Month: January 2000

When last I wrote, I was under the impression that my bronchitis was improving. I was wrong. When, after 4 full days of antibiotics, I was feeling no better – and in fact, was running a temp of 100.6 to 101.2 – I dragged my ass back to the doctor’s office. Yesterday morning, this was. It was my intent to get to the office directly at 8, which is when they open, so I wouldn’t have to wait for very long.

Ha.

Although the office doesn’t open until 8, they’ll apparently let people in to sign in ten minutes prior. When I waltzed in at two minutes before 8, there were no fewer than 13 people signed in ahead of me (in fact, there were exactly 13 people. I counted), and the waiting room was crammed full. I only had to sit in the waiting room for an hour (and had expected to wait much longer) before they led me back to make my co-payment and have my blood pressure and temperature taken. The nice nurse was working, and she didn’t try to weigh me, thankyajesus. Then she led me back to exam room #3, which seems to be the very exam room I always end up in. I settled in with my book, ready for a good, long wait. Imagine my surprise when nice Dr. Webster showed up less than two minutes later. He listened to my lungs, listened to my heart, and listened to my tales of woe, then proclaimed I needed stronger drugs and told me he’d be right back.

A man after my own heart.

Instead of nice Dr. Webster, though, the next person to come through the door was the nurse who’d taken my blood pressure and temperature. She was there to take blood, she told me, and then they were going to do a chest x-ray. As I sat down in the chair next to the counter upon which she was laying her blood-taking tools, she inquired if I was "hard to stick."

Ohhhhhhh, yes, am I hard to stick. I’ve had tons of blood taken in my life, and after about the age of 18, if I’ve needed blood taken, they’ve had to get the "expert" to do it. And sometimes it’s taken the "expert" two or three sticks to get the job done. As you can imagine, having blood taken is just a thrill a minute for me, as I generally attempt to lend a hand. "Usually, they get blood from here…"

In any case, after trying the back of my left hand, the nurse gave up ("I don’t want to stick you more than once," she told me. "And I’m sure you don’t want me to keep sticking you!" Indeed) and got the "expert" to do it. The "expert" in this case happened to be nice Dr. Webster. He managed to find a vein in my right arm, and stuck the needle in then stuck it in some more and some more (godalmighty doesn’t it hurt when they have to do that) and got enough blood for the lab to do a CBC. Then it was off to the x-ray room where I was posed in weird ways – mostly for the x-ray guy’s amusement, I suspect – and then back to exam room #3 to wait.

The upshot: I have pneumonia. They popped me in the ass with an antibiotic shot, observed me for 20 minutes to make sure I’d had no reaction to the shot, gave me more prescriptions, and I arrived back home around 10:30. Where a frantic Fred opened the garage door and all but threw himself at my feet sobbing "Where have you been?" I gave him my usual annoyed look. "At the doctors. Where else would I be?" He told me that he’d gotten so concerned that 20 minutes earlier he’d called the doctor’s office, whereupon the front desk guy (instead of the sweet, size negative four girl who runs the front desk with an iron fist during the week and always calls me "ma’am") looked at the sign-in sheet, told Fred I’d signed in at 8, so I must be gone by now.

In any case, I sent Fred to the grocery store to get my prescriptions filled and buy me some junk food (he only has bronchitis, you know. Nothing like the real illness I’m suffering from), and then spent the rest of the day napping and watching The Thomas Crown Affair. I really like Rene Russo, but she was incredibly annoying in that movie. The big, loud Julia-Roberts-type braying laugh was just getting all over my nerves.

I’m 32 today. In fact, I think I turned 32 somewhere around 5 this morning. 32 years ago, it was the coldest day of the year in Bangor, Maine, my mother would be more than happy to point out.

