The Missing of Him ......

...... may not bring me to my knees in that cold, dark place anymore ...... but it still brings tears.  Multiple tears that fall down my face and get my computer wet.
I wonder if the missing of him will always bring such tears?

Tonight I am missing him.
A lot.

And yesterday was Valentine's Day and I did really well.
Go figure.

Actually, I know exactly why I'm missing him tonight.  It wasn't just one thing that triggered my tears, but several things that happened today.
Happenstance, really.

I went to my tennis drill this morning and I worked my butt off.
Well, it's actually still there, but you know what I mean.  Our coach is amazing.  She's young and she looks younger than she is.
And she thinks that we are all just as young.
Or maybe not as young, but as fit.
You could bounce a quarter off of her body.
Mine?  Ummmmm .... not so much.
So she drills us hard.  And by hard I mean that after only 10 minutes she has most of us sucking air.
And me thinking that I may keel over after 30 minutes.
This goes on for an hour and a half (even though all four of us were praying that the drill was only an hour today ...... it was not.)
Now, this is almost a weekly event and it never causes me to feel the missing of him more keenly.  So that wasn't it.
But it was one thing.
I was tired.

Then a friend stopped me in the parking lot and asked me to join her and another friend in going to a movie.
I was sweaty and my clothes were more than damp.
Did I mention that I was tired?
So I did what all sensible, tired, sweaty people would do.
I jumped into her car and went to the movie.

The movie we saw?
"Safe Haven".

First things things first.
If you have been widowed for less than four years ...... I would suggest that you bypass this movie.
Now, I'm no expert on grief (other than my own), and we all travel this road at our own pace, so you may decide to pooh-pooh my advice and go see it.  And you have every right to do that.
Let me just say this about that:  You have been warned.

When the movie ended I could not get up fast enough to get to the restroom so that I could compose myself.  Well, that ...... and I had half of a large soda so my bladder was very angry with me.
But ...... it was more that I needed to go hide for a moment.  The ending of that movie had me doing the ugly cry.  And you should know that even a little crying makes me ugly so when I say "the ugly cry" ...... it was bad.

Now, it's true that I had no idea that the topic of being widowed would be broached in that movie.  But I did know, upon arrival at the theater, that it was ...... much to my loathing ...... a Nicholas Sparks movie.
Before you start throwing things at your computer in disgust at me ...... let me say that I used to like his stuff.
I loved "The Notebook".  Truly.
And then Jim died.
And I hated "The Notebook".  Truly.
And still do.

So I'm not a fan of the smarmy stuff any longer.
But ...... to be fair ...... even if someone had told me that the topic of widowhood would be in this movie, I wouldn't have thought too much about it.
That no longer stops me from seeing a movie, or reading a book.  It used to, but five years later ...... I'm ok with the topic.
Well, usually.

But I think the fact that I was tired helped me get to "the ugly cry" a little easier.

But I composed myself, came home, took a shower, changed into more tennis clothes, and then went back to join in the Friday night mixed doubles group.  This was my first time to join this group, and I had a partner lined up (though we didn't meet until tonight).
Most of the partners are married couples.  Most, not all.
I had fun, though the temperature dropped drastically tonight before I got there, and continued to drop.  The wind also picked up quite a bit and so it was very, very cold out.

I played well for 2 sets.  But towards the end of the second set my joints started to ache.  And I began to start feeling pretty crappy.
Did I mention it was cold?
The cold, the tiredness, and having worn myself out at drills today all kicked in to make me start feeling miserable.
But we finished the second set and shook hands all around.
It had also started to mist/sprinkle half way through the second set.

Then someone said, "Do you want to play a third set?"
And here's where I made an error in judgement.
I should've said, "Though it would be oh, so much fun to play a third set with the three of you, I must decline.  I'm a bit tired from a busy day, but thanks anyway!"
That's what I should've said.
Or something less candy-coated than that.

But I did not.
The other two players said, "Sure, if everyone is OK with that."
So what could I do?  Three of the four of us wanted to keep playing.  And I didn't want to be the party popper, so I agreed.
Big mistake.
Huge.

My partner and I won the first two games.  And though it felt like my racquet now weighed at least 20 lbs, I won my serve.
The other two won the third game.
And then we started the fourth.
Lord.
Have.
Mercy.

I think that we went to deuce at least 12 times.
The mist was getting heavier, the wind was blowing harder and the temps were falling lower.
Every joint in my body was screaming at me.  I could tell that I now had a fever, which tends to happen any time I over do it or get really exhausted.
After about the 10th deuce (the other team was serving) I told my partner, "We're going to have to declare a draw in a second."
He laughed.
I wasn't joking.

Two deuces later, the husband on the other side of the net said, kind of kiddingly, "You guys wanna keep this up?  This could last all night!".
I walked up to the net and said, "No.  No, I do not."  He looked surprised and said, "Really?"  I said yes.
And then I said, "Somebody has to be the adult here and put an end to this."  I think his wife, the one who was serving all of these deuces, was relieved.  As the two of us walked off of the court she told me that her knee, which had a heavy brace on it, was killing her in this cold weather.
I then told her that my joints were killing me because I have R.A. and the cold always makes them hurt.
It turns out that she has osteoarthritis in her knee.
Small world.
Of old people.
Sigh ......

All of the couples were gathering around a table, talking about going to get something to eat, but I was done.  I needed to get home and take something for the pain and fever ASAP.
As I got into my car I looked in my rearview mirror and saw all of the couples walking out into the parking lot.

And the missing of him hit.
It hit hard.

So there you go.
A really long post to convey a very short sentence:
I miss Jim.
A lot.

I'm exhausted.
My body feels like crap.
And I endured Nicholas Sparks today.

Add it all up ...... and you get me, sitting at my computer writing and crying.
Actually, I was crying when I started this post, but I'm not now.
Because writing about it ...... gets it out.
Mostly.

