Oh the Wonders of Anesthesia!

My husband, who shall remain nameless, but whose initials are Rick Crosby, had surgery on his old, decrepit knee on Tuesday this week. He’s been wearing a knee brace to play hockey for eight or nine years, ever since a catastrophic skiing day with our family in Canada. Finally two weeks ago, he completely tore his ACL and limped even with the brace on until this week.  Now he snores on the couch while his polar pack keeps his elevated knee nice and chilly.

The night after surgery is ALWAYS entertaining with this man. I should know. This is surgery #5 for us. Our children found his erratic comments highly entertaining and I scribbled them down as fast as I could so we could read them to him in the morning…. AND for your reading pleasure today. Here you go!

(He is wearing a full-leg support stocking on the non-hurt leg.) “Why is my white leotard dirty? Lin, how come it’s dirty?” I explained that he kneeled on the floor in the van to get his heavily medicated self into the vehicle for the ride home. “Well that carpet in the van is FILTHY!” (Not really.) I told him that we have another one that is clean for him to put on later. “Oh! I have two pair. Is it two pair or two pairs? Two pair. Two pairs. Do you know, Lin?” (He only has one pair.)

(To our two teenage boys) “What did you guys do today? … I had surgery!” (No duh!)

I asked Rick if he needed some pillows to prop himself up. “Yeah, some pillows or a hockey bag.” (How comfortable!)

“Lin, are you getting my pain pills at CSV?” (It’s called CVS.)

“Can I have some more pizza?” I explained that he couldn’t because he was supposed to take eating slowly after surgery. “I am going slow! It took me forever to eat those two pieces!”

(While I’m at the store….) “Nora, just bring me a piece of pizza and I will pay you a dollar. Your mom’s gone. She won’t know.” (Nice!)

(We were having a party dinner for Nora because it was her Gotcha Day, four years since she joined our family.) “How come everything is purple?”

(Nora started opening her gifts.) “What is taking her so long?” (It had been eight seconds.) “Someone help her!… Keeve, help your sister!… Is she almost done opening her birthday presents?”

(Nora opened a purple headband.) “Is that a halter top?” (Oh my!)

I wanted to take a picture of Nora and her Daddy for Gotcha Day. When I finished, Rick asked, “Who else wants to get their picture taken with me?” Both boys said, “No, I’m good!” Rick yelled, “Keeve get over here!” So we have pictures of the boys both laughing so hard as they get their pictures taken with him.

“I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten for 20 hours.” I reminded him of the two pieces of pizza he just ate and told him to drink his water. “I will! Holy smokes, this straw is HUGE!”

“Hey…. um… are the Oilers playing tonight?” (Edmonton Oilers, his favorite hockey team.) Austin replied sarcastically, “Yes, and the score is two to three and Gretzky just scored!” (Gretzky hasn’t played on the Oilers since the early 90s.) “The Oilers SUCK this year!” (He would NEVER say this, even though it’s true.)

I suggested that Nora go share a purple Tic-Tac with her father. “Yeah, I won’t choke. I’m good!” (Sure you are, honey!)

“What day is it?” Tuesday. “It’s cheap night at the theaters!” (You’re not going anywhere, Superman.)

“What year is it?” Austin, again, sarcastically answers, 1987. “Hey, that’s the year I got married.” Then he looked around at the three kids with this confused look on his face and said, “I must have had insta-kids!”

Our daughter called from Oklahoma to enjoy the festivities surrounding anesthesia. Her father explained all about Lady Mary Crawley from Downton Abbey and how she is the tall one with dark hair who is grieving because her husband died. (WOW!)

Then our daughter’s boyfriend got on the phone and Rick asked when he is coming to visit. He replied December 26th. “Oh! Boxing Day! That’s the day before wrestling day, but you’re not supposed to do that until you’re married!” (What in the world???? I apologize on his behalf, John.)

And the entire night he kept asking, “WHAT is so funny?”  You are, dear. You just can’t make this stuff up!