I intend to celebrate my birthday by hacking up a lung and doing some long-overdue laundry. The spud has been reduced to wearing too-small dresses, since it’s been a week and a half since I’ve done her laundry. Maybe I’ll even pay some bills! Oh, the excitement…

How the fuck did I get to be 32, that’s all I’d like to know. I swear to god, just yesterday I was cruising around with Liz and her not-yet-husband, Herman, blasting Whitesnake and driving all over hell and creation looking for trouble. *sigh* The years go fast, don’t they?

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Fred still felt pretty crappy this morning, and so we both stayed home from work. As usual when Fred stays home from work, Tex called a thousand times with questions or comments. It simply doesn’t occur to him that Fred might not want to spend all the live-long day dealing with work stuff when he’s not feeling well.

The spud started back at school today. Finally. She was as relieved to be going back as we were to see her go, I think. She didn’t have to be dragged out of bed this morning at 6:15, not even after two and a half weeks of sleeping until 8 or later. I helped her change her earrings, reminded her to put the dishes in the dishwasher away, and at 7:00 sharp, she was out the door to catch the bus.

However, I suspect she misplaced some brain cells over christmas vacation. She got home from school, had a snack, and began studying math. She’s been having problems in math this year – the whole long division thing is completely baffling her – and every day she’s required to sit and study for half an hour. Today, she brought some problems downstairs for Fred to help her with. I didn’t listen to the whole conversation, but what I did hear went something like:

Fred: Well, what’s 8 times 1?

Spud: 10?

Yikes! That can’t be good… Maybe we let her watch too much TV over vacation. That I Love Lucy sure can rot the brain cells.

I caught Monica Lewinsky on Larry King Monday night, and I have to say this: I like her. She seems very nice, and who among us hasn’t made mistakes with men in the past? I mean, sure, we didn’t do it to quite that extent, but really. I’ve dated an ass or two for whom I wouldn’t want the whole world judging me. She made mistakes, and she’s dealing with it and trying to move on. She told Larry that she doesn’t get asked out, which led Fred to say "I don’t believe that! Do you?" I said "Yeah. Would you want to tell your Mom you were going out with Monica Lewinsky? I bet she hardly ever gets asked out." In the end, mostly what I feel is sorry for her. I’m sure she never thought things would turn out the way they did.

And that’s all I have to say ’bout that.

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Ohhhhhh, I’m dying. I dragged my ass out of bed at 7 this morning and went to the doctor’s office so I’d be there the minute they opened at 8. This time, I even brought a book, which I forgot to do last week when I took the spud and therefore spent the entire time staring blankly at the wall for 2 hours. There were only two people ahead of me, so I was in and out of the office in about 40 minutes, which is amazing for that place. I got my three prescriptions – antibiotic, decongestant, narcotic cough medicine – and I was back home a little less than an hour after I left, with a stop at the grocery store thrown in. Once home, I took the antibiotic, grabbed the spud and went to work. I would have called in sick, but there were reports and invoices and blahblahblah that had to be done today so they could be turned in. I told the spud we’d only be there for about half an hour.

Ha.

While we were on our way home, Fred was at his doctor’s office, having his blood sugar tested, having a flu test (they ram a very long Q-tip up your nose and wiggle it around) and having blood taken. The consensus there was that, since his white blood cell count was low, his bronchitis was viral rather than bacterial, so his doctor gave him something other than the antibiotics he’d been expecting. He got the really good cough syrup, though, and won’t share with me. The bastard.

I’m going to cut this short tonight, beloved readers. I’m feeling like total crap, and there are certain things I must do before dragging my ass upstairs. Like pay bills. If I fail to update tomorrow night, I’m either dead or just can’t force myself to sit in front of the computer for long enough to type up an entry. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, ’cause you know I do.

Woe is me.

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*Ring*Ring*

Fred: It’s for you

Robyn: Hello?

Debbie: Hi! I heard you had a little excitement today!

Robyn: …

Debbie: …

Robyn: I did?

Debbie: (laughs) Yeah! The earthquake…?

