Month: October 2018

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Dr. Bow Does Not Wear Bow Ties

Orange Bow Tie o’ the Day and black Shirt o’ the Day join up with pink-lettered Hat o’ the Day, for a confluence of the upcoming Halloween holiday AND Breast Cancer Awareness month.

It’s perfectly clash-ceptable fashion to throw together holidays and causes in one outfit. Call attention to as many topics in one fashion statement as you wish. Different onlookers will concentrate on whichever theme strikes them. You’ll grow your audience simply by multiplying your garb’s themes. I don’t really recommend wearing more than three or four topics in one outfit, because you risk confusing onlookers and making them dizzy. As always, though, clash fashion allows you to do whatever the heck you want. You dress yourself. Make it interesting to yourself.

I have a doc appointment this afternoon in SLC with my pain doc, Dr. Bow. (That’s not her real name, but her name has a syllable pronounced BOW in it, so that’s how I will refer to her in posts.) For Dr. Bow, I like to be extra choosy about the bow tie I wear when I see her. She expects me to show up in a bow tie that will make her “oooh” and “ahhh” at each appointment– in honor of her name. I would never dishonor her by wearing a necktie to an appointment.

Dr. Bow has been my pain doc for six years, but I haven’t had an appointment with her since the day before my surgery. I had chronic pancreatitis for 18 years before I was able to have the surgery. That meant I had chronic gut pain for that same 18 years. And that meant taking pain meds, which I hate. But they were necessary for me if I wanted to have a life with any kind of movement in it.

Getting the correct pain medication and an adequate dosage of it is tricky. To quell the pain completely would have required that I take a high enough dosage to basically put me in a coma. Being comatose is not living. So Dr. Bow’s task has been to find a med and dosage that handled enough of the pain so that I could make it through a day able to do most normal things, but without making me lethargic and loopy. And comatose. Dr. Bow helped me get the right med, in the right dosage, so I’ve been able to live a productive, fulfilling, useful life.

I tell you about all of this to give you some context about how important today’s appointment is to me. I’m hoping Dr. Bow will agree to let me cut down the current dosage of my pain med. I think I am feeling less pancreatic pain since my surgery. It is difficult for me to accurately assess my pain, however, because I still have all kinds of intermittent tugs, pulls, stabs, jabs, and pains going on in my healing innards. Dr. Bow will help me figure out some of that.

Wish me luck. Cross your fingers that I can nix some of my med. I’m crossing what’s left of my pancreas.

#iwantoffmymeds  #ithinkthesurgeryhelped  #drbowwillseemyprettyscar

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Button, Button, Who’s Got The Button?

As you can see from some bare bins and shelves, Suzanne still hasn’t finished filling The Ultimate SewingBox. She wants to get her supplies situated in just the right places, so she’s thinking things through extremely carefully. She’s even experimented with chairs– like Goldilocks– to find the perfect one for her height and butt.

In one of those bins, on one of those shelves, lives an ever-increasing population of buttons. She has the buttons. But I have the button Bow Tie o’ the Day. Actually, I bought Bow Tie for Suzanne to wear while working at her sewing machine. I thought that would make a good post photo. But I am insanely greedy about my bow ties. Every once in a blue moon, I can share. But I couldn’t share this one, even though it was my sincere intention to do so. I think I’m jealous that Suzanne can craft and sew and play with buttons, and I can’t do any of those things. Bow Tie is the only way I can play along. It’s the only way I can be part of the sewing agenda.

I mean– I’m resting in the recliner today, and since an entire wall of the living room is taken up byThe Ultimate SewingBox, it’s impossible to not gaze upon it constantly without even trying. Oh, I like it, and I told Suzanne I wanted it here in the living room, so she’s not going to always be shut away in a 2nd-floor room, being crafty all by herself. We would never see each other because she would never come downstairs again.

Sometimes, though, I feel left out of what goes on in the living room since the arrival of The Ultimate SewingBox. When Suzanne had a couple of sewing machines on the table, I didn’t feel left out like I feel now. But now that The Ultimate SewingBox has taken up residence here, Suzanne is more obsessed with it than either of us could have predicted. On the other hand, I guess I really did know this would happen.

And that’s why I bought us a 65-inch TV, which is far too big for the living room. It takes up a bigly amount of space on the wall adjoining The Ultimate SewingBox wall. It’s the only way I can compete. It’s the only way I can distract my eyes from focusing even their peripheral vision on Suzanne’s object of eternal joy. Two can play at this game. I’d like to see Suzanne try to ignore me and that TV now.

