Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It has given us a few options today. I was supposed to post today about the negatives and positives in my blog world, but it will now be on Tuesday instead, so be sure to come back then for some amazing insight. :-)
I am choosing to write about the heart that wouldn't quit. I don't know if she means that literally (the actual organ) or figuratively (the spirit within) so I am going with the literal heart. Otherwise known as my grampa.
Grampa a very long time ago (1955?) with my mom and aunt.
My Grampa, had AAA (abdominal aortic aneurysm) surgery in May of 2001. While on the operating table he had a massive heart attack. While AAA surgery is not an easy surgery, it definitely wasn't expected to be the recovery that it was.
Grampa was in ICU for a long time. Intubated to boot. The poor guy could not speak. He also had early Parkinson's, and could not write very well. They tried to extubate after a little while, but his O2 immediately dropped so they intubated him again. Another little while passed. The longer a patient is intubated, the higher the risk of pneumonia. So they decided to try again. Grampa let them know, NO MATTER WHAT, that he was not to be intubated again. How awful must that be that you would chose to die than to have that thing shoved down there again?
Thankfully, this time he was able to breathe on his own. He stayed in for quite a while. My gramma was there every single day. Sitting by his bedside while his cranky self grumped at her. But spouses, they understand, and tolerate more than the average joe. He was suffering. He was tired of being in the hospital. He wanted his golf cart and his golf buddies. He wanted to feel normal again.
I asked the doctor (it's truly amazing how they will talk to you when you are wearing scrubs!) how long we could expect grampa to be with us, because he was not a candidate for open heart surgery. This doctor said he had seen patients last UP TO A YEAR on medical therapy alone.
Hmmm. So, that Christmas, we enjoyed having Grampa there with us. He didn't stay at my Mom's for long, though. He was still quite weak and less tolerant (okay, he was grumpy) of the hustle and bustle and noise that is Christmas.
Amazingly, huge thanks to my gramma, he was still with us the following Christmas.
And the next.
Grampa with my Liv, aka Bubble Bum as she was affectionately called by Grampa.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next (2006). Although this year he stayed at home and didn't come out to the family gathering. He was having a lot of trouble breathing. By now, he had a scooter, and his walker was kept beside the chair for his trips to the bathroom, and he was on oxygen.
In the spring of 2007, my gramma, who had not had a break for a single day since 2001, went to BC to see her family. Grampa went to respite for the weekend.
He hated it.
In, October, Grampa wasn't doing very well. He landed back in the hospital, and from there, since he was not well enough to go home, went back to respite, more a half-way house, until he improved enough to go home. He would go home for a check up by the program doctors where my grandparents lived and be told he wasn't quite well enough yet, and be sent back to the nursing home again.
In November, he went home for another checkup. He went upstairs to their apartment and sat in his chair. He announced that he had to go to the bathroom, which required help from the attendants, but before anyone could get there, he grinned and said "Oops, too late!" He was losing control of his bodily function now, and wore a diaper. He looked at my Gramma's ring that was her gift from him for their 60th wedding anniversary, which was coming up in a few months, and had just come in that week. He watched a TV show on his big-screen TV that had become a close and personal friend over the last couple of years, as his mobility went. He went downstairs with Gramma for Hymn time, and stood beside her. He was called by the nurses, because it was time for his check up.
He waved to Gramma and said "See you later, dear." And off he went upstairs, with his very favorite nurses.
He saw the doctor and told her that No Way was she gonna send him back to "that place". "I'll quit this program if I have to, but I WON'T go back there!"
And then he died.
The heart that just wouldn't quit finally quit. In a place he loved. With people he loved. Having one final chance to do the things he loved.
The nurse went back downstairs to get my Gramma. We all got phone calls. And the family, only 16 short months after Shelley, gathered around each other once again.
I had the honor of being one of the pallbearers. The grandchildren carried Grampa to his final resting place. Nothing in my life has ever been so difficult, yet I was so proud, and so honored to be able to do it.
So we will soon see a full year come around without my Grampa. It is still odd to think of him being gone.
But when you consider that doctor six and a half years earlier saying he could last up to a year, I can't help but be thankful for all the extra time we were given.
Grampa and Gramma, just six short weeks before he died.
If I had any sense at all I would have taken a picture of this, but the picture I put in your head is going to have to do. And friends .... It ain't gonna be pretty.
We have this delightful african themed shower curtain in our downstairs bathroom. I mean, it is GREAT! There is no nakedness showing through. It's dark, so it hides the grime and grunge that is a daily shower for five people. (Unfortunately it also hides the grunge and grime from these tired eyes, so rarely gets cleaned! Ugh!)