Robyn: …

Debbie: In Huntsville?

Robyn: We had an earthquake? Fred! Fred! (gets up to find Fred) Did you know we had an earthquake today?

Fred: No, that was in Limestone County

Robyn (to Debbie): Oh, that was apparently in Limestone County.

Debbie: Is that near you?

Robyn: It’s the next county over.

So we apparently had a 2.8 earthquake today about which I knew nothing. My sister in Maine knew not only all about the earthquake, but also that we are having inclement weather. When I stepped outside this morning and it was cloudy, 68 and muggy as hell, I knew there’d be a tornado watch by tonight.

We’re under a tornado watch, but it appears we’re in no imminent danger, so I’m not even going to skip updating tonight. Because that’s how much I love my readers! Yes, I know that Sara Astruc (I can’t find the link. don’t hate me because i’m too lazy to look for it) updated regularly during a hurricane, and should a hurricane come this way, I’ll risk life and limb to update. Because, yes, I love you all that much.

The only time I’ve ever truly feared for my life was during the first spring after we moved down here. Fred left to pick Spanky up at the vet’s office – Spanky’d just been neutered – and I left to pick the spud up at school – she was attending the after-school program. The school was only about two miles away, so I felt sure I could pick her up and be home before anything happened.

Ha.

By the time I got to the school, the sky was a frightening dark-blue, almost black, on one side of the school and a luminescent green on the other. The kids had been herded to the innermost part of the school and were huddled sitting on the floor in a classroom. I grabbed the spud and left, despite the after-school director’s suggestion that we stay at the school until the weather blew over. (Can you say "idiot"? I knew that you could.)

We were perhaps a quarter of a mile down the road when the winds picked up, almost pushing the car off the road. Then came torrential rains, and I could barely see the road. I made it to the one and only light we had to go through, and there was no one else around. I stopped at the red light (let me repeat: stopped at the red light) and waited for it to change. Almost casually, I glanced to the left, where there was a large empty field, which was located across the street from an apartment complex. Dangling over the field, was a newly forming funnel cloud.

Never in my entire adult life have I been so terrified. I hit the gas and ran the red light and drove the rest of the way home as fast as I dared, shaking and saying "Oh please, oh please" under my breath. For once in her life, the spud didn’t ask questions when I said "The instant the car stops, run for the front door!" We finally pulled into the parking lot, and the spud and I ran into the apartment and into the master bathroom, which was the innermost room in the apartment. I continued to shake for fifteen minutes before I calmed down. Fred called from the vet’s office, which was a fifteen – or twenty- minute drive away. He’d reached the vet’s office in time to join the mass exodus of pet owners and employees into the inner part of the building.

The bad weather passed within the hour, and I don’t think any funnel clouds hit the ground that day, but it was scary as hell to see one starting to form. I’ve had a lot more respect for the occasional tornado watch since that day, also. Since we’re smack dab in the middle of what they call "Tornado Alley", it very well may not be the last funnel cloud I see.

Then again, I may never see another one in my life. Who knows?

I’ve picked up a nasty cough over the last few days. No doubt I’ll develop bronchitis, since according to Debbie "There’s something nasty going around." Have you ever noticed that no matter when or how you get sick, someone will always tell you "Well, yeah, there’s something going around." Hell, I’ve said it myself without having heard any such thing. It’s funniest when you’re suffering from morning sickness. "Well, there’s something going around." "Yeah, don’t get too close, you’ll get pregnant, too…"

I took the spud to the doctor today for her re-check. We spent forty-five minutes waiting to see the doctor and about a minute and a half in his actual presence. He listened to her breathe for a minute, then said "Yep, sounds like she’s fine! Let me go write up the chart…" She’s feeling better, and we’re feeling worse. Hardly seems fair.

One more day of christmas vacation, and things go back to normal. Oh, joy (and I’m not being sarcastic)!

