• Living in the not

    Have you ever felt inexplicably irritable? For a week or month at a time?

    Now it’s time for the truth. I have an explanation, I’ve just been reluctant to talk about it. It feels like an excuse. Part of me lives in fear… like if I say it out loud a mob of disturbingly happy people with “The Secret” will bombard me with platitudes. Then, on top of feeling grumpy, I’ll lose my lunch. The best damn yogurt I’ve had all day.

    Oh, I’ve talked about the reason. I just haven’t copped to feeling run over by it. (At least, I don’t think I have.) Part of me feels shame – that my troubles don’t deserve the pity I heap on myself.

    It doesn’t help that I know it’s all garbage. We all have problems, larger and smaller, and we’re allowed to be upset by them.

    The good news is I’m sleeping better. A combination of advice from my doctor and friends seems to have my restless legs (somewhat) under control. The bad news is I’m still really tired. Worrying about Cheryl doesn’t help. We’re getting to the point where we’ve just about ruled in surgery. Now we talk about possible nerve damage and things that may never be fixed. Now we wonder how long her department will hold her job, or if they’ll let her work with any physical limitations.

    The funny thing is, I don’t mind the extra work. I’m not a big fan of chores – as if anyone is, but doing a few extra things around the house hasn’t been a big deal. My part-time taxi gig (for Beth’s activities) started before the accident, so I can’t blame it on that. Besides, I kind of like going to Tae Kwon Do. I may grumble about it from time to time, but that’s just me being grumpy… hence this post.

    That little corner of my mind – the selfish prick in me – was worried about picking up the slack. I’m happy to say I’m not quite as selfish as I thought. Much of the time the extra work feels gratifying – the one thing I have some control over, to make things a little better for Cheryl.

    I feel like all of it is wasted when I succumb to a blue period. I want to be an emotional rock of support, not mud. I want to fix things, not make my own messes. Maybe fix isn’t the right word. I know I can’t fix everything. Maybe that’s my problem. I know but I don’t really understand.

    Hah! Look who’s speaking in platitudes now?

  • The nice nurse cursed in my fit of whimsy

    This is a true story. I say this because a liar wouldn’t dare lie about the truth. Therefore, this must be true – even if I was a liar. I’m not though.

    Feel better?

    It’s pretty darn near the two year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. I only bring it up because I went to my oncologist this afternoon and he said, “it’s pretty darn near the two year anniversary of your diagnosis.” This is notable only because my oncologist is not the kind of guy who says “darn” too often. In fact, he’s pretty much the opposite… if you stereotype people based on their vocabulary like I do. I’ll give him this much: he’s pretty darn professional.

    Any hoo, the meat of this post takes place after my visit with the doctor. He ordered up some blood work and I was shuttled off to see his nurse. His nurse is cool. We get along fabulously. Regular readers might read a little sarcasm into that sentence, but none was intended. We were gabbing it up like a couple old friends.

    “Folks used to tell me I have good veins.” I say this as she’s prepping the needle.

    She takes a look at my arm.

    “They ain’t saying that no more are they?”

    Then I give the rubber ball a squeeze.

    “You’ve been holding out on me boy. There’s nothing wrong with those veins.”

    Then she stuck me.

    “You know, I never would have thought I’d be doing this,” gesturing to the needle I’m my arm.

    “…” Manning up, I said nothing.

    “Some people really do have a calling.”

    “As a butcher?!? What are you using, a spit? THIS F…ING HURTS!“

    “I just stumbled into this. Was it just luck I found something I’m so good at?”

    “AHHH! TAKE IT OUT! PLEASE TAKE IT OUT! MOMMA, PLEASE MAKE IT NOT HURT ANY MORE!“

    You should know I’m a needle wimp. To tell you the truth, you could probably take the word needle out and still have a serviceable sentence. Still, I thought it was pretty damn near heroic to keep my mouth shut during my skewering this afternoon. The pain was bad enough, but I’m not the kind of guy who can just let that kind of irony go.

    I feel kind of bad. I really do like this nurse. It’s just that she’s never drawn my blood before. Usually a finger prick is all I need, but this was apparently my semi-annual, full workup. Maybe she’ll be on vacation in six months.

  • In session

    I almost hate to say anything before it’s over, but the truth is this won’t be over for a long time, regardless of when our legislature is in session.

    I’m being cryptic again. Sorry.

    The Florida Legislature is in a special session to deal with the 2 billion hole that appeared in the state buget last quarter. There’s been a similar hole in each of the last several quarters, so it’s getting to be old hat by now. Still, folks are a little more worried this time. It may be a little worse than thought, with holiday sales dropping off a cliff, and revenue so dependent on sales taxes.

    So far the hurt only goes as far as the positions we’ve been holding vacant – my department is smart that way. Like many of you we’re increasingly accustomed to the “more with less” chant, happy to still be employed.

    Governor sun tan has been cranking out the optimism as if his life depended on it. And maybe his political life does.

    We also heard what we already knew – caseloads are way up, almost certainly due to our plumeting economy. There’s a lot more people out there needing help, and the calvary ain’t walking through that door.

    Nothing new here. It’s time to get creative.