And now I think that I shall go to bed.
It's exhausting to write a really long and totally boring post for you guys.
Hopefully it helped some of you feel ready to go to bed, too.
Unless of course it's the middle of the day.
And then ...... all I can say is ...... "I'm sorry."
Now go take a nap.

Happy Friday/Saturday, Peeps.
:)

Let Them Eat Cake ......

...... although they probably won't want my cake.

Yesterday was Son #3's 17th birthday.  I bought him Journey & Foreigner tickets several months ago for the evening, hoping that I would be the 3rd wheel.
I was not.
Sometimes parenting really sucks.

But he had a great time, as did his two friends so I'm ok with it.
Besides, I ended up going to dinner with a good friend and had more fun doing that.
:)

Got up bright and early today to get ready for our tennis match.  An hour after I got up I started feeling quite ill.  Like maybe the yogurt I had eaten for breakfast was a terrorist plant or something.  Except that I don't think I do anything in my life that would remotely interest a terrorist.
We had no one available for a sub today so I had to either go out and play ("play" being a rather loose term) or we would forfeit the match.
Being a theatre major,  the term "the show must go on" is ingrained into my brain.
I shall do my best to remember, in the future, that a tennis match is not a show.
Well, at least the way I played today made it not a show.
It was just a pathetic 2 sets that we lost.
Crap.

I didn't get home until 4:30 (had to stop at the grocery store on the way home) and am getting ready to fix Son #3 his birthday dinner, which he didn't have last night due to the concert.
I made his cake yesterday.
Then I put it into the oven so that it would stay fresh(er) until we could eat it tonight.
Big mistake.
Big.

I've done this several times before and never encountered a problem.
This time, however, the result was almost scary.  I'd take a picture and show you but it's a little humiliating.
And after being humiliated in tennis this morning I really don't need any more of that over a stupid cake.
Suffice it to say that the cake cracked.
The frosted-cake cracked.
And now looks like it has a giant peace sign carved into it.
I.
Despise.
Cooking.
Of.
Any.
Kind.
sigh ......

Well, I'm off to see if I can do a better job with the steaks.
The steaks that my stomach won't let me eat.

This has been a great start to my week.

I may go to bed in an hour and stay there for the rest of the week.
Well, except for Wednesday, when I get to go to court.
Not for myself.
But for a child who made a stupid decision.

Prayers for the week would be nice.
Prayers for peace, calm, sleep, WAY less cheek chewing .... and for my stomach to calm down.
And prayers that the huge wall of tears that I can feel behind my eyes and heart doesn't burst.
Because dammit ...... he should be here.

Busy, busy ....

.... weekend.

I attended a photography workshop on Saturday and Sunday, hosted by Jennifer, a.k.a MckMama.  It was wonderful to finally meet each other.  We've "known" each other for 4 years now.  She's a great photographer.  Me?  Not so much.
I have a great camera.
One that I keep on A for automatic, or V for video.
But no longer!
Well, at least no longer after I practice a whole lot more.

I came back yesterday from the workshop and went straight to a meeting where I met some wonderful teenagers who will be in a Bible study group that I and a friend will be leading.  Well, not really leading so much as trying to maintain some sort of control over.
Something tells me it will be only a wee bit of control.
They are a great bunch of kids and I'm looking forward to it .... very much.

So with all the busyness of the weekend, especially yesterday, I didn't give the women's US Open final a single thought.  I didn't even record it because I figured it would be a blow out and I knew I wouldn't enjoy watching it.
Boy .... was I wrong or what?!
Dang, I wish I had recorded that puppy!

I will record the men's final.

That's because I won't be anywhere near a television today.
Instead, I'll be at an appointment with an attorney.
Just the thought of that makes me feel like I'm going to hurl.

Don't get me wrong .... it's not the attorney.  At least, I don't think it is.  I've never met him.
It's just the thought of him .... of having to see him.
Of having to hire him ..... or someone else.
I do not want to do this.

I want to go to bed, right now, pull the sheet up over my head .... and cry.

But I can't.
Because I'm a parent.

And sometimes ..... sometimes those three little words ..... "I'm.  A.  Parent." .... totally suck.

It's Only Been Five Days ....

..... and yet it seems like a week.
A full week.
It's been a very full five days.

Camp Widow is 17 days away.  But then I guess you know how far off it is/is not .... if you just look to the right.
:)
As the Volunteer Coordinator it's been a busy couple of weeks, trying to get in touch with everyone and get t shirt sizes, meal choices, workshop choices, etc.
If this were a perfect world, everyone would respond to my e-mails ..... in a timely fashion.
However it is not, and the do not.  Sometimes, not at all.
Sigh.
But most of them do and it's going to be a great weekend!

Daughter #2 came home today for a short visit.  We had pedicures this afternoon.
After I went to the physical therapy and then to see my orthopedic surgeon ..... who told me that I was a free woman.
OK, that's not exactly what he said, but that's what it amounts to.
I'm done seeing him, unless I get injured again (please, God .... no).
I'm done with physical therapy, which is both good and bad.  Good, in that I won't have to go 3 days a week, bad in that I liked going, liked my PT and the workout my shoulder got, and bad that I won't be doing that kind of work out at home.  I mean, I could totally lie and say that i will, but who would I be kidding?  I'm hoping to get some PT stuff done, but it won't be at the same level as going in and doing it is.
So yay, my shoulder has been cleared to do whatever it feels like doing.  Just not all at once.
I played tennis last Monday and it felt great.  No pain whatsoever.  For the first time in over 5 years.  And no pain that night, either.
And then I played on Thursday.  And I played longer, and a bit harder, than I had played on Monday.
And it was too much.
It's still a bit sore from that day, but not too bad.

