I am about halfway through the most delightful book. If you can, get your hands on a copy of The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules, by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg.
Five elderly people, friends since childhood, break out of a poorly-run senior home, and go on a mad romp across Sweden, having the time of their lives.
I promise you, it is a HOOT!
I had a bout of really severe chest pain Saturday afternoon (Hey! That was only yesterday!) and The Squire insisted upon taking me to See Some Body.
We opted to go to Patient First, simply because we knew it would be faster. MUCH faster. The parking lot was absolutely empty; we were afraid they were closed, in spite of the “8:00 to 10:00/365 days a year sign on the door. A notice in the waiting room said to interrupt if you were having chest pain, and they really did hop to it. A nice fellow from North Carolina – a former military medic – swapped stories with The Squire while I was hooked up to an EKG machine. After much backing-and-forthing I was put into an ambulance and transported to the local hospital.
Where we waited and waited and waited. An hour and a half before I was seen by anybody. I did get a chest X-ray, and blood drawn, and then I lay in the bed and read my book. For reasons which escape me, I had grabbed my anti-spasmodic meds as I ricocheted through the bathroom before we left, and as the time neared 9:00 PM I had The Squire get me a glass of water and took them. To cut to the chase, the doctor decided to admit me: A) I had chest pain radiating to my jaw, and B) I’m over 65. What with on thing and another, it was midnight before I even had a prayer of getting some rest. However, I did manage to sleep pretty soundly from 12 M to 4:30 AM, so no reason to complain, there.
It really was a good thing I’d taken those pills in the ER, because they weren’t included in the orders when I got to my room. However, they were on this list for this morning, and I turned them down. More on that in a moment.
I was NPO this morning, as they were taking me down for a stress test “early”. We all know how “early” that can be in a hospital. My nurse did call to find out where we stood and was told I was number five on the list. She’d forgotten to ask what number they were on, but called back to double check. “Within the hour.”
During the discussion with the nurse in Radiology, I learned the stress test involved my having to lie perfectly still for 20 to 25 minutes! Fat chance of that, unaided. We called up to my nurse’s station and she sent down one of the anti-spasmodics I had refused earlier. Worked a treat! I galloped along on the treadmill for a bit, and then went over to take a nap in a CT-scan sort of machine. I drifted off to sleep, and The Squire met me in my room around 1:00, just in time for lunch. And thanks be to God for that! It had been just about 24 hours since we’d eaten lunch back at the Rice Paddy.
After I ate, the nurse removed the IV port from my arm, put on a bandage, and went about her business. A few moments later, The Squire put his head out my door and yelled, “Hey! My wife is bleeding in here!” I had blood everywhere! On the floor, on the bedclothes, and on MY clothes. I was holding one hand my elbow, catching blood as it continued to pour from my veins. What a mess!
All day long, everyone was very nice, very pleasant, and professional, and the food at the hospital was really good.
In the middle of all this commotion, The Squire was in charge of the parish’s Mother’s Day Brunch. Everything had been bought, and he had a crew to help him, but he did have to show up and boss people around for a while. He said Blazer simply refused to leave his post outside the bedroom door, waiting for Mummy to come back. It was a struggle to get him to go out to make a puddle.
Local daughter was cleaning out the garage, and her granddaughter (our great-grand, in case you lost count) offered to “help”.
The garden hose was in use, and LD was going barefoot, but the Munchkin wanted boots. Then, because Mimi was wearing gloves, the Munchkin also had to have a pair.
And here she is, all dressed up and ready to work!
This is the label from the shrimp dish we had for dinner this evening. There are five skewers in the box. According to the label, five skewers equals three and a half servings. Who comes up with these things, anyway? How do you divide five pieces among three and a half people? Who has a half a person in their family? A small child, perhaps?
And, for what it’s worth, these things were hot enough to catch fire all by themselves. We both enjoy Szechuan food but, Lawsy! Woo-hoo! There was a second type – garlic and pepper – and we might consider trying those next time.
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“This is Brianna”, she said.
“I’m calling from the mortgage company”, she said.
“I need a copy of your husband’s death certificate”, she said.
