When I went to pick up Devil Dog after his surgery I told the receptionist my name and she asked for my animals' name.
"Bruce, he's the yellow terror"
"Okay, honey, just wait here and I'll be back with Bruce" she says to me in her sweetest southern drawl after I had filled out the appropriate paper work.
The children and I wait in the waiting room. It wasn't long before we hear metal cages being rattled then something that sounded like a skuffle and then the harsh sound of metal slamming shut. I can't be certain but I think I heard a muffled curse word spoken with a southern accent. Moments later the southern belle receptionist reappears through the door and says,
"Oh honey, he's just a wee bit nervous after today's excitement. I think he'd like to see you first." I don't remember her eyes being quite that large or the beads of sweat on her upper lip when I last saw her 35 seconds ago.
"Yeah, he's not nervous that's just him." I say bluntly
I follow her into the recovery kennel. My children ask to come.
"No, kiddos if Brucey-Baby is in a mood I don't want you guys to be in a tight spot" in my most sweet southern-momma voice which was code for "the dog is the devil incarnate and I have a feeling that he's gonna try to take down this here sweet receptionist when I get him out of his detention cell. I'd hate for your sensitive eyes to see this amount of carnage" But I didn't use that harsh verbiage as not to scare my new receptionist friend. My children got me spot on and laughed, "Yeah, this is gonna be good." they say in unison as they crane their necks around the corner to get a front row look at the fight.
Out of the corner of my eye I see they are whispering. I think they are taking side bets. Jake makes the hand gesture for "5" and Simi shakes her head and returns with the "10" gesture. Are they talking money, stitches, or people needed to subdue DevilDog. I don't bother asking.....what good can come of it?
The receptionist leads the way down the corridor. I can hear him before I can see him.
Rattling cage door, growling, snarling, and then strange silence. I've come to know that silence with Bruce is deadly. Silence is not good with this dog. It means he's gonna do some nasty s*&$@ to somebody.
Then he sees me behind her.
He sits down and wags his tail and licks my hands. I open the door and he curls up in my lap wanting me to pick him up. Silly 50lb dog.
"Oh my sweet little poopsie were you acting naughty, you little stinker. Oh I missed your face buddy, awwww, did they treat you well today? I say to Bruce just to make the receptionist (who was standing behind the metal door protecting herself from the gila monster who was sitting on my lap) feel inadequate.
My children are laughing. Jake yells down the corridor, "Guess he didn't like that lady too much."
"Oh that's nice, he just wanted to see somebody he knew. I've never seen a dog be so unfriendly after being so heavily sedated" says the southern belle
I thank her and take Bruce out to the car with his pain meds and stack of post-op instructions.
As Devil-dog is taking a whizz on the electric fence I read his surgery notes.
"***CAUTION***" is highlighted and triple starred on the top of the report "***MUZZLE****"
Interesting.....something tells me Brucey Baby was a bit of a pill today. I'll check YouTube just to be sure.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday night fun
Johnson Family Fun
Monday nights are the stuff.
Nice git-up, huh. Cheap Target bathing suit and expensive cowgirl' boots. Priorities.
FYI - in Simi's world: rain storm = bathing suit.
"This is my shot Mister.
Get your own paparazzi."
"Mom lets make funny faces together"
"Holy Nanny, your tongue is RED Mommy."
"Yes, Peach, that's what happens after drinking a strawberry Daiquiri"
Boys can't be bothered with taking 10,000 photos of funny faces. They are much too cerebral for that.
My little grand master.
The game was intense and when the game gets intense Mom gets to make one move. Any move. I don't know a darn about chess thus it's usually a fatal move for one of the opponents. Tonight it was to Eagle's benefit because I can't tell the difference between a queen and knight.
Devil Dog. After I told him what was going to happen to some personal parts he holds dear the next morning.
"oohf, that doesn't sound good."
I would like to marry this camera. 
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Yes Mom
Normally, I say 'no' or "do you have the money to buy it?" or "If you still want it in 2 weeks we'll come back" to my children when they make their requests. Mostly because their sense of fun and fashion are more expensive than Damn Ramsey budget will allow.
But my husband is gone and can't stop me.
The natives are restless.
And I like having a little fun every decade or so.
The kids and I loaded up in the car in route to the closest indoor shopping mall. It's only 98 degrees with 1000% humidity so playing outside has a certain risk attached to it.
