The last week has been all about getting rid of the bad parts of the past and looking forward to great times in the future. But, in purging myself of the past, a lot of blog-worthy stories came to mind.
I divorced 13 years ago after being with my ex for 13 years, and the phrase 'the truth is stranger than fiction' was invented for that marriage. I can laugh about it now, and even laughed about a lot of it then, but, a lot of those 13 years was a hot mess. Holidays were always 'fun' in our dysfunctional family. We had just moved into our new house on December 1, 1998, and went to spend a few days with my mother in Jackson. My daddy called me there and said, "Ya'll need to come home because somebody ran through your house." Now, I'm thinking 'ran through' must mean 'ransacked', so I asked him what was stolen. Daddy said, "No, literally 'ran through.' A drunk guy missed the curve and his car ran through your house. There's a big hole in your house." We pulled into our driveway 4 hours later to see a huge hole covered with plywood and a huge "Santa Stop Here" sign nailed to it (Thanks to my Daddy). Inside, my aunt, uncle, and daddy had cleaned up all the sheet rock and set my tree and gifts back where they were, but I was still shaking sheet rock out of that tree for years after that. Needless to say, Santa got to bring vinyl siding and 2x4s for Christmas that year.
The very next Christmas, we separated the second week in December (I won't go into the gory details of that, but let's just say "Blue Christmas" became my theme song for the next decade or so). I sat there and looked at those stupid stockings for a few hours, got ticked off that three people were living there and four stockings were hanging there, so I took one off and burned it. Long story short, I had to buy a replacement stocking at the day after Christmas sale.
Determined to break the "Blue Christmas" curse, we decided to decorate the tree as a family the following year. We played Christmas music and I made hot chocolate. All was 'Holly Jolly Christmas' until he put the garland on the tree. As he wound those gold balls around the tree, wouldn't you know that he didn't do it correctly. When I say correctly, y'all women know what I mean, every drape the exact length and width, perfect symmetry from top to bottom. Well, about the sixth time I asked him to redo the garland, he grabbed the tree, opened the front door, and threw the tree onto the yard. Oh, Lawd, the kids came unglued. All I remember is my ex yelling and cussing, me laughing hysterically, the kids crying and screaming, "Santa isn't going to come now because Daddy threw out the tree," and "Silent Night" playing on the radio.
Now, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but the next Christmas we were separated again. I went to the Sheriff's Department Christmas party with my daddy and my ex kept the kids for me. Guess what the band played? Yep, "Blue Christmas." That was it for me. I headed to get the kids in my daddy's truck. Now, I suck at driving in general, but driving an unfamiliar vehicle at night after hearing "Blue Christmas" was ROUGH. I was stopped at a road block within spitting distance of the house where my kids were staying. I tried to put the windows down and hit the lock instead. I tried to put the truck in park and hit the wipers instead. I cut off the lights, you name it. By this time the police had one hand on their guns and were searching my truck bed and ordering me out of the car. I finally got the door open and held up my hands and said, "I promise, I have been at the Sheriff's Christmas party all night. I had one drink 3 hours ago so I am not drunk. This is my daddy's truck and I am an awful driver and that's where I'm going (I gave a head nod in that direction because I was afraid at this point if I moved I'd be shot) and if you will just let me get right there, I promise I will not come out and drive ever again." The officer died out laughing and said, "If we did haul you in after that story, the sheriff would fire us anyway, so get on home."
The last Christmas we were married we had gone to the marriage counselor for the gazillionth time in the past decade. We finished our session and when we got home, my ex said, "Well, I think that went pretty well." I replied, "I want a divorce. We can finish out this holiday and then I'm moving out the first of the year." Then we loaded up and went to my daddy's for our family Christmas. We walked in the house, Daddy takes one look at us and said, "What's wrong with y'all? My ex looked right into his eyes and said, "I just found out your daughter is leaving me next week. Merry f---ing Christmas." After a millisecond of silence, in typical Hopkins fashion, everybody in the room fell out laughing.
You would think that after so many Godawful holidays, I would dread bringing out the decorations, but that wouldn't be my style. Instead, I crank up the radio, make hot chocolate, and load the tree with ornaments I've had for 22 years. If it weren't for the bad, I don't think the good would seem so great, so every year, I remember the hot mess holidays and sing "Blue Christmas" with a twinkle in my eye and a smile on my face.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Saturday, July 27, 2013
The Devil Can Eat Snow Cones Now Because Hell Froze Over
Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, but when you hear why I temporarily dropped out, I'm sure you will forgive me. My son, Ben, moved home!!!! He called me a little over a week ago and asked if he could move back home. That's it. He had not been in my house in 3 years and with one phone call, life as I knew it was back to normal. He showed up on my doorstep with his bow, his gun, a 90 pound Lab, a couple of pairs of boxers and shorts, 4 shirts and a toothbrush. That's it. No socks, no deodorant, nothing else. I joked with him that he may be naked and stinky but at least he can hunt.
