Well, it's been busy. And not always in a good way. The best friend went into the ER again. He is home now, on a new antibiotic, and is doing better, but still recovering. And then this morning, I went into the ER. I was in so much pain I was screaming. Turns out my catheter was not inserted all the way where it is supposed to be, so my bladder could not empty at all. Very very very painful. I had dealt with it for two days thinking it was just the normal pain from having the tube swapped out once a month, which happened three days ago. But I just couldn't deal with it anymore this morning. The doctors who worked on me were flabbergasted that something so seemingly simple was screwed up. They asked me how they hire the people that work here. I have no idea.
I had to kind of joke about it, because the only other alternative was to let out of a stream of swear words that would make even my friends who taught me that it was okay to swear blush, and I didn't think that was appropriate in a public emergency room. Besides, I'm trying to calm down on the swearing in preparation for my week at a Christian camp/retreat. I didn't used to know how to and/or be able to swear at all, and now I sometimes go overboard the other way. You should hear me in the poker room sometimes. Anyway, the problem seems to be fixed now, with almost no pain. Blessed be. (A Wiccan expression of thanks, to show you how well-rounded I am.) But now I'm kind of a combination of tired and wired at the same time.
I went through the whole ordeal much quicker than usual for our dear local university hospital, and was home in just under three hours. About two hours after that, my dad, youngest sister, and her husband showed up. We sat around in chairs in the nursing home for awhile, and they talked at me, or to each other around me, until I suggested we travel to a nearby bookstore, at which they commenced their around talking again. They decided to discuss personal finance and trauma in their lives for about an hour, until they noticed I was actually nodding off as a result of having eight units of morphine pumped into me earlier in the day. Then they actually asked me if they were boring me, apologized when I agreed with them, and continued for another half hour.
I just laughed at them inside, thinking of the beginning of the Todd and pony show, where someone says, "before we get to your update..." and the other person says, "more about you? That's good."
In the end, they all planned that we should all go to a housewarming barbecue tomorrow for my other sister and her husband who live in the opposite suburb from me, about an hour's drive. There I'm sure the same around talking will happen, but at least I will give some free grilled steaks and a beer out of the deal, if they manage to remember that I'm actually old enough to drink alcohol. One time they gave me lemonade while they all had beer. It was funny but sad. It might make a good story in a book someday. Sometimes I imagine myself to be the Erma Bombeck of disabled people. If you don't know who she is, do yourself a favor and Google her. She had some of the best book titles of all time: "When You Look like Your Passport Photo It's Time to Go Home," "If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries Why Am I Always Stuck in the Pits?," and "Family Ties That Bind and Gag." She was almost as funny as David Sederis, only straight and in the 70s and 80s.
It's just that I don't have a lot to tell them that they'd actually be interested in. They don't care about poker, one of my main hobbies. If I had a child who was into poker, I would at least learn how to play the game so that I knew what she was talking about. But maybe that's just me. And there's only so much one can say about the health crisis of themselves or their best friend. And it's not like I can walk in there and talk about my queer life. So we're pretty much at an impasse, because those things are pretty much my entire life at the moment.
I feel sorry for them sometimes. I guess I don't make it easy. But it is the best I can do with what I have. Still, I search for their pride in me instead of their pity, I'm always disappointed when I don't receive it, and then I'm angry at myself for looking for it in the first place when I know full well I'm not going to get it. Maybe I should come out in some overly dramatic fashion. That would relieve them of having to expend the effort of trying to connect with me at all. Kind of reminds me of the way they used to shoot horses with broken legs. Seems cruel, but maybe the most humane thing for the time.
In the exciting news category, I'm really gearing up for my trip. Even though I did look for travel information on the wrong city, accidentally. I get to spend a couple of extra days in San Jose, not Santa Rosa. And we're going to take the train instead of the plane or a bus. Nobody would offer to help my caregiver get me onto the plane, which is not really safe for my wheelchair anyway. And I really really did not want to take the bus, based on my one previous Greyhound experience, where I couldn't see out at all and therefore got carsick. So we are going by Amtrak, in our own sleeper compartment. Other people that have taken that journey say that the scenery is beautiful. I can't wait. I love trains. June 8 can't get here fast enough. We also found out that Joni Erickson herself might be at the same camp I'm at. How exciting is that?
And if I do well enough in poker for one more week and manage to win that particular final, I will win a trip to Las Vegas and a chance to play in a real cash tournament for free. Can you imagine me in Lost Wages, Toddy? :-).
I was flattered when they said on the show that someone who is a songwriter was going to look through my writings. It's actually a little scary. I hear tunes in my head for some of them sometimes, but I'd never written any with the goal of becoming songs because I didn't think that was possible. But maybe we could collaborate with some new stuff. I will try. I'm always game for a new challenge.
Anyway, now you are all updated. More to come soon.