Trik or Tret!

Jack writes the blog entry better than I can this time:

"Trik or Tret!"

Housecleaning Day

The Brown Wedding

This weekend we attended the beautiful October wedding of Curt and Ruth Brown. They are a great couple, and we wish them lots of happiness together in the coming years.

Jim made a handsome and well-spoken Best Man, and Jack made an equally handsome and entertaining little Ringbearer. (Here's a nod to Papa Hoodenpyle who now refers to Jack as "Frodo.") Jack noted that weddings are about dancing, carrying important pillows, giving flowers to Ruth, and taking "like a 100" pictures. Enjoy some of those 100 pictures below:

I'm Thinking of Taking Up Smoking

I don't like going to the doctor. I really don't like going to the doctor. As a child, I didn't like going because I hated throat cultures. And when you hate throat cultures, it seems that you constantly have to get them.

But even now, as an adult, I still don't like going to the doctor. And it has nothing at all to do with having to get the rather rare throat culture these days. The actual reason is that I can't stand the feeling of not being understood -- or not listened to -- which very often results in the "not being understood" outcome.

On Saturday I went to an urgent care clinic. And really, the frustrating experience began a little earlier than did my talks with the doctor. So I'll back up.

In the waiting room, things are bleak at urgent care. Everyone looks slumped, sloppy, pale, and pretty near death. I was no exception. There are some expectations at these facilities too. No one is to do a doubletake at your disheveled appearance or at your uneven gait. Everyone there knows you don't feel good, and they don't particularly care. People who sit in these drab and dreary waiting rooms leave each other alone with the unspoken understanding, "We all feel like crap, so let's not make direct eye contact, ok?"

The college kid who entered in his pajamas, sporting a rather large goofy grin, didn't get it though. He takes his number, says goodbye to the father who's dropped him off, and sits next to me, leaving only one open seat between us in a nearly empty waiting room. (Everyone knows that two open seats between sickly strangers in waiting rooms is the acceptable standard that we all live comfortably by.)

Anyway, I overlook his misstep and continue to hack, blow my nose, and suck on my Halls kiwi-apple flavored cough drops. After some time, he does the following:

Goofy pajama wearing college kid: "So uhhhhh.... are you eleven?"

Me: (turning my head to look at him... which hurts, by the way) "I'm sorry.... What?"

GPWCK: "Are you eleven?" (motions up to the "take a number sign" and smirks)

Me: "Yes." (I look away quickly.)

A few minutes pass.

GPWCK: "So uhhhh... do you come here often?"
Me: (glaring and stunned into a paralyzed silence) "You've GOT to be kidding."

I'm sorry GPWCK. I wasn't really nice, and Jim says that you were most likely just trying to pass the time and be friendly. Anyway, I apologize for my rudeness.

Let's fast forward to the triage room where the nurse takes your vitals and information.

This lady, who's only job is to record that I'm still breathing, makes fun of my last name as if she's the first clever one to do so. "Hoooooodenpyle? Oh my gosh! That's a mouthful. I think that will be so funny when you have a baby and people call it Baby Hoooooooodenpyle! Ohhhh! That's hysterical! And this is your married name? And you still chose to marry the guy?"

Stay with me. We're jumping forward about an hour when I'm speaking to the doctor.

I tell my story of the past few days - a very complete and thorough outline of the events that have transpired during this sickness. He asks me for the first time, "Do you smoke?" The other eight times that he asks me this same question are a little different. It has a little twist on it each time. "You said you smoke?" / "You don't smoke, really?" / "And you're a non-smoker?" / "And you say you don't smoke?"

NO, MAN. I DON'T SMOKE. I NEVER HAVE, YOU IDIOT.

Other highlights of his extraordinary listening ability:

Doc: "Ohhh... so this amoxicillin that you're currently on, it must've been something that your regular doctor called in for you without an examination."
Me: "Yes." (I said this to him five minutes earlier.)


Doc: "Have you had problems with asthma before?"
Me: "Yes. As a child. I do not have any problems with it now, though, unless I exercise heavily."
Doc: "Do you have an inhaler?"
Me: "Yes, but it's several years old. And I don't have reason to use it daily."
Doc: (looking at my online chart from my regular doctor, wrinkling his nose in confusion) "I don't see that you're using an inhaler on your chart."
Me: "That's because I DON'T use an inhaler now. I don't have asthma symptoms these days unless I exercise heavily. I have an inhaler at home, but it's old. I don't use it. I had severe asthma only as a child."
Doc: (listening to my deep breaths) "You're WHEEZING?! Did you know this? You're not a smoker?"

We'll fast forward through the chest xray and breathing treatment. Let's press on to the lab where they are drawing blood now.

Nurse: "Hooooodenpyle? Is that how you say it? Wow! Well, I changed names when I married, but, for me, my last name actually improved."

I did not respond.

See This Guy Right Here?

Yeah? Well, as bad as he looks, he looks like he feels ten times better than I do. It's mid October, and my most recent life screw up is that I didn't get a flu shot in time to really matter. And I didn't get one for my firstborn in time either. That's a double whammy, folks. I'm about to complain... a lot.

The flu has hit Jack and me, and it's been a hard impact. I'm laid out in my bed. Jack's on the couch. We exist very much like an oscillating fan: moving from a state of full body shivering one moment to what feels like being lit on fire the next. I am writing here at this moment only to try and take my mind off of my incredible state of misery. I don't believe I've felt this badly due to a sickness since I went round and round with pneumonia during my first pregnancy.

At several moments today, I've actually considered, "How bad could death be? I mean, really." And I can hear little Jack moan from time to time out in the livingroom. Jim has been our nurse, and Emma has been shipped out of this germ-laden house for her own safety.

I'm curious. Do the membranes of your sinuses ever rupture inside your face because they can't withstand pressure of snot? Has mucus actually ever come out someone's ears? How much phlegm can lungs hold before the crud:oxygen ratio becomes something close to drowning? Has anyone ever sprained a chest muscle from coughing? All good things to google in between my someone-please-feel-sorry-for-me moaning.

Kindergarten Picture

Jack just came home with his kindergarten school picture. My compliments to the photographer who obviously knows the value of a thoughtful head tilt.

Halloween's Almost Here... Again!

I've been writing on this blog for what feels like a long time now. This fact is reinforced when the year cycles around, and I find myself writing with a bit of deja vu. Could it be almost Halloween already? Wasn't I just posting an entry about Jack's costume not so long ago? Anyway, it's been another year, it seems. And the little boy who lives at our house is again excited to show you his duds.

And here's a little bit of Emma. She has no Halloween costume yet, but she'd also like to show off her duds. (She wants to do just about everything that her brother does.)