Archives for January 2006

To make commenting a little more user-friendly, I’ve added Haloscan commenting to the blog. I’m hoping that now Elise and Tracey and Merritt will speak up and say something. But keep it clean, ladies – this is a family-friendly site. :-)

I have no idea what Trackback is, but it was part of the package. I’m sure it’s a terribly useful feature, though.

Yesterday I mentioned some of the things I overheard while I sat in a hospital waiting room this week. My friend Tracey emailed me with a story of her own – and it cracks me up.

We were visiting Sis’ dad in the hospital and we went downstairs to get something to eat. As we were sitting there eating our dinner, we overheard a woman talking to her family on the phone saying, “you just aren’t going to believe this – Daddy ain’t dead, daddy ain’t dead he has been revised by the respirator – praise god he ain’t dead!!”

After two days of clutching his side and cursing his condition, D. decided to consult a professional in hopes of tracing the origins of his mysterious pain. I wrote in this post about how D. and I put the scientific method through all sorts of rigorous trials to try to figure out the cause of his discomfort.

And since a pulled muscle typically doesn’t present (see? I told y’all that I was ON TOP OF THINGS when it comes to medicine…well, actually I’ve just heard EK and Katy use that term when they talk about Medical Things) with sharp, stabbing pains, it seemed wise to let a more “qualified” person analyze the situation. Maybe even a “doctor.”

As it turns out, D.’s gallbladder has gone into slacker mode and is only half as efficient as it should be. He had some tests done on Wednesday, and Thursday we found out that surgery will probably be his best option. I instantly named about 5 or 6 people we know who have had the surgery (when will you believe me? My mind is a STEEL TRAP filled with statistics, procedures, warning signs, and worst case scenarios). After doing a little bit of his own research, D. realized that it’s actually a pretty safe procedure that is also incredibly common.

But here is why I love my husband. The thought of someone slicing open his stomach, inserting a tube, slicing open his stomach in another place, inserting a light, and then using the tube to PULL OUT HIS GALLBLADDER doesn’t bother him. Not the least little bit (keep in mind that this is the same person who watched my c-section as if it were the 1999 Egg Bowl. While I was in the recovery room, D. went all play-by-play on me, basically re-hashing how the doctors pulled out various innards and organs, laid them on a table, and then “they just shoved it all back in there!” Which did not inspire any confidence at all that I would ever be normal again).

No, what bothers him is the list of foods he’ll no longer be able to eat.

The list goes something like this: no more cold foods, white flour, white sugar, acidic foods, fried foods, or caffeine.

D. looked at me after reading the list and said, “WHAT ELSE IS THERE?”

“Well,” I replied, “there’s grilled meat, whole wheat flour, Splenda, caffeine free diet Pepsi – there will be stuff that you can eat.”

“Mmmmm…a cake made with WHOLE WHEAT FLOUR and SPLENDA – doesn’t that sound DELICIOUS?”

When he had his initial doctor’s appointment, the nurse asked him if he had been following a low-cholesterol diet.

“Not exactly,” he replied.

When she tried to dig a little deeper about his eating habits, he finally confessed, “I like things like country fried steak and rice with a pan of homemade gravy.”

But no more.

Until the surgery, it’ll be broth and Jello for all! And after the surgery it will be foods that aren’t cold, sugared, caffeinated, floured or fried.

With a pan of gravy on the side, of course.

Your child would look like this, too, if you left the house this morning with the new box of diapers in the back of your car (the box of diapers that should have been in the house because the previous box is, you know, empty), and your husband, who has upper rib fat cancer and is in a great deal of pain and has no intention, no intention at all of leaving the house, finds something, anything to take the place of a diaper.

I’m actually very relieved that D. found the Swimmers. I had visions of him having to take a towel and secure it around A.’s waist with rope or something. Like ye olden days.

