Gratitude

Monday, October 8, 2012


What I anticipated would be a run of the mill Monday turned out to be much more entertaining and irritating that I could have imagined.

1. The car would not come out of Park.  I kicked the car a few times as I got out- already slightly late for work. My big toe hurts- not only from the kick, but because I forgot about the ingrown toenail on the right big toe. (I know, a bit of an over share.)

2. I high tailed it to the nearest Enterprise Rental Car location.  I run fast even with a toe problem.

3. Thirty minutes later I fly down the freeway in a zippy Ford rental car.  I didn't get the extra insurance so am hoping on a whim and a prayer that there are no stray rocks flying toward the windshield or any hung over drivers crossing my path this morning. Though I question my own driving ability. This car has every bell, whistle and gadget known to mankind.  Plus also, there are three digital screens in the cockpit.  PLENTY TO LOOK at and touch. I have always been a button pusher.  So, this car is perfect for me.  Further, I have  the moon roof open all the way so I can have cold air blasting me!  Good fun.

4. I fly into the school house a mere 8 minutes before the students arrive. The copy machine has a line which doesn't fit well with my 8 minute schedule.  At least for the next three hours I can take a break from my irritating morning and enjoy the kids. As usual, they are entertaining and I am reminded why I took this job in the first place. There is nothing like a crew of five year olds to cure what ails you.

5. My doctor's office called late Friday to say that my doctor wants to see me on Monday in person for a "visit".  So, at high noon I fly out the school door and zoom out of the school parking lot toward the freeway.  This rental car does really well on two wheels. Sorry boys and girls, you will have a guest teacher this afternoon.  Maybe they will like the guest teacher better.  That is always a fear I have.  No time to dwell on that.  I have to get to the doctor's office for whatever news he has for me. I start imagining the worst on the thirty minute drive to his office.

6. My doctor visit is interesting to say the least.  I am not dying.  So, I should be appreciative of his concern for me and wanting to see me in person.  Yet, I am not.  Why?  After we have blood drawn, I pee in a cup and some other unpleasant things are done to me I am all done.  Just then, as a parting gift, my doctor invites me to schedule a colonoscopy since I am 40 now.  WHAT?  Hold the phone!  Only the over 50 crowd are supposed to be "invited" to have this terrifying opportunity.  According to my doctor, that is not the case.  I settle for the "flu shot up sell: instead an decline the colonoscopy at this time. He seems satisfied that he talked me into the fly shot.  I, on the other hand do not.  Now, I should be thinking how fortunate I am to have insurance to pay for the shot, blood work, doctor visit, etc.  Yet, once again I am a selfish pig and don't focus on all of the privileged I have in my life. I am a slob, by all accounts. Even though I have recently lost some weight, it is a different kind of a slob.  Anyone who is ungrateful is a slob in my mind.  I fit the stereotype. During the exam before the shot my doctor asks me what is new?  Of course I seize this opportunity to tell him about my car not coming out of park, how this has happened a dozen or so times in the last two years, how much it has cost to fix each time, etc.  As I ramble on I can tell by his face that he really didn't want to know and that I should have said, "Oh, nothing much new on this end." - Surely you have done the same thing?

7. I stomp back to the rental car with all of my post flu shot paperwork, blood work order,
"Everything you need to know about a Colonoscopy" pamphlet and drive home, on all four wheels this time.

8.  I go over to my own car when I get home and kick the car a few more times and try the gear shift once again for good measure.  It is a miracle.  The car is once again operational.  I can shift the gear shift into any gear I desire.  Though, I am not fooled this time.  This has happened before.  In fact, just Tuesday of last week I lived nearly the same scenario...running to Enterprise Rental Car to get a car, late for school, zooming down the freeway on two wheels because the Hot Tamale won't come out of park.  It is becoming a bit of a pattern over here.

8.  I text a colleague to see if she would be willing to pick me up from the car repair joint in the morning on the way to the school house.   She is.  Whew!  I hate being vulnerable and asking anyone for any kind of help. EVER!  My recent therapist, who I had to fire because she knew me too well and called me out on all of my crap too easily, would say this is a grand opportunity to lean into the discomfort of needing others in my life to help.  Her advice, while solid, got her fired.  (It was like the time I fired my dentist for a host of reasons.  None of which I told him, I just cancelled and found a new one.  Very mature, I know.)