But my husband is gone and can't stop me.
The natives are restless.
And I like having a little fun every decade or so.
The kids and I loaded up in the car in route to the closest indoor shopping mall. It's only 98 degrees with 1000% humidity so playing outside has a certain risk attached to it.
My kids laid eyes upon the huge indoor bungee Jump-O-Rama.
Oh happy day.
"Mom, can we please? I've always wanted to do that but the lines are always so long and there is ABSOLUTLY no one in line. Can we, Can we, Can we?"
Sure.
"What? Really?"
After the joy of jumping 30 feet into the air for 10 minutes and squeals of delight that could be heard from the food court we were off to the cowboy store.
I love the west. I googled "Wyoming ranches for sale" this morning.
75 results. I figured at least one can be mine someday I should start planning my wardrobe around it. (That last bit is a joke, I don't plan wardrobes, but my mom LOVES to so I threw that bit in there for her. Love you, Mom)
The kids picked out some new kicks.
Which they insist on wearing with athletic shorts.
Classy.
"Mom, can we get pretzels with mustard and lemon-aid while we watch the fish feeding at Bass Pro?" With big grins and cowboy boots upon their feet.
Sure.
"Oh mom, look at those Carmel apples. Have you ever had one?"
Yes, would you like one?
"Really? Can we?"
Sure.
"Mom you've never said yes this many times in a row before."
Once every 9 years the planets align and my wallet opens.
Come home
This post started out just the pic of Mr. Johnson and me. But since y'all don't love him and miss him like I do I included the other two pics of our recent beach trip to keep your interest. I knew I missed him but not until this moment do I want him home NOW!!!
I know this because:
I am looking for any excuse to post photos of him
Eating Wheat Thins for breakfast and for pretty much every meal since he's been gone
I've counted the hours until I see his face again.
De-Worming
One of the oh so many joys of living on a farm is de-worming. Horses, sheep, donkeys, cows, cats, dogs, goat....you name it (if it's been domesticated) I've dewormed it.
It's really glamorous, I know you wish you were me. There's so much to love about squirting 4 ounces of white paste down the gullet of an animal who doesn't want it there.
Most de-worming days are uneventful. However, when the stars align all hades breaks loose and every 4 legged creature has a death wish for me when they see me strolling across the pasture with a giant white tube. Today was that day.
I started with the smallest creature: 7lb. cat named Blazey. She looked the most docile and I can handle 7lbs. of crazy. At least I thought I could. She went spastic crazy. Claws out, crazy eyes, neck stiff, fur raised, spitting mad. She looked, in short, like a cat horror flick.
The other cats saw her display of evil and thought "hey, I should try that too" .
And they did. But they weigh A LOT more than 7 pounds. For instance, we have a cat, appropriately named Piggy Sue who hasn't left her post on top of the feed bags in 8 months. She makes a trip from the feed bags to the cat food and back about 11 times a day. It's no more than a 3 foot walk.
She's enormous....seriously huge. She looks like a baby hippopotamus.
Thinking her weight problem would be a hindrance to her agility and displeasure in the de-worming process since she loved to eat, I eyed her as an easy target. I was wrong. I held her in the crook of my arm and she new what was coming. She got to spitting, clawing, and cussing and I couldn't take it. She schooled me and I have the claw marks to prove it.
After these two dainty, lovely creatures I still had 5 more cats to attend to. None of them had a better attitude.
On to the horses who outweigh me by 1000 pounds but in most ways are much receptive to care than pesky felines. Not today.
Our resident Thoroughbred, PI (I haven't decided what these initials stand for. Private Inspector, Police Inquiry, 3.14159265, Polish Invasion, Post Intelligence, Pony Inferior.......), has held a long standing commitment to making my life hell for more than 3 years. He has deadly morning flatulence which I am convinced he holds until I pass behind him and then lets it rip, he poops in the barn ALL THE TIME and pees in the hay every chance he gets, he gets about 14 gallons of sweet feed a day but chooses to eat it one pellet at a time, and my least favorite PI characteristic: he hates de-worming like I hate snot suckers (more than just a little).
He's consistent.