Anyway, this shower curtain is black and brown. It is perfect.
Only one problem with it. The spiders also love it. They can hide their ugly little bodies in the folds of that black and brown shower curtain. I have taken to showering in my crocqs so that if I see one, I can hopefully (and in my fantasy world - oh, wait. In my fantasy world there ARE no spiders!) spray him with water, he falls to the bottom of the shower in that ugly little ball they curl up in and then I squish him like a bug!!!!
Only it never actually happens that way.
It's been a little while since a spider had come to call. By that I mean maybe a week! They love my shower curtain THAT much! So, of course, this fine morning, I decided to leave the crocqs off and actually shock my feet with a bar of soap. (Sorry, I totally should have warned you, this is not a story for the weak!)
And of course, this fine morning, I have a visitor.
I was just about to put my head back and wash out my shampoo when I saw it. He was crawling up the curtain.
I gasped so fast and so furiously that I'm surprised I didn't suck that little bugger in like a vacuum cleaner!!
And then I ran.
In all my glory.
And I stood there looking at the shower curtain.
I didn't know what the heck to do. In order to get this thing, I have to get back into the shower with it.
So I grabbed a cup, and put a towel on my shampooed hair. I slipped into my crocqs (after first checking to make sure he hadn't brought a friend) and snuck back in. Like, I'm talking tippy-toed in.
Like he's gonna care, right?
Do spiders even have any friggin' ears?
So I'm back in the shower with this thing, my crocqs, a cup of water, my towel on my head and all my naked glory and I threw the cup of water at him.
And then I ran.
And I stood across the enemy line, just looking at the curtain again.
Crap. I don't see him back-stroking down the drain.
Fill up the cup, and back in I go. On tippy-toe.
I can't find him!! I took each fold VERY carefully between two fingers and slowly peaked in. When I knew he wasn't there, I would open it up and go to the next fold.
When I had it almost all the way closed and I know that he's got to be in the next fold, out my peripheral vision I saw him. RIGHT FRIGGING IN FRONT OF MY FACE!
How the heck did he DO that??? I ran like my arse was on fire folks!
Then I debated waking up my husband. He'd kill me, but it would be a much better death than the one I was surely facing. My heart just couldn't take much more of this.
So now I have no choice. I take out the big guns. Lysol air freshener. I used this once when my BAM bathroom cleaner was all used up, and it works!!
By this time he's running for his life. He's up on top of the curtain and he'd hide again on the back and then he'd run up again.
Some of you might actually feel sorry for this thing. This evil creature. God's one and only mistake. But not me.
I sprayed that whole darned shower curtain. From the outside. I aimed it above and down so that I soaked that backside of it. I sprayed until I was certain that any and all talk of global warming would be COMPLETELY my fault!
And I watched for his ugly self to fall to the bottom of the shower. He never did.
By now, this ordeal has taken 20 minutes, I'm late leaving for work. I'm late waking my family. I'm still naked and I still have shampoo in my hair.
So I reached up very carefully. And I hauled that shower curtain down ring by ring. And then I dragged it out of my bathroom and threw it on the floor of my livingroom.
And then I saw it. The carcass. It stuck to the inside of the shower curtain. (Did I mention that I haven't cleaned that shower in a little while?) He was pretty dead. But I stomped him and smeared him anyway. Just to make me feel better.
And then I piled up the towels on the floor beside the shower, pushed myself and the spray as far as I could against the back wall, and showered without a curtain.
I woke my hubby up and told him to please look after the shower curtain that is laying on the rug. Wash it and put it in a bag. I never want to see it again. When he asked why keep it, I said it's a perfectly good shower curtain, thank you very much, and the girls can take it when they move out. (Remember, my girls are 14, 11 and 4?)
And today, folks, I went out to the store and bought a transparent shower curtain. Yes, I know that means I have to clean the shower regularly. Yes, I know that means that people will certainly get a fright if they barge in on me whilst I shower.
But I WILL see the next spider that is stupid enough to cross my path. And I WILL prevail!
And it was THIS BIG! And this is what I looked like, minus the clothes. (It was awkward.)
The National Transportation Safety Board recently divulged that they had for the past five years covertly funded a project with US auto makers whereby the auto makers installed black boxes in four wheel drive pickup trucks in an effort to determine, in fatal accidents, the circumstances in the last 15 seconds before the crash.
