In Memoriam: We Don't Look Anything Alike

One morning I stopped by my mom's house. We chatted for a little while and then she walked me out to the Mishamobile. Bonnie was at her usual post, right next to my mother's left leg. All of a sudden, Bonnie saw a cat and took off. She ran halfway down the block and disappeared in between two houses.

Of course, my mother became hysterical, shrieking and fretting. She was having a panic attack, in the middle of the street while still in her nightgown. I told her I would go fetch the dog. The last thing I needed was to bail Bonnie out of the pound only to have to go spring Joanie from the loony bin.

I found Bonnie sitting at the neighbors back gate staring down a stray cat. I called her name and she obediently came right to me. I told her she was naughty and that she better get back home immediately. She gave me an arrogant snort and galloped back to my mom's front porch. When I reached the foot of the driveway, I found my mom cooing and petting the wayward pooch.

I noticed when my mom's hand came away from Bonnie's head, it was bloody. Since my mom has a serious bleeding disorder, I became alarmed. I asked my mom where she was bleeding from and she looked down and hollered, "Oh my God! It's Bonnie's ear! She cut her ear! Oh no, her beautiful ear! Oh my God! What am I going to do! Oh no!"

I told my mom to call the vet and tell them I was on my way. I got Bonnie into my car and took off. Bonnie has huge ears. Ginormous, gray flapping ears. As I got on the freeway entrance, she shook her head, flapping those elephant ears of hers. Blood went flying everywhere, on the windshield, on the rear view mirror, on the windows, on the roof and all over me. I looked like I had just murdered someone.

When I pulled up to the vet's office, half of the office staff was out in front waiting for me. I figured my mom had made it seem like Bonnie was on death's door and they were out to give emergency aid in the parking lot. Until I noticed the look on their faces. They were all grinning.

I got Bonnie out of the jeep and said, "I guess you got the call we were coming in?" One of the vet techs replied, "Yes, Joan called and said Bonnie had cut her ear. We are all ready for her." I made some comment about my mom over exaggerating the extent of her injuries and the tech replied, "No, she said it was just a cut ear. But she said that Bonnie's SISTER was driving her to the office and we wanted to see a Weimaraner that drove a car!"

I Twatted With A GOP "Leader"

Going to the doctor is never a fun day for me. I am usually sore afterward. Today was no different. As soon as I arrived home, I had lunch, put some ice on my neck/shoulder and popped a Flexeril and a Motrin.

While waiting for the ice and pills to kick in, I scanned all the tweets I missed while I was out of the house. One particular tweet caught my eye:


I remembered reading a few months ago about a wonderful Japanese dinner Newt had enjoyed with his wife:


So I replied:


I was quite surprised when he replied:


So there you go. Newt Gingrich twatted me.

You can pick your friends, you can’t pick your family...

So, yesterday I shared Mark's funeral story.  I bragged about how great my co-workers were and how wonderful my friends were.  Absent from that story....my family.  Don't get me wrong, my family is hysterical and loving too.  But they are not so helpful in a crisis.  Here are the comments made to me after Mark died:

From my Step-father (a Marine):

"Well, now that the funeral is over, you should get back to work. Be tough and strong and get back to your life."

From my Father (a Marine):

"Be strong.  You need to get back to work and on with your life. "

They must have had some sort of "what to say to your daughter when her boyfriend dies" class in the USMC Officer's Training School.
From my Mother:

"I know you are upset, but think how upset I am!  You are my daughter and seeing you so sad is very hard on me.  I wish you would understand that my pain is even worse than yours!"

and her other gem...

"Well, given your age and the fact that Mark is dead.  You are probably never going to get married and have children. You should go to midwifery school and get your Master's degree."

Someone please tell me that I am not the only one with parents like this! What completely insensitive or thoughtless things have your family ever said to you?

Until That Day, I Had Been The Sane One.

Before I met Mr. Misha, I was in a relationship with a man named Mark. We were together for almost 3 years when he was killed in a car accident. I was devastated. Not only had I lost someone who I loved, I had lost the future we had planned together. I don't know if I could have made it through without the love and care from my friends and co-workers.