But Thursday got a bit worse after that.
After playing tennis I went out and did a lot of errands.  At this point in time (just after midnight on Tuesday) I can't remember what all I did, but I was heading home around 3:00 p.m.
Our smallish-community has been having a lot of road work done on one of its 2 major streets.  Yep, one out of two is a lot.  I was on that street Thursday afternoon.  As I pulled on to it I passed a sigh that read, "road work ahead" .... duhhhh.  Then the next sign read, "Right light closed ahead".  Well, "ahead" in this case meant in about one mile.  But I dutifully moved into the left lane as soon as I could because that's just how I run.  And I ABHOR the little people who continue to zip down the right lane and cut in at the very last moment.
ABHOR.
Many such little people were doing this on Thursday.  And if you have done this, shame on you.
After being in the left lane for about 20 minutes (20 minutes of stop and go traffic) I looked into my rearview mirror and noticed that the black truck behind me was driving down the center of the two lanes, so that no more little people could zip by.  I smiled and thought, "Good for you, Mr. Black Truck Driver!"  We continued to drive this way a bit longer and then I noticed that there was a white truck behind the black truck and Mr. White Truck Driver was being aggressive.  Way too aggressive for stop and go traffic.  I have no doubt that he was totally ticked at Mr. Black Truck Driver for not letting him zip past.  He kept speeding up and riding on the rear end of the black truck, swerving left and right and mainly driving like a huge jerk.
Then he must've decided that driving like a jerk was not nearly as fun as driving like an ass, because he suddenly swerved to his left and drove up and over the curb, past the trees and sidewalk and past the black truck.
He then drove off of the curb and back into the right lane.
Next to me.
I was a bit stunned but would soon be even more stunned.
Because Mr. No-Longer-a-Jerk-But-Now-An-Ass started heading into my lane.
Where I was.
I thought that perhaps he didn't notice me there, even though I drive a large-ish red-ish SUV.  See, even then I gave him the benefit of doubt.  But that disappeared in the next nano-second.
Because I honked to let him know that there was indeed a car in the lane into which he was swerving.  I looked at him, his window was next to my window, and he was shaking both of his fists at me and waving them towards himself, as if to say, "C'mom!  C'mon and get some of this!".
And I was about as stunned as I thought I could get.
Until he kept heading into my lane.
I could not have avoided him, unless I swerved to my left and up and over the median on my side, or sped up and slammed into the car behind me, or hit my brakes and then watched the rear part of his truck hit the front part of my car.
He pulled closer to me and then swerved in my direction, causing our side mirrors to smash into each other.  I saw paint and glass flying everywhere.
And at that point I was about as stunned as I was going to be.
And then I became P***ED.
Very, very, P***ED.
I stopped my car and saw that he had stopped his and leapt out of it.
In my p***ed off state, I forgot that I was alone in my car, that I am only 5'4" and weigh somewhere around 120 lbs.
Meaning, not big enough to beat the crap out of this guy.
Even though I felt big enough at the time.
I jumped out of my car and just looked at him .... probably with a most unkind look.  He started screaming, "Pull it over!!  PULL IT OVER!!!"
I knew at that moment that I was dealing with a madman, but still didn't conclude that I had no one there to back me up.
So I mustered up all 5'4" of me and yelled the only thing I could think of (and of which I am not proud) .... "Screw you!!!"
And then I got back in my car and thought about just driving off for about 2 seconds.  But I was still too mad.  So I picked up my cell and dialed 911 and pulled my car over into the right lane.
A very, very kind mind who had been driving in front of my got out of his car and told me that I had done nothing wrong, I was in the right and that man was crazy.  And then he stayed with me until the police came, which took quite a while, seeing as how there was only one lane of traffic and people were gawking at us.  Mr. White Truck Driver, who henceforth shall be known as The Supreme Ass (of TSA), stayed on his end of the street and I stayed on my end.  The police came, took my story, took TSA's story and then took the witness' story.  And then he talked to TSA again and came back to me with an ultimatum;  he could give both of us a citation (wait for it ...), and we could take our chance in court,  or just let us both go and take care of our own cars.
And I then learned that I could, indeed, be stunned a little bit more.
I said something like, "WHAT?!!!  Why would I get a citation???!!!  I didn't do anything wrong and you have a witness to that fact!"
To which he replied something like, "I'm not going to go into any of that.  Do you want the citation or not?"
Now I have never had a citation before.  Nor a ticket.  Ever.  Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but it's true.  I personally think one should receive some sort of plaque or something if one reaches the age of, oh .... 50, and has never had a ticket.  Evidently not everyone agrees with that.
So all I could think, and say, was, "No!  I don't want a citation.  But HE should get one!"  Mr. Policeman, henceforth known as Ass #2, just looked at me.  Finally I said, "No, I don't want a citation."  He said, "Fine.  Now I'll go talk to TSA."  The witness could not believe it when I told him what Ass #2 had said.
Then Ass #2 came back and said, "TSA wants to file a police report.  So I'm going to write one, but not give either of you a citation."  I asked what in the world that meant and he said it meant that I should take his police report to my insurance office and then follow their directions.  He then told me that I could go. I got into my car, got back into the left lane, drove about 2 feet ..... and then it hit me.  Ass #2 did NOT want to give any citations because that meant that, not only would he be out there longer, but he would also have to show up in court.  And then I was furious.  Beyond furious.  I drove straight to my insurance office and told them what had happened.  The woman asked, "You told him, Yes, I want the citation!!! Right?"  I told her that, alas, I had not.  I was new at all of this and couldn't think in time and that I later realized what had just happened.  I had been scammed.
She told me that the police department from this particular large metropolis (which shall remain nameless, but you all know where I live anyway) contains some of THE laziest people on the face of the earth.  They, as an insurance company, encounter this all of the time.  This is so wrong .... on so many levels.  But if it ever happens again I'll know better.  And I'll go to court.
On the bright side?  His mirror was hanging by a wire.  Mine is just really scratched up.
And .... when I went to the insurance office I saw our weekly farmers' market in our town center.  I'd never been to it because I never remember that it's there.  But that day I went.  And enjoyed myself immensely.
So there, TSA.

Yes, this is a hugely long post and for that I am truly sorry.  I told you it's been a week of only 5 days.
And now, as of tonight, my joints are hurting.  Not just aching, but "had to take a pain pill" hurting.
Damn.
If they're like this tomorrow then I expect I'll be seeing the rheumatologist sooner, rather than later.