I left the tube out of his line of sight and slipped the halter over his head and attached the lead rope to a support post in the barn. He could sense what was coming his way and lashed out. Bucking, rearing, ears laid back, kicking and sitting down before I even brought the tube out of it's hiding spot. I got the job done after 30 minutes and some one's head (not mine) was made immobile.
I'm wiped out and the kids aren't even out of bed yet.
I'm considering drinking my breakfast at Starbucks.
It's really glamorous, I know you wish you were me. There's so much to love about squirting 4 ounces of white paste down the gullet of an animal who doesn't want it there.
Most de-worming days are uneventful. However, when the stars align all hades breaks loose and every 4 legged creature has a death wish for me when they see me strolling across the pasture with a giant white tube. Today was that day.
I started with the smallest creature: 7lb. cat named Blazey. She looked the most docile and I can handle 7lbs. of crazy. At least I thought I could. She went spastic crazy. Claws out, crazy eyes, neck stiff, fur raised, spitting mad. She looked, in short, like a cat horror flick.
The other cats saw her display of evil and thought "hey, I should try that too" .
And they did. But they weigh A LOT more than 7 pounds. For instance, we have a cat, appropriately named Piggy Sue who hasn't left her post on top of the feed bags in 8 months. She makes a trip from the feed bags to the cat food and back about 11 times a day. It's no more than a 3 foot walk.
She's enormous....seriously huge. She looks like a baby hippopotamus.
Thinking her weight problem would be a hindrance to her agility and displeasure in the de-worming process since she loved to eat, I eyed her as an easy target. I was wrong. I held her in the crook of my arm and she new what was coming. She got to spitting, clawing, and cussing and I couldn't take it. She schooled me and I have the claw marks to prove it.
After these two dainty, lovely creatures I still had 5 more cats to attend to. None of them had a better attitude.
On to the horses who outweigh me by 1000 pounds but in most ways are much receptive to care than pesky felines. Not today.
Our resident Thoroughbred, PI (I haven't decided what these initials stand for. Private Inspector, Police Inquiry, 3.14159265, Polish Invasion, Post Intelligence, Pony Inferior.......), has held a long standing commitment to making my life hell for more than 3 years. He has deadly morning flatulence which I am convinced he holds until I pass behind him and then lets it rip, he poops in the barn ALL THE TIME and pees in the hay every chance he gets, he gets about 14 gallons of sweet feed a day but chooses to eat it one pellet at a time, and my least favorite PI characteristic: he hates de-worming like I hate snot suckers (more than just a little).
He's consistent.
I left the tube out of his line of sight and slipped the halter over his head and attached the lead rope to a support post in the barn. He could sense what was coming his way and lashed out. Bucking, rearing, ears laid back, kicking and sitting down before I even brought the tube out of it's hiding spot. I got the job done after 30 minutes and some one's head (not mine) was made immobile.
I'm wiped out and the kids aren't even out of bed yet.
I'm considering drinking my breakfast at Starbucks.
Monday, July 5, 2010
What I thought about today
Things that have crossed my mind today:
1. Body odor. I should consider reversing my deodorant prohibition during the months of July and August. For the good of the nation.
2. Habanero almonds. I will eat about 10 pounds this week.
3. Steel Magnolias. My mascara is on my shirt.
4. Sore ankle. Devil Dog thought it would be a good idea to bear his teeth and growl at my first born.....bad, bad, bad idea Bruce. I'll let you use your imagination on why my ankle is sore. Hint: it has something to do with my dog's nasty disposition.
5. Vegetarianism. I have to think more about it........but I really want to buy and run a cattle farm in Montana (I'd be happy with Wyoming too) and I don't think I could do that being a veggie.
6. Parenting. It's hard as hoo-hoos right now. I'd rather pop in a few thousand Tom and Jerry movies and not deal with it. But I will. Because I have a vision for my children and nasty attitudes, laziness, and sassy-ness are not included in my vision.
7. Being sad. Ugg, I don't wanna. Because will I ever be happy if I start being sad? I more comfortable with mad.
8. Mr. Johnson is the best thing ever. Even better than owning a ranch in Montana (or Wyoming). I miss him....already.
8a. Bed time. I don't wanna. Unless Mr. Johnson is here keeping the bed warm...and he's not because he's out of town.
chow....I gotta go to bed so I can get up at the crack of an ungodly hour to feed a few entitled horses.