Hello, My Name is Linda

Yes, this is another blog relating the to car accident that I unwillingly participated in 3 1/2 weeks ago.  A deep fog has permeated my brain for three weeks leaving me wondering what my childrens’ names are, grasping for common words like “ride” and “sit”, and feeling vulnerable and alone.  Yes, it is drugs.  Yes, I’ve written about this before when I was on narcotics for tooth pain.  I had forgotten the lonely drug induced blanket that wraps itself around your neck for days on end.  Finally, when I was thinking homeschooling was pretty well done for the year (with two more months to go) I went to visit my doctor.  Sorry, pupils.

Typically I am an in-control woman.  Administration is one of my gifts, as well as teaching, organizing and being sarcastic.  But I could do none of those while the blanket hugged me like a scratchy wool scarf.  Sitting on the tissue papered table at the physician’s office, I tried to explain in my not-usually-wobbly-voice that I am on an involuntary emotional roller coaster because of the drugs.  My voice never wobbles.  But it wobbled woefully.  “I need to gain control of my life again,” I feebly explained.  “Is there a pain medication that conquers pain but doesn’t leave people in this fog?”  And there is.  Thank God!  It’s in a 3-day patch that transdermally inputs the drug into your system at a consistently controlled rate.  No more roller coastering for me, baby.

I am now addicted to a little 3/4″ x 1″ plastic patch.  And I’m okay with that.  I was missing me.  I’m partially back.  Doing simple tasks like showering or making waffles are still followed up with a two hour nap.  But I’m okay with that too.  I know my limits.  It’s two outings per day… only twice or three times per week.  More than that and I break out in a sweat.

Hope returned yesterday when I broke out the botany text book and decided school would be underway once again.  It will be more self-guided than teacher-ruled, as is my persuasion.  Flowers and pollination will be devoured by my little busy bees for the next few weeks.  I even found an activity requiring powdered donuts to demonstrate cross-pollination.  Homeschooling rocks…. or blooms in this case.

The Eyes Have It!

Remember me complaining about teaching English as a second language?  Remember me whining about teaching adding and subtracting over and over and over again?  Remember me handing over my Colombian Princess to her brothers so they could teach her math, so I wouldn’t feel like banging my head on the kitchen table, like all good homeschool moms feel like doing?  Remember me being so sick of BOB books that I wanted to cry… and just maybe I did a few times.  I assumed this was ALL due to English as a second language.  OR my lack of skills in teaching English as a second language.  And I thought maybe I was too old to have the necessary patience to teach a small child again.  NOT SO, as it happened. (That was for you, Jane.)

Nora’s piano teacher commented to me that it seems Nora has difficulty discerning when the notes on the music staff go up and down.  She asked if she also has trouble with reading or numbers.  DUH!  HER EYES!  Today was a special day.  ALL four Crosby kids lined up and had eye exams.  Guess which one needed glasses for reading and math and piano???  Yes!  She picked out darling little glasses that are purple on the top and clear on the bottom.  They will arrive in a week.

The joy in my heart is almost unexplainable.  In the ophthalmologist’s office, after the diagnosis was given, I gushed to my eldest daughter, “I feel like the clouds over our homeschool have just cleared and there is a ray of sun shine beaming down giving me hope again.”  She’s been by my side for 19 years…. she rolled her eyes at me and exclaimed, “Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic, Mom?”  But it’s not.  It is truth.  Straight up.  God showed up and I don’t feel quite so lame anymore.  I’m even a tad eager to see if adding and subtracting is CLEARER now!  Glory be!  Thank God for other people who are paying attention to my children!

 

Booby Trap

Three years ago I read an article about how women are being freaked out by a false scare from mammograms.  I was freaked out just reading the article.  It spoke of the non-necessity of yearly exams by radiation.  I bought into it, frankly because I loathe getting the exam just like every other woman on God’s green earth.  I started my silent protest against the booby trap.  Last month I was visiting my womanly doctor and she stared at my chart with confusion wrinkling her brow. “There must be a mistake…. this says your last mammogram was in 2007.”  “Nope, not a mistake.”  What else was I supposed to say????  I pinky-swore that I would have the exam this time and not just throw away her referral.

I’m not at super high risk of breast cancer… my closest maternal relative who had it was my grandmother’s sister.  Not close enough for great worry or concern.  But I pinky-swore… so I had to go.  It’s kind of like triple-dog-dare-you.  You have to….or…. stick a needle in your eye…. or something else equally horrible.