I had made it through the funeral mass. It was a full law enforcement type funeral with Sheriff's Deputies in their dress blues, a color guard and bagpipes. I didn't want to ride in the family car to the cemetery, so I went in my friend Val's car. The funeral procession was long, we had a police escort and Val was only a few cars behind the hearse.

I kept thinking about Mark being in the back of that hearse. I kept thinking that he probably didn't like what he was wearing. I hoped he'd forgive me for burying him in a long sleeved shirt. I just kept thinking about everything and couldn't really focus. My mind was reeling.

When we arrived at the cemetery and went to the grave site, it started to hit me. Mark was going to be put in that hole in the ground. I started to feel strange and panicked. Once he was in the ground, that was it. I didn't like the finality of burial. Val could sense I wasn't thinking straight and walked me to my seat. I was seated between Mark's mother and his Aunt, who is a Nun.

The burial ceremony went as it was supposed to, I guess. I really wasn't paying attention. I just kept staring at the casket and the hole in the ground. In fact, I started to obsess about the casket and the hole. I really didn't want the casket to go in the hole. I started to think to myself, "Holy Hell Michele, you are going to be one of those crazy women that throws themselves on the casket." Then I would think, "If the casket doesn't go in the hole, then it is not over. I don't have to try and live my life with out him." I knew that this was crazy thinking, but it didn't matter.

If Mark was in the hole, I had to start living my life again. I didn't want to. If Mark wasn't going to be in my life, then I'd rather just live in the limbo I had been living in for the past 6 days; Someone fed me breakfast, then I took a shower. I sat around and cried, and then someone would give me lunch. I would cry some more maybe even take a phone call or two. Then someone would feed me dinner and give me some pills. Then I would go in OUR bedroom, lie in OUR bed and toss and turn all night. Then it would start all over again. I was never alone, I didn't have to make any decisions, I didn't have to talk or I could talk all I want.... ramble on and on, and some one would have to listen. Once he was buried, I would have to move on, and I didn't think I could do it.

I was gonna get in the hole with him. (I decided in my mind that I was going to do it. When I made the decision, my tears stopped. I had been sitting there with tears streaming down my face and suddenly with that decision, the faucet was turn off. But as the casket was descending into the ground, the priest announced that the Deputy Sheriffs Association had brought roses for everyone to throw in the hole (he didn't say it that way, but you know what I mean). I watched as hundreds of people stopped by the hole and threw in a rose and paid their final respects. It seemed to go on forever. I knew if I tried to jump in the hole while they were around, one of them would stop me. I started crying again, this time harder. I could feel Aunt/Sister Mary put her arm around me and squeeze. I just cried harder.

After what seemed like an hour, everyone except my girlfriends*, had flung their flower. I watched as my best friends went up to the hole. Sally looked pale as she said goodbye and threw her flower, then came Trixie. Then came Brittney, whose mother had died a mere 4 hours after Mark had passed away. Then Izzy went and finally, Roxie. Roxie threw her flower in the hole and started to turn around, her foot slipped on the soft ground surrounding the hole and SHE STARTED TO FALL INTO THE HOLE! Roxie reached out and grabbed Izzy's arm. Then they both started to slip into the hole. Izzy's husband grabbed onto her and started to pull them both away from the grave. (This was no easy feat, since he did this with one arm in a sling.) Then it hit me, "YOU DON'T WANT TO GO INTO THE HOLE!" I saw the awkward ballet going on between Roxie, Izzy and her husband and I burst into laughter. Sister Mary thought I had gone into a hysterical crying fit and wrapped both of her arms around me and started to pray. In mind I thought, "Oh great now I am going to hell. I am laughing at a funeral with a Nun's arms around me. I am going straight to hell!" My inappropriate laughing stopped and I started to cry again.

Eventually, Izzy and Roxie got away from the grave and I got control of my laughing/crying fits. The funeral goers started to disperse and someone told me it was time to leave. I got out of my chair and went a few steps towards a tree to gather my thoughts. I needed to get my shit together, I couldn't act like a crazy woman at the wake.... there were too many health care workers there, one of 'em would notice and get me admitted to some nut house.

