Halloween

Check out this crime-fighting duo!

Yep, they'll trip anyone who dares to sneak across this room.

Or, maybe you'll get wrestled to the ground like this.

If you're lucky, they won't have to punch you right in the face!

What do you do when your disability time starts a week before you have your surgery? Get Mitzi in town and start shopping! Well, shop some, anyway. Since we didn't have anything better to do, we got lipstick, pedicures, hats, cards, a sexy dress (Mitzi's), earrings, shoes (also Mitzi's), and LOTS of desserts. That girl hearts cupcakes... and luckily, also hearts running.

We've had a lovely week, and the time really has flown. I guess that goes a lot faster when you wake up at 10 every morning. Good times. As we drove back from Charlottesville today, we passed some people rallying on a corner for our not-favorite presidential candidate. Mitzi gave them the thumbs down, then told me I ought to go back so she could show them a full moon over Virginia. Oh, if only George Jetson's turning radius was just a little tighter.

Tonight PB is at a Halloween party. I was going to see if we should go, but Mitzi donned her finest pajamas and I thought that was the best idea ever, so we're tucked in for the night. No tricks and only sweet treats around this joint.

Happy Halloweeny everyone!

Aaaah, having the Mitzi here is fun. She said this morning, "Hey, I need to check the blog. Waaaaiiiittt a minute, I'm with the blog!!!"

I went and voted today. How weird is it when you choose someone and the choice is indicated by highlighting it in red and putting a big red "X" in the box next to his name? It's counterintuitive. I recommended to the election folks that next time they consider having a green checkmark instead.

Friday? Who believed Friday? If you believed Friday, raise your hand. Now, take that hand and pick your nose with it, 'cause that's what I'll be doing with mine on Friday. 'Cause we all know that's NOT the day I'm having surgery no matter what they said yesterday.

That's right. What was promised yesterday was taken back today. Apparently there were more traumas last night, and that means everyone from this week gets moved to next week.

So, let's rethink all of our good thoughts to Tuesday. That's right, on the same day we elect the new president, I'll be face down on a surgical table bringing sexy back to the OR.

I'll be going tomorrow to vote early. Nobody's keeping me away from the polls with some creative rescheduling. Seriously, they've got to come up with something better than that.

Friday.

Some time between 3pm and 8pm.

Keep the good thoughts coming!

Still no word on when the surgery will be. Hmmmm, hope it's not Monday!

On dying...

Thanks anyway, Pong, I don't plan on it.



And so started the next stage of my inner turmoil over the surgery date. Of course I cried at the surgeon's office. He had the balls to walk in and ask how I was doing. "I'm an anxious mess, sir!" I said as I burst into tears over the latest round of delays. We went over (again) what I was having done, the amount of pain I'm in, etc, etc. That's not all of it though, I pointed out, I've made plans. And more importantly, OTHER PEOPLE have arranged plans around it. This can't be undone, and I can't be a good patient if he changes everything. I'm confident that he can do a perfect surgery, he has to be confident that ANYONE can screw up a perfect surgery by doing things they have to do if no one is there to help them. Hell, I see it all the time. He agreed, and I'm to be put back on the surgery schedule next week. Date, at this time, is still unknown, but I should find out by the end of the day. Good news, sort of.


So, leg me get to the funny part. At least it's funny now, I should say.


I had the cutest little Crazy Asian nurse, Pong. Pong was very distressed that I was upset. Of course, she had no idea what I was so stressed about (because she didn't ask) and just went ahead and assumed the worst. This is a true and accurate description of what happened next:

"Oh, honey, you no worry! I mean, if God wake you up from you surgery, you wake up. If he call you home, well, the' nothing you can do about it, so why worry? You go church? Oh, it no matter. Even if you no pray ever before, you start now. You just turn all over to Him and no worry, because it's not up to you. You know wha' I mean? Really, you just no worry anymore, because the' nothing you can do about it. I mean, you could get run over by bus just walking to you car today, then all this worry and crying for nothing."