Last Friday the mammogram went down.  There is a new Phoenix Breast Health clinic near my home… that looks like a day at the spa… or at least what I imagine a day at a spa would look like.  The whole office was gorgeously decorated in dark browns and hot pink with chandeliers.   CHANDELIERS.  They offered fluffy white robes to dress in…. cookies, tea and coffee served on trays while you wait.  Other than the glaring fact of why you are there… it’s quite casual and tranquil.  And simply being there…… I ALWAYS think of Anita Renfroe talking about how a mammogram is like putting too much batter in the waffle iron.  Makes me grin.

Much to my surprise, since my five-year hiatus, the machine that they use has been improved.  There is now a large clear plastic shield that you rub your face make-up on… which also keeps your head out of the radiation.  And the machine tilts at a 45 degree angle for better smashing-photographic results.  The only problem was the way she had me turn, raise my arm up to grab a handle, hold my breath and try to keep my make-up off the plastic… it caused one of my ribs to move slightly out of place.  It only hurt when I took a breath.  I was on the phone to the chiropractor before I left the parking garage.

Good grief.  Three days later my rib is still tender… but I’m good on my pinky-swear.  If it ain’t one thing… it’s another.  And now I can say to my friends…. “Go get it done!”

Only at MY House!

Yesterday, one of the items that topped my To-Do list was to phone our health insurance company and figure out if my husband could get a physical and medical update for our adoption BEFORE September 16th.  Last year he had one on September 16th and his doctor was going to slap on an extra $200 charge because the dates weren’t a year apart. 

Here is a brief sidenote on Rick’s doctor:  I used to go to this same doctor.  I liked him alright, but he seemed to be a bit heavy-handed with his prescription pad.  I would return home from his office and call a friend of mine in pharmaceuticals and ask which of the four scripts I truly needed.  Anyway, I don’t have to do that anymore because I coincidentally happened upon aforementioned doctor at a local resort.  Brace yourself.  He was donning a purple Speedo, sunglasses from the 80’s and had the solid white sunblock on his nose.  It did me in.  I could no longer use ‘Purple Speedo’ as my physician.

Back to yesterday.  I did not have my glasses within reach when trying unsuccessfully to read the phone number on my health care card.  I handed it to my daughter and asked her to read me the number.  She started reading, “9-1-1-8-4-5-3-8-5-3-2-0-0”, and I obediently dialed…. until I realized there were too many numbers and hung up. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “that is your group number.”  I retrieved the card and found the PHONE number myself and dialed correctly.  The phone call lasted about ten minutes, but at minute number nine, there was a knock on our front door. 

Another side note:  my two nephews were over at our house along with my three children…. and I was still in my pajamas with decidedly Ace Ventura bed-head hair going on.  Not exactly the get-up to be answering the door.

Back to our story.  I peaked through the eye hole and saw a police man standing on our front porch.  I remembered my hair and attire and made a dash for the back of the house.  All five kids met me there, with the phone still stuck to my ear, and I told my 16-year-old daughter (yes, the one who read the group number to me) to go answer the door while  I hid in the laundry room.

Mr. Police officer asked the five children staring at him if everything was OK at the house.  “Yes!”  they all answered in unison.  Mr. Police man continued, “Someone dialed 911 from this house and hung up.  We were unable to call back so we came to make sure everything is alright.”  I’m sure he got responses that included but was not limited to: “Sure!”  “Yeah, that was mom calling her insurance group number.”  “She’s in the laundry room in her pj’s.”  “She couldn’t answer the door because her hair is scary.”  “She’s been on the phone all morning.”  “We are waiting for her to make breakfast.”  “We’re all OK!” “We’re hungry.”  “Is that a real gun?”  And the nice police officer left the premises, wondering what in the world just happened.

I tell you that story to report that I’m impressed with the police service in our area!  In less than ten minutes from the 911 call, there was someone at my door to protect me and my children.  Or is it protect my children from me?  Anyway, thank you, Phoenix Police force!

Hep A + Hep B = Sore Arm

I hate shots.  Really hate them.  Needles just aren’t my deal.  At all.  The IV before giving birth was worse than giving birth in my books!

