A very tired ‘ole girl

This week has been hectic to say the least! I was off work on Tuesday to run the One-Legged Wonder to the doctor in Indianapolis, so that put me behind in my work the rest of the week. Not to mention that I needed to leave early on Thursday and be off again on Friday. Sometimes there’s no point in stressing…

Speaking of stressing, I had a small panic attack while we were at the doctor’s office on Tuesday. I’m not sure what set it off, my anxiety has been a little out of whack the past few weeks. I remember being really hot and there were way too many people in that small office. After that, it’s kind of a blur. I tried my best to calm myself down, which I’ve perfected when the panic attack is in the very early stages.  [Read more...]

Wordless Wednesday

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Houston, we have a bathroom problem

Strange things happen to me on a daily basis, but yesterday’s event took the cake. If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I had some bathroom issues.

To start this story, let me begin by saying that my dad, the One-Legged Wonder (OLW) has fallen twice in the past month. The first time his incision broke open a bit and we were able to pack the wound and continue his healing at home. The second time, this past Saturday, he fell and cracked it open like a melon. Super gross, I know. If you want to see a picture of the grossness, click here. Otherwise, take my word for it. Cracked open like a melon.

Anywho, the doctor decided Tuesday after his appointment to do surgery again Wednesday afternoon. They need to go into the melon opening and clean out the infection that had started to set in since Saturday that was mostly on the exterior and fix him up again. They admitted the OLW into the hospital and I stayed in a local hotel since the drive home is three hours.

Once I got checked in the motel, things were fine. Dad was resting well and I was watching TV and playing on my laptop. I hit the hay early so that I could make sure I had a good night’s rest for the long day ahead sitting in the surgery waiting room.

I woke up early and hopped in the shower. I had planned ahead by bringing a night shirt, fresh underoos and an outfit for the next day. I remembered my soap, shampoo and medicine. Halfway through my shower I hollered “shit”! I had not only forgotten all of my hair product, I’d left my damn hair brush at home. WTF?! I ended up drying my hair with a towel as much as I could and brushing it with my fingers. I used their craptastic hair dryer to dry it a bit more and said screw it. I’m just sitting at a hospital, I don’t need to look purty.

The OLW’s surgery was scheduled for 1pm and that came and went long before they actually came and got him for pre-op. The ended up taking him back for the surgery around 4:45 and by that point I was starving. I hadn’t ate since around 7am and this fat girl needed some food! A bowl of crappy soup later, I was back in the surgery waiting room.

Some of these people are whack. We had the 5-0 in the waiting room to remove an idiot from a computer. Those three computers are for families of patients waiting and this douche was just hanging out there for the free coffee and computer access. The cop and his K-9 unit escorted him out…

Hilarious right? I was really hoping that guy was going to take off and run… That dog would have ate him alive, it was huge and beautiful!

Finally, to the drama of the day. I’d been guzzling diet dew all day trying to stay awake and focused. It was potty time and I was on a mission. I know where the restrooms are. I’ve been in this damn waiting room way too many times. I turn down the hallway and notice the “Wet Floor” signs out. No biggie, I step around and go in.

My first thought? Man, they remodeled these, they’re so different. Then I went into a stall and popped a squat. As I’m peeing, I look through the crack in the door and see a urinal. Umm, what’s a urinal doing in a women’s bathroom? Bout that time in walk two old guys yapping about the weather and how dang hot it is. OH MY JESUS, I’m in the men’s room!

So I sat there…. frozen. My pee stopped mid-stream and my mouth was just hanging open. I’ve never in my life been so out of it and rushed that I went into the men’s room. What the heck am I supposed to do? I’ve got these two old guys still discussing the weather and I’m scared to death to move. I had no idea it was a wiener only party. Ugh…

Finally, the old farts left and I was able to escape without anyone seeing me. I darted into the women’s restroom and resumed my peeing. So embarrassing… I wonder if either of those guys thought I was some weird man with girlie flip flops on and blue painted toe nails :)

So that’s the drama… The OLW’s surgery went well. They removed another 2 inches of bone and hooked him up to a wound vac. Things should be good now, but they’re still trying to get his pain under control.

Stinky Feet and the Pile Driver

Today was yet another eventful day for my Dad known as the One-Legged Wonder. I got a call at work around 2 this afternoon that he had fallen and was bleeding pretty bad from his stump (aka amputation site). I rushed out of work and drove home.

He was back in bed and had managed to get the bleeding almost stopped. He slipped off the edge of his bed when he was sitting down and pretty much pile drived his stump into the floor. OUCH! It looked super painful, but he was managing it pretty well.