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Okay, no less than ten of you visited my entry for yesterday, and not a one of you wrote to tell me I’d misspelled millennium a hundred and forty times. Don’t go back and look; I fixed it already. It just doesn’t look right with two ns.

Much as I’ve enjoyed the last two weeks of working shorter hours – and having a lot of days off – I’ll be glad to have everything back to normal. Did I say (type) that? Hard to believe.

I could regale y’all with a blow-by-blow account of my last 24 hours, but it would be something along the lines of "took a nap, wandered around the house, surfed around online, ate dinner, wandered around the house, read some magazines, watched Bill Gates on Larry King, read some more."

Exciting, no?

I slept poorly last night, because I’m developing some sort of chest cold – I assume it will be a chest cold once it’s done developing; right now it’s lodged firmly at the back of my throat. Every time I’d turn over, the kitten would wake up and try to climb up onto my face. More than once, I woke up to find her kneading her claws on my bare boob. Yes, I sleep naked; aren’t you glad you know that? Usually she contents herself with curling up beside me and putting her cold nose on my arm, but last night I guess she felt especially content and needed to show it.

I apologize for the lameness and shortness of this entry, but there’s not much to say today and I needed to throw something up to appease the person (people?) who keep(s) coming to check for updates and run my stats up which gets me all excited until I realize what’s going on and I have to write a long, run-on sentence to explain it all.

I’m off to enjoy my last few hours of freedom; y’all do the same.

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Ya gotta choose your fights, people, and this is not an important one.

We actually stayed up until midnight to ring in the New Year – I’m surprised our staying up so late didn’t cause widespread looting and random shootings – as did the spud. There was a "Friday the 13th" marathon on one of the movie channels, which the spud watched, and Fred watched periodically between making popcorn on the stove in a pot (damn, it was good. so much better than the stuff we make in the popcorn popper!) and talking on IRC. I spent most of the evening reading magazines, then eventually came downstairs to check my email and stats, reading journal archives, and chatting on IRC. Yes, I know, how pathetic that we spent a good deal of the last few hours of 1999 chatting online. We’re lame dorks and you just can’t change us. We were, in fact, still in front of our respective computers when it turned midnight in New York City. I turned the TV on, and we turned from our computers to watch the event. I have to admit I was disappointed that we didn’t hear "Three! Two! One! ::static::" We were impressed with the fireworks and the confetti, though.

"Damn," Fred said. "Those New Yorkers sure know how to celebrate!" Yes, indeed.

We both went back upstairs at 11:30ish, Fred to sit in front of the TV with the spud to watch more Jason, and me to put on my nightgown and lay in bed and read. People outside in the neighborhood were setting off fireworks, which was making the kitten crazier than usual. She spent the last two hours of 1999 running back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. At twenty ’til midnight, Fred called "Twenty minutes!" I replied "Let me know when it’s ten!" He came into the bedroom and said, grinning, "So, you’re saying you’d rather spend the last few minutes of the millennium alone in the bedroom instead of with your family?" "I’m near my family," I responded. "Isn’t that good enough?"

I went out to the living room at ten ’til, and Fred flipped through channels until he found the Chicago countdown. We mutely watched the countdown and listened to the neighbors setting off fireworks, then kissed and the spud toddled off to her room and we to ours. We talked for ten or fifteen minutes, then went to sleep.

This is the first New Year’s I’ve stayed up for in, probably, five years. Last time I was up at midnight at New Year’s, it was because Debbie and Liz dragged me to a bar, and it sucked. I was married to the ex at the time, and he was stationed in South Carolina while the spud and I were living in Maine with Debbie and Brian. I was missing the ex, and watching people with their significant others’ and desperate people hooking up was not the most enjoyable evening. I’ve never enjoyed the whole bar experience, and thank god Fred feels the same.

Which reminds me, I forgot to drink the pina colada frozen mix packets I put in the freezer for New Year’s last year. We sure know how to party, eh?

 

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