Well shit, Pong, before I was just worried about getting on the damn schedule. I wasn't thinking about the fact that I could die... UNTIL NOW! And to think, I didn't even wear my SuperGirl underpants this time.

Editor's note: I still do not have a date or time. Ugh.

Bye Bye Love

I have a thing for fabulous shoes. A big thing. This is no surprise to anyone who knows me, or really anyone who pays attention around here. Lately I've felt the need to purge lots of my "stuff". I've pared down the t-shirts, sweaters, and now... shoes. Say it ain't so! I held firm to the 1 year rule. If I haven't worn it in a year, it gets donated to a charity program. The same goes for shoes this time around. I refused to count the final number, but needless to say my shoes fit in the closet a lot better. Not to worry, though, there wasn't a single pair of Danskos in the bunch.

It won't fit in the folder...

I have a folder of cards and notes patients have given me over the years. They are mostly special thanks from special patients, things I hang on to so I can read 'em when I need 'em. Yeah, like when I hate my freakin' boss and the crap-ass company I work for. Hmmm, like maybe I should read some things out of that folder now.

Anyway, a while back I had a patient who I evaluated for "frozen shoulder with pain" after a fall a year ago. I quickly realized her doctor had missed the boat almost completely, and referred her urgently to a neurosurgeon. (She did have a frozen shoulder, but also had a severely injured neck.) The neurosurgeon took her to surgery the next week to fix some horrible stuff that had happened in her spine during the fall. The other doctor didn't even notice.

Now, this lady is a painter and had endured horrific pain for a year, had a doctor who accused her of being "emotionally resistant" to being well, and had contemplated suicide because she was in such horrible, unremitting pain. She had continued painting despite the pain and feels that is the only thing that kept her going until the day she started at our clinic.

She brought me this today.

She painted it for me as a thanks for helping her so much.

Now, I know I'm a good therapist. I know my stuff. Really, I do. But what makes me better is that I listen to my patients. I put 2 and 2 together to get 4. If 2 and 2 doesn't equal 4, I figure out why. Sometimes, just sometimes, that can make the difference for someone, and sometimes that difference can be life or death.

And you thought you had to be a doctor to save lives.

:)

Oh, by the way, she had been to a different PT clinic before ours and refused to go back there. I'll tell the story of how she found us soon.

John McCain keeps calling me.

Barak Obama won't stop writing me letters.

These two need a life.

I just wrote a whole post.

Blogger sucks it tonight.

I'll write it again tomorrow.

Sorry 'bout that.

Holy shit, Peeps. My surgeon is trying to push back my surgery by 2 weeks. While that may not be so tragic, let's review what that screws up for me...

1) Mitzi took vacation time, booked a ticket, and is flying in on the 27th to help me out. This cost big $$ and will take more $$ to change, if it can even be done.

2) My short term disability starts the 27th. If my surgery doesn't go for 2 weeks, I will run out of benefits before I'm allowed to go back to work.

3) PB has taken time off of work.

4) I have booked a hotel room to stay in for the night before the surgery.

Please, put in your best thoughts that the surgery won't have to be moved. I can't do it.

When I say POW...

You say WOW!!

And thus we attenteded the "Pau Wau"... which is spelled different, but sounds the same.

We were all intrigued by this guy.

And this dude was just too cool for words.

But my favorite by far was this lady. I mean, if a Rascal isn't part of traditional Indian PauWau fair, then what is?

Hip hip hooray! My Dad's back home, sitting on his golden throne (the recliner) and flipping endlessly through channels, just as he is intended to be.

Thanks for all the happy thoughts, prayers, and existential fixes!

Why it's easy to be fat...

Good: French toast

Better: Pumpkin Cobbler Bread French toast

Best: Pumpking Cobbler Bread French toast with bacon on the side.

Sigh. It's soooooooooooo easy.