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Multiply, Replenish, And Magnify

I’m wiped-out from yesterday’s day trip to Delta. Clearly, my stamina’s improving but it still sucks. It’s only driving, you know. Before she left for work, Suzanne gave me strict instructions to do absolutely nothing that requires movement today, so Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are camped with Skitter on the recliner, where I’m reading in my new blinged-out reading glasses.

I finally broke down and admitted to myself that my old pair of reading glasses wasn’t cutting the reading mustard. Off I went to Walmart to search for a stronger prescription. I discovered that when it comes to reading words on a page, I am almost completely blind. For a few years, I used a magnifying glass when reading, but holding it got in the way of me using the remote. Can’t have that. That’s when I got my first readers.

I wore bifocals for a time, but they made me dizzy and gave me headaches. It’s worth it to me to switch glasses depending on what I’m doing. It’s a pain in the butt, but it’s better than wearing one pair of glasses that makes you want to carry around a barf bag.

What I learned as a kid from watching my parents use reading glasses is that reading glasses are like the scissors and the scotch tape. You can never find them when you need them. It’s as if those three objects conspire to play hide-and-seek without letting you in on the game.

To counter this where-did-I-put-that? phenomenon, there is only one solution: Buy more than one of each. Hell, buy a case of each. Scatter them through the house. You’ll still never find them when you need them, but at least you’ll have a better chance.

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A Mad Dash

Tie o’ the Day and I made a lickety-split trip to Delta and back. We spent the day with Mom, who could not quit telling me how much she loved Tie. I picked it out to wear especially for her because Mom has this thing for witches. She always says she’s a witch. In fact, she and Peggy Crane each claimed to be the witchin’-est witch of them all. They tried mightily to out-witch each other. Mom claims to be a witch because Dad used to ask her every Halloween if her broom was sharpened for the holiday.

I drove down to D-ville for the sole purpose of checking on Mom. Already. She’s been in the Care Center less than a week, but I had to see for myself how she’s adjusting. OMGolly! She’s a popular old broad– with family, friends, and staff.

And this photograph is evidence that she’s got a healthy appetite. She was eating so intently that she couldn’t turn around for a photo with me. And that would have been an exceptional picture because she had her sunglasses on. She’s sitting with her longtime buddy, LaRae. They always eat together like they did when Mom was in the Care Center last year, recovering from her broken hip.

Mom says she’s content. She says she doesn’t want any of us to think she’s not happy right where she is. I asked her if she was telling the truth about that, or was she just saying she liked it in order to make us all feel better about the situation? She went on for at least five minutes, listing all the things she liked about being there. Of course, she mentioned the Atkinson’s regularly coming to sing– more than once. And she mentioned Sing Along– more than once. Oh, and the food’s good. And she can get her hair done whenever she wants. And she also mentioned she might get her nails done. And then she mentioned Sing Along again.

Speaking of singing, she said she enjoys having so many visitors there fawning over her that she sometimes feels like singing. I told her that wasn’t a good idea– except during Sing Along– if she wants the staff to let her stay. Talk about Halloween and horror!!! Mom and I not only share the same name, we share the same frightening singing voice. It’s ghastly. We are both smitten with music, but music is not smitten with us.

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This Is Only A Test

Cape o’ the Day meets Tie o’ the Day! Is this my kind of day, or what? Suzanne’s cape factory concocted this cape in a flash yesterday. Remember: This is just the practice cape, made out of the cruddy, yucky, “useless” fabric. But I think Suzanne did a fantastic job. I can’t wait to show this to the neighborhood. And I can’t wait for my real capes, to be made with decent fabric.

Yesterday, only after trying on the cape and giving its design my stamp of approval, I decided to pick out my own fabric for a couple more. Suzanne had an extra-thrifty JOANN’s coupon that was good only from 4-6 PM, so off we went to shop for material during that time. Guess who else was there. Every sewing and crafting aficionado in Davis County was there with us– with their own extra-thrifty, 4-6 PM JOANN’s coupon. And how many cashiers were checking out the customers? One.

Suzanne picked out fabric for one of my capes. I picked out fabric for two more. And then I went to the car to listen to music and nap while Suzanne stood in the line at the register. Forever. I certainly got the better of the whole deal. I got to listen to THE LUMINEERS and BAND OF HORSES. I got to have a nap. Meanwhile, Suzanne grew roots standing in the forever-long line AND had to pay the bill.

