Honduras Thanksgiving '10 Trip is not going to be cheap, but the Lord is faithful. I believe we will have exactly what is needed to fund the expedition that will see all three Abshire girls to Puerto Lempira, and to that end I have asked a couple of friends for suggestions in anticipation of fundraising. Erin is already on her way with her fledgling, "Poo Fairy" business that pays $8 per week and $50 for pet-sitting. She is also planning a school supply drive to benefit Mama Tara's home for children. Taking inspiration from her, I wondered what I might do in addition to sending the traditional support letters to invite others to join in sending us.
The first suggestion from Heidi was, "Use your cooking skills! Offer meals from your kitchen, and I am sure you will have plenty of takers." I considered this, but wasn't so sure. This morning, the question was put to Jan, who immediately suggested... cooking. Hmmm. Sensing a theme, and, in all honestly, thrilled at the idea of spending hours in the kitchen preparing meals for others, I have a couple of sample menus that are relatively simple to prepare and deliver. I'm just not sure how appealing those will be to others, or if dinner delivery if going to be a hit in the current economic climate--- even for a good cause.
Sample Menus might be:
Rosemary Chicken and Potatoes, Salad, and Rolls
Barbecue Chicken, Corn Casserole, Seasonal Fruit
Pasta w/ Spaghetti Sauce, Cream Sauce, or Olive Oil/Sausage/Peppers, Salad, Rolls
and a choice of Chocolate Bread or Banana Bread for Dessert
Or maybe I offer it all a la carte?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Turnabout
The foster/adoption web sites I have visited have advice for married couples. One takes the tongue-in-cheek title for a section, "Top Ten Ways Foster Care Can Ruin a Marriage", but the accompanying article is entirely serious. This is just the sort of article that helps to balance my perspective on children who need a family to love them and a temporary home to shelter them with the reality that my mister does not feel the same pull on his heartstrings. My mister and I have spent years enjoying the idea of our forties when the kids will be out of high school, and our fifties when they will likely be building lives of their own. (This is the "up side" to parenting while one's peers complete their degrees and begin careers.) In the past few months, one of us has had a change of heart.
Having been surgically, permanently cut off from our child-bearing years, there was no reason to consider the possibility of more offspring. Friends with small children and infants have been willing to entrust their children to us while they work, are ill, or enjoy a date. This seemed sufficient, and on occasion even had the hallmark feeling of being overwhelmed that is, as it turns out, not solely the mark of being 21, broke, and in charge of someone who cries to communicate. Those challenges are offset by the moments of sweetness like being presented with a painstakingly drawn stick figure in thick waxy crayon for the refrigerator door, an infant's head resting peacefully on one's shoulder, the endless entertainment of translating the gobbledy gook that passes for speech at 2, and little arms wrapped tightly around one's leg in a hug that can only reach so high.
My mister is far less intrigued by such things. His memories of infants involve rather a lot of crying--- sometimes by the babies. He is content with a world that revolves around us as a couple, and the goal is to raise our children and get back to the honeymoon as soon as the kids are reasonably self-sufficient. (That is rather an enticing idea.) I read of the ways to dip a toe into the pool of children who need safety and love without disregarding the differing goals that the mister and I see before us. The opportunities to care for others' children, the crisis shelter for kids facing removal from their homes in the face of abuse where volunteers are needed, and in months a return to La Moskitia where the youngest children can face uncertainty and benefit from one more pair of open arms reaching out.
Having been surgically, permanently cut off from our child-bearing years, there was no reason to consider the possibility of more offspring. Friends with small children and infants have been willing to entrust their children to us while they work, are ill, or enjoy a date. This seemed sufficient, and on occasion even had the hallmark feeling of being overwhelmed that is, as it turns out, not solely the mark of being 21, broke, and in charge of someone who cries to communicate. Those challenges are offset by the moments of sweetness like being presented with a painstakingly drawn stick figure in thick waxy crayon for the refrigerator door, an infant's head resting peacefully on one's shoulder, the endless entertainment of translating the gobbledy gook that passes for speech at 2, and little arms wrapped tightly around one's leg in a hug that can only reach so high.