He's doing well. Really, really well! He got up with "The Baby PT" and walked about 100 feet without any trouble or any hesitation. Go Poppy!! Of course, Mom says, "He'd have crushed that poor Baby PT if he'd fallen." Well, good thing Dad's not into falling!

Thanks for all the good thoughts... they're obviously working!!!

Dad did great. He is in less pain then after his neck surgery. In fact, when the nurses refused to give him a full meal when he got back to the floor (let's not forget, he'd been without food for almost 24 hours at that point) he said, "If you won't give me dinner, the least you can do is give me some ice cream."

Yep, he's gonna be just fine!

Fingers crossed, please and thank you

The Big Guy, my Dad, is in surgery right now. He's having some serious structural work done on his low back. Turns out if I need one thing fixed, Dad needs 3. If I need mine soon, he needs his sooner. I didn't think parents were supposed to compete with children like that! Anyway, I'd like him to keep walking, so this had to be done and done quickly.

Do me a favor and throw all your good stuff his way, okay?

Please and thank you.

The Amy

Amanda counted, and at any given time there could have been as many as 7 Amys at her wedding. But this? This is THE Amy. Amy Pritchard Stevenson. Amanda's college roommate, and my roommate for the duration of the celebration.

What happens when you offer Amy a bowl to put her yogurt in? Why of course, this is! After a minute she looked at me and said, "I guess you meant so I could pour it in, right?" Ummm, yeah, that's what I was thinking, but it wasn't nearly as funny as what happened in real life.

Amy, the officially unofficial wedding photographer...

and very official Dancing Queen!

And the dancing! Let's not forget the dancing! I had known that Barry White would be the first dance choice (ask PB, I told him months ago). I was not disappointed. Barry blasted, "My Everything" as Shawn and Amanda showed off their moves.

Dad and Amanda danced to Dar Williams' "You'll Be the One Who Knows," which happens to be my favoritest song about how you should go about being a parents. Seriously, if you have a kid and don't have that song, you should run right out and get it! I think everyone cried a little as Dad danced Amanda around the floor. (Oh, and see those flowers in her hair? I did that. That was my idea for when her veil came off. They looked perfect!)

And everyone needs to join the conga line! Can't walk? Walking be damned! The bride herself will carry you!

Keva and Jakob cut a serious rug. They had no shame warming up the dance floor while everyone else was steeling their nerves with the bubbly.

Mom had a hankerchief made of lace from her wedding dress with Amanda's wedding date on it.

Not to worry, Amanda insisted that this hair was a little too jacked-up-to-Jesus, and with some firm prompting, the hair stylist brought it down several notches to leave a lovely wedding look.

Amy and Teva passed the time as one does during wedding preparations.

I think maybe Amy had a little much.

Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh, mawaige...

First, Daddy walks her down the aisle.

Then our The Jackass performs the ceremony... but not before asking "Now, are you sure this is legal?"

Then everyone, 4-leggers included, lines up to take pictures.

Since the first thing I write today will be the last thing you see, I'll start with pictures of Fluffy taking a walk with me and Pooh King. Now, keep in mind that I cannot touch this cat,or get that close to her, which really makes it difficult to get quality pictures with my phone's camera. She i

s now so bold as to rub up against Pooh's legs and head when she sees meets him at the bottom of the stairs. Me, the hand who feeds her? I get nothin'.

Some time tomorrow or Sunday I'll be able to upload pictures and tell funny stories. Until then, I'm chained to my desk at work. Much to EnduringCrap's horror, I'm not even being productive. I can't help it if my patients cancel and I have to stay at work to see if the next one will or won't show up. :) Take that. I love being nonproductive when it's not my fault.

I also have a sweet picture from the FarmVegas WalMart. Seriously, a guy was driving around with a deer head in his car. At first I thought it was a whole deer and almost puked. When I took the picture (of course he parked beside me!!!) I just laughed that he was taking Bambi for a drive.