Of Emergencies and Busy Schedules by Konnie Enos

Almost two weeks ago I noticed the symptoms of a UTI. I knew what it was and how to treat it. UTIs are common and can be treated in the early stages with home remedies. The best ones are drinking lots of water and cranberry juice.

Water I had covered. Cranberry juice required a trip to the store, which I did not feel like going to. Since there are only two other people in the house who can drive my choices were Melinda and Jerry.

I knew if Melinda went the task would be quickly and easily accomplished without further input than I needed some cranberry juice. I also knew she would not want to be disturbed at that hour. Being neurodivergent she gets testy if her set schedule of doing things is disrupted. Grocery shopping is done on Friday or Saturday morning. Also, it just happened to be around the time she would insist on beginning meal prep for our dinner. Now she can switch gears for an emergency, but I didn’t think this was serious enough to disturb her.

Besides, Jerry was just across the room rather than on the other side of the house.

With my beloved husband, I not only had to be extremely clear about what I wanted, but I had to write it down. Even then, he wasn’t sure he’d get it right and therefore roped the only other person in the house to go with him for help and moral support. Therefore, I also had to tell Royce explicitly what I wanted.

Thankfully, the mission was accomplished.

However, within a day or so I figured out I’d miscalculated. My infection was more advanced than I expected and did not quickly respond to the juice.

I found myself at the stage where pain and difficulty using the bathroom meant it was time to see the doctor. By this time, it was late evening on a Friday. This was not waiting for office hours.

Jerry took me to the nearest urgent care that was open at that hour. (Meaning an emergency room.) They ran a couple of tests and agreed with my diagnosis. They sent me home with antibiotics.

I’m really good at taking my medicine so I figured that issue was dealt with.

By Wednesday the pain had moved up into my back. I’ve had Kidney infections before.

I called the nurse's line. She said to be seen within the hour. I did try my doctor, but he couldn’t fit me in until the next day. Back to the urgent care I went. I figured they’d run some tests and get me a stronger antibiotic.

When the doctor told me they were admitting me I was floored.

Then they spent the entire night requiring blood samples that took no less than THREE pokes each time to just get any blood. I was tired (they kept waking me up) and my arms were starting to fill up with bruises from all their efforts. They had put in an IV, which was receiving the fluids they were flushing just fine, but it would not let them draw any blood from it.

So, they decided the best option was a PIC line. Which required them to first locate the vein with ultrasound. It took most of the next day for the tech needed to do it to arrive, but she managed to get that line in.

Thankfully, they managed it before my IV decided to stop working so I didn’t get poked and prodded anymore. Though, of course, the damage had been done. My arms were full of some very colorful bruises.

After two days they sent me home with stronger antibiotics and I’m doing much better now. However, I did spend an additional couple of days in my bed recuperating from the experience. A full week later and my arms are still recovering. The smaller bruises on the back of my hands are nearly all healed. They are not nearly as visible though if I happen to hit them they still feel bruised. The ones where the IVs were are still very colorful.

After all of this, Melinda, Jerry, and I discussed what we needed to do this week and discovered that our week, especially Tuesday, was packed. Three of us had overlapping appointments.

I took Jerry to his morning appointment so Melinda could have the car for hers. I was supposed to take Paratransit to mine, but they were running late. Fortunately, Melinda took less time than expected. Jerry was supposed to run his second errand while I was at the doctor's but delayed it until I got back.

It was a bit of a stressful and long day.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Of Not Looking My Age by Bonnie Le Hamilton

I do not look my age. I honestly never have. I say this because the other day I was reading a post about people telling their most memorable experience of not looking their age. I found myself wondering, which was my most memorable experience, I have so many.

The most recent incident happened at work a little over a month ago. I forget what started the conversation, but I mentioned I would be turning 62 in July this year and one co-worker stared at me stunned. “You’re older than me?”

“Apparently.”

I am around three years older than her; she thought she was older than me. Nope.

And I had similar problems way back in school. Like back in my junior year of high school. We had just moved from a small town in Idaho to Tacoma Washington, and it was my first day at this big new school. I was also having trouble finding one of my classes and the tardy bell had already rung. Desperate, I cornered the only other person in the area, saying, “Could you help me, I think I’m lost.”

He looked me over from head to toe (it was January, and we were outside, so I did have a heavy coat on), and he said, “Yeah, the junior high is down there,” pointing down the hill.

I glared at him and said, “I’m a Junior, and I’m looking for,” I showed him my schedule, “this class.”

He was stunned, but he did show me where my class was. Maybe if he’d seen the size of my chest he wouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion, but then maybe not

A little over a year later, Konnie and I were attending a conference for the youth, and at one point we had sack lunches in a park. Konnie and I were sitting and visiting with the younger sister of a girl in our class because none of the girls her age wanted anything to do with her.

The poor girl was 6’2” and around 14 or 15.

Someone else saw the three of us together and made a comment about our friend babysitting who she thought was the youngest kids in the entire group. Nope, we were the oldest.

Though the most memorable instance was when I was twenty-four. I had a roommate who had just turned twenty-one and she came home from work with the news that her coworkers had learned she was now twenty-one and invited her to join them at a local bar after work.