So today, I’m not feeling well, so I go to the doctor.  Low grade fever, pounding headache…. “seems there’s an infection so here’s your prescription… and let’s do the 2nd Hep A/B shot while you’re in the office.”  I wanted to cry and yell, “NO! I already don’t feel good!  Why poke my arm with the big, scary needle?”  But I just sat there and tried not to cry.  Low grade fevers, pounding headaches and the thought of getting a needle make me want to cry.  Really bad.  But I was brave and sucked it up.

Getting a needle is called “getting a needle” in Canada, but in America it’s called “getting a shot.”  Just some cultural trivia for you… for free.

Ten hours later, I can barely lift my left arm.  Is it supposed to hurt this much?  Am I just wimpy?  Say it isn’t so.  The first Hep A/B hurt, but I thought it was because I got tetanus the same day…. in the same arm.  I did cry that day.  But, I can barely lift my left arm.  I think I need some ice cream.  Pistachio Almond.  Yep, that will make me not think about my left arm that I can’t lift without experiencing pain.  Maybe the nurse hit a nerve or a bone or a muscle or something else that she wasn’t supposed to poke the needle into.

I did spend my evening with the girlfriends around the fire pit.  Good times.  I didn’t lift my left arm and I had a really nice time.  Now I’m home and whiney.  Time for beddy-bye.  Hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning.  Good night.

Concussion cussion what’s your function?

Hookin’ up phrases and clauses and makin’ ’em run right.

Yes, that’s School House Rock Saturday morning cartoons coming back to haunt me… and now you too.  Well to sum up our hockey tournament trip to Anaheimin three easy words: concussion, beach, church.  Yes, Austin got slammed against the boards in the FIRST game of the tournament and got concussion #4.  Yes, FOUR.  Not good.  Blurry vision, tingling arms, intense headache, nausea… and a front row seat to watch the rest of the team finish the tournament without him.  (Coach Rick even took a stick to the nose and has wounds to prove it.) It was a supreme bummer for all of us.  We did hit Huntington Beach twice which seemed to calm all of our nerves.  And to top off Easter Sunday we visited Free Chapel in Irvine to hear awesome music by Adam Ranney and Israel Houghton (both former music pastors from our church) and preaching from Jentezen Franklin.  We had some CHURCH… which we severely needed after the head injury and downed spirits.

So, today we visited the doctor and he ran Austin through a battery of tests which were highly similar to a drunk driving test that I’ve seen on TV.  Anyway, there was no swelling, no signs of bleeding and Aus passed all the tests.  Thank God.  We learned all about concussions being rated in three levels.  It seems Austin’s have all been level two.  I don’t know if that’s good or bad…. but we were told that they are cumulative and it takes less and less of a hit to bring one on.  So…. Aus is out of contact sports for 5 months…. which corresponds exactly with the hockey season summer break.  I’m relieved at the news that he can still play, but will be very leery of every little hit from now on.

I have entertaining travel stories, as always, but they will wait for another blog.  GLAD to be home!!!!

Celebrating the Colonoscopy

 

A close friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, found that she was in need of an interior view of a delicate situation in order to establish her current health status.  (She had to get a colonoscopy.)  Yikes!  She found herself on D-Day in the presence of a male and a female nurse equipped with the apparatus necessary for the film shoot.  There was no anesthesia included in the deal.  Little did the three individuals know, but it was going to be an eye open and eye opening event for all involved. 

About one third of the way through the tunnel, my friend kept requesting that the procedure be slowed down to a comfortable pace for her peace of mind.  “No, it’s best if we just get this over with.  Hold on!” was the reply she received.  Another few minutes of anal agony and my friend repeated her request with a little more gusto the second time.  “Please Slow Down!”  “No, No.  We know best.  Hold your breath and don’t think about it!” they pathetically offered standing fully clothed at the foot of the table where my dear friend lay half exposed.

Finally my bosum chum had experienced enough grief and propped herself up on her elbows at the head of the cold metal table and questioned in a blaringly loud voice with evil eyes glaring at the nurses, “Have either one of YOU ever HAD a colonoscopy?”

They looked and each other and both shook their naive heads back and forth.

“WELL I HAVE AND YOU NEED TO GO SLOWER!!”

I wish I could’ve been a fly on the white wall.  I recently heard that the colonoscopy involves anesthetic now.  Well, now we all know why.  It’s thanks to my brave friend.  Thank you! You know who you are.

www.LindaCrosby.com