My mister is far less intrigued by such things. His memories of infants involve rather a lot of crying--- sometimes by the babies. He is content with a world that revolves around us as a couple, and the goal is to raise our children and get back to the honeymoon as soon as the kids are reasonably self-sufficient. (That is rather an enticing idea.) I read of the ways to dip a toe into the pool of children who need safety and love without disregarding the differing goals that the mister and I see before us. The opportunities to care for others' children, the crisis shelter for kids facing removal from their homes in the face of abuse where volunteers are needed, and in months a return to La Moskitia where the youngest children can face uncertainty and benefit from one more pair of open arms reaching out.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Addition
Our family's Thanksgiving Honduras Team commitments expanded yesterday. KT and I will be joined in the adventure by Erin amongst the group traveling to Puerto Lempira. We now join any other freshman team members in the process of obtaining a passport and appropriate vaccinations as well as keeping an eye on the airline ticket prices.
Having seen a mention of passport fees increasing some time soon, I pulled up the travel.gov web site to see what cost would be incurred in obtaining Little Bit's passport. The fees will go up by $25. The date for this increase to take effect? July 13, 2010. Tomorrow.
Needless to say, Erin's official birth certificate was pulled from it's file and the required form was filled out on online. We took her to the drugstore for a quick photo session resulting in the necessary pair of twin 2X2 photos to be presented with her application. (She spent ten minutes showing Mom different expressions before settling on one in between a smile and an impressive glare. It was pointed out that we do not want to amuse or scare the customs officials, and that she would have to make any of several super silly faces every time the document was examined.) Today we will apply for her passport, and have done so just in time to dodge the added expense of the new fees.
Having seen a mention of passport fees increasing some time soon, I pulled up the travel.gov web site to see what cost would be incurred in obtaining Little Bit's passport. The fees will go up by $25. The date for this increase to take effect? July 13, 2010. Tomorrow.
Needless to say, Erin's official birth certificate was pulled from it's file and the required form was filled out on online. We took her to the drugstore for a quick photo session resulting in the necessary pair of twin 2X2 photos to be presented with her application. (She spent ten minutes showing Mom different expressions before settling on one in between a smile and an impressive glare. It was pointed out that we do not want to amuse or scare the customs officials, and that she would have to make any of several super silly faces every time the document was examined.) Today we will apply for her passport, and have done so just in time to dodge the added expense of the new fees.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Overflow
Hmmm. I am going to contemplate John 4 this week. The chapter is a favorite, and I associate it with the beautiful testimony of a dear friend who believed herself unfit for motherhood after an abortion. Years later, she spoke publicly of her long-held feeling of shame and the remorse that robbed her of so much as dreaming of parenting. She spoke of how Jesus found her right where she was at--- keenly aware of her shortcomings and the pain piled up throughout her life. My friend identified her own surprise that she need not come to Him with her life neatly ordered, just like the Samaritan woman who expressed shock at Jesus's attention and knowledge of her far-from-a-fairytale life. The Samaritan woman brought a village to Jesus feet, and my friend brought a community of women to their knees with the announcement of her pregnancy. Each of those women found He would offer her grace to cover her brokenness. And the surprise discovery that He would and could bring new life through the profound mercy to be found at the foot of a cross. Well, the cross.
Laura's post had me smiling, and thinking of how it is possible to continually pour out even though I do not shoulder the responsibility for others' response to care. My chronically half-empty glass is in no real danger of being emptied. I can pour it out for others without worry knowing there is that well of Living Water Jesus offered in John 4. The only time my glass is likely to be sucked dry is when there is a self-induced drought brought on by failure to return to that well for a refill.
This week, the thought that John 4 was the place to be coincided with Middle Child's pre-departure lunch mas she heads to Mexico for a week of service building a home and sharing Jesus through Children's Bible School with her middle school youth group.
In preparation for the trip, we talked of how she might take time to study those verses in John 4 herself with an eye toward the future she hopes to see unfold. A future with training in engineering with an eye toward the incredible need for clean drinking water in many places around the world. Or perhaps for knowledge of crop techniques to yield sufficient food for areas suffering from hunger. Ideas that have sprouted as a result of seeds planted in Laura's Honduran home. And at the foot of that cross.
Imagine my smile when our pastor announced today in service that he would be departing from Joseph to honor what God had done through the faithfulness of a team sent out from our church to assist in planting four churches in Uganda over the last two weeks. Two weeks that resulted in hundreds of people discovering that wellspring of grace, mercy, and possibility that fills one to overflowing. His departure from Genesis? A detour to the Good News found in John 4.
Laura's post had me smiling, and thinking of how it is possible to continually pour out even though I do not shoulder the responsibility for others' response to care. My chronically half-empty glass is in no real danger of being emptied. I can pour it out for others without worry knowing there is that well of Living Water Jesus offered in John 4. The only time my glass is likely to be sucked dry is when there is a self-induced drought brought on by failure to return to that well for a refill.