So there you go.
A week of 5 days.
I'm sure there's more to share with you about those 5 days, but it's almost 1 am and I have to take Son #3 to the dr. at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.
Guess who made the appointment at that time?
It wasn't me.
sigh .....

On that sigh ..... Happy Tuesday, Peeps.

And please, move into the correct lane in a timely fashion.
:)


P.S.  I forgot to add that my insurance agent called the next morning and had a message from TSA.  He's filing a claim against them/me for "failure to yield".  She thought that was hysterical.  Especially since there was no where, nor any way for me to yield and not get hit by him moving into my lane.  He never stopped, never slowed down, never seemed to care that our cars would collide at some point.  I was glad to have helped given her some entertainment for her day.  She laughed .... a lot.
So did the agent who called yesterday to get my "tape recorded version" .... and she works for his insurance company!  I later got a call from my company, for the same thing .... my recorded version.  The person who took that one was very confused as to why he was even wasting their time.  I just said that I thought he was a wee bit crazy.  That's all.
Aren't we all?  But hopefully we hold it in while driving .... hopefully.

At Our Age ....

.... who knew that three little words .... I mean, really little .... heck there are only 8 letters total .... three eentsy words could make you blink .... and think .... "Ouch!"?
And then ..... damn!

So here's the story (cuz I know you're all just hanging here, waiting ..... hmmmmm, maybe I'll just close now and leave you really hanging ...... nah, I'm not that mean.  Well, not habitually),

I went to my PT appointment this morning.  For those of you young enough and healthy enough to not know what PT is ..... first, I hate you and second .... it's Physical Therapy .... or Physical Therapist, depending upon your context.
Now go jog or something.

For everyone else .... I went in for my appointment this morning ..... oops, have to digress here, again.
My appointment was at 9:00.
I had been up since 6:00.
Yes, as in A....M....
I know!
And that was because last night on ESPN2, the liars sportscasters said that the men's semi finals coverage would begin at 6:00 a.m. .... 7:00 eastern time, today.
So I set my alarm for 6:00.
A.M.
Yes, I'm a tool that way because no, I don't want to tape a live sporting event, only to find out how it ended when someone .... oh, let's say someone like ..... YOUR MOM ..... calls you up to say, "Can you believe that Roger lost the final?" ..... before you get the chance to watch it yourself.  I'm not really naming names here .... I'm just sayin'......
I hate watching a match once I know who won .... it's totally not the same because then it makes no sense at all for you to yell at the TV, hoping to encourage your player, or to say, "Are you KIDDING ME?!!!  Even I can hit it into the net!!!  And I don't get paid!!"
What?
Whatever.

So, I got up at 6:00 A.M. only to realize after about .... oh 30 minutes or so, that "coverage begins at 6:00 a.m., 7:00 eastern" REALLY means, "We start chatting amongst ourselves about our deep knowledge of the players and what they think at every shot, and who wore the worst outfit, or who wore the least amount of outfit, and hey, what do you think about the new roof, and so, can you believe Rafa's not playing in the Davis cup, and all kinds of stuff like that for over an hour so don't turn on the TV thinking you're going to be watching a live match at 6:00 a.m., 7:00 eastern ..... SUCKERS!"

Yes, I blame myself.
I should have known.

The match didn't begin ..... or at least ESPN2 did not start airing it until around 7:10 a.m., 8:10 eastern.
Which worked out well in the end because at least I didn't have an excuse to not shower today.
Don't judge.

So ..... 3 hours later ..... and yes, this post WILL end ....... I go to PT.  I'm feeling pretty good this morning (as you,  no doubt, have guessed by now).  I check in and head over to the little bike thing that's not really a bike but has pedals for your hands.  So your arms and shoulders get a work out.  That's my warm up.
Next to me is this cute little old man that I sat next to two days ago.  Today I smiled at him and said hello.  Wednesday I nodded and think I managed a smile, though wouldn't bet on it.  I was still hurting on Wednesday.
He was so cute.  He looks quite a lot like Mr. Magoo and if you're too young to know who Mr. Magoo is why are you here??  You were supposed to go jogging about 5 paragraphs ago!!!  Sheesh!!

He has a cute accent that I can't quite place and a great smile that lights up his eyes.
Once I smiled I guess that led him to think I was encouraging a conversation.
Whatever.
OK, kidding.
Today anyway.

He smiled brightly and leaned towards me and said, "At our age we're lucky.  We have an adult playground to go to!!"
And he looked so cute and sounded so cute that I almost didn't notice those first teeny, tiny three words.
I kept smiling and I think I may have nodded .... because about then those words were settling into my brain and I think my body forgot how to breathe, let alone make a sound, so the nodding may have been me starting to pass out from brain, not to mention ego, trauma.

Then my brain started racing.
"At our age??"  Is that really what that not-as-cute-as-he-was-30-seconds-ago little old man just said?
To me???
"At OUR age"?????
I glanced to my other side just to make sure that I really was on the very last machine, next to a wall, so he wasn't talking to anyone else.
I was.  And he wasn't.
Come ON!!!!

This guy is pushing 80, at least.
At the very least.
No matter how cute he is was.

I have no illusions about my age, or how old I look ..... but SERIOUSLY??????
I did a quick take of the room.  There were around 15 other patients.  One was a young girl in her early 20's (I assume, but then heck .... I could be totally wrong because I'm looking at least 80 to SOMEbody!) and was an athlete.  Her rocking body told me that.
Then there were 2 men who's age was questionable, but for the benefit of doubt let's just say they were younger than me.
That means that out of 16 people in the room, three were younger than me.
Number 4?
Me.
And I would guess (but .... you know .......) that I was younger than the next person by maybe 10 years.
And it only went up after that.  Way up.
So ..... you do the math.

Now I've never been a "math" person (and no,  I'm not blonde so just stop that right now.  I know several smart(ish) blonde people.  Kidding!), but even I can tell you that I wasn't even in the AVERAGE age range of that room!