Poor Suzanne. She can’t wait until I have my energy and strength back, so she doesn’t have to do all the practical, tedious things by herself– and the big chores too, of course. She says she doesn’t mind that I’m a slug since surgery. But I mind. After the first two weeks following surgery, I’ve felt like I’m a drain on her and everyone else around me. I feel like I’m even a drain on myself. Feeling that way has taught me an unexpected lesson: Being responsible for yourself and your own wants and needs– bigly and small– gives you confidence and courage. I can feel mine slipping. I need to be useful to myself and others in order to get back my inner strength.

And now I’m going to ask Suzanne to cook me a steak and pour me a Diet Coke and find the remote I put down somewhere and find my bow tie slippers and let Skitter out to potty and fill Skitter’s food and water bowls and…  Oh, I feel my self-image worsening as I give her these orders to pamper me.

But I’m still gonna nag her to sew one of my real capes today while I watch General Conference. 😉

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Nuts For Bolts

I’m sporting a super-slim Bow Tie o’ the Day this afternoon. Bow Tie and I have got our eyes on Suzanne’s productivity. Here, she’s ironing some material from her Leaning Tower o’ Fabric. She’s prepping to do her first Ultimate SewingBox project. And guess what? For her maiden project, she’s making something for little ol’ me. She’s making me a cape. Finally. I’ve wanted her to make me one for years. I’ve wanted her to make it to help me become The Caped Tie-sader. I think buying her The Ultimate SewingBox guilted her into finally becoming my cape factory.

Sure enough, she found a cape pattern at JOANN’s in St. George. She’s experimenting with it today, so she’s using some useless, old, crusty fabric to make the prototype. We’ve gotta see what design will work, according to my capey desires. Suzanne has to design it perfectly before we spend a small fortune on my chosen cape fabrics. You know I will want more than one cape, if I find this one to my liking.

When I refer to the test cape being made of “useless” fabric, I am saying that any normal person would see that the fabric is “useless.” A normal person would have scrapped these scraps long ago. Suzanne, however, is not normal. There is no piece of fabric on this planet that is “useless” to her.

Oh, I know Suzanne is not the only one. A lot of y’all giggle in anticipation of a trip to a fabric store. Suzanne and some of y’all salivate at the sight of fresh bolts of material being put on the racks at MOM’S CRAFTS. But really, if a scraggly piece of nearly disintegrating material has lived a good, long life in the bottom of a musty drawer that hasn’t been opened in three decades, put it out of its misery. Or make me a cape with it.

[The next time you see me and a tie here, I am confident we will be wearing a cape designed and handmade by Suzanne, The Patient Seamstress and her Ultimate SewingBox.]

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So That Is How My First Name Got Real

Double-wood Bow Tie o’ the Day says I should explain to my Delta friends how my first name and my middle name seemingly switched at some point in my life. My full, legal name is Helen Eileen Wright, and until I graduated from DHS and left Delta, I went by the name, Eileen. I don’t know why, but that’s what everyone had always called me.

When I had to begin filling out all the paperwork that comes with being an adult– like college applications, job applications, rental applications, my passport application, etc.– it was so complicated to keep using my middle name as my first name, because my Social Security card had my “real” name on it. So I became Helen. I also have been referred to as Helen, Jr., Li’l Hel, H. E., Helen E., and prob other variations I can’t recall right now. I’ve been known as Helen for almost twice as long as I was Eileen, so it’s almost impossible for me to think of me as anything but Helen, although I’m just fine with either name you’re comfortable using for me.

When the switch happened, I found that I liked the name Helen better than Eileen. Nobody ever got the spelling right on Eileen. Helen was more me-ish. And what I liked most about making the change was that there aren’t many women who have their mothers’ names. I do, and I have always looked up to Mom, so her name was something I’ve strived to honor. It’s inspired me to be more like her. Wearing her name has definitely made me a better woman than I would have been otherwise.

What this whole name thing means is that I’ve had a childhood name and an adult name. Depending on what name you use to address me, I know– and everybody else knows– when you first knew me.

When my parents were trying to come up with a name for me, they were stumped. I was almost named Melanie. And then I was almost named Rhonda– so they could have yet another “Ron”  in the family. They settled on the name of one of Mom’s nurses, who was such a key part of Mom recovering from my birth, Eileen Boothe. Mom had nearly died giving birth to me. Dr. Bird had to give her a half-dozen blood transfusions, and he told her, “No more babies, Helen.” (And then Dad had a little operation. 😉)

Anyhoo… Dad was giving me my baby blessing, and when he got to my name, he named me after Mom. She was surprised. They had never talked about doing that. He told Mom she’d had a difficult enough time having me that I should have her name. I’m grateful he did that. I try to honor it, knowing I will forever fall short. But I try.