1. Body odor. I should consider reversing my deodorant prohibition during the months of July and August. For the good of the nation.
2. Habanero almonds. I will eat about 10 pounds this week.
3. Steel Magnolias. My mascara is on my shirt.
4. Sore ankle. Devil Dog thought it would be a good idea to bear his teeth and growl at my first born.....bad, bad, bad idea Bruce. I'll let you use your imagination on why my ankle is sore. Hint: it has something to do with my dog's nasty disposition.
5. Vegetarianism. I have to think more about it........but I really want to buy and run a cattle farm in Montana (I'd be happy with Wyoming too) and I don't think I could do that being a veggie.
6. Parenting. It's hard as hoo-hoos right now. I'd rather pop in a few thousand Tom and Jerry movies and not deal with it. But I will. Because I have a vision for my children and nasty attitudes, laziness, and sassy-ness are not included in my vision.
7. Being sad. Ugg, I don't wanna. Because will I ever be happy if I start being sad? I more comfortable with mad.
8. Mr. Johnson is the best thing ever. Even better than owning a ranch in Montana (or Wyoming). I miss him....already.
8a. Bed time. I don't wanna. Unless Mr. Johnson is here keeping the bed warm...and he's not because he's out of town.
chow....I gotta go to bed so I can get up at the crack of an ungodly hour to feed a few entitled horses.
Character
I am pissed at two specific members of the youth population. However, these are not unique youth, they are your everyday variety of wanna-be thug with equal parts attitude, disdain and entitlement. It all went down like this.
The kids and I were eating watermelon and lasagna talking about our day around the dinner table. Laughing and agreeing on the best and worst parts of our day when the dust of a darkly-tinted white coup caught my attention mostly because of the high rate of speed it achieved coming down my driveway. I watch with some curiosity as the driver took the curve in our circle drive at approximately 38 miles an hour. I expected Richard Petty to walk up to my door and try to sell me some Goody Power.
Instead of Richard Petty, two scrawny half dressed male teenagers I had never before laid eyes upon exited the vehicle and approached the pasture fence as the car and driver exited the property as quickly as she had arrived. My first thought: Bruce will get them. Not so, Bruce was much too intently feasting his eyes upon our lasagna to get his butt of the porch and investigate.
Sorry animal. Geesh, if one's gift is to be "mean as hell" shouldn't that gift be used at all times?
Since my guard dog fell down on the job I was up to bat.
The kids and I put on our shoes and walked down to the barn to investigate. The youth spotted me and proceeded to walk away further into the pasture without acknowledging my presence.
"Good afternoon, Gentlemen. I don't believe we've met."
grunts coming from the direction of the youth. Something about knowing someone who has a horse here and then more mumbles and failed eye contact as he sipped from his Big Gulp Slushy.
Let me take a moment to set the scene.
Youth one: Shirtless, jeans clinging to his lower thighs, bleached blonde hair, and 7 body piercing (2 of these were nipple piercings) that I counted. His underwear were blue-pinstriped and I am absolutely FURIOUS that I now know this intimate detail of a perfect stranger all the while holding a Big Gulp Slushy.
Youth two: Fully clothed with 5 known piercings and a hint of a bicep tattoo.
My sweet, innocent children and their equally modest young friend were standing about 2 feet behind me witnessing the whole scene.
"I am Elizabeth and I own this barn. Since you are not a boarder here or with a boarder you can not be with the horses in the pastures for liability reasons. Feel free to wait in this area, gesturing with my hands, to wait for your escort to come back."
Dumb looks.....Do they speak English I wonder? I consider translating into Ebonics.
''And young man pull your pants up. My children are here as well as myself and have no interest in your underwear."
Young man eyes me (or maybe that's just how his face looks).
I stare at him not moving my position until I see his his right is making progress to release his slushy and raise his trousers 18 inches to his waist. Why must I parent other people's children? I ask myself. Where is public decency and respect of persons?
Reluctantly, after a few long awkward moments young man pulls his britches up but has to hold them there as they are 15 sizes too large for his frame. I imagine the young man is sizing me up. I mean business. I've clean up cat crap with more character that this creep and he can sense it.
I politely go about my business moving horses and feeding. My children are snickering. They think it's funny that mommy is such a hard-ass to perfect strangers.