Okay, for the next part, I post a surgeon general warning: People with heart conditions may experience chest pains and shortness of breath if they read the next section. Okay, drum roll please…..My ex-sister-in-law sent me a message on Facebook and said she was glad Ben was here and if we needed anything just ask, and then she dropped a bomb….She typed the words 'Mama wants you to call her'…. Huh? I reread that line. Yep, still said the same thing. Oh, Lawd, I wasn't expecting to EVER speak to her again. This woman was the source of more pain and grief than I could even begin to describe. This woman covered up, funded, and lied to keep my sons with their dad. This woman called DHS and reported me for child abuse. This woman systematically plotted to get me out of my sons' lives and succeeded in doing so with each of them for a period of time that I could never get back. Before I made this call, I needed a for real come to Jesus prayer session.
Ya'll know I don't lie, so believe me, this one was hard for me. I hated this woman more than almost anyone in the world. I have wished bad things on her for years (I had to pray for forgiveness afterwards, but I couldn't help myself.) I honestly didn't know if I could even stand to hear her voice. I spent I don't even know how long praying for God to give me a forgiving heart, an instinct for ulterior motives, and the words I needed to say. I mean, God had to completely inhabit me because the real me wanted to cuss this woman out, wish a thousand plagues on her, and to forbid my sons from ever having anything to do with her so she could feel a fraction of the pain I had felt. I said a quick 'Amen' and dialed the number.
When she answered the phone, the first thing she said was, "Tra, I want to start this conversation by telling you how truly sorry I am for EVERYTHING I EVER did to you and I ask you to please forgive me." Huh? I thought at best she would say, "I know we have never gotten along, but let's put that aside for the sake of the kids and at least be civil to each other." I NEVER could have imagined in a million years that I would EVER hear these words. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Did your cancer come back?" Crass, yes, I couldn't believe I let that fall out of my mouth, but this felt like a deathbed confession. Then she told me this, "No, right now they are thinking it is only scar tissue so they are watching it for signs of growth. I just have been watching my 91 year old mother and she seems so happy, so at peace within herself and her relationship with God. She KNOWS where she is going. Then I look at myself. I don't have that peace and assurance. I have high blood pressure, diabetes, have had and may have breast cancer, and many other things. I know bad things can happen to good people, but I wonder in my case if bad things are happening to me because of all the bad things I've done. That's why I ask for you to please forgive me. I need to have that peace my mother has. I need to know where I'm going."
Now, I wasn't there to see the waters part for Moses. I wasn't there to see Lazarus get up and shake off the death that overtook him. But, folks, I just witnessed a miracle as real as either of those things. And….in the twinkling of an eye….it was over. I told her I appreciated her apology. I think in time I will be able to accept it as well. I told her I would encourage the boys to visit her. We made small talk about alternative medicine and her plans for the future and then she told me she was glad we talked and that she loved me and we hung up. I still am cautious about her, but now I am cautiously optimistic that in time, all will be forgiven. The earthly me still has a splinter of resentment, but the other 99% accepts her apology and forgives her.
Now my house is bursting at the seams again. The kids are having spend the night company almost every night. My grocery bill has doubled. My credit card practically blew up after a shopping spree to get all the things Ben needed to be clean and dressed (naked hunting wasn't going to work). Now I get to fall over clothes, balls, and shoes in another bedroom to kiss my other baby boy goodnight. Now I get to yell, "If ya'll don't quit I'm going to come in there and whip all of y'all," at LEAST every 15 minutes again. Now I have 5 dogs, 6 vehicles, 5 work schedules, and 2 ball schedules, to maneuver through all day every day, not to mention 10 loads of laundry and cold showers for the next couple of years, and life is good. Life is better than good. Life is great. Thank you, Lord, for this crazy, messed up, imperfect life. Thank you for all the laughter and tears. Thank you for the love and the hate. Thank you for teaching me I am stronger, more faithful, and more forgiving than I thought I was. Most of all, thank you for being there for me. Thank you for taking my pain and heartache when I could not bear it anymore. Thank you for giving me peace in my heart in the midst of my world imploding. Thank you for helping me become a better person than I was when my world was perfect and I didn't think I needed you quite so much. I am blessed.
