As Plain as the Mud on my Face!

Oh! How I wish I had pictures of this great story to share with you, but alas, they are feeble.

Camping. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but we really enjoy it. Spending time outside soaking up the smell and sights and sounds of God’s creation is exhilarating to us.Two weeks ago we hooked up with four other families and ventured off to spend four days in the great outdoors. Bliss!

The very first day, several people went hiking, but one other dad (Dad #2) and myself stayed behind to watch the crowd of kids who wanted to take a dip in the creek and swim in the pool. Yes, this campground had a pool. Posh, I realize. The sun was shining, the wind was refraining from tousling our hair and the gurgling of the creek was calling to us.

Look very closely at the small patch of brick-colored muddy bank on the left side of this picture. It seems harmless. It was not. That was the slipperiest mud on God’s green earth. I told the girls several times, “Be careful! The mud is slippery!” The girls dragged me, my backpack and my folding chair to a place up the creek to a delectable rope swing with four huge knots. To my surprise, all three girls took turns swinging out over the water, but not dropping in as it was a tad chilly. I was standing still in the slippery mud. Then I was lying face down in the awful tasting slippery mud. In between those two events there was a loud scream and involuntary throwing of the backpack and the folding chair. I landed on my knees, my elbows and my face. Lovely. I so wish I had a picture of my mud-caked self. Slowly I stood and started to wipe the mud off my arms and face and spit out the mud and gravel that didn’t taste so yummy.

The kids who I was “watching” and five other boys circled me with mouths a gaping and wide eyes. Mama down. Red Alert! Using my water bottle, one of the boys (a stranger!) slowly poured into my hands so I could “wash” them and then rinse my face. I knew I needed a shower but then one of the other boys yelled, “Your leg is bleeding really badly!” Glancing down, I noticed the front of one shin was muddy brown and the other was bright red. Blood red, to be exact.  A large gash was just starting to pain me in my right knee. We poured some of the bottled water on the cut and then I held it shut with Kleenex, because we all know that Kleenex is sanitary and won’t fall apart or get inside a large gash.

The girls ran to find Dad #2. The boys ran off too, I wasn’t sure where. Slowly I limped up the path, holding my Kleenexed knee. The first campsite I arrived at harbored a full-on 38-foot motor coach, complete with a fancy “camping” lady with large, coiffed blonde hair, a long skinny cigarette, a three carat diamond ring on her manicured tennis-bracelet-ed hand and a newly-shaved white poodle with a green bow on each ear. At first site of a muddy, bloody woman limping out of the jungle she dropped that poor dog, put her smoke on a wood pile (!) and ran for her hose to help me get cleaned up. When asked what I needed I requested a cup of water to rinse and spit several times. The kind lady hosed off my pants, legs and shoes. I remember mentioning her smoking woodpile at some point, and there wasn’t a fire later, so she must have taken care of it.

Some of the boys who had witnessed my downfall returned with their very German father and a very well equipped first aid kit. At this point Dad #2 from our group drove up with the rescue vehicle. I was patched up and put in the car on several of the kind lady’s towels. Five stitches, three x-rays and three hours later, we were back at the campground eating grilled cheese sandwiches.  Easy peasey.

Five stitches. No biggie. I figured it would slow me down for a day or two. I figured incorrectly. An infection set in and my wounded leg turned burning-hot red and swelled up from my knee to my foot. Then I got to go visit another ER! A shot in my backside and some strong antibiotics were administered. I was on the couch for NINE DAYS!  NINE DAYS! Because of some slippery mud! The infection stayed for two weeks, but it finally relented and I could walk again.

So the moral of the story is: don’t cry over slippery mud…. no…. falls well that bends well… no… as plain as the mud on my face…… my way or the mud way….. five stitches in time saves nine?… (I’ll quit now.)

Post Wreckage Wisdom

Before this past Saturday, the previous car accident I participated in was in 1999 in Anaheim, California.  Thankfully I have been fender bender free for 14 joyous years. (However, in my current state of narcotic use, I could easily and most probably be missing large periods of my life in my memory banks.)  When one meanders through life without hitting other vehicles, you tend to forget many important facts regarding collisions.  This morning, at 4:06 a.m., I am here to inform all those who need informing on said subject.

1.  Accidents happen when you least expect it and when it is not convenient in your life.  In my case, I was casually  heading to Bed Bath and Beyond to purchase a much needed shower curtain liner for the main bath due to visitors who were scheduled to arrive at my home in exactly four hours.  My daughter and two friends were descending upon our house for Spring Break from college in Tulsa, Oklahoma, a mere 14 hour drive to Phoenix, Arizona.  Two days after their arrival, three Canadian relatives were also visiting for a week.  Hence, the new shower curtain liner was MANDATORY.