We won’t go into what I said, thank you very much. Apparently the dear man has been dead and gone since October of 2015. And the rat didn’t even tell me! Yeesh.
Yesterday I hauled myself out of bed at 5 AM to begin putting drops in my eyes in preparation for cataract surgery. Every ten minutes, for two hours! In between, I fed the critters, inside and out, and took a shower. I was NPO, but I woke The Squire at 6:00 so he, at least, could get some breakfast. One of us needed to be civil, and it obviously wasn’t going to be me.
We got to the Eye Center in plenty of time, and sat around for half an hour. Why don’t they schedule things more realistically? Then we discovered I’d handed the receptionist the wrong insurance card and she wanted $$300-some dollars. We’d been issued new insurance cards the first of the year, but they are not dated, which explained why I was still carrying the old one; luckily The Squire had his card in his wallet, so that was settled without bloodshed.
The getting-ready was about as easy as anything I’ve ever done. Take off my blouse and lay down. They told me I didn’t even have to take off my shoes, but I’m already done so. I explained to the anesthesiologist about my problem with anything over my face, and she promised me they’d take care of that before I awakened. The surgeon came in and spoke to me and then drew a circle above my left eye – “So we do the correct one”.
I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the recovery area – with my legs trying to run away without me. Every other time I’ve ever had any sort of surgery I not only didn’t have Restless Leg Syndrome but I didn’t need any medication for a night or two afterward. This time – boy, howdy! They strongly recommended I take my anticonvulsant before I come in next time, NPO or not.
I was a bit disappointed when we removed the bandages that my vision was so blurry. The Squire was upset that I couldn’t see as well as he could right off the bat. I feel as if I’m looking in a foggy mirror after having gotten out of the shower. This is normal, and it is already getting better. By Thursday or Friday I should be good to go. And then, they want to do the right eye! I didn’t realize it was bad enough to need correcting, but the doctor told me that was only because it looked good compared to how bad this eye was. Once I see clearly with my left eye, I’ll know how bad the right one is. Makes sense.
The business with the shoes was that I am not supposed to bend over or do anything strenuous for the next three days. The Squire had to help me get dressed this morning. He also had to feed all of the critters and lug the bread machine out of the cupboard. I was able to set the table all by myself.
However, I’m not allowed to run the vacuum or unload the dishwasher. Oh, such a pity!
I am fairly well-known for being OCD – or, in my case, CDO as the letters must be in order. I’m a nut about making sure the hymnals and prayer books are neatly place in the racks (I’ve been known to “tidy up” the pews when I visit another church.) Light switches must all be facing one direction – all up, or all down. My spices are in alphabetical order, and all of the girls names begin with the same letter and the oldest has four letters in her name, the middle girl was five letters, and the youngest has six. However, that was entirely accidental.
Our friend Mac speaks English as if it was a second language (it isn’t) and his wife is not much better.
This evening as we were leaving the parish hall after our knitting group, I walked out of the hall in the dark, so I could get all of the light switches in order. Mrs. Mac laughed at me, and remarked that I was “just too, too AC/DC.”
I should hope not!
About halfway through the service this morning some one came into church and asked if The Squire would come help with a problem. The smoke alarm in the kitchen was going off and nobody could get it to quit.
Lovely.
By the time the service was over the alarm was still going full tilt. The Squire tried calling the phone number above the above the alarm panel, but the service has been changed and that was the number for the old company, not the new one. Not only could we not get it to turn off, but the alarm system had already called the fire department. The neighbours were treated not only to a non-stop claxon, but the bells and whistles of the local VFD. 
The firemen were no luckier than we were with getting the alarm to stop. One fellow even climbed up on the countertop to reach the box, but even after he removed the battery the fool thing kept on blaring.
AHA!
In the midst of all this commotion, The Squire realized the noise was not coming from above the door but nearer the stove. On Thursday, somebody had pulled the Carbon Monoxide detector out of the electric outlet to plug in a crock pot for the weekly soup supper, and forgot to plug it back in, which means it was running on batteries. When the battery went dead, the alarm started. And kept on and on and on.
There is peace in the valley once again. Whoosh!
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