Okay, for the next part, I post a surgeon general warning: People with heart conditions may experience chest pains and shortness of breath if they read the next section. Okay, drum roll please…..My ex-sister-in-law sent me a message on Facebook and said she was glad Ben was here and if we needed anything just ask, and then she dropped a bomb….She typed the words 'Mama wants you to call her'…. Huh? I reread that line. Yep, still said the same thing. Oh, Lawd, I wasn't expecting to EVER speak to her again. This woman was the source of more pain and grief than I could even begin to describe. This woman covered up, funded, and lied to keep my sons with their dad. This woman called DHS and reported me for child abuse. This woman systematically plotted to get me out of my sons' lives and succeeded in doing so with each of them for a period of time that I could never get back. Before I made this call, I needed a for real come to Jesus prayer session.
Ya'll know I don't lie, so believe me, this one was hard for me. I hated this woman more than almost anyone in the world. I have wished bad things on her for years (I had to pray for forgiveness afterwards, but I couldn't help myself.) I honestly didn't know if I could even stand to hear her voice. I spent I don't even know how long praying for God to give me a forgiving heart, an instinct for ulterior motives, and the words I needed to say. I mean, God had to completely inhabit me because the real me wanted to cuss this woman out, wish a thousand plagues on her, and to forbid my sons from ever having anything to do with her so she could feel a fraction of the pain I had felt. I said a quick 'Amen' and dialed the number.
When she answered the phone, the first thing she said was, "Tra, I want to start this conversation by telling you how truly sorry I am for EVERYTHING I EVER did to you and I ask you to please forgive me." Huh? I thought at best she would say, "I know we have never gotten along, but let's put that aside for the sake of the kids and at least be civil to each other." I NEVER could have imagined in a million years that I would EVER hear these words. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Did your cancer come back?" Crass, yes, I couldn't believe I let that fall out of my mouth, but this felt like a deathbed confession. Then she told me this, "No, right now they are thinking it is only scar tissue so they are watching it for signs of growth. I just have been watching my 91 year old mother and she seems so happy, so at peace within herself and her relationship with God. She KNOWS where she is going. Then I look at myself. I don't have that peace and assurance. I have high blood pressure, diabetes, have had and may have breast cancer, and many other things. I know bad things can happen to good people, but I wonder in my case if bad things are happening to me because of all the bad things I've done. That's why I ask for you to please forgive me. I need to have that peace my mother has. I need to know where I'm going."
Now, I wasn't there to see the waters part for Moses. I wasn't there to see Lazarus get up and shake off the death that overtook him. But, folks, I just witnessed a miracle as real as either of those things. And….in the twinkling of an eye….it was over. I told her I appreciated her apology. I think in time I will be able to accept it as well. I told her I would encourage the boys to visit her. We made small talk about alternative medicine and her plans for the future and then she told me she was glad we talked and that she loved me and we hung up. I still am cautious about her, but now I am cautiously optimistic that in time, all will be forgiven. The earthly me still has a splinter of resentment, but the other 99% accepts her apology and forgives her.
Now my house is bursting at the seams again. The kids are having spend the night company almost every night. My grocery bill has doubled. My credit card practically blew up after a shopping spree to get all the things Ben needed to be clean and dressed (naked hunting wasn't going to work). Now I get to fall over clothes, balls, and shoes in another bedroom to kiss my other baby boy goodnight. Now I get to yell, "If ya'll don't quit I'm going to come in there and whip all of y'all," at LEAST every 15 minutes again. Now I have 5 dogs, 6 vehicles, 5 work schedules, and 2 ball schedules, to maneuver through all day every day, not to mention 10 loads of laundry and cold showers for the next couple of years, and life is good. Life is better than good. Life is great. Thank you, Lord, for this crazy, messed up, imperfect life. Thank you for all the laughter and tears. Thank you for the love and the hate. Thank you for teaching me I am stronger, more faithful, and more forgiving than I thought I was. Most of all, thank you for being there for me. Thank you for taking my pain and heartache when I could not bear it anymore. Thank you for giving me peace in my heart in the midst of my world imploding. Thank you for helping me become a better person than I was when my world was perfect and I didn't think I needed you quite so much. I am blessed.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Remembering my Drag Queen Fabulous Family
My Aunt Ruby passed away this weekend. Like my grandmother, Alzheimers took her away from us way too soon. I should be sad, but all I have thought of since I heard the news is that Aunt Ruby and Mamaw are up there painting Heaven red right now. Many of ya'll knew them, so this blog will be nothing new to you, but I owe it to the rest of you to familiarize you with two ladies that were "drag queen fabulous" before DQF was cool.