This week, the thought that John 4 was the place to be coincided with Middle Child's pre-departure lunch mas she heads to Mexico for a week of service building a home and sharing Jesus through Children's Bible School with her middle school youth group.
In preparation for the trip, we talked of how she might take time to study those verses in John 4 herself with an eye toward the future she hopes to see unfold. A future with training in engineering with an eye toward the incredible need for clean drinking water in many places around the world. Or perhaps for knowledge of crop techniques to yield sufficient food for areas suffering from hunger. Ideas that have sprouted as a result of seeds planted in Laura's Honduran home. And at the foot of that cross.
Imagine my smile when our pastor announced today in service that he would be departing from Joseph to honor what God had done through the faithfulness of a team sent out from our church to assist in planting four churches in Uganda over the last two weeks. Two weeks that resulted in hundreds of people discovering that wellspring of grace, mercy, and possibility that fills one to overflowing. His departure from Genesis? A detour to the Good News found in John 4.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Girlfriend
This morning I looked at the clock and realized that Middle Child would be arriving at DFW airport and checking in with her middle school youth group for a flight to California in less than 24 hours. It's odd to contemplate sending her off, but she is so very ready. I watch her stretch her wings in preparation for this fledgling trip without the questions I had about her readiness to travel to Honduras. She is ready to go knowing she will be missed, and that her time away is temporary. I am feeling the pangs that come with the recognition of each step toward independence that she takes. The challenge is to treat her like the young woman she is rather than the little girl who I still see within her with such clarity.
So. I did what I would do with a girlfriend. I asked her to lunch. We did a little shopping and sat giggling over chips and salsa as we worked on her prayer calendar with crayons begged from the hostess after the only pen between us ran out of ink. We talked about the bits of Scripture that speak to each of us, and how those relate to these trips. We talked about the challenges of remembering that her school, our neighborhood, and the countless places we go in our daily lives are our mission field even though these mission trips have the feel of climbing to the mountain top with their intensive focus that takes us away from the everyday. Eventually, we come back down; yet, we are no less called to reflect the ministry of Jesus in the mundane days of our lives.
So. I did what I would do with a girlfriend. I asked her to lunch. We did a little shopping and sat giggling over chips and salsa as we worked on her prayer calendar with crayons begged from the hostess after the only pen between us ran out of ink. We talked about the bits of Scripture that speak to each of us, and how those relate to these trips. We talked about the challenges of remembering that her school, our neighborhood, and the countless places we go in our daily lives are our mission field even though these mission trips have the feel of climbing to the mountain top with their intensive focus that takes us away from the everyday. Eventually, we come back down; yet, we are no less called to reflect the ministry of Jesus in the mundane days of our lives.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Carefree
The mister has been on vacation from both jobs this week. That alone is a rare enough occurrence, but The Boy is also out of summer school for the week. With two of the biggest commitments in our Summer daily schedules cleared, the days stretched practically wide open before us. There was talk of looking into all sorts of tourist attractions that are so often missed by locals, but that was scarcely even an idea before it began to feel claustrophobic. Instead, we have done a little something most days, but not too much of anything.
The mister took Little Bit out on a Daddy & Me Date to see a movie, and she chose to invite the rest of us to meet them at La Madeleine for dessert afterward. Middle Child, The Boy, and I will go catch a morning showing of "Eclipse" since we have devoured the young adult book series (again... The Boy did not see the movies with the teeming halls of females on the night of the movie release, but he did enjoy both the story and the first two progressively less low-budget movies.) All five of us caught the M. Night Shyamalan snore-fest "The Last Airbender". It's been a quiet week laced with these frequent escapes into fantasy.
Not that we have been in danger of becoming vacant-minded lumps staring blankly at screens teeming with make-believe lives in darkened rooms. There have been peaceful hours tallied sitting on the covered patio over coffee, breakfasts, grilling, and just chatting. We've wandered the exhibit halls of the Museum of Nature and Science again where each of us has favorite displays. There have been many, many miles logged by the assorted runners and walkers thanks to cloud cover providing cooler mornings. The mister and I slipped out yesterday, leaving the children to assorted other activities, for a date involving a trip to peruse the book store, wander through a lovely urban outdoor shopping and dining mecca built around a faux creek and waterfall. (There was a stop for gelato. The scale will no doubt say something unpleasant to me after this week's indulgences. Not that I care enough to feel guilty over the treats. What goes up, can certainly come down.) We have done the loveliest list of near nothing I could ask for over these days.