As I stood by the tree, I started to calm down, I started to feel like I could deal with the rest of the afternoon. I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and started to walk towards Val's car. Just then, Roxie came up to me and said; "Dude, I am so sorry that I did that." I replied to her; " Dude, you saved me! I was going to be one of those crazy chicks that jumps in the hole and throws herself on the coffin! When I saw the look of terror on your face, I realized that I didn't want to go there." She looked confused as she said "Really?". I reassured and told her "REALLY! I was gonna jump in the hole, you totally saved me." She just grinned and said, "Anyway I can help out...Dude, you know I am happy to do it!"

Don't Drink? Don't Smoke? What Do Ya Do?

My Nana loved to Jitterbug. She had a regular dancing partner named Johnny, and they would go out dancing on a regular basis. Although she never said it, I think Johnny was Nana's beau. The place they went dancing also served food. Nana would always order a BBQ beef sandwich and a glass of cold buttermilk.

One day, Nana was in town and saw the waitress from the dancing place. The started talking and the waitress mentioned that the previous night, she had seen Johnny dancing with another girl. Nana was very upset. She went home and called her friend a couple of towns away. She told her what had happened. Her friend said, " I know what we will do, we will find you another dance partner!". Nana agreed and the next Saturday night, she and her friend were going on a double date. When Nana asked her friend about her blind date, all her friend would say is that he was a buddy of her boyfriend and his name was Chuck.


Saturday came and Nana was nervous. She hadn't cancelled her date with Johnny, she wanted to stand him up. But Chuck and the other couple were late picking her up. Finally, they arrived and off they went for a night on the town. Chuck was very polite, but a little quiet. Nana and Chuck were sitting at their table and had just finished their BBQ sandwiches. Nana had ordered her usual buttermilk, Chuck had ordered a beer. The other couple got up to dance and left Nana and Chuck alone. Chuck asked Nana if she wanted a beer, she said she didn't drink alcohol. Nana asked Chuck if he danced, he said no. Chuck asked Ferne if she smoked, she said no. Nana asked Chuck what he liked to do for fun, he said drink and smoke. Their first date did not go well. Why they ever went on a second date, is beyond me........


Several months later, Nana was in the kitchen with her mother and father having breakfast. They heard a knock on the door. Nana, still in her robe and slippers, answered the door. It was Chuck, the young man she had been dating. He looked very serious. She took him into the living room and they sat down on the love seat. His hands were shaking and he was starting to perspire. He looked into Nana's eyes and said;


"Ferne, I love you. I want to marry you."

He then took out a ring and put it on her finger.

She looked at it for a minute and replied;

"Chuck, I will marry you. But that is the ugliest ring I have ever seen in my life and I wouldn't be caught dead wearing it."

Chuck smirked and said;

"Fine, then get dressed. We will go to Columbus and you can pick out the ring that you want, but I am only spending $200.00"


They were married a few weeks later. They stayed married for 44 years until Chuck passed away. Nana used to tell that story over and over again. I was the only one in the family that didn't roll their eyes when she told the story, so about a year before she died, Nana gave me the ring she picked out in Columbus. I wear it every day and think of her.

Broken

I have been working a weird schedule lately. I usually am more kind to myself when scheduling my nights, but not this time around. I worked 2 on, 2 off, 2 on, 3 off, 2 on. It was brutal. Add to that the pollen and wind and I am broken.


I have no voice. I can whisper, but that is about it. I am trying not to talk at all. I tried fingerspelling with Mr. Misha, but he doesn't know any ASL. So I send him texts and emails. He seems to be enjoying the silence. Hopefully, I will have my voice back soon.

My feet are swollen. HUGE. So huge that on my last night at work, I could not fit them all the way into my work clogs. I have been taking diuretic medication and elevating my feet. The swelling has gone down tremendously, but I still have pitting edema in one foot.

I am giving myself until Monday to be cured. If not, I will call the doctor. I don't expect him to be able to do anything, but it will get my mother off my ass.