As I round the corner with a young colt that requires more attention than I am willing to give my new young guests I notice that youth #1 has let his britches fall and is standing about 5 feet from my impressionable children. Did I mention that this young person has about 16 pounds of metal hanging from his face and nipples?
"Young man, I was serious about your pants. If you can not keep your pants in the vicinity of your navel, leave. I do not appreciate your style and I can not lead my children to believe that this is acceptable dress, you are not a role model for my children."
More snickers from the peanut gallery behind me.
Youth #2 thinks this a good time to pipe up and enter the conversation for the first time. What he says surprises me.
"Yeah man you need a belt. Just hold your pants up until B gets back." Yes ma'am we understand, we will leave and wait for our ride by the road."
There were several more yes ma'am's and I understands. I don't really care. Just get your punk self out of my face.
Apparently, youth #2 had a mother who cared at some point. She had done a wonderful job instilling maternal fear into her spawn that is until she let her son hang out with this riffraff. I believe he sensed a moment was coming and it wasn't going to be pretty and he was right. He seized the opportunity to save his friends' neck from my surprisingly strong death grip around his neck.
His friend should really thank him.
Somehow I don't think that will happen.
My children and I went about our business feeding, watering, grooming and riding our horses. We talked about character, respect, and morals. About what is in your brain is reflected though your dress, attitude and the way other perceive you. I also mentioned that if any one of them came home with a nipple ring or any other disgusting metal adornment I would let Bruce the Devil Dog rip it from their flesh with his teeth.
They liked the thought of that for these two young men.
Mothers and fathers of America, when did it become okay to raise such unimpressive youth? When did Nickelodeon and MTV become acceptable parenting? What happened to:
hard work
respect
humbleness
eye contact
gratefulness
thankfulness
determination
honesty
persistence
cleanliness
helpfulness
loyal
trustworthiness
bravery
reverence
and clothing that covers all required areas of the anatomy.
****Side note**** where are these teens getting their clothing? Surely none of them are employed by a respectable corporation as no employer who wishes to turn an income would hire these children with 15 pounds and metal in their face and buttocks exposed to the elements. So are mom and dad buying kids this attire?
If we don't do the dirty job of parenting the world will and the world isn't nearly as nice about it as mommy.
I'm living proof.
The kids and I were eating watermelon and lasagna talking about our day around the dinner table. Laughing and agreeing on the best and worst parts of our day when the dust of a darkly-tinted white coup caught my attention mostly because of the high rate of speed it achieved coming down my driveway. I watch with some curiosity as the driver took the curve in our circle drive at approximately 38 miles an hour. I expected Richard Petty to walk up to my door and try to sell me some Goody Power.
Instead of Richard Petty, two scrawny half dressed male teenagers I had never before laid eyes upon exited the vehicle and approached the pasture fence as the car and driver exited the property as quickly as she had arrived. My first thought: Bruce will get them. Not so, Bruce was much too intently feasting his eyes upon our lasagna to get his butt of the porch and investigate.
Sorry animal. Geesh, if one's gift is to be "mean as hell" shouldn't that gift be used at all times?
Since my guard dog fell down on the job I was up to bat.
The kids and I put on our shoes and walked down to the barn to investigate. The youth spotted me and proceeded to walk away further into the pasture without acknowledging my presence.
"Good afternoon, Gentlemen. I don't believe we've met."
grunts coming from the direction of the youth. Something about knowing someone who has a horse here and then more mumbles and failed eye contact as he sipped from his Big Gulp Slushy.
Let me take a moment to set the scene.
Youth one: Shirtless, jeans clinging to his lower thighs, bleached blonde hair, and 7 body piercing (2 of these were nipple piercings) that I counted. His underwear were blue-pinstriped and I am absolutely FURIOUS that I now know this intimate detail of a perfect stranger all the while holding a Big Gulp Slushy.
Youth two: Fully clothed with 5 known piercings and a hint of a bicep tattoo.
My sweet, innocent children and their equally modest young friend were standing about 2 feet behind me witnessing the whole scene.
"I am Elizabeth and I own this barn. Since you are not a boarder here or with a boarder you can not be with the horses in the pastures for liability reasons. Feel free to wait in this area, gesturing with my hands, to wait for your escort to come back."
Dumb looks.....Do they speak English I wonder? I consider translating into Ebonics.