The doctor gave an all-clear mid-week saying that there were no signs of malignancy in my scans or blood work. He had no idea why the struggle with fatigue and shortness of breath go on, and he suggested that I go back to the immunologist. Again. I think I will simply ignore the symptoms in the relative conviction that I have done enough to chase down a cause. Besides, our family has better things to do than worry.
The mister took Little Bit out on a Daddy & Me Date to see a movie, and she chose to invite the rest of us to meet them at La Madeleine for dessert afterward. Middle Child, The Boy, and I will go catch a morning showing of "Eclipse" since we have devoured the young adult book series (again... The Boy did not see the movies with the teeming halls of females on the night of the movie release, but he did enjoy both the story and the first two progressively less low-budget movies.) All five of us caught the M. Night Shyamalan snore-fest "The Last Airbender". It's been a quiet week laced with these frequent escapes into fantasy.
Not that we have been in danger of becoming vacant-minded lumps staring blankly at screens teeming with make-believe lives in darkened rooms. There have been peaceful hours tallied sitting on the covered patio over coffee, breakfasts, grilling, and just chatting. We've wandered the exhibit halls of the Museum of Nature and Science again where each of us has favorite displays. There have been many, many miles logged by the assorted runners and walkers thanks to cloud cover providing cooler mornings. The mister and I slipped out yesterday, leaving the children to assorted other activities, for a date involving a trip to peruse the book store, wander through a lovely urban outdoor shopping and dining mecca built around a faux creek and waterfall. (There was a stop for gelato. The scale will no doubt say something unpleasant to me after this week's indulgences. Not that I care enough to feel guilty over the treats. What goes up, can certainly come down.) We have done the loveliest list of near nothing I could ask for over these days.
The doctor gave an all-clear mid-week saying that there were no signs of malignancy in my scans or blood work. He had no idea why the struggle with fatigue and shortness of breath go on, and he suggested that I go back to the immunologist. Again. I think I will simply ignore the symptoms in the relative conviction that I have done enough to chase down a cause. Besides, our family has better things to do than worry.
Alongside
I cannot seem to slow enough for my thoughts to gel. And so many of my thoughts are not my own. Or mine to tell. This morning saw an errand to meet with an old ministry partner. Last night we spoke on the phone, and it turned out that the study she had written for women healing from sexual abuse is in the process of becoming a book. The final, or latest product, is in editing now with an expected release in six months. But I needed it now. Because there is a young woman who is trying to sort through her own nightmare, and she is using the pen rather than the sword to fight her way to freedom. I am just along for the ride.
The idea that one in four women falls prey to sexual abuse of some sort in her lifetime makes me ill. I feel the color leave my face even as a red haze tinges the out most edges of my vision with each new tale of pain and shame related by women who are each beloved of Christ. These are the children of God. How dare anyone take what God put in place as a mechanism of love, life, and the spark of creation in us only to twist it into a hideous image of depravity? Every single day it happens somewhere. And in the sense of being a drop in the bucket, I will walk alongside another sweet soul who searches for the living water that can wash her clean. How I wish there was no such need.
The idea that one in four women falls prey to sexual abuse of some sort in her lifetime makes me ill. I feel the color leave my face even as a red haze tinges the out most edges of my vision with each new tale of pain and shame related by women who are each beloved of Christ. These are the children of God. How dare anyone take what God put in place as a mechanism of love, life, and the spark of creation in us only to twist it into a hideous image of depravity? Every single day it happens somewhere. And in the sense of being a drop in the bucket, I will walk alongside another sweet soul who searches for the living water that can wash her clean. How I wish there was no such need.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Back Track
- The Honduras girls went to see all the Twilight movies.
- The next-to-last chapter in Holy Discontent pretty much described my soon-to-depart friend Laura and her heart for Honduras.
- Laura and I shared a farewell brunch and talked of the needs her family is going to meet and those they will need met. She opened my small mind a bit further to big, new ideas.
- Jan asked for pictures from our Spring Break trip to use in a slide show. Pictures like
these:
As I sifted through photo files, listening to the Casting Crowns track Jan sent along with her photo request, there was a certainty that there was a little girl like Alba Rosa (held by Katie in the above photos) who was waiting for there to be extra arms to hold her. (This may have been somewhat influenced by a conversation with Laura earlier in the week about the amount of red tape involved in ministering to kids in the U.S.) I wonder about the kids we met, and those who minister to them daily. Next thing I know, I'm in tears.