Today is her 65th Birthday. I am going to try and get Mr. Misha to sing happy birthday to her for me while I whistle along. She is mad at me right now because I told her to "get off the cross" during our conversation the other day. Maybe we will luck out and she won't answer the phone.

Happy Weekend everyone!

Too Tired To Blog

I spent all day with my mother again. Unfortunately, Barry the plumber was there most of the day too. He was his usual unpleasant self. As he watched me make a bank deposit online, he said, "Don't yer bank charge you extra to do that?" My reply was, "No Barry, the bank would prefer that it's customers do all of their banking online. In fact, given your charming demeanor, I think they would probably pay you to exclusively bank via computer."

Much like my friend, Bellesouth, I had to explain the ridiculousness of yesterday's events to my mother. She laughed at their moniker, but overall felt that their protest was a guise. "They're just pissed their guy lost."

Other than my shining moment of wit, bathing and dressing my mom and being her lady in waiting while she offered political commentary---all I did was take some pictures of her two dogs.

Lola, the Parson Russell Terrier and Bonnie, the Weimaraner.
Lola is very nosey. She likes to play with her toys.

She guards the front porch diligently. Bonnie is a handsome old lady. She is also very stuck up.


Have a great weekend everyone!

In Case Of Emergency

In is my opinion that every person should have a basic knowledge of basic first aid. I would also recommend that everyone take a class at their local Red Cross on how to perform CPR, the Heimlich Maneuver and use an automatic defibrillator. You may never use it, but if one day you find yourself in a situation where one of those skills are needed, you will be glad you spent an evening or an afternoon learning how to do it.

As part of my job, I am required to be certified in Basic Life Support (CPR), plus Advanced Cardiac Life Support (ACLS) and Neonatal Resuscitation (NRP). Each of those certifications need to be renewed every two years.

Today was my NRP recert. Here are Nurse Angela and Stacy taking their written exam: Here is Nurse Susie taking her written exam:

Here is Nurse Laura, our instructor. She is a Neonatal Intensive Care Nurse. She is very funny. After our written test, she will make us "run a code" with a fake baby. Even though we know it is pretend, it can be very nerve-racking.
-Here is our patient, Resusibaby Annie:
Nurse Laura tells us she was born as soon as her mom got to the hospital. She is limp, pale and is not breathing! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO???? I decide to give the baby some oxygen.

I think I am so smart.

My baby doesn't respond to just the oxygen. So we had to give chest compressions to. Then I decide to intubate the baby so I can get more oxygen to her lungs (which was difficult, since this baby did not have a throat or a windpipe, so I had to pretend)

Then it was Stacy's turn. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, NURSE STACY?
She decided to give Annie oxygen too!
We decided that it would be easier to intubate the baby if we took her face off. It was.
She lived. We saved the day. The end.

Woo Hoo! I am re-certified until April 2011! Whew.

My Day In Mostly Pictures

My mom called me early this morning and asked me to come pick her up. She told me they wanted her out of the hosptial by 11am. This picture was taken at 1pm. We were still waiting for her discharge papers.

This is what your arms look like when you: a) have a bleeding disorder

b) have been taking Prednisone for a long time and

c) have a dumb ass trying to start your IV.

My mom has great veins. She offers herself up to nursing students when she is in the infusion clinic because she knows they will be able to get her IV in on the first stick. She also lets phlebotomy students practice on her in the lab. They never miss. They stuck her SIX times to find an IV before surgery. That IV didn't even last through the surgery and she was stuck THREE more times. Both arms are covered with bruises, above are the lightest ones.

She lost 12 pounds in 5 days in the hospital. All she wanted was a milkshake when we finally left the hospital.

She got a coconut shake. She loved it. Drank every drop.

Storm coming in from the east.

It looks scary on the right side of the freeway.

But so gorgeous on the left side.

I'm tired. Going to bed.

Back to Mom's house tomorrow for nurse duty.

Woo Hoo!

Dog Days Of Fontana.

We have always been a "Dog" family. As long as I can remember, almost everyone in my family has had at least one dog in their home. Much to the chagrin of my Grandpa, Chuck, the dogs were treated as family members. Grandpa would bring a dog home, tell us it was a hunting dog and we were to keep away from it. Well, as soon as he would leave the house. The dog came in and was spoiled.