Off to the ER we went and got him fixed up. He’s super sore and I can only imagine that it’ll be worse tomorrow. I did take a picture, but I didn’t want to just post the picture here. Some folks are kind of offended or put off by blood, so if you WANT to see it click here. Seriously, it’s not bad at all but then again, I’m used to this stuff!

While we were waiting in the ER I realized that for whatever reason, I got some stank ass feet today. I had on flip flops so it’s not like I had hot feet sweat, it was there though. I tried to wash my feet in the sink in the room but Dad said the nurse would probably walk in and wonder what the hell I was doing. Well duh, I’m washing my sweaty stank feet. Gross.

Anyways, we’re all home now and I’m almost settled in for a good night’s sleep. Meetings tomorrow and lots of work to catch up on.

My Parents, Part 2: My Dad, the one-legged wonder

My dad is a hot freakin’ mess. He was kicked out of high school because he punched a teacher just before graduation and had to get his GED. Then he went into the U.S. Army and served his time in Korea. He’s told me way too many stories about things that happened in the army… but not near as many as he has about his truck driving days.

Dad was an over the road truck driver for almost thirty years before heart problems landed him on disability. Most of his runs were to the East Coast and he had friends there at the frequent stops. Along the way to and from Indiana, he’d see strippers, pimps, fights, guns, nekid people and everything in between. “People are nuts out there…” was mumbled more than once.

One of my favorite stories is this… Dad stopped at a truck stop on the East Coast to use the facilities. On his way into the building from the parking lot, a couple guys walked by and said, “You might want to see if you can help that guy in there”. Dad didn’t know what they were talking about but he ignored them.

Everything seemed kosher as he headed into the men’s bathroom until he saw a head peeking over the stall begging for help. The guy begged and begged and Dad ignored the man as much as he could. Finally the guy said “Look, just kick open the stall door, you’ll see why I need help. Please.”

So Dad carefully kicked open the door and immediately doubled over laughing his ass off. Apparentlyyyyy someone talked this stupid trucker into sticking his winky dink through a hole in the stall divider. Once he did, they lassoed it and tied it off across the stall to the toilet paper holder, leaving the winky dink sticker stuck. He couldn’t go up and he couldn’t go down.

By the time Dad kicked open that door his little weiner bob was purple, blue and almost black from the lack of oxygen and constant pulling from the guy to get loose. Dad couldn’t stop laughing enough to cut the poor man loose and left the bathroom in tears.

He immediately called my Mom to tell her the story and all she did was scream at him. Mom thought he’d finished his driving for the day and was completely drunk. He couldn’t explain the story or talk very well because of his still constant laughter. He gave up and headed back to his truck…

A few minutes later a few guys came out with the winky dink sticker in tow. The idiot finally found someone to cut him loose and help him out to his truck. Must have hurt… Dad said the guy could barely walk and just hung his head in shame. Great prank though!

So enough talk of weiners… more about my Dad. He’s a walking disaster. He’s got diabetes, heart disease, auto-immune liver disease, back problems, hip problems, COPD from smoking since the age of 14 and most recently, one leg.

The one-legged drama started over a year ago when he had symptoms of gout in his left foot. He swore up and down to his family doctor it didn’t feel like gout since he’d dealt with that before. He knew it was something else. And sure ’nuff, it was. Multiple surgeries later, they ended up amputating part of his left foot. The cause? Vascular disease that builds up plaque in his arteries.

More surgeries throughout the year to try to save his leg and clean those arteries out and rebuild the veins.  A month ago, he was back in the hospital with more problems with those same arteries. They’d done all they could, the only option left was amputate.

The amputated on June 5, 2012 above his left knee while I was driving back from my vacation in Florida. My brother was there with my Mom and him for the surgery and snapped this picture on his iPhone just after he moved into a regular room from recovery. The text message subject was “Ren and Stumpy”. And yes, Ren is my Momma.

Also, please be thankful my dad is covering his wiener. That thing is always popping out of hospital gowns and scaring people away.

So that’s my Dad in a nutshell. He’s an honest man with simple standards. He loves his grandsons to the moon and back. It upsets him to no end that he can’t work because of his health problems but bothers him more that he can’t pick up his two grandsons. I’m working on convincing the oldest of the two Isaac that Papaw is getting a pirate leg!

My Parents, Part 1: My Mom, aka Judy Smooth

My mom is a kindhearted, loving, gossipy woman. She thrives on good, juicy gossip and bragging on her kids and grandsons. It doesn’t matter that your son is the highest ranking surgeon in the world, her son is better. And your daughter may be Miss Congeniality, but her daughter is the bee’s knees. That’s just how it is, ask her.

I never knew my mom’s parents, they passed long before I came along. The only living relatives besides her brother and his family were her Aunt Opalee and Aunt Ottie. Both are long gone but I have distinct memories of them both.