''And young man pull your pants up. My children are here as well as myself and have no interest in your underwear."
Young man eyes me (or maybe that's just how his face looks).
I stare at him not moving my position until I see his his right is making progress to release his slushy and raise his trousers 18 inches to his waist. Why must I parent other people's children? I ask myself. Where is public decency and respect of persons?
Reluctantly, after a few long awkward moments young man pulls his britches up but has to hold them there as they are 15 sizes too large for his frame. I imagine the young man is sizing me up. I mean business. I've clean up cat crap with more character that this creep and he can sense it.
I politely go about my business moving horses and feeding. My children are snickering. They think it's funny that mommy is such a hard-ass to perfect strangers.
As I round the corner with a young colt that requires more attention than I am willing to give my new young guests I notice that youth #1 has let his britches fall and is standing about 5 feet from my impressionable children. Did I mention that this young person has about 16 pounds of metal hanging from his face and nipples?
"Young man, I was serious about your pants. If you can not keep your pants in the vicinity of your navel, leave. I do not appreciate your style and I can not lead my children to believe that this is acceptable dress, you are not a role model for my children."
More snickers from the peanut gallery behind me.
Youth #2 thinks this a good time to pipe up and enter the conversation for the first time. What he says surprises me.
"Yeah man you need a belt. Just hold your pants up until B gets back." Yes ma'am we understand, we will leave and wait for our ride by the road."
There were several more yes ma'am's and I understands. I don't really care. Just get your punk self out of my face.
Apparently, youth #2 had a mother who cared at some point. She had done a wonderful job instilling maternal fear into her spawn that is until she let her son hang out with this riffraff. I believe he sensed a moment was coming and it wasn't going to be pretty and he was right. He seized the opportunity to save his friends' neck from my surprisingly strong death grip around his neck.
His friend should really thank him.
Somehow I don't think that will happen.
My children and I went about our business feeding, watering, grooming and riding our horses. We talked about character, respect, and morals. About what is in your brain is reflected though your dress, attitude and the way other perceive you. I also mentioned that if any one of them came home with a nipple ring or any other disgusting metal adornment I would let Bruce the Devil Dog rip it from their flesh with his teeth.
They liked the thought of that for these two young men.
Mothers and fathers of America, when did it become okay to raise such unimpressive youth? When did Nickelodeon and MTV become acceptable parenting? What happened to:
hard work
respect
humbleness
eye contact
gratefulness
thankfulness
determination
honesty
persistence
cleanliness
helpfulness
loyal
trustworthiness
bravery
reverence
and clothing that covers all required areas of the anatomy.
****Side note**** where are these teens getting their clothing? Surely none of them are employed by a respectable corporation as no employer who wishes to turn an income would hire these children with 15 pounds and metal in their face and buttocks exposed to the elements. So are mom and dad buying kids this attire?
If we don't do the dirty job of parenting the world will and the world isn't nearly as nice about it as mommy.
I'm living proof.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Daydream
This baby bird wasn't ready to fly the coop. He/she stayed around for an hour or so and then flew off with his/her mom and dad.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Goodbye June 28th....I CAN wait a year to see you again.
Relief comes in all forms. At the end of this stressful day it looks like this:
1. Dinner. Shannon bringing me, no lie, the BEST meal of my entire life. It was perfect, yummy, wholesome and wonderful. Thank you Shannon. Your chocolate cake makes the world a better place.
2. Cipro. I can pee without pain again. Back pain, fever, chills, and fatigue still around ....but feeling better.
3. Sarah Price aka Perfect Playmate. My son is happy, excited, laughing, and having fun......those things haven't happened recently for him.
4. 7:36pm. The sun is low, my family is happy, healthy and under one roof.
I am grateful. It's been a long day.
1. Dinner. Shannon bringing me, no lie, the BEST meal of my entire life. It was perfect, yummy, wholesome and wonderful. Thank you Shannon. Your chocolate cake makes the world a better place.
2. Cipro. I can pee without pain again. Back pain, fever, chills, and fatigue still around ....but feeling better.
3. Sarah Price aka Perfect Playmate. My son is happy, excited, laughing, and having fun......those things haven't happened recently for him.
4. 7:36pm. The sun is low, my family is happy, healthy and under one roof.
I am grateful. It's been a long day.