My mister is one to greet the tears of the assorted females in our home as a call to action of some sort. He asked what was wrong. I told him. In minutes, the decision was made that Katie and I will go back to Honduras at Thanksgiving.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Night Lights
The mister and I are not particularly fond of large crowds, and the idea of going to Adriatica a half mile away to watch fireworks this evening was guaranteed to involve just such masses of humanity. So we stayed home with The Boy dominating the world in Risk, a t.v. screening of "Independence Day", and finally the popping sounds signifying the fireworks display we were skipping. Apparently the day's drizzle and occasional downpours were no damper on the light show. The sound drew me to peep out through the blinds where I found the entirely visible source.
Running down the hall in my pajamas yelling for others to hurry and, "Look out the back windows!" drew both daughters (if none of the household males). Yanking open Katie's blinds, I pointed outside. The girls and I clustered together at the window watching as pinpoints of light streamed one at a time heavenward to explode into glowing spheres set against the night sky. We raced back to the master bedroom where the view was better. The single lights came rapidly on the heels of one another. The speed increased until not one, but a series of lights tore skyward to herald series of explosions. The brightness shifted as not one, but many colors were represented in the expanding, and too quickly disappearing, light over the rooftop behind our home. Finally, the sky went dark. We headed back to our beds, but with the delicious surprise of our unexpected night lights still fresh in our minds' eyes.
Running down the hall in my pajamas yelling for others to hurry and, "Look out the back windows!" drew both daughters (if none of the household males). Yanking open Katie's blinds, I pointed outside. The girls and I clustered together at the window watching as pinpoints of light streamed one at a time heavenward to explode into glowing spheres set against the night sky. We raced back to the master bedroom where the view was better. The single lights came rapidly on the heels of one another. The speed increased until not one, but a series of lights tore skyward to herald series of explosions. The brightness shifted as not one, but many colors were represented in the expanding, and too quickly disappearing, light over the rooftop behind our home. Finally, the sky went dark. We headed back to our beds, but with the delicious surprise of our unexpected night lights still fresh in our minds' eyes.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Clear
Despite cooler heads and wiser minds advising that I wait on Dr. J's explanation, I phoned the imaging center this morning to request a copy of the preliminary report on yesterday's CT. Ready for the worst, I started reading. The most exciting information was the radiologist noting the surgical absence of my uterus and the addition of my medi-port. (That's good that she caught those baseline bits.) The spleen was relatively unchanged, if still enlarged, and there is a little bonus spleen tissue called an accessory spleen. There was nothing else particularly worthy of remark in the report. (Well, she did mention that there was some degradation of the image because the patient was moving. Oops.) I'll go in for what is expected to be an official, "All clear!" next week.
Exploring
It's Friday. The Boy's last day of Summer School for Art IA. The girls have opted not to get out of bed, and the mister and I are headed out to steal a little couple time. That's not been an easy feat in the past few weeks with the combined schedules of our household, and we are both looking forward to staring deeply into one another's eyes over coffee cups without the words, "Mom," or "Dad," punctuating the conversation. Okay, so maybe the soulful looks are beyond either of us the week before Staycation begins, but it is still entirely desired to be alone together. Hopefully, the school will not call while we are off making goo-goo eyes at one another.
Because there is a call coming. Yesterday, due to PSAT testing, the students were restricted during their break from their usual haunt (the cafeteria). So, our kid went "exploring" with "the guys" upstairs. The exploration led to the teachers' lounge (a place students should not be) where a soda was removed from the fridge (that ought to be free from the predations of students) and used for some sort of idiotic game before supposedly being returned to the fridge. The Remover was my kid. Uh-oh. He says he returned the drink, but it was missing later, and the whole world saw him out playing with it. Oh.but.no. So. He was kept after school yesterday in the determination of his guilt, and the consequences will come today.
The consequences at home will likely be mitigated if we don't hear about the consequences at school during Date Day. In the meantime, I am periodically calling the kid, "Dora" and have him explore a list of additional chores available to keep him busy and out of trouble.
