I had been started on a very low dose) because if 10mgs. was good, 20mgs. must be better, right? And, for a while it was. Then something happened, and it didn't help anymore. I told my PCP that I wanted to go off 'Vitanim P' because "it isn't helping me anymore". She told me to stay on it until she could come up with another suggestion, and I agreed.
She has been suggestingfor a few years that I try counseling , but I refused. Being married to a therapist, I thought that he could make it better. But, there are some issues that your spouse can't help you with because your relationship is just too close. Say I was angry at him. That's not going to work because he can't be objective, and neither can I. After a few more weeks, I finally agreed to try counseling. My PCP suggested a woman whom she was very familiar with and thought would be a good match for my personality. Reluctantly, and more than slightly sceptical, I agreed to give it a try.
At the end of our first session, I wanted to kick myself for resisting therapy for so long. First of all, I was totally comfortable with this woman. Nearly my age, but in much better physical health, we found that we had many opinions, philosophies and likes in common. We both have cats who are very challenging to live with, yet we choose to love them. Our political views are totally alligned. We find certain types of people challenging, too. And, we choose to dislike them. We could talk for hours, but that one hour of counseling goes by very quickly. At the end of it, I have had several moments of insight for which I am deeply grateful. I'm learning how to confront some of the unpleasant aspects of my life and hopefully work my way through them so I can leave them behind me. I would go to see her daily if my insurance would pay for it! I encourage others to try therapy if your life seems overwhelming or you have feelings of sadness or unhappiness that you can't conquer on your own.
So I am presently not on any extra anti-depressants, just the one that cured twenty years of migraines. I am in the throws of yet another sinus infection which will most likely turn into another bout of bronchitis, I have extremely severe joint pain, a little kidney distress, mild anemia, insomnia and, of course, the depression that comes with this all-too-familiar misery. I will see my PCP in a couple of days and will undoubtedly walk out her door having had more blood drawn, with a handful of new Rx's, and an encouraging pat on the back. I may be a litttle down, but I'm not out. I am, however, getting very tired. My 'Golden Years' are actually brass, and they are tarnishing quickly. Please! Somebody toss me the brass polish...Now!
So, I went on this little magic pill. After several weeks, I asked my husband if he could tell a difference, because I really didn't. He said that he did. So, I called my doctor and said I wanted to increase the doseage to the next level (I had been started on a very low dose) because if 10mgs. was good, 20mgs. must be better, right? And, for a while it was. Then something happened, and it didn't help anymore. I told my PCP that I wanted to go off 'Vitanim P' because "it isn't helping me anymore". She told me to stay on it until she could come up with another suggestion, and I agreed.
She has been suggestingfor a few years that I try counseling , but I refused. Being married to a therapist, I thought that he could make it better. But, there are some issues that your spouse can't help you with because your relationship is just too close. Say I was angry at him. That's not going to work because he can't be objective, and neither can I. After a few more weeks, I finally agreed to try counseling. My PCP suggested a woman whom she was very familiar with and thought would be a good match for my personality. Reluctantly, and more than slightly sceptical, I agreed to give it a try.
At the end of our first session, I wanted to kick myself for resisting therapy for so long. First of all, I was totally comfortable with this woman. Nearly my age, but in much better physical health, we found that we had many opinions, philosophies and likes in common. We both have cats who are very challenging to live with, yet we choose to love them. Our political views are totally alligned. We find certain types of people challenging, too. And, we choose to dislike them. We could talk for hours, but that one hour of counseling goes by very quickly. At the end of it, I have had several moments of insight for which I am deeply grateful. I'm learning how to confront some of the unpleasant aspects of my life and hopefully work my way through them so I can leave them behind me. I would go to see her daily if my insurance would pay for it! I encourage others to try therapy if your life seems overwhelming or you have feelings of sadness or unhappiness that you can't conquer on your own.
So I am presently not on any extra anti-depressants, just the one that cured twenty years of migraines. I am in the throws of yet another sinus infection which will most likely turn into another bout of bronchitis, I have extremely severe joint pain, a little kidney distress, mild anemia, insomnia and, of course, the depression that comes with this all-too-familiar misery. I will see my PCP in a couple of days and will undoubtedly walk out her door having had more blood drawn, with a handful of new Rx's, and an encouraging pat on the back. I may be a litttle down, but I'm not out. I am, however, getting very tired. My 'Golden Years' are actually brass, and they are tarnishing quickly. Please! Somebody toss me the brass polish...Now!
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