So there you go.
Three little words from wee little man almost undid a week's worth of he-man steroids in my body.
And they definitely made my brain say, "Ouch!".
Followed by "Damn!"

Thanks for sticking around, Peeps, and for the encouragement, prayers and smiles.
I figured it was my turn.
And now, if you'll excuse me,  I have to turn to the internet and look up 'recapturing one's youth', 'health spas', or ..... just plain old 'plastic surgeons'.
Evidently there is much work to be done.

Happy Friday, Peeps.
And Happy July 4th Weekend.
Thank God for this country .... faults and all.
:)

I'm Not Certain .....

.... but I don't think I could be any more exhausted than I am right this very minute.
It is now 11:00 and this is truly the first time I have been able to sit down and relax since I left for the doctor's office at 1:00 today.  I didn't get home until around 10:00.

First off, I had my first physical therapy session this morning.  Not my first time to have PT, but the first one since my shoulder surgery.

Let's just say that I was less happy leaving than I was when I got there.
On the up side .... I was able to watch Venus get her butt kicked lose graciously in only 2 sets.  And on the double-up side .... I was able to watch her sister Serena lose this morning (also in only 2 sets) before I had to leave for PT.
I think those were the high points of my day.

I finished PT and then came home to have a business call ..... yay for Camp Widow getting close!
After our meeting it was time for me to go sit in this new doctor's (new to me) office for over an hour.
I asked 2 other women waiting with me if they were new .... they were not.  And yes, there's always a wait.  Especially on Monday's because that's "infusion day".
No, I didn't ask, but I have a fairly good idea and didn't want to learn any more about it.

So I finally get called back, weighed (ugh!), temperature and BP taken.  No problems there.
I then sat in the exam room and waited again.  This time the wait was much shorter.  He came bustling in, introduced himself, and then managed to bring tears to my eyes by shaking my hand.
Have I said that I seem to hurt all over?
Yeah ...

He sat down, looked at my paper work and then asked who sent me.  I replied that my regular dr. had.  He asked why.  I said that they told me that I needed to see him because my blood work came back positive for R.A.
He looked at the papers again and then said that he wouldn't consider my "number" to be positive.  It was the lower region of positive and he said that doesn't count.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I really did want to hear the words, "There has been a mistake.  You don't have R.A.  Now just go skipping merrily on your way and enjoy the rest of your life."
But.
And this happens to be a rather large "but".
I.
Am.
In.
Pain.

Constant.  Never gone.  24/7.
Sometimes it eases up a bit, but that's only by taking some very strong meds every 4 stinkin' hours, which I don't want to keep doing.  I know that after a while I'll grow accustomed to that med anyway and then it will no longer relieve any of my pain.
It was at about that time that I began to think I may be losing my mind.

Then he started to ask about my symptoms .... when the started, how they progressed and how they limited me.
He then asked what caused me main throughout the day.  "You mean, besides your hand shake?", I asked him.
He smiled and said that his handshake was a test to see how his patients are doing.  He could tell that it had hurt me when he did it.
What a lovely person.
Then he examined me .... every single joint, every swollen appendage, my lungs, my heart and my liver,.

 He concluded that I did, indeed, have R.A.  (don't know if it was the feel of each of my joints, the always-swollen appendages that used to look like legs and feet or the fact that he made me nearly jump out of my skin every time he touched a joint).  But .... he would not give me that diagnosis until he took 7 vials of my blood, put my on steroids for 2 weeks and then had me come back in.
I asked him what the side affects are to steroids and he immediately said, "Weight gain.".  And then my eyes filled with tears again.  He said, "I know.  I hate to have to tell people that but it's true.  But it's only 2 weeks so it'll probably on be a couple of pounds."
He does not know my body.
If I even look at a picture of something fattening I gain 3 pounds.
And here I am, still 5 lbs over where I want to be because of that damn patch.  So great.  Let's just keep adding to that.
And ..... if I find that the steroids help and let me reduce my intake of pain meds, then I do have R.A.  Which also means that I'll continue to be on steroids far longer than 2 weeks.

Poor guy .... he knew I was upset.  He told me again that it would only be a couple of pounds.  I retorted that it wasn't just the weight .... it was also that I didn't want to look like that!!  And I pointed to a picture on his wall of a pair of gnarled, misshapen, frozen hands.

He told me not to worry about it and to not lose any sleep over it (and I told him that the pain was preventing that anyway to no big loss).  He said to just wait and see.  And that it could be worse.  At least it's not cancer.

Well, yes .... let's all do a happy dance for that fact.

I told him that I had already been through "the worst thing" .... and he agreed .... a little sheepishly.

Besides, he didn't seem to been in any pain at all as he was writing all of this stuff down.  Must be nice.  I can't even hold a pen anymore without resembling a cave man.

So papers were signed, prescriptions filled out and orders for more blood work were given.  Seven vials, one appointment set for 2 weeks, and paperwork all about RA  later .... and I was out the door and then in my car, with instructions to research RA and learn every thing I can about it.
I tried vey hard to not cry as I sat in my car.
And I didn't.

I'm going back to my former attitude.  Is it what it is and there's no sense worrying about it right now.
And besides .... after all I've been through, I'm pretty sure I can go through anything.

But I'd really, really like to not have to.

Happy Monday/Tuesday, Peeps.

Here Comes The ....

..... pain, do do do doooo  .......
The "do do's" are to indicate that "here comes the pain" is being sung (NOT to talk about intestinal issues, for those of you who were going there).
Two points to the first Peep who knows what song keeps running through my mind, with those words.

This post should probably be entitled "Whine #3", but hopefully I won't whine that much.

Last night was rough.
Really, really rough.

I've been taking the pain meds regularly, every 5 hours, like candy clockwork to try to stay "on top of the pain".
Wait one darn second!!!
Holy smokes!  I just checked the label .... it says to take it every FOUR hours.  DANG!!!!  I've been cheating myself out of an hour this whole time!!!!
..... deep breathing here ......