My Nana, Ferne, my mom and her sister, Marian, and I could not resist. To this day I don't really understand the concept of an "outside" dog, I actually find it a little mean. Dogs are pack animals; they want to be with their pack, even if the other members are humans. The women in the family "ruined" a: German Shorthaired Pointer, an Irish Setter and a Springer Spaniel. Finally, Grandpa gave up and stopped bringing home hunting dogs.

My grandparent's house was without a dog for a few years. Around my 6th birthday, my uncle brought home a male Springer Spaniel. We named him "Tigger". He was from champion lineage, but as a result of irresponsible in breeding, he had problems. Bad ears that was prone to infections and too many "jowls". To add insult to injury, he was a little dimwitted. We loved him nonetheless and he was welcomed into "our" pack.

When Tigger was about 6 months old, my Aunt saw a man beating his dog. She started yelling at the man to stop. He was pissed because the dog had eaten his peppers in his garden. Aunt Marian said if he did not stop, she was going to report him. He said; "If you care so much about this dog, you take her!" She did. That is how we got our second Springer Spaniel, Daisy May.
Grandpa had not been thrilled with Tigger's arrival. When Daisy May showed up, he almost blew a gasket. He started bitching about how much money it would cost him to feed the dogs, the cost of the grooming, the cost of the vet bills, etc. He said he wasn't going to pay for any of it, "You three need to get a God-damned job to pay for those God-damned dogs. I am not gonna pay for a God-damned cent!" I knew he was all talk, but over the next few months, he kept repeating the same thing, over and over again.

Eventually, Nana had enough of his bellowing, so she told him; "Chuck, you be quiet. I am taking the dogs for a walk each night and while I am walking, I collect cans. I will pay for the dogs with the money I get for the cans." My Aunt Marian and I thought Grandpa would say he didn't want his wife walking around town collecting cans like a hobo, but he didn't. Both were stubborn and neither would give in.

So every night, after the 11 o'clock news, Nana would walk her dogs and collect cans. I would go with her most of the time. I would wear my roller skates and skate along side her. We would head out on Orange Avenue, cross Sierra Blvd, stop at City Hall so the dogs could swim in the fountain and I could practice my groovy roller disco moves on the smooth cement. Then turn on Palmetto, take it down to Arrow Blvd and maybe stop at the Post Office if we needed to mail some letters, then back onto Nuevo Avenue. We had a routine, unless the dogs needed a shorter or longer walk.
Nana was getting a bit obsessive with her can collecting. She would even go through garbage cans looking for cans. It was embarrassing. But neither Nana nor Grandpa would budge.

Until one morning...

My Aunt Marian woke up late for school, so Nana had to give her a ride. Marian was so late, that Nana had to drive her wearing her housecoat and slippers. On the way to FoHi, Nana saw a can in the middle of the road. Marian saw the look in Nana's eyes and said "Don't you dare! You will make me really late!" So Nana kept on going and dropped Marian off in the nick of time.

On the way home, she saw the can. Since she wasn't dressed, she didn't want to get out of the car. So she drove up slowly along side the can, opened her car door and leaned down to pick up the can. When she did this, her foot slipped off the gas pedal, the car started rolling forward, Nana fell out of the car and the car's back tires rolled over her right ankle before heading down Nuevo Avenue without her.

Luckily, Dr. Goldstein, our family doctor, was just coming to work. He saw Nana lying in the middle of the road and rescued her. A little later, Grandpa was coming home and he noticed a fuzzy pink slipper in the middle of the road. Then he noticed that Nana's car was on the side of the road. He went home to see what was going on...no one was home. Nana's coffee still sat at the kitchen table, the paper open. He was worried. Just then, the phone rang. It was the doctor, he told Grandpa that Nana was okay, and she had just sprained her ankle. Grandpa asked how, the doctor told him about the can. Then, Dr. Goldstein said; "You know Chuck, if money is tight, I know a few people who are looking to remodel. I could probably throw a few jobs your way."

Grandpa never gave Nana a hard time about the cost of dog ownership again.