Problem one is the young lady was a small-town LDS girl. I was the only one she knew well who had ever been inside a bar.

She had in fact been very intrigued when she learned I’m a convert and had been raised by a barmaid. Now she wanted me to go with her to the bar because she really wanted to see what it was like.

I’ve told this story before, we had a fight about it, but she won. I’d first tried to talk her out of going altogether then tried to just give her some advice on what would be a safe beverage to order. She prevailed and I went with her.

When we arrived at the bar, she quickly spotted her coworkers, and we crossed the room to their table with a barmaid close behind us.

The barmaid took my roommate's order, and then I asked her for orange juice, she told me she’d have to see my ID first. I fought it simply because I knew I wouldn’t be ordering any alcohol, but she insisted; I showed her my ID and she went to get our drinks.

My roommate started giggling. I asked her to be quiet and tried to tell her it wasn’t funny, but she countered it was too.

Her coworkers asked her what was so funny, and my roommate pointed to me saying, “She’s twenty-four.” 

Making me the only one at the table not laughing hysterically when the barmaid returned with our drinks and asked what was so funny. I told her, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Having been raised by a barmaid, I was aware she could lose her job over not carding someone she should have.

The fellow on the other side of her said, “You only carded the oldest one here.”

Dang. I didn’t know that. I looked at her and said, “I told you; you didn’t want to know.”

Her face had gone sheet white, and everyone else at that table quickly wiped out their IDs.

FYI, my roommate was the youngest one there, and not counting me, the oldest guy was about a month shy of twenty-four.

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

 

Of Lost Things and Last Minutes by Konnie Enos

My side of the room is generally organized chaos. My loosely defined nightstand consists of a tray table, an end table, a medium and small set of plastic drawers, and a mishmash of boxes and bags to keep everything I want in easy reach nearby.

Chaos means stuff gets lost. Now if this haphazard area is bumped, things generally fall onto something below them. Occasionally, they manage to find a crevice to reach the floor. The real issue is when someone intentionally knocks things over or manages to kick them under the bed.

Now, my husband and children are not apt to come riffling through my nightstand unless they need something stored in this mess. I tell them where to look and avoid them having to do any searching. They can generally manage this without dislodging anything.

Of course, we also have dogs in the house. At present count, there are four of them. Tiny Ivan couldn’t reach anything on my nightstand let alone dislodge it even if he wanted to. He also generally avoids my room. Then there is the three-legged Xavier and the medium-sized Gunner. Both of which probably could dislodge things if they had any interest in doing so. Like Ivan, they are old enough to prefer sleeping over puppy-exuberant mischief.

On the other hand, Lakota is not only our largest dog but still young enough to retain a significant amount of puppy exuberance. I also have some snack food stored on my nightstand. Plenty of incentive for her to investigate. Since she won’t come anywhere near me, she does this when I’m not in the bedroom.

First I noticed the contents of my garbage can were getting strewn around. We quickly figured out she was getting into it so I now put it where she couldn’t reach it. (It’s now covered.)

Unfortunately, that means she explored further. On more than one occasion she knocked things off my nightstand. This action, unfortunately, put some of my snack food within easy reach for her. Finding things that included jerky sticks just encouraged further exploration.

Needless to say, I’ve had to pick things up more often than usual lately. (I’ve also had to get creative to keep my snacks away from her since some of it is chocolate.)

For these reasons when I recently reached for a small box of tissues I’d precariously perched on my jewelry box, I couldn’t find it. I assumed it had fallen during Lakota’s most recent foray.

Now falling to things below them, or even the floor in front of my nightstand isn’t an issue because I should be able to still see them. Managing to fall and fly or otherwise get knocked under the bed is a different issue.

Since my husband and I are both senior citizens and both suffer from arthritis getting down on our protesting knees and looking under the bed is not an easy thing to do. Getting back up from that uncomfortable position is even harder.

When the two of us could not immediately see the box of tissues by searching the floor in front of my nightstand we assumed it was under the bed. Jerry enlisted Royce for the search.

I’m not sure if that was a better choice. Due to his size getting down in the confined space beside my bed is not easy for him either. There is also the issue of like most males, including his father, Royce has object blindness. He can be looking right at something and not see it.

He, however, dutifully comes to my bedside.

I tell him exactly what I’m looking for and where I last saw it, as in where I know I placed it. Due to the cramped conditions and the object blindness, I am not expecting much. In fact, I’m already considering annoying Melinda and asking for her help.

Royce glances over my nightstand and says, “It’s right there.”

“What? Where?”

He picks it up from BEHIND my jewelry box and hands it to me.

Its position and the other things up there, such as my bottle of lotion, meant it was mostly blocked from my view even though I’d been closer to it than Royce was.

Thinking of Royce just reminds me that I started this year’s gift shopping late. As in I didn’t even start shopping until after I would normally already have it wrapped.

When I noticed that, I immediately did some shopping and managed to get him a gift which was delivered a few weeks ago. I have, however, repeatedly put off wrapping it.

Now I can no longer put it off. I have to wrap his birthday present sometime today before we serve dinner.

Why?

Because we always unwrap birthday presents after dinner and today is the day.

Happy birthday, Royce.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.