A. has no clothes on because the first Swimmer had a bit of a leaking problem, and D., due to pain from upper rib fat cancer, just didn’t have it in him to dress the child one more time.

Apparently, however, a life with no clothes and a faux diaper suits the young lad…he actually fell asleep on the couch in the middle of the day.

And he had a brand new box of diapers waiting on him when he got up from his nap.

Clothes, too.

‘Cause we’re fancy like that.

You may think I’m kidding, but this is an actual picture from an actual article in today’s Meridian Star. The article next to the picture informs the reader that the couple in the center had “a mock shotgun wedding” on December 22, 2005. And they took it to a whole new level by having the father of the bride actually HOLD A SHOTGUN in the picture.

I can’t tell if the bride is expecting or not, but since they admitted before God and everyone – in the newspaper, no less – that they had a shotgun wedding, well…I’m just sayin’.

Those of you who know me understand that I’m not being catty or judgmental when I analyze this picture. I love these people. I’m fascinated by these people. I want for them to invite me to dinner and tell me their stories, and I want, more than anything, to attend their weddings.

This picture is yet another reminder that there is a completely separate South from the one in which I live. I love to visit The Other South from time to time – but, truth be told, I forget about it here in the land of soccer moms.

The Other South is the one news reporters like to feature after tornadoes and other natural disasters (I’m thinking of Elise and Tracey’s story of a man talking about seeking shelter in a culvert and consequently losing his leg). And honestly, I think if I were a reporter I’d interview people from The Other South, too – because they’re just much more entertaining than the rest of us.

A few years ago, after a series of tornadoes here in our area, one of the local news stations interviewed a woman who lost her home. They inquired about the well-being of her relatives, and she mentioned that her mother had passed away during the storm. Very sad. And then they asked if she had found her brother, and she said, “Oh, yeah, I found him.”

“Where?” asked the compassionate reporter.

Gesturing with her head, she matter-of-factly said, “Dead, over yonder in that ravine.”

I know. It’s sad. But gosh dog it’s funny.

It’s not funny that she lost her brother. It’s funny that she felt no need to sugarcoat the issue, no need to beat around the bush. THAT’s the part of The Other South that I adore.

Yesterday D. and I were at a hospital because he was having some tests done, which basically means that I sat in a waiting room for three hours and listened to other people’s conversations.

I had forgotten how hospitals really attract an almost surreal cross-section of the human condition. Because we live in suburbia, I am sometimes a little culture-shocked when I see Real Alabama in action. Culture-shocked, but totally, 100% entertained.

Here’s what I learned yesterday at the hospital, because these were the things people were talking about in LOUD voices, ACROSS rooms, while anyone who wanted to hear could just tune right in:

1. One elderly woman had twins “and they died” because she has a blood vessel wrapped around her kidney.

2. Another woman, from Talladega (and it’s pronounced “Tal-ah-deeeeega,” not “Tal-a-day-ga”), was there with a friend who is “eat up” with cancer and was “having some fluid drained.”

3. The woman who is “eat up” with cancer couldn’t in fact have fluid drained because “I just had a cup of fluid in my side, and that’s not enough.”

4. The woman from Talladega doesn’t like her grandchildren and hopes her children don’t move nearby because she “ain’t gone keep ’em.”

5. They should’ve done a PET scan (I don’t even know what that is) on the cancer victim from Talladega because “them CAT scans don’t catch nothin'” – but “them PET scans will flat find some cancer.”

The Other South, my friends, is alive and well.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A. loves the little girl next door. Her name is Sarah, and she’s 4, and A. thinks she’s the greatest.

Tonight Sarah came over while D. helped her daddy with some computer stuff. And when they walked in the front door, A. screamed, “OH, SARAH” like someone had just handed him buckets of chocolate and gold.

He ran up to her, gave her a big hug, and then the next thing caught me way off guard.

He stood back, gave her the once-over with his little blue eyes and said, “OH, Sarah – you’re SO cute.”

Help me.