As early as I can remember, the sisters were very fashion conscience. Every morning started with putting on full-face makeup. Next came the rat comb and that hair spray with the wheat on the can. (I still don't know what makes wheat/hair combo work, but EVERY old lady used it back then.) After beauty came the outfit of the day, and boy was that fun. If it was a stay-at-home day, the ladies wore short shorts with a matching top. Now, I'm not talking old lady short like Bermudas, but Daisy Duke, 1 inch inseam hot pants. The part that makes that stand out wasn't that the shorts were way too short for an old lady, but that they ROCKED those short shorts. I mean, they had some fabulous legs for senior citizens. At least once a week, the sisters loaded up for shopping, and that's when the fashions came out of the closet. If you're thinking stretch pants and flowered shirts, you couldn't be any more wrong. These ladies dolled up in leather pants, metallic shoes and purses, blazers, and a scarf or dickie (dickie- an adult size turtleneck bib worn under a shirt or sweater) to top off the ensemble.
If my cousin, Stephanie, and I were lucky, we got to tag along. The sisters would hit a half off rack like a tornado. Mamaw's favorite was "half of half" clearance. It could be the wrong size, wrong color, or wrong gender for that matter, but she would buy it anyway and find somebody that could wear it. One of the finniest things Mamaw would do is to go to Reeds and buy socks with a little alligator logo on it, go to Fred's and get a knit shirt, sew the gator to the shirt, stick it in the Reeds sack, and try to pass it off as a designer shirt. We caught on when she accidentally put the logo on upside down, but we had to give her an 'A' for ingenuity. Most shopping sprees ended with Stephanie and I hiding in the back seat while our grandmothers ate at Dudie's Diner (The name alone kept us from showing our face inside the diner.).
The sisters and their families spent every holiday together and every one could've been an episode on Jerry Springer. We could always count on several folks to bring a cooler or two of beer and then the fun would begin. My cousin and I would sneak More cigarettes from Aunt Ruby's stash and a beer or two from the cooler and head out to the woods to fake smoke and sip a beer and act like we were soooo cool. By the time we went back in the house, half the family was three sheets to the wind and the other half was mad at that half for being three sheets, and inevitably somebody would leave mad and the rest of us enjoyed the rest of the holiday. At some point, my cousin and I would talk Uncle Ottie (his name is Jerry, but was Ottie all my life) into taking us for fire works. Now the drunks and the non-drinkers didn't know this part, but Stephanie and I didn't really want fireworks, we just wanted Ottie to take us with him so he would let Stephanie drive. I mean, how much cooler could we be? We were 14 and 12 years old and riding around with Stephanie's Dad passed out in the back seat. We were WAY cool! When we got back to the house with the fire works (several hours later), we would all stand out in the road and shoot fireworks. The best part of fireworks was watching the drunk folks catching themselves on fire and being hit by roman candle shrapnel. Nowadays, folks would think my cousin and I were raised in a 'dysfunctional' family, but to us, it was more of a 'dis-fun- shun-all the people that try to rain on our parade' family.
So many adjectives come to mind when I think of Mamaw and Aunt Ruby. Loud, Rowdy, Funny, Carefree, Fabulous, Social, Self-Confident, I could go on and on. They loved life. They went out to the Gaslight on weekends and danced and had a ball. I know this because I went along sometimes and drank my Shirley Temple at the table while they cut a rug on the dance floor. They would talk on the phone for hours, about what I still do not know. They watched soap operas together. They went to the beauty shop together. They were two peas in a pod to say the least.
I don't know why Alzheimers decided to take all that life they had inside them away, but here and there, I still got to see the that spark that I loved so much. When Grant and I were dating, I took him to the nursing home to see Mamaw. Aunt Jan Jan took him over to meet Mamaw and said, "Mama, this is Tracye's boyfriend, Lynn's son." Mamaw's jaw dropped open and her eyes got big as saucers. Jan Jan quickly added, "Tra's divorced, Mama, don't worry, she's not having an affair!" Yep, my Mamaw still was hoping for some juicy gossip even toward the end. During the last days, the doctor said she didn't know anybody or anything. My Papaw leaned over and said, "Mildred, do you know who I am?" After not speaking for weeks, she popped off, "HELL, HOWARD!" in that 'OMG, you idiot, why would I not know your dumb a--?' tone she reserved especially for him. Aunt Ruby, on the other hand, wasn't shocked to meet Grant. She was ecstatic. She thought he was the cutest man in the world. When she saw us, she would hug me and then hug him and casually let her hand wander down to his butt and CUP it ever so gently. Grant was like, "I think Aunt Ruby must be in that stage of Alzheimers where she can't control her urges because she keeps grabbing my butt," but I told him right quick, "Nope. That's MY Aunt Ruby, the ultimate flirt."