OK, I'm back.  I can't believe I didn't know that.  And yes, I really DID just now see it and write about it at the same time.
I think I'm a totally weird unique writer.

Hold on ..... Roger's getting ready to win the first set .....
Dang.  His drop shot was out.

OK, where was I?
Ahhh yes, pain meds.
And last night.

So I've been taking them at what I THOUGHT was the prescribed recommended basis, but last night the pain slammed into my body at around 6:30.
--Crap!  Nadal just held his serve.  Now it's 5-3---
I don't know what happened.  I was just sitting on my bed and all of a sudden I was moaning and doing Lamaze breathing.  Ironically, I was doing the Lamaze breathing pretty much the way I did it during labor (yeah, when you go through 5 labors you tend to remember these things).
Way too fast.  Which sometimes leads to hyperventilating, as Jim tried to tell me when I was in labor with Daughter #1.  I think that when he mentioned that fact for about the third or eleventh time I may or may not have uttered the words, "Shut up!"  Which he immediately did.  At that moment the nurse walked in, looked at me and said, "She needs to slow her breathing down or she's going to hyperventilate."
I refused look up to see what I know was the look of triumph on his face.

I digress again.
And now Nadal has won another game and it's 5-4.
Sigh.
At least it's proving to be a great match.

And yes, I did take a pain pill an hour ago.  Why do you ask?

So, the pain was a true bitch last night.
After about 2 hours I gave in and took another pain pill.  At the time I thought it was way too early, though I did it anyway.
Now I know it wasn't THAT early.  (I really can't get over that!)

I may or may have not added some Baileys into the scenario.
And yes, I know that's a huge no no.
I was desperate.
And it worked.
Or maybe I just didn't care at that point .... it's difficult to remember.
:)

So, rough night.
But after that I did manage to sleep better than the night before.

And I got what I think may be good news:  I don't think I'll have to use the sling after tomorrow!
The hospital called to check on me (wasn't that sweet?) and the very perky lady said something about my doctor not wanting me to let my shoulder get stiff ..... meaning, in my mind, that I should be using my right arm.
----Wow!  Great 'get' on Roger's drop shot by Nadal!  He may break Roger's serve here .... CRAP!  Roger just hit it into the net!  Nadal is up 6-5------

So I am typing with two hands at the moment.  Yay!
I see the doc tomorrow at 2:00.
I had a dream last night that my shoulder was almost feeling normal today.  Meaning that it still gave me pain but not the I-just-had-surgery-on-it pain that I'm having in real life.
Hopefully that's a prophecy and the pain will be less today.
Or I'm going to need some more Baileys.
:)

I have to end the post here, Peeps.
I'm sorry, I know you want more (which is always how one should leave people) but Roger needs me.
He just lost the first set.
I need to save my strength to cheer him on and telepathically send him loads and loads of encouragement.
I'll check in with you all later .... unless I'm too weak.

P.S.  Beth .... I love you!!!  Thank you so much!!!!  It's perfect.  :)

Friday morning update ....

     This is one of my favorite pictures. It's of Daughter #2 and Daughter #3 (and Jim and me) on the night of their senior prom.
It makes me smile every time I look at it.
Every. Single. Time.
And you know me ...... I'm a sucker these days for things that make me smile (thus the many weekly e-mails from my friend,S, who is always on a quest to send me a video that will make me smile, or better yet ..... laugh. Thank you, girl!).

     Since yesterday's post was so brief, I decided to be nice and fill in the blanks this morning.
Because, be it known to all ........ I'm nothing, if not very, very kind to my Peeps.

     Yesterday I fled the house as soon as I could to run a couple of errands and then went to play tennis, which was ..... as I now refer to it, "painfully great".

Tennis hurts.  

But then, sitting hurts.

Standing hurts.

Lying down hurts.

Most everything hurts ..... so I figure, "I might as well be out in the sun, smacking the crap out of that bright yellow ball, hanging with friends and enjoying being there, in spite of the pain .... than sitting around my noisy, dust-filled, messy house ...... while still being in pain.

Besides, if I chose the latter, you most certainly would be reading about me in the newspaper, or watching me on "Dateline" if you're a late-night person.  

Seriously.

It's a good thing I'm learning my mental limits.

So anyway ..... back to my day ..... I played tennis, had a quick lunch with my tennis friends, ran an errand and then went to another friend's house to talk about Son #3's Confirmation party.  And, might I just add ...... I did not shed a tear all day, the first time in over a week, (or evening ...... even when a guy projectile vomited on the way home, and part of it hit M!  More on that later ......).

We talked a bit about the party .... and then I had to leave to go meet the bus to ride to the tennis tournament down in Houston.

That was interesting.  Not what we expected, but I enjoyed the company of M and a few other friends ..... in spite of the horrible wooden bleachers.  I did think ahead a bit and brought one of Jim's hoodie sweatshirts to sit upon, but after about 10 minutes I knew that my hip .... and I .... were in big trouble.  It was a very painful evening, physically anyway.

I forgot to take my camera so I tried to be cool and take pictures myself of M with my cell phone.  Here are my efforts:

What can I say?  I am not gifted in this way.  Obviously.

So I gave my phone to our friend, A, and she managed to snap these:

Yeah .... I think I've decided that cell phone pictures are not my forte' ---- neither me taking them, or having them taken of me.

But, I knew that I had to make a sacrifice for my Peeps, because you seem to like the pictures.

(I'm thinking maybe they just give you great satisfaction at how much better your life is than mine and how much better you look than me!!).  Hey, whatever floats your boat ..... I am here to serve.

     After the tennis match four of us totally crashed a "members only" party at this exclusive, swanky club.  We just walked right in ..... like we owned the joint.  My Peeps would have been so proud.

     If you're into tennis at all then you will hopefully recognize the two young men in these pictures, who not only play tennis, but play rock and roll:

   The Bryan Brothers (one here on keyboard)

     (the other here, on the drums)

They're identical twins who play a mean game of doubles tennis.  I used to fantasize that someday they would meet my identical twin daughters, fall in love, get married, live close by, give me beautiful tennis-playing grandchildren, and I'd be so very happy.