2.  Teenage drivers are a danger on the road.  Out of a neighborhood shopping center driveway (right next to Charming Charlie’s purse/accessory mother ship store) a small white vehicle came flying directly into my lane from the right without any warning time, hindering me from doing all those things you know you should do when you figure out you’re are going to hit another car, i.e. brake, scream “Sweet mother of God!”, brace yourself so as to increase muscle injuries, curse the driver’s day of birth, yell at your kids “Hang on, Mommy’s going to hit someone!” or any other such nonsense. I glanced at the car and slammed into it.  That is all.  I never saw the driver’s face as she was looking to her right the entire time she was entering the four lane road, planning on crossing two lanes of traffic.  The kind police man asked me how long I had between my visual awareness of the other car and impact.  “One second.”  I have since wondered about her actions.  Did she just find the queen mother purse to match her favorite hot pink and cheetah print shoes, and couldn’t wait to get home and unite the two, creating the perfect ensemble?  Did she just eat at the Mellow Mushroom and was in a pasta induced coma with garlic permeating from her pores?  We will never know, dear reader.

3.  When the kind police man finished my inquisition and then glanced in the back seat of the van to witness a tear-stained little Latina child, he should have used his kind policeman voice and asked a politically correct question like, “Who is this little sweetheart?” or “I see we have a princess in the back seat.” or “Honey, are you ok?”  But NO.  He got the wrath of the blubbering adoptive mother when he blurted out, “Who is THAT?” like I picked up an illegal alien down by the border and was transporting her color-coordinated, well manicured dimpled self like a criminal. I will admit I answered a bit tersely, “SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!!!!”  My tone set him in his place and his kind police man voice surfaced as he praised her for being in her booster seat and wearing her seatbelt.  I am a protective mama first, and an injured car passenger second. Don’t ever forget that!

4.  Auto injuries are curious beasts.  Due to the impact of the airbag underneath the steering column of our van, my shins took a real beating.  I did not know there was an airbag under there, nor was I aware that it was hinged from the bottom and the molded plastic cover was capable of shaving your legs so thoroughly upon explosion, you might never need to shave them ever again due to the absence of several layers of skin and hair follicles.  Thank God I was wearing jeans.  As was predicted by my ER doctor friend, other injuries will surface when the most intense injuries subside.  After four days of lying on the couch with my legs elevated and iced every hour around the clock, I was able to stand without tears accumulating in my eyes.  Then I realized my right shoulder was not working as well as it had been performing before the white car jumped in my path.  Yesterday x-rays were had and after two days of icing my shoulder every hour around the clock, we will hopefully have some answers tomorrow as to my gimpy limb.  When that is concluded, I do not know what will make me cry next…. the seatbelt bruise line across my entire torso?  Or some other area still in shock waiting to surface.  I will surely keep you posted, even though I am aware of “women’s tea rules of courtesy” of not speaking of sickness or operations.  This ain’t a tea…. it is my blog, and where else can I complain with my sense of humor intact for the enjoyment of others?

5.  God takes care of His children.  When God found our new-to-us van on November 30, 2012, He was testing my thankfulness at receiving such a good and perfect gift from Him, despite it being red.  Red is my least favorite color.  But I WAS thankful for the van… the low miles, the reasonable price, the stow-n-go compartments to haul more junk, the awesome air-conditioning, the radio controls on the back of the steering wheel, etc.  And I was content knowing that I couldn’t see that it was red while I was riding in the van. I imagined that it was a purty royal blue color.  So I am pretty sure I passed the red van test and now get another new-to-us van that is not red.  I will keep you posted.

Currently my pain meds have once again done their duty and I am ready to drift back to a psycho-dream filled sleep.  Good night for now.

How We Celebrated Elvis’ Birthday

January 8, 2009. It started out as any ordinary day in the Crosby household… yet, ordinary days for the Crosbys are not that ordinary, I’ve come to realize. I needed to get some blood work done for our adoption physicals and packed up the boys, who chose to wear hats instead of combing their grossly, grown-out hair. (Sad news about scissors is coming their way later.)

We checked in at the lab and 23 of the 24 chairs in the waiting room were filled. oh yes, I counted! NOT a good sign. The boys decided to sit on a sofa in the lobby and play video games. Fine. After 45 minutes, I asked how much longer until my name was called. Another half hour. I went to the lobby to inform the boys and Austin pointed to his brother across the room without looking up from his game and calmly stated, “He’s choking.”