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Mom Has Slept Around This Year

Tie o’ the Day and I are actually feeling much better than we did yesterday, about our family’s decision to settle Mom in the Care Center. I haven’t been weepy today, and I know that’s not just because Tie is rockin’ it with the black and orange funk– although it is a snazzy look. Nope. We’re feeling more at peace about Mom because, by all reports, she’s feeling a little better about the situation herself.

Yesterday was not fun. Even when you know you’re doing the rightest thing you can do, it’s still tough to watch your mom cry. I can’t speak for anyone else in my family, but I can honestly say that there are moments when I feel like I’ve let Mom down somehow, even though I’ve done everything I can think to do for her, for as long as I’ve been able to do it. We all have. But when your mom’s crying, you damn well wish you could fix what’s wrong.

I know Mom is safe. I know she’ll enjoy herself where she is. That’s how Mom rolls. Her tears are not about where she’s living. She knows she’s blessed to be in a terrific facility, watched over by a compassionate staff. (And as an added bonus: Heck, the Atkinson’s will regularly come right to her new home to serenade her.)

Her tears are about how hard it is to handle the plethora of changes that have come her way the last couple of years. All of her recent life-changes make my own head spin. I can only imagine how those changes are making her 88-year-old head spin and zoom and cart-wheel. I’m sure she’s been feeling like she is no longer in charge of her own life. Unfortunately, that’s mostly  accurate. It is what is has to be.

Think of it. Mom was born in Oak City in 1930. She moved a spittin’ distance away to Delta when she married Dad in 1948. After that, she lived in the same house for 63 years. And then, just over a year ago, she fell and broke her hip while trying to put on her big girl pants. (Yes, that’s really how it happened.) Her life, as she knew it, was altered.

Mom had to leave her own home to live with my bro, Ron, in St. George– where we’ve stayed with her when Ron and Marie had to be away from home. (How horrible for me and Suzanne to have to spend time in St. George. And with Mom!) In the last year, Mom’s had sleepovers in Delta a few times. She’s stayed here with us in Centerville for a week here and there. She’s stayed in Pleasant View with my sister, BT and Kent, for days at a time too. For some reason, Mom thinks her kids are cool, so she’s had a blast every minute of everywhere she’s camped. But at this point, she needs to stop her galavanting. She wants to do all the rest of her sleeping in one town, and that town is her beloved, windy Delta.

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Small Place, Bigly Love

VW Bow Tie o’ Yesterday drove with us as we hauled Mom and her memories from back to Delta from St. George. Mom never turned away from her window during the entire drive. She loves the landscapes of Utah, and she had to point out every beautiful natural thing she saw– including a few deer. She told us stories about who she was with and what they did when she had visited some of those locales in her younger life.

Years ago, one of Mom’s sisters who lives “up North,” asked her how she could stand to live out in the middle of nowhere, where the wind blew all the time. Mom said something along the lines of “It’s beautiful. Why would you not want to live here? I’d never live anywhere else. And you have all that traffic up North. Why would you want to live up there?” Mom finds joy in every Delta dusty wind that messes up her just-done hair.

For those of you who don’t know anything about the Care Center in Delta, let me give you some insight about Delta that will help you understand why it’s the perfect place for Mom to live.

When I lived in Virginia and Maryland, when my “back East” friends would ask about where I grew up, I came up with the perfect way to describe how small Delta is. I told them that Delta is so small that when you’re born, you’re automatically related to half the population– and then when you get married, you’re suddenly related to the other half.

What does this description have to do with the Delta Care Center? Aside from the fact that the facility– and the care the staff provides– is outstanding, everybody knows everybody. It’s like home in that way. Mom already knows 99 percent of the residents of the Care Center, and they know her. They have been part of her life for all of her life. Likewise, Mom also knows the people who will be caring for her. They love her and Mom loves them. Trust me, she will be spoiled during her stay.

At the Care Center, every day is almost like a family reunion. In fact, when we walked Mom into the facility yesterday, she didn’t even get to her room for over an hour. Half-way to see her room for the first time, she saw someone she just had to catch-up with about all the Delta gossip. Mom immediately sat down by her. Soon someone put a plate of food in front of Mom, which she immediately ate– to give her energy to keep talking to her life-long friends, I’m sure.