I love and miss ya'll more than you will ever know, but one day we can pick up where we left off down here. Until then, Ya'll girls have fun up there. Shop 'til you drop. Dance 'til you can't dance anymore. Primp and sing, "You Great Big Beautiful Doll" all day long. Keep God laughing at your funny stories. Knowing ya'll, by the time I get up there to see ya'll again, God will meet me at the pearly gates wearing leather pants, a red blazer, and a dickie.
As early as I can remember, the sisters were very fashion conscience. Every morning started with putting on full-face makeup. Next came the rat comb and that hair spray with the wheat on the can. (I still don't know what makes wheat/hair combo work, but EVERY old lady used it back then.) After beauty came the outfit of the day, and boy was that fun. If it was a stay-at-home day, the ladies wore short shorts with a matching top. Now, I'm not talking old lady short like Bermudas, but Daisy Duke, 1 inch inseam hot pants. The part that makes that stand out wasn't that the shorts were way too short for an old lady, but that they ROCKED those short shorts. I mean, they had some fabulous legs for senior citizens. At least once a week, the sisters loaded up for shopping, and that's when the fashions came out of the closet. If you're thinking stretch pants and flowered shirts, you couldn't be any more wrong. These ladies dolled up in leather pants, metallic shoes and purses, blazers, and a scarf or dickie (dickie- an adult size turtleneck bib worn under a shirt or sweater) to top off the ensemble.
If my cousin, Stephanie, and I were lucky, we got to tag along. The sisters would hit a half off rack like a tornado. Mamaw's favorite was "half of half" clearance. It could be the wrong size, wrong color, or wrong gender for that matter, but she would buy it anyway and find somebody that could wear it. One of the finniest things Mamaw would do is to go to Reeds and buy socks with a little alligator logo on it, go to Fred's and get a knit shirt, sew the gator to the shirt, stick it in the Reeds sack, and try to pass it off as a designer shirt. We caught on when she accidentally put the logo on upside down, but we had to give her an 'A' for ingenuity. Most shopping sprees ended with Stephanie and I hiding in the back seat while our grandmothers ate at Dudie's Diner (The name alone kept us from showing our face inside the diner.).
The sisters and their families spent every holiday together and every one could've been an episode on Jerry Springer. We could always count on several folks to bring a cooler or two of beer and then the fun would begin. My cousin and I would sneak More cigarettes from Aunt Ruby's stash and a beer or two from the cooler and head out to the woods to fake smoke and sip a beer and act like we were soooo cool. By the time we went back in the house, half the family was three sheets to the wind and the other half was mad at that half for being three sheets, and inevitably somebody would leave mad and the rest of us enjoyed the rest of the holiday. At some point, my cousin and I would talk Uncle Ottie (his name is Jerry, but was Ottie all my life) into taking us for fire works. Now the drunks and the non-drinkers didn't know this part, but Stephanie and I didn't really want fireworks, we just wanted Ottie to take us with him so he would let Stephanie drive. I mean, how much cooler could we be? We were 14 and 12 years old and riding around with Stephanie's Dad passed out in the back seat. We were WAY cool! When we got back to the house with the fire works (several hours later), we would all stand out in the road and shoot fireworks. The best part of fireworks was watching the drunk folks catching themselves on fire and being hit by roman candle shrapnel. Nowadays, folks would think my cousin and I were raised in a 'dysfunctional' family, but to us, it was more of a 'dis-fun- shun-all the people that try to rain on our parade' family.
So many adjectives come to mind when I think of Mamaw and Aunt Ruby. Loud, Rowdy, Funny, Carefree, Fabulous, Social, Self-Confident, I could go on and on. They loved life. They went out to the Gaslight on weekends and danced and had a ball. I know this because I went along sometimes and drank my Shirley Temple at the table while they cut a rug on the dance floor. They would talk on the phone for hours, about what I still do not know. They watched soap operas together. They went to the beauty shop together. They were two peas in a pod to say the least.