Some fantasies die hard.  

Especially when your daughters physically gag at the thought of marrying twins.  sigh .....

So we watched them for a while and then got back on the bus to make the hour drive home.  This trip had been advertised to the tennis playing women in our club, and free adult beverages were promised.

Well, one bottle of wine does not go far with a bus-limo full of women AND men ...... so M and I got about 1/4 of a cup of wine on the bus.  

There will be a bone picked about this sometime soon.  You canNOT put a bunch of women on a bus, under the guise of giving them tons of alcohol and then not come through on the deal.  Lives could have been lost!!

     Anyway, we got there, got something to eat, bought our own glass of wine, which the nice young server quickly poured into a coffee cup for us so that we could carry it up into the stands.  Nice to know that, even at our age, we have not totally lost our "flirt-ability" with younger men (even if it was mostly pity he was feeling ..... keep your mouth shut).  

We headed into the first match.  We reached the wooden bleacher, I folded up Jim's hoodie so that it would offer me some comfy cushioning ..... and we enjoyed the match.  For about 10 minutes.  And then my hip started letting me know that it was not fooled ..... not one bit.

I think I hung in there for about an hour ..... before I gave in to it.  Then I went for a walk, bought another "cup of coffee", and took a pain pill.

     By the time I made it back for the second match, M had scored some box seats, which had a small amount of cushion to them.  Yay for M.  We were very close to the action and we enjoyed the match, though Taylor Dent played like ....... well, let's just say, my tumor-less hip and I could have easily beaten him last night!  He was having an "off night", poor guy.  And he didn't seem to listen when M and I tried to coach him!  Seriously ..... we kept telling him, not so quietly, that he HAD to get his first serve in!!  But, for whatever the reason, he chose to pay us no never-mind.  Stubborn male.  

     We then went to crash the "members only" party, which felt pretty good, too.  And then we got back on the limo-bus and headed home.  I think the driver had sensed our disappointment with the lack of alcohol and had made a liquor store run while we were at the matches.  He now had 2 bottles of champagne waiting for us ....... 2 bottles, 24 people.  Ummmmmmm ...... nope.  Not nearly enough, but at least I'm not crazy for champagne so I donated mine to M.

     All was going well (except for my obnoxiously loud hip) until we almost got home ...... and then a man sitting two down from M, hurled.  And I do mean ..... HURLED!!  Unfortunately, two people down was not far enough away from M.  She took a hit.

I had just turned my head that way and so I actually got to see the whole hurl.  And then, I was quite proud of both of us ......... she, nor I ....... hurled in reaction.  And that, my Peeps, was a miracle.

      And then we were home and that was the end of that night ...... except for Margot who had to go home and scald herself in the shower to get rid of the hurl and the memory of the hurl.

     Son #1 was home when I arrived so we stayed up to chat for a while ..... until he became tired.  Everyone in my life becomes tired way before I do now ....... as of about 15 months or so ago.  Go figure.

     I woke up this morning and found a very lovely e-mail from an even lovelier friend, R, who sent me this quote, because it made her think of me:

"Don't wish me happiness--I don't expect to be happy. . . It's gotten beyond that somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor--I will need them all." Anne Morrow Lindbergh

     

     I love my friend R ...... and all of my friends who really, really "get me" .... and understand.  They see past the outside of me, and into my heart and soul.  And when something comes in front of them that reminds them of me ...... they pass it on.  

That is one thing I've learned since Jim's death ..... never, ever just let something go unnoticed.  If something, or someone is put in front of me ...... I take the time to take notice. And then take the time to figure out what to do with it.  I have found that my heart and soul grows each time I do something like that ..... each time I take notice of something that in my "before" I would've just shoved it away because I didn't have the time to stop, look, and listen.

We should stop a lot more often than we do ...... we miss so much more than we think we do.

     OK ..... I think that's it ..... for now.  The boys are still in bed.  The girls should be on their way.  And I am still in my p.j.s   I guess that means all's right with the world for this nano-second in time (except for my very angry thigh/hip, who's still screaming about last night's experience).

Here are pictures from this morning.

Just in case you'd love to keep up with the re-modeling  .........

Oy .... part 2

No pictures on this post, as it's basically a continuation of the previous one.  Well, that and I'm too exhausted to choose a picture at the moment.  

Please keep in mind that my computer thinks it's still on central time, when, in actuality, it's on Pacific.  Guess it's not as smart as Apple thinks it is.

Anyway, the rest of what I learned yesterday:

First, the very last thing I learned at 12:30 a.m. last night, after over 2 hours of tossing and turning (See!  I told you I'd never sleep again after "The 5"!) was that it might not be the best idea to take a whole Ambien that late at night.  

Actually, I learned that this morning at 7:00 a.m., not last night.  I got up to the energetic and loud S dancing down the tiled hallway (emphasis on tiled) and felt like I was going to pass out from exhaustion.  I made coffee, I drank coffee, I watched her yell, sing, dance, play and then I went back to bed, figuring I really could not handle this without a nap.

    

 When I awoke at 9:00 a.m.  J & L were getting ready to go to the beach!  How energetic of them! 

      Daughter #2 was also getting ready.  You remember her, the one that was fried yesterday!  Love for kids -- high.  Love for people -- high.  Love for  Christ -- very high

Intelligence after a day at Disney Land --  low.

But to give her some credit -- she had on a long sleeved top when she left.

     Yes, she left to go to the beach.  Did you notice that the boys haven't been mentioned yet?

That's because they seem to take after their mother and need a day to get over the trauma of walking all over Happy Land yesterday.  Oh, they're all awake, just not energetic enough to walk down the stairs.  Or it could be something else.

     OK, if I tell you the "something else" I don't want to hear (or read) ONE word about what a horrible mother I am.  I already know that.  Son #2 has scientifically proved it many times, I have accepted that and I am good with it.  That's what books are for.