Aunt Ottie was a sweet, vanilla scented old woman. She was short and plump and always smiled with her whole heart. You could just tell she was a sweetie. She never had children, so she was extra close to my Mom. The most prevalent memory I have is of going to Aunt Ottie’s house and searching for money. She’d hide dollars in different places and we’d play the “Hot and Cold” game… You know, “You’re getting warm… warmer… oh no, just got cold.” That kinda thing. She was sweet and loving and was a great Aunt. I like to think one day I’ll be old and cranky but still smell sweet like vanilla candles and hide money for my nephews when they’re all grown up. I’ll probably also be delusional and hide it in my sock drawer next to my vibrator.

Aunt Opalee was a different story… She was a vile old woman that hated children. She didn’t have any kids either, and I’m guessing it’s because God loved the world and his children and didn’t want to punish an innocent baby. She was so mean! Now, keep in mind, I was a very young child when she was around. Sesame Street young. She moved in with my parents when she started to go downhill and Mom took care of her. She had these hideous black horn-rimmed glasses that added to her ugly. Anyways, I always watched Sesame Street in the morning, I loved it. Well the cranky old bat didn’t give a damn and changed the channel. When I changed it back she hit me. SHE HIT ME! See, that’s what I’m so fucked up. I was scarred as a child because I wanted to watch Big Bird dance around and talk about numbers.

Needless to say, my Mom and Dad went off the deep end and Aunt Opalee still didn’t get it. Shortly thereafter she had to go into a nursing home. She was too mean to my brother and me and was getting to be more than my Mom could handle. She died a while later. Cranky old bitch.

She didn’t leave any money or family behind and her wishes were to be cremated, so that’s what my parents did. Mom was worried she’d haunt the house, so Dad kept her in the barn (in her urn of course). Occassionally he’d dust her off and tell the old bat to f-off and that’d be the end of it.

Until my parents had to move. All those years had past… we’re talking 20+ and no one had ever done anything with her ashes. That’s what an awful person she was, no one gave a damn. So as Dad was packing things from his barn and workshop, he came across the brass urn. He asked my husband what he should do with it? Just trash it? Or what?

My husband, being the frugal person he is, said heck no. His plan was to bring it home, spread the ashes in our woods respectively and sell the brass for cash. Because otherwise it’d just be a waste of money. Okay, fine. Keep in your mind that both myself and my mom had no idea of their conversation and plans. We assumed that it was destroyed when the barn was taken down.

Flash forward six years later… Hubby and I had been trying to get pregnant for roughly four years and hadn’t had any luck. We’d counted days, tried some annoying steroid pills and done the wild thing like drunken monkeys and still, no dice. My mom, being the nosy gossip she is, was discussing my situation with me one night at her house and insisting that I need to have more sex. Yes, she seriously said that. She’s said it more than once to be exact.

In come Dad and Randy from outside talking about Aunt Opalee’s urn. Shocked, I asked them what the hell they were talking about her for. And Dad simply said that Randy was going to spread those ashes and go recycle that brass. “Wait… what?” Then I went on about how it’d be impossible since that was all torn down and destroyed after they moved. Nope. My husband’s frugal ass brought the old bat home. Into my house. UNDER OUR BED. ON MY SIDE OF THE BED. REALLY?!?!?!

Who puts a dead old bat that hates children and life in general under someone’s bed?! Without telling them!!! Jesus, Mary and Joseph… no wonder I can’t get pregnant, that old bat down there is probably giving the spermos the wrong directions. I could have died. Right then and there… we laughed so hard we cried.

Now… I’ve gotten WAY off track. I started this post to talk about my Mom, not how an old bat drove my husband’s sperm the wrong way. My mom’s a nut. She claims she has a southern draw even though she’s from southern Indiana. Fact is, she just doesn’t talk right. She says things like:

  • Chim-a-lee: Pronounced by us normal folks as chimney.
  • Virgin: Nope, not what you thought. She says “virgin” when she means VERSION.
  • Baby Dowel: You know, like a dowel rod… when she means to say baby doll like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Those are just a few of the most frequent Judy-isms. She’s a wonderul person, she really is. She’d do anything for her family and spends her days taking care of my Dad. And that in itself is a full time job.

So there ya have it. My mom in a nutshell. When I tell you she’s crazy, you can believe me. She’s backhanded me in the car as a teenager more times than I can count for talking back, told me I need to have more sex because my husband is cranky and insisted that I put my hood up on my jacket for almost thirty years. She’s a nutball.

The end.

Part 2 will be published tomorrow when we’ll meet my Dad, the one-legged wonder.