Room #8
Today started out like most others. A date with Bruce (aka Devil Dog) at the park at 5:45 for our morning stroll.
When I got home my husband was leaning on the kitchen counter staring into the distance. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure"
"I've had chest pains since I woke this morning....a lot of pains"
"What?" "Really?" secretly thinking...."Oh God not now"
We head to the hospital after he makes a few arrangements and my mom comes over to entertain two wholly unentertainable children.
Not much to say in the car. Just don't wreck, pay attention.
As the triage nurse shows us to Mr. Johnson's room she passes 20 unoccupied rooms.....TWENTY. At the end of a long hallway, the very last door, that room has many memories for me. Hard memories that I wish I could forget. "Oh please Lord, don't let us go into that room.....not now, not ever. I want to forget" I pray. As the room gets closer my mind begs my feet not to enter the room, I get nauseous, I don't want to be here. Is there any other room? Please not this one. Sweating, shaking, and fear. Has anything happened in this room that isn't sad? It's just a bad omen. Every cell in me pleads not to go in.
It's been 4 months today.
That room, the one I'd rather forget or better yet never experienced, is the room we are placed. As we enter the room the wall mounted TV was tuned to the soccer match. All I could hear was the blaring white noise of the horns and think my soul feels a lot like that right now.
It was weird to watch Mr. Johnson on the bed. It's my bed. The last place I was before it all fell apart. I remember every detail. The worried look on Mr. Johnson's face then is the same look upon my face now. The pink puke cups on the counter, and curtain that couldn't shield me from reality. It was all there. It looked so sterile. I thought about all the people who've had their lives altered in this room. Now my life would be altered in this very room again. Why here? Why not down the hall?
Mr. Johnson is stoic. I try but my eyes rim with hot tears. "Don't loose it now. Wait until I get home....not now" I plead with myself. Why didn't I wear waterproof mascara today? I saw it in the make-up stash and remember thinking, "Huh, it's been a while since I've worn that maybe I should throw it out."
I try to watch the soccer game. Mr. Johnson looks so different in a hospital gown. So vulnerable. So frail. I hate it. Should I talk? Does he want me to talk? I'm so nervous.
The cardiac nurse comes in to do some sort of an X-ray and asks me to wait outside the room. I stand in the hall and look at all the rooms full of people who may not receive good news today. Maybe today they will receive the worst news of their whole life today in this hospital just feet away from me, tucked away out of sight behind huge metal doors. I want to hug them and cry.
A nurse with blood collecting tools comes up and stands next to me in the hall. She is polite and friendly and makes chit chat. She asks me to stand further away from Mr. Johnson's room because of the radiation given off by the X-ray machine. "Your young" she says to me, "you'll want to protect those ovaries because you'll have some beautiful children someday." I start to cry and said "I wish that were true" but didn't let her see my face.
"Do you think we were put in this room for a reason?" he asks me when I come back in.
I don't know.
While we wait for results our friends and our pastor with his wife come in. Just having them there was comforting. Maybe the world won't spin out of control if other people are with us. Abby, the preacher's wife starts to cry when she's talking to me. My eyes rim again. I can't fall apart not here, not now.
The doctor enters the room. He's smiling and walks in briskly. My doctors didn't. They talked in low tones and slowly with no smile upon their faces. Being the bearer of bad news changes people. Thankfully, all of Mr. Johnson's tests came back normal. It was only stress. Some people do leave this room with good news I suppose. I am eternally thankful.
They pray for us. David (our friend) prays for "a cure for our broken-hearts" I love him. Mr. Johnson starts to cry after the prayer. I can't hold it together anymore. I sit on the bed with the intention of comforting him. I know how lonely that bed is. It's horrible. I sit with him with my head buried in his neck and arms stretched over his shoulders. Feeling him so close to me. I love him more than I love myself. I cry, and cry and cry and can't stop. "I need water proof mascara", I think. My body heaves and trembles. I can't stop and I don't want to stop. This room is horrible. I am cry for my husband and for me. He comforts me. Stokes my hair and then holds my head until I can breath on my own without him helping me.
He's perfect. I remember holding him when I was in that bed 4 months ago trying to comfort him. I wish we weren't here now doing this again. I wish I was stronger right now.
We gather our things and leave with good news. As we walked out I didn't even look back on the room that has altered our lives. I wonder if we'll ever see that room again and what news we'll hear in it.