9. I fear the car won't come out of gear in the morning.  So, I drive it to the repair shop in West Seattle tonight.  I have the grand idea of making a night of it.  I will take mass transit home.  It only costs $2.25.  Why not?  So, I dump the car and catch the Route 21 to downtown Seattle.  This is where the night gets interesting.  I should mention it is dusk now.  About three stops into the route a family gets on.  A guy, his wife and young daughter of maybe 16 months.  Within a matter of 5 minutes I am privy to much of what has gone on in their life since 2005.  Apparently the guy was in a car accident in June, no July, of 2005.  His parts "down there" were crushed in the accident. Yep, you heard me correctly.  He wasn't supposed to be able to have kids.  the doctor gave him a 2% chance of impregnating a woman after that.  He pointed to his daughter and said, "Meet 2 %."  I smiled.  What's more?  His lady is expecting yet another child in 4 months.  Fantastic.  They are newcomers to Seattle as they had to leave Texas.  That's nice.  I didn't want to know why, but I heard anyway.  The girl they were staying with had a house that belonged to her grandmother.  The grandmother said this guy, his wife and their young daughter were freeloaders and kicked them out.  So, they headed for the hills. (a.k.a - Seattle.) - Now, I should appreciate my privileged again.  I have a home.  I am not living with friends. Yet, I don't appreciate it at this very moment.  I think it is because of the very strong odor coming from the man sitting right in front of me.  It is an enticing mix of alcohol and body odor.  Great fun........ I am a loser.

10. I make the transfer to the 358 Route downtown in Seattle by Benaroya Hall.  I am new to taking the bus.  Apparently I can use my transfer ticket from the Route 21.  This I am grateful for.  I save $2.25.  I plop down and am en capsuled by yet another crew of strong body odor emitting people.
One guy introduced himself to the guy across from him.  Good news!  Apparently he is selling flat screen TV's out of a hotel room just down the road if any of us are interested in stopping by for a deal.  Of course my level of concern escalates to an all time high, but I remain silent and listen as one fellow bus rider takes an interest in a new boob tube.  I learn, by listening in, that they really aren't running a  "legal" business per say, but if the purchaser doesn't mind, it won't be a problem.  He doesn't mind.  In fact, he gives his cell number to the salesman.  A deal is in the works.  At last I am a block from my stop.  I stomp to the front of the bus and high tail it home.

I am glad to be home. Yet the day is picking at me. I reflect on how ungrateful I am for what I have.  In the scheme of life- the inconvenience of the car not working is small. I have health, a home, a job, friends, a car that works....sometimes, a groovy class at school, insurance, etc. Yet, being thrown out of my comfort zone brings out the worst in me.  I can only wonder what tomorrow will bring.  With any luck it will bring a better attitude and more gratitude!

Pink Pearl Erasers

A five year old assigned to my charge apparently used an eraser for the first time on Friday.  After some vigorous erasing, a tear in the paper and observable satisfaction at a job well done he proclaimed, "Hey! Why are there hairs all over my paper now!?"

Poodles

I'm at a resort in Arizona.  I stumbled up to the breakfast restaurant, settled in to a slice of toast and oatmeal when all of my attention was drawn to the entrance of the joint.  In walked a woman with a sun visor pushing a baby buggy.  I am usually up for checking out a newborn.  There is something about the promise of a new life that catches my attention.  Maybe  it is because I pipe dream that I would make better of my life than I have if I were, somehow, given the chance to do it all over. 

I should have known this woman was operating on a different plane when she sat herself at a table and whipped around the baby buggy to reveal that there was no infant inside.  Rather, two fluffy dogs popped their heads out.  My untrained eye tells me that they are poodles.  This is unprecedented.  Never have I seen someone wheel two poodles into a restaurant in a baby buggy.  My drooped jaw caught the attention of the couple at the table next to me.  We exchanged looks with each other which indicated that the three of us agreed we were superior to this baby buggy pushing dog lover. I like those kind of instant connections with people when you can tell that you are on the same level of intelligence with one another, albeit a low level.