I don't know why Alzheimers decided to take all that life they had inside them away, but here and there, I still got to see the that spark that I loved so much. When Grant and I were dating, I took him to the nursing home to see Mamaw. Aunt Jan Jan took him over to meet Mamaw and said, "Mama, this is Tracye's boyfriend, Lynn's son." Mamaw's jaw dropped open and her eyes got big as saucers. Jan Jan quickly added, "Tra's divorced, Mama, don't worry, she's not having an affair!" Yep, my Mamaw still was hoping for some juicy gossip even toward the end. During the last days, the doctor said she didn't know anybody or anything. My Papaw leaned over and said, "Mildred, do you know who I am?" After not speaking for weeks, she popped off, "HELL, HOWARD!" in that 'OMG, you idiot, why would I not know your dumb a--?' tone she reserved especially for him. Aunt Ruby, on the other hand, wasn't shocked to meet Grant. She was ecstatic. She thought he was the cutest man in the world. When she saw us, she would hug me and then hug him and casually let her hand wander down to his butt and CUP it ever so gently. Grant was like, "I think Aunt Ruby must be in that stage of Alzheimers where she can't control her urges because she keeps grabbing my butt," but I told him right quick, "Nope. That's MY Aunt Ruby, the ultimate flirt."
I love and miss ya'll more than you will ever know, but one day we can pick up where we left off down here. Until then, Ya'll girls have fun up there. Shop 'til you drop. Dance 'til you can't dance anymore. Primp and sing, "You Great Big Beautiful Doll" all day long. Keep God laughing at your funny stories. Knowing ya'll, by the time I get up there to see ya'll again, God will meet me at the pearly gates wearing leather pants, a red blazer, and a dickie.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Grandmother's Potty Problems Part 2
On the second go-around with Grandmother and her potty doctor, I pulled into the driveway and found Grandmother waiting on the porch for me. She opened the car door and threw a Walmart sack onto the console and climbed in. She pointed to the bag and said, "They wanted a sample, so there it is. It's solid, though, not water, but that's the best I could do." Seriously? Who knew that the cure for watery BMs was a trip to the potty doctor? After a week of 'nothing BUT water', we have a hard one! Yeah, right, but away we went with a steaming pile perched on my console. We got to the potty doctor and instead of taking her sample to the lab first, she sits it BESIDE ME in the chair along with her purse (which contained only her adult diaper, gum, kleenex, and her insurance cards) and told me, "Watch my sample and purse while I do my tests and I'll take my sample up before we go." OMG! This lady is on crack! She is leaving me with a pile of poo and a diaper to guard until she comes back?! I definitely think I am cursed by now. I mean, some voodoo doctor has put a little short and stout brown haired doll in a pile of poo and is laughing his butt off right now just thinking of the humiliation I am suffering at this moment.
After an hour of me playing poo guard, Grandmother came back, gathered her things, and went to the lab to give her specimen to them. I stared at the floor and prayed for invisibility until we got back in the car. As I cranked the car, she told me to call IMA and cancel her appointment there because she had just been there 3 days before and didn't want to MAKE THE DOCTOR MAD FOR COMING WHEN NOTHING NEW WAS WRONG SINCE SHE WAS THERE 3 DAYS AGO!! Yeah, it's perfectly fine to spend 2 days of my life in pursuit of Grandmother achieving a normal poo, watching Grandmother take poo tests, carrying poo in my car, guarding poo in a doctor's office for an hour, and describing poo to a doctor ONLY to find out that PEPTO BISMOL solved the poo problem days before I did all this?! But alas, I smiled that tight-lipped 'If I knew I had enough WWJD Jesus points to be sure I had canceled out ALL my not so WWJD moments and I could get into Heaven but I'm not 100% sure so I'm going to be nice and hope I make it but all I REALLY want to do is cuss a blue streak and head for the nearest Mexican restaurant for a margarita' smile at her, dialed IMA, and canceled her appointment. She was feeling so good, in fact, that I took her to Smith's Nursery for some 'real' tomatoes and cantaloupes (grocery store produce is a sad, tasteless version of the real thing), took her to Fred's, and then took her home so she could work in her yard. Grandmother's sickness and healing was so instantly miraculous, it even made Benny Hinn go, "Dang, there's no way she was sick at healed that quick." (Benny, I believe YOU can do that, but the poo doctor ain't no Benny Hinn hehehe so don't sue me please) (Lord, please forgive me for lying to Benny but I don't want him to sue me so I had to lie. I know you understand because you don't believe Benny heals either, so I hope we are ok, Amen). I told her I loved her, she gave me a hug, and I waved goodbye as I pulled out of her driveway. She is hard headed, high maintenance, and demanding, but I thank the good Lord every day he leaves her on this earth. For 90 years, she gave her life to others, and if she has decided now that it's time for somebody else to give to her, it's the least I can do. Maybe one of these days, I can get a halo to hang on my horns.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Does My Forcing a 90 Year Old to Poop in a Cup Make Me Crazy?