There I found Keeve crying, chocking, sweaty and red. He ran to the bathroom and threw up his breakfast. (My apologies if you’re eating while reading.) After much questioning, he explained that he swallowed the metal end of a cowboy belt…. and it was stuck in his throat. This son of mine has swallowed ridiculously stupid objects for years… but this one was BIG in comparison.

Fortunately, we were across the street from the ER and arrived in three minutes.  X-rays were taken… and boy does metal show up well.

The nurses were going to give him a numbing drink for his throat before putting in an IV to put him asleep for the removal of said metal object. Right before that all happened he threw up again…. into a blue plastic bag with a 5″ metal rim that I was holding for such a time as this. Keeve informed me that the end of the belt came out. Praise God. So the boys enjoyed Popsicles, Keeve was given a high dose of Motrin for swelling and pain, we paid $150…. and then we went to In-N-Out Burger…. for Elvis’ birthday. Get it? In-N-Out… so appropriate for the morning’s festivities!

We made a quick stop at a store for a dog muzzle for Keeve (just kidding), I can’t remember what we were shopping for. But Austin suggested, “Since you just spent $150 on Keeve, can you buy me a toy?” Um, no. (Austin’s ER visits triple the rest of the four family members put together.)

Later, when the excitement wore off, we did take in an advanced showing of Hotel for Dogs, (we renamed it Heartbreak Hotel for Dogs, being on Elvis’ birthday and all) which turned out to be an adoption movie… for dogs and kids. Yes, I cried in the end. Then we went to the Coyotes game against the Lightning. We wondered if it might be the last time we see Mark Recchi play here in Phoenix??  I hope not, but he is 41 this year.

The ordinary day ended with us picking up our beloved computer. Sweetness. Now to find all the start-up discs for the web-cam and the printer. Good grief, where do those things hide???

My Husband’s 1st and Only Attempt at giving Me Acupuncture

Meet Trixie.  She’s our four-year-old Rat Terrier. One day I noticed Trixie was not eating and she was hunching her little back, so I took her to the vet.  Seems she was dehydrated, had an obstruction in her intestines and needed an IV.  We have an insurance plan for our dog so the “visit” was covered…. just not anything during the “visit”, like IV or X-rays…. but we have SAVED $1,498 since joining the scam plan.  The X-rays revealed… well, not much, but closing time was approaching so we were required to move Trixie to an Emergency Vet Clinic.

My husband, Rick, met his wife, kids and dog at the clinic, where we were all ushered into a room with the “car salesman award winner” canine technician.  She knew all the buzz words and was in her element.  “On a scale of 1 to 10,” she spit out while waving her hands by her ears, “just looking at your dog, THIS IS A TEN.  She needs surgery!  NOW!”  Talk about high pressure sales. 

Rick calmly replied, “How much does that cost?” 

“With the required overnight stay, anesthesia and surgery, ONLY $1,500 to $1,800 plus the extra cost for calling the Dr. and the anesthesiologist in after hours.” 

“Now, hold on.  What happens if she doesn’t get surgery?”  I thought it was a valid question.  The pet tech was aghast at the suggestion of questioning her analysis of the situation.  She flatly told us that it was mandatory.  Rick’s next question threw me a bit.  He commented on how much better the dog was now looking, then whispered out the side of his mouth so the kids couldn’t hear him, “How much to put the dog down?”  I knew he wouldn’t do it, but I also knew there would be no $1,500 + extras surgery.

I left at that point to take one of the kids to some sort of lesson or practice. We all arrived home that night… even Trixie.  Rick refused to leave the dog in their care and was sent home with IV bags to be administered every 8 hours.  I quickly did the calculations and realized Rick would be at work during a few of those times.  I HATE needles.  That was the worse part of childbearing, in my opinion…. the IV in the hand.  Still makes me shudder.  I looked at my husband and relayed that I would not be playing nursemaid to the dog… especially if needles were involved… and I went to bed. 

Later Rick came and kindly asked me to at least hold the dog so he could give her the bag of fluid.  All went well…. the dog bed on the kitchen table with the docile animal lying still.  The needle was inserted… but the IV bag was just out of reach.  So as I’m holding the dog with the needle in her neck, Rick is balancing the IV tubes over my head while reaching for the bag of juice.  Whammo!  It happened so fast I couldn’t believe my own bloodshot eyes.  The needle came out of the dog and into the back of my hand… inches from my birthing IV entrance points.  I let go of the dog.  The needle fell to the floor, spraying liquid nutrition in short bursts on the tile, and I spoke clearly but quietly while holding my wound, “That’s it! I am going back to bed.”

I prayed that I wouldn’t get rabies, or scabies, or ringworm or fleas from the acupuncture treatment…. and I didn’t.  I’m still here to tell the story… but don’t ever ask me to help out with animal drug administrations!