Because there is a call coming. Yesterday, due to PSAT testing, the students were restricted during their break from their usual haunt (the cafeteria). So, our kid went "exploring" with "the guys" upstairs. The exploration led to the teachers' lounge (a place students should not be) where a soda was removed from the fridge (that ought to be free from the predations of students) and used for some sort of idiotic game before supposedly being returned to the fridge. The Remover was my kid. Uh-oh. He says he returned the drink, but it was missing later, and the whole world saw him out playing with it. Oh.but.no. So. He was kept after school yesterday in the determination of his guilt, and the consequences will come today.
The consequences at home will likely be mitigated if we don't hear about the consequences at school during Date Day. In the meantime, I am periodically calling the kid, "Dora" and have him explore a list of additional chores available to keep him busy and out of trouble.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Picture Day
This morning's usual running start included an extra-special breakfast. The steroid appetizers were taken at odd hours last night, in the wee hours of the morning and the final dose in the morning in order to stave off an unwanted allergic reaction to the contrast dye used to light me up for the CT scanner. Berry-flavored Chalk smoothie (for coating the inner workings) was the entree on order along with a Benadryl chaser (also to minimize allergy opportunities). Nice. Okay... not so much.
Steroids are bad. The first two doses are fine, but the third one brings out the mean. For example, I was extremely cross with the daughters who thoughtfully made themselves a pizza for lunch so I could sleep off the drugs uninterrupted. It's that kind of rationale that was in effect as I sat in the imaging center trying to learn if any of the radiologists available to read the CT were on our insurance despite three previous conversations with assorted administrative people. (Nope. Time to address that unmet out-of-network deductible. Awesome. That set well in the stormy sea of barium-coated belly and steroidal crabbiness.) Fortunately, this is not Mama's first rodeo on steroids, so the recognition of my likely irritability having nothing to do with my perceived antagonists was at least tempering my desire to try out for an episode of the evening news or a mention in a true crime show.
The center could not access the type of port I have, so the nurse tried to find a vein that would play nicely. Except that mine generally prefer to play Hide and Seek. I especially appreciated the different colors of wrapping used for the different holes poked. The bright blue and fuchsia mummy look could come in at any time. I would've been trendy if that had been today. Ah, well.
The whole test took a whopping half hour. I avoided the temptation to walk with my arms stretched out before me making a low moaning/groaning noise in honor of my bandaged arms and hands. That sort of thing never seems to be nearly as amusing to other people as it is in my head. Which is reason enough to keep such thoughts from becoming action.
I drove home, unwrapped my mummy costume, dashed off an e-mail update, and crawled into bed to sleep off the after effects. Preliminary results can be picked up this afternoon, or I can wait until my follow-up with Dr. J on July 7th. I haven't decided whether or not to seize the opportunity to spend the weekend trying to piece together a crazy quilt understanding of the CT report from my own medical knowledge base and the scary stories available on the internet, or if I will just opt for patience and accuracy.
Steroids are bad. The first two doses are fine, but the third one brings out the mean. For example, I was extremely cross with the daughters who thoughtfully made themselves a pizza for lunch so I could sleep off the drugs uninterrupted. It's that kind of rationale that was in effect as I sat in the imaging center trying to learn if any of the radiologists available to read the CT were on our insurance despite three previous conversations with assorted administrative people. (Nope. Time to address that unmet out-of-network deductible. Awesome. That set well in the stormy sea of barium-coated belly and steroidal crabbiness.) Fortunately, this is not Mama's first rodeo on steroids, so the recognition of my likely irritability having nothing to do with my perceived antagonists was at least tempering my desire to try out for an episode of the evening news or a mention in a true crime show.
The center could not access the type of port I have, so the nurse tried to find a vein that would play nicely. Except that mine generally prefer to play Hide and Seek. I especially appreciated the different colors of wrapping used for the different holes poked. The bright blue and fuchsia mummy look could come in at any time. I would've been trendy if that had been today. Ah, well.
The whole test took a whopping half hour. I avoided the temptation to walk with my arms stretched out before me making a low moaning/groaning noise in honor of my bandaged arms and hands. That sort of thing never seems to be nearly as amusing to other people as it is in my head. Which is reason enough to keep such thoughts from becoming action.
I drove home, unwrapped my mummy costume, dashed off an e-mail update, and crawled into bed to sleep off the after effects. Preliminary results can be picked up this afternoon, or I can wait until my follow-up with Dr. J on July 7th. I haven't decided whether or not to seize the opportunity to spend the weekend trying to piece together a crazy quilt understanding of the CT report from my own medical knowledge base and the scary stories available on the internet, or if I will just opt for patience and accuracy.
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