I am completely sure that, after today, I can draw a crazy check. My phone rang this morning a little after eight. It was Grandmother. She was freaking out because she had a doctor's appointment at 9:40 and no one had called to say they were on their way to get her. Grant was getting a tire fixed, so I jerked on my clothes from last night, threw my hair in a pony tail, and took off to Baldwyn to grab Grandmother and fly to Tupelo. I put on my makeup in the rear view mirror while dodging traffic and road construction and made it to the doctor with ten minutes to spare. We walked up to the receptionist's desk, signed in, and sat down. A few minutes later, the receptionist called us back to her desk and told us that…..wait for it….. her appointment was at 1:40, not 9:40 and we couldn't be worked it before then. Grandmother turned to me and said, "Grant thought it was 1:40. I guess he was right." OMG! I plastered a smile on my face, turned, and headed for the elevator.
We got back in the car and headed to my house to wait until time to go back to the doctor. I tried to make use of the few hours I had to call clients and catch up on my paperwork (I was already WAY behind because of vacation). Grandmother took a spot on the couch across from me and …… stared…. at me …… the whole time. I tried to divert her attention to tv, pictures, you name it, to no avail. I fixed her some lunch while I completed her paperwork for the doctor visit and we loaded back up to our scheduled appointment.
We walked back into the doctor's office …..and waited…… and waited …….. and waited. The longer we waited, the more anxious Grandmother got. She had to go to the bathroom. Then she started having chest pains and shortness of breath. She took a nitro pill. I finally went up to the desk (We are at the two hour waiting mark now.) and told the receptionist, "She's going to have a heart attack and/or a panic attack if ya'll don't get her in a room, so please come up with a room or place for her to lay down before we have to leave here and go to the hospital." They put us in a room and ….. you guessed it ……We waited again. At 2:45 the doctor came in the room. By this time, Grandmother had developed leg cramps and was doing toe touches, leg circles, and, for the finale for the benefit of the doctor, leg lunges. She already had her pants pulled up to her knees to show me the 'skin cancers' that had migrated from her head to her legs in the past week (It was 'eating her alive'), so imagine a 90 year old miniature sized lady, with her pants rolled up, lunging back and forth in this cube of a room, hands on her hips, moaning and occasionally grabbing her chest for emphasis.
The doctor took one look and said, "Just do whatever you feel like while I ask these questions," and proceeded to play 20 questions as grandmother lunged and I hid behind my arm and looked at the ceiling. Every time the DIGESTIVE DOCTOR stopped for a breath, Grandmother would throw a "What does this rash look like to you?" or a "If my chest hurts across here, what does that mean?" at her. The doctor kept saying, "I only deal with the tummy, so I'm not sure….." but that wasn't the answer Grandmother was looking for, so she pressed on for answers. The reason we were supposed to be there was because Grandmother had stomach cramps and diarrhea that was 'like water' for more than a week.
Just in the nick of time, Grandmother needed to take a potty break. The minute she went out the door, I whispered furiously to the doctor, "She has anxiety and I'm not saying that's her problem totally, but part may be anxiety, but if you say the word "anxiety" in front of her, she will flog you and me both, so please don't use THE A WORD! The doctor whispered back, "I'm glad you told me because I suspect IBS that is flaring due to anxiety, but I will do some tests just to make sure it's not bacteria." In the middle of our frenzied whispers, Grandmother opened the door and shut it back. The doctor looked at me with deer in the headlights eyes and mouthed, "Do you think she heard us?" I laughed and said, "No, she's deaf too, so you're good." Grandmother came back in and the doctor began telling her about the tests she would undergo. She tried to slip out "IBS" and "Nerves" but Grandmother pounced and screamed, "I don't have anxiety! My heart doctor said I don't have anxiety. I have a heart issue!!" Boy, that doctor backpedaled quickly and went back to talking about tests. Grandmother kept ranting, "I know theres something wrong that's going to kill me. I need to be in the hospital but y'all can't seem to figure out what it is but I know its something." I hid under my arm and stared at the ceiling again.