They were surprised to find in 44 of the 50 states that the last words of drivers in 61.2 percent of fatal crashes were, "Oh, Shit!" Only the states of West Virginia, Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Texas, and Tennessee were different, where over 89.3 percent of the final words were: "Hold my beer and watch this."
Walking through the jungle an
Elephant meets a naked man.
The elephant slowly looks the
Man up and down and says,
'How the hell do ya
Feed yourself with that?'
WIFE VS. HUSBAND A couple drove down a country road for several miles, not saying a word. An earlier discussion had led to an argument and neither of them wanted to concede their position. As they passed a barnyard of mules, goats, and pigs, the husband asked sarcastically, 'Relatives of yours?' 'Yep,' the wife replied, 'in-laws.'
UNDERSTANDING WOMEN (A MAN'S PERSPECTIVE) I know I'm not going to understand women. I'll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root, and still be afraid of a spider.
Today is International Disturbed People's Day
I don't care if you lick windows,
take the special bus
or occasionally pee on yourself..
You hang in there sunshine, you're friggin' special
Yes, my friends. I'm afraid that's true. I actually thought I lost them all to my children-in-utero! However, it seems that we (I say we hoping that I'm not the only one out there!) truly do end up stupid from sugar.
We buy into magic pills.
We get suckered into fad diets.
We pay a fortune to shed these pounds by purchasing diet foods that, if you really investigate, are only changing the portion size on the label. And the product weight is less by half. For the same price, and sometimes even more.
We go to weekly weigh-ins that provide us with much social stimulation and not a whole lot of actual information. But, hey, the group usually goes out to eat after! So that's all good.
We think that going hungry for one day corrects all the damage we've done by eating garbage food all week.
We use humour to cover up how miserable we are inside. I don't think it works. It just makes skinny people uncomfortable. Which is also fun, don't get me wrong. For example: Leon had to play four games of baseball yesterday. By the fourth game he was suffering pretty bad - he's getting old ya know - and the guys asked him if he had a piano tied to his ass while he was running the bases? So I said to him "Did you tell them, 'No, I left my wife at home.'?"
He didn't like that.
People, I am seriously miserable here.
I have two chins, an awful round face, back rolls, big arms, a ginormous ass. My joints hurt, my shoes don't fit. I hide out in my house - which isn't helping my activity level - and I especially don't go somewhere I might see someone I know.
What's worse is that I know my stuff. I could practically train someone I know so much about it. So why aren't I doing it?
My willpower stinks.
My taste buds are spoiled rotten.
The number is daunting.
My guilt at having more me-time, even after 13 years of everyone-but-me time.
I'm not a morning person, but am too tired at the end of the day to exercise.
Whatever would I wear?
What started this whole rant of mine was, of course my weight, but also I saw a link to register for free meal planning and exercise routine. This is that Jillian somethingorother from the Biggest Loser. So, I thought HEY! Sounds good! (I talked to a trainer here and he charges $700 for a 10 week program! $$Ouch!)
So I go through and enter my info. Answer the quesitonaire. Find out my body type and how my body type burns, or in my case, doesn't burn, it's energy/calories. It's all looking really great until I get to "Only $4 per week with a minimum five week registration!"
Hmmmm. Okay. I thought that free meant, oh, I don't know .... FREE?
Exit. Exit. Exit.
So that is essentially what started my post. Does she really think that just because I'm fat, I have no brain? That I've forgotten what free meant? That I would be so excited by what she is certain she can make of me, that I would just sign up anyway?
So I showed her. I'm not joining her "free" program.
I went out and got a slush and chocolate bar instead.
I'm not stupid.
(Oh, but I am heading out to the gym tomorrow. I've reached my low point - which is a necessity for any weight loss program. Wish me luck....)
It's when my little four year old says it. Or heck, even when she does it.
Yes, I'm just THAT sick!
When you walk by the bathroom, and there she is stripped down to her nuthins, and her face is red and her little eyes are watering, and her tiny self looks like she's going to fall right in.
Or when the bathroom light's on and you just aren't sure what she's up to in there, and you call out "What er'ya doin' in there, Liv?"
"I'm crapping!" she calls out in her wee squeaky little voice.
Or she starts dancing and you just know. "Liv?"
"I have to go crap!"
Try as I might, she will not say poo. Or poop. Or number 2. It's crap.
I have never in my life heard a little person say it, and I just giggle every time.
She has been saying it for months now, so I suppose I should really be used to it. But it's just so wrong in a really stupidly funny sort of way.
You may as well know. I'm the queen of over-sharing.