When I got home my husband was leaning on the kitchen counter staring into the distance. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure"
"I've had chest pains since I woke this morning....a lot of pains"
"What?" "Really?" secretly thinking...."Oh God not now"
We head to the hospital after he makes a few arrangements and my mom comes over to entertain two wholly unentertainable children.
Not much to say in the car. Just don't wreck, pay attention.
As the triage nurse shows us to Mr. Johnson's room she passes 20 unoccupied rooms.....TWENTY. At the end of a long hallway, the very last door, that room has many memories for me. Hard memories that I wish I could forget. "Oh please Lord, don't let us go into that room.....not now, not ever. I want to forget" I pray. As the room gets closer my mind begs my feet not to enter the room, I get nauseous, I don't want to be here. Is there any other room? Please not this one. Sweating, shaking, and fear. Has anything happened in this room that isn't sad? It's just a bad omen. Every cell in me pleads not to go in.
It's been 4 months today.
That room, the one I'd rather forget or better yet never experienced, is the room we are placed. As we enter the room the wall mounted TV was tuned to the soccer match. All I could hear was the blaring white noise of the horns and think my soul feels a lot like that right now.
It was weird to watch Mr. Johnson on the bed. It's my bed. The last place I was before it all fell apart. I remember every detail. The worried look on Mr. Johnson's face then is the same look upon my face now. The pink puke cups on the counter, and curtain that couldn't shield me from reality. It was all there. It looked so sterile. I thought about all the people who've had their lives altered in this room. Now my life would be altered in this very room again. Why here? Why not down the hall?
Mr. Johnson is stoic. I try but my eyes rim with hot tears. "Don't loose it now. Wait until I get home....not now" I plead with myself. Why didn't I wear waterproof mascara today? I saw it in the make-up stash and remember thinking, "Huh, it's been a while since I've worn that maybe I should throw it out."
I try to watch the soccer game. Mr. Johnson looks so different in a hospital gown. So vulnerable. So frail. I hate it. Should I talk? Does he want me to talk? I'm so nervous.
The cardiac nurse comes in to do some sort of an X-ray and asks me to wait outside the room. I stand in the hall and look at all the rooms full of people who may not receive good news today. Maybe today they will receive the worst news of their whole life today in this hospital just feet away from me, tucked away out of sight behind huge metal doors. I want to hug them and cry.
A nurse with blood collecting tools comes up and stands next to me in the hall. She is polite and friendly and makes chit chat. She asks me to stand further away from Mr. Johnson's room because of the radiation given off by the X-ray machine. "Your young" she says to me, "you'll want to protect those ovaries because you'll have some beautiful children someday." I start to cry and said "I wish that were true" but didn't let her see my face.
"Do you think we were put in this room for a reason?" he asks me when I come back in.
I don't know.
While we wait for results our friends and our pastor with his wife come in. Just having them there was comforting. Maybe the world won't spin out of control if other people are with us. Abby, the preacher's wife starts to cry when she's talking to me. My eyes rim again. I can't fall apart not here, not now.
The doctor enters the room. He's smiling and walks in briskly. My doctors didn't. They talked in low tones and slowly with no smile upon their faces. Being the bearer of bad news changes people. Thankfully, all of Mr. Johnson's tests came back normal. It was only stress. Some people do leave this room with good news I suppose. I am eternally thankful.
They pray for us. David (our friend) prays for "a cure for our broken-hearts" I love him. Mr. Johnson starts to cry after the prayer. I can't hold it together anymore. I sit on the bed with the intention of comforting him. I know how lonely that bed is. It's horrible. I sit with him with my head buried in his neck and arms stretched over his shoulders. Feeling him so close to me. I love him more than I love myself. I cry, and cry and cry and can't stop. "I need water proof mascara", I think. My body heaves and trembles. I can't stop and I don't want to stop. This room is horrible. I am cry for my husband and for me. He comforts me. Stokes my hair and then holds my head until I can breath on my own without him helping me.
He's perfect. I remember holding him when I was in that bed 4 months ago trying to comfort him. I wish we weren't here now doing this again. I wish I was stronger right now.
We gather our things and leave with good news. As we walked out I didn't even look back on the room that has altered our lives. I wonder if we'll ever see that room again and what news we'll hear in it.
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