     Anyway, the sons 2 & 3 have been working on me for a while about getting an X-Box.  Surprising enough, for them, the last time they asked, I said yes.  There was a stunned silence for quite some time while they tried to work this out in their wee little minds.  "There must be a catch;  she must be having one of her "Moments" and she'll have no memory of this  tomorrow; do you think she really understood the question?" --- those kinds of things.

So, I told them "yes".  They were paying for it, not me, so I wasn't bothered by it.  I have to tell you that the "before Janine" would not have gone for this.  She would've said "No way, you already have way too many stinkin' video games, your brains are going to ooze out of your ears."--- those kinds of things.  But I shocked them and said yes and that they could buy it when we returned from our trip.

Well, that day turned into Day TWO of our trip.  I loaded them up in the car and went to Target.  Oh holy day!!!  They are now upstairs playing very quietly, as far as I know.  The house has great insulation.

  

     Let me give you a weak explanation before you start judging ---- Poor, poor L feels totally responsible for her guests and for their happiness.  She has never lived with teenage boys.  I tried to tell her that just because they have a look of utter boredom and disgust on their face --- that doesn't mean they're unhappy.  That's just the way they look!  She didn't get it.  So I tried threatening the boys to get those looks off of their faces.  It would seem this is physically impossible, as they could never tell when their face was in that horrible position.  Whatevah.

Thus the ride to Target on Day 2.

And peace reigns.  And L is happy knowing they're happy.

Sheesh.

     OK, here's what else I learned yesterday.  Now pay attention because you might able to check this out for yourselves one day:

   When you drive 80 miles an hour (give or take) for an extended period of time, you can actually SEE your fuel indicator needle going down.  Really!  It's like a second hand.  And it seems to go down very, very quickly.  At least on a Nissan mini-van.  When we left in the morning I had half of a tank.  I used half of that getting to Disney.  So I figured, "Hey, 1/4 to get there, a 1/4 to get back.  No problemo."  It would seem that sometimes that could definitely be a problemo.  As I drove and watched that little needle move down and down and down I had a mental picture of me, trying to move from the HOV lane waaaaaaaaaay over to the shoulder while the fumes of gas were puttering out of my car.

But I don't know where I am (no comments, please) and am not sure about getting off to get gas.  Because once I get off, there's no guarantee that I can get back on!!!

Anyway, we made it to our exit where I went straight to a gas station.

     Which brings me to the last thing I learned (I think ..... if anything else comes to mind I'll keep you posted ..... HA!!!  Get it?  Posted! ---- awwww, never mind).

Where was I?  Oh yes,  gas.  Well, I paid $4.89 for unleaded last night.  Yes, indeed.  FOUR DOLLARS AND EIGHTY NINE CENTS A GALLON!!!!  A dollar more than my last purchase in Texas.

       What did I learn from this, you might ask?  Well, I shall tell you.

I learned that these crazy Californians don't give two shakes for what their gas costs.  How can you care and yet drive at least 80 miles an hour and watch your gas needle plummet?????

I mean, really.  Do they all have a gas pump in their back yards?  Hmmmmm, that would explain the cost of housing and land here, wouldn't it?  

OK, I believe I have ranted enough for today.  Besides, tennis is back on.  I live for the majors.

Time to watch Roger.

Oh, and K says that my kitchen is completely torn up and that it's a good thing I am here.  And she's right.

:)

Speechless

This is Jim with Son #2 when he was 2. All of our kids could swim before they were one. We lived in the pool. I'm just glad I could find a picture where the kids had on their swim suits! The boys absolutely loved swimming (and everything else) naked. I think they've finally outgrown that. Whew.

Well, the poll has left me without words. Literally. I am amazed at the number of you! And I am grateful. More than I can say. It feels wonderful to have so many people caring and praying for us .... still. And it feels wonderful to know that many of you don't even know us and you are caring and praying.

Thank you .... so, so much.

Today was better. I finally got out on the courts and played tennis. My shoulder did fairly well. We drilled with a pro, who kept telling me when to relax and rest it. Then we started to play a match. That was fine --- until it was my turn to serve. I did manage to serve a game (and win it!) but it pushed my shoulder over the edge. It became aggravated again! But not as bad as it was before. I took something for the pain as soon as it started and that helped a lot. We then stopped playing and went out for lunch and a bit of shopping. Who wouldn't have a better day?! Oh, and Mr. Fix It stopped by to look at the printer -- he fixed it!!!! Thanks for the prayers!

The boys are all out tonight -- babysitting, Bible study and Confirmation. Daughter #1 is at work. So the kittens and I are just relaxing and enjoying "Supernanny". OK, the kittens are passed out next to me so I'm the only one enjoying it. And really, "enjoying" isn't the right word. I'm always shocked at the kids and parents on this show. They want to be on national TV with this behavior? Really?!! Do they get paid? And let me just say --- I would love that job! I'd love to go to parents' homes and help them with their kids. Not that I have all of the answers, not at all --- obviously, but I think that "no-nonsense, appropriate consequences and no crap-tolerating" parenting is not practiced as much as it used to be. I'm not sure why, but it's not. Too many people want their kids to like them. What's up with that?! Sheesh!!

Parenting and parents ---- don't get me started!!

That's something that has become more difficult without Jim. We almost always agreed on discipline and parenting -- 99% of the time. We balanced each other --- we kept each other sane. I hate doing this, as well as everything else in my life, alone. Especially the really, really hard stuff. I have to admit --- once or twice I've found myself angry at him. Angry that he has left me all alone to deal with this crap. And trust me, "crap" is a nicer word than what it actually is sometimes. I know, intellectually, that it wasn't his fault. He never, ever would've chosen this for us. Never. But sometimes my heart, soul, mind and body just grow weary. And intellect goes by the wayside.

OK, enough of that. I'm going to stop now so that I can see how Jo takes the "paci" away from the disrespectful, tantrum-throwing, non-disciplined, not sleeping-on-her-own 4 year old.

Don't. Get. Me. Started!