The doctor finally got to escape and sent in a tech. The tech gave Grandmother a cup to catch a watery stool in and said to bring it back the next morning. We checked out and got back in the car. Grandmother turned to me and said, "I can't just have diarrhea on command. I haven't had any since I took Pepto Bismol Saturday night, but maybe I can eat some corn, that's what caused it last time, and have some more." ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! It's now 4:30, my head is splitting open, I've spent an entire day at the doctor, and you don't have diarrhea right now? I looked at her and said, "Well, whatever you have to do, you better do it because there better be diarrhea in that cup when I pick you up in the morning." Yep, this, ladies and gentlemen, is a statement that I never thought would come out of my mouth. I have resorted to intimidation to force a 90 year old woman to poop watery stool in a cup, and if THAT can't get me a crazy check, nothing can.
We got back in the car and headed to my house to wait until time to go back to the doctor. I tried to make use of the few hours I had to call clients and catch up on my paperwork (I was already WAY behind because of vacation). Grandmother took a spot on the couch across from me and …… stared…. at me …… the whole time. I tried to divert her attention to tv, pictures, you name it, to no avail. I fixed her some lunch while I completed her paperwork for the doctor visit and we loaded back up to our scheduled appointment.
We walked back into the doctor's office …..and waited…… and waited …….. and waited. The longer we waited, the more anxious Grandmother got. She had to go to the bathroom. Then she started having chest pains and shortness of breath. She took a nitro pill. I finally went up to the desk (We are at the two hour waiting mark now.) and told the receptionist, "She's going to have a heart attack and/or a panic attack if ya'll don't get her in a room, so please come up with a room or place for her to lay down before we have to leave here and go to the hospital." They put us in a room and ….. you guessed it ……We waited again. At 2:45 the doctor came in the room. By this time, Grandmother had developed leg cramps and was doing toe touches, leg circles, and, for the finale for the benefit of the doctor, leg lunges. She already had her pants pulled up to her knees to show me the 'skin cancers' that had migrated from her head to her legs in the past week (It was 'eating her alive'), so imagine a 90 year old miniature sized lady, with her pants rolled up, lunging back and forth in this cube of a room, hands on her hips, moaning and occasionally grabbing her chest for emphasis.
The doctor took one look and said, "Just do whatever you feel like while I ask these questions," and proceeded to play 20 questions as grandmother lunged and I hid behind my arm and looked at the ceiling. Every time the DIGESTIVE DOCTOR stopped for a breath, Grandmother would throw a "What does this rash look like to you?" or a "If my chest hurts across here, what does that mean?" at her. The doctor kept saying, "I only deal with the tummy, so I'm not sure….." but that wasn't the answer Grandmother was looking for, so she pressed on for answers. The reason we were supposed to be there was because Grandmother had stomach cramps and diarrhea that was 'like water' for more than a week.
Just in the nick of time, Grandmother needed to take a potty break. The minute she went out the door, I whispered furiously to the doctor, "She has anxiety and I'm not saying that's her problem totally, but part may be anxiety, but if you say the word "anxiety" in front of her, she will flog you and me both, so please don't use THE A WORD! The doctor whispered back, "I'm glad you told me because I suspect IBS that is flaring due to anxiety, but I will do some tests just to make sure it's not bacteria." In the middle of our frenzied whispers, Grandmother opened the door and shut it back. The doctor looked at me with deer in the headlights eyes and mouthed, "Do you think she heard us?" I laughed and said, "No, she's deaf too, so you're good." Grandmother came back in and the doctor began telling her about the tests she would undergo. She tried to slip out "IBS" and "Nerves" but Grandmother pounced and screamed, "I don't have anxiety! My heart doctor said I don't have anxiety. I have a heart issue!!" Boy, that doctor backpedaled quickly and went back to talking about tests. Grandmother kept ranting, "I know theres something wrong that's going to kill me. I need to be in the hospital but y'all can't seem to figure out what it is but I know its something." I hid under my arm and stared at the ceiling again.
The doctor finally got to escape and sent in a tech. The tech gave Grandmother a cup to catch a watery stool in and said to bring it back the next morning. We checked out and got back in the car. Grandmother turned to me and said, "I can't just have diarrhea on command. I haven't had any since I took Pepto Bismol Saturday night, but maybe I can eat some corn, that's what caused it last time, and have some more." ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! It's now 4:30, my head is splitting open, I've spent an entire day at the doctor, and you don't have diarrhea right now? I looked at her and said, "Well, whatever you have to do, you better do it because there better be diarrhea in that cup when I pick you up in the morning." Yep, this, ladies and gentlemen, is a statement that I never thought would come out of my mouth. I have resorted to intimidation to force a 90 year old woman to poop watery stool in a cup, and if THAT can't get me a crazy check, nothing can.
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