I push my chin back up so my lower teeth can reunite with my upper teeth just as this woman wheels the dogs over to another table.  This was a good move in my mind because now I could have an even closer look at the goings on.  It is so much easier to make fun of people when they are in plain sight with unobstructed views.  Do you agree?

The baby buggy driver hopped up and helped herself to the breakfast buffet as the dogs  began what I can only assume was salivating. Mama came back to the table with bacon, eggs, etc.  She gave several hand signals to the dogs before preparing them each a breakfast sandwich of sorts.  Egg, bacon and a slice of bread.  They gobbled it up as she settled into an omelet.

I managed to capture a few pictures of the action on the sly, or so I thought.  The server walked up to me and said, 'That is a bit odd, isn't it?"  just as I was aiming the camera to capture a shot. - Another person on my level.

Vacation are fun!  Not because you get to relax, but because you get to see that there are a few people crazier than yourself out there.

The Stent

I’d never thought of myself as someone who is shy, but then again I had never had a ureter stent.  Oh, the unpleasant overtone of it all. I bounded through life until my early thirties without a real care in the world.  Until the day I had a ureter stent put in.  Rather, I should say the day the ureter stent was removed is the day I was confident of my shyness.  Well, removed makes it sound like a surgical procedure that was done to remove this apparatus.  A more accurate description of the event would include the words yanked and pulled with great force to expel the contraption from my nether region.  

Apparently a ureter stent is all the rage for those who have kidney stones blasted.  Or, in my case, one who had the stones blasted, but because of some bad karma from the first thirty two years of my life the pulverized stones clogged the exit of my kidney and thus created a firestorm of procedures which included the stent. Bad karma is unpleasant. 

I vaguely remember my urologist explaining that a stent would be in place, but didn’t think too much about it because of the pain from the kidney stone and my eye on the prize of getting that thing out.  Nothing could compare to the back slicing pain of a kidney stone.  How bad could a ureter stent be I thought to myself as I lay on the hospital bed looking over at the odd looking bed pan that I was to be using to collect my urine?  A mere 10 ccs had been expelled into the contraption.  I feel smart, as in doctor smart when I can throw ccs into the conversation. There really is nothing like having your own urine in a clear plastic bedpan like thing on your bedside table in the hospital to humble a guy.  Well, it wasn’t so bad until day two of my hospital stay when I got a roommate.  I thought Blue Cross allowed for single rooms, but apparently not.

It wasn’t immediately after awaking from surgery the second time for kidney stones that week that I noticed my new friend the ureter stent. You would have thought it would have been at the top of the list of things on my mind, but it wasn’t.  It wasn’t until after I took off the gown that was too short and not wide enough around to completely cover all of me and put on street clothes that I was met with the realization that I had a new dangling friend down there.  A long clear string was hanging out of my ureter, the likes of which was fishing line.  I wondered if somehow something had been left inside of me after the surgery.  Would I be the next interview on an upcoming episode of 20/20? “Patients Who Left the Hospital with an Unintended Souvenir”.  I pulled on it a little just to see what it might be, though in the back of my mind all I could envision was me without my good friend down there and didn’t want to pull too hard.  Was there money attached to the other end?  Would there be some kind of a protocol for what to do with this string that hadn’t yet been shared with me?  Did I need to pull it two short tugs and one long one before going pee?  What were the details surrounding this fishing line? I needed to know.

The horror of it all was explained to me upon asking one of the post op nurses.  Apparently the clear string served one purpose.  My urologist would use it to expel the stint after seven days.  This was not good news.  Would he hook it up to some kind of contraption that would pull it?  Would he use his own hand?  Always one for needing more details I pressed for further clarification.  The red and pink in my face washed away as the nurse explained that my doctor would pull swiftly on the string to remove the ureter stint.  There would be no Novocain.  There would be no anesthesiologist present to put me under.  There would be no topical anesthetic.  She could have simply said it would be an experience in terror, because that what it would be.

I had seven days to ponder and work myself into a full-fledged panic about the stent removal.  Each day I wondered if there would be some other magical way to remove this thing without any tugging and yanking.  Alas, I was resolved to swallow my pride and hope for the best.  The big day arrived.  There was no fanfare.  There were no well wishes from friends.  There wasn’t even a “good luck” from the receptionist at the urologist’s office.  I was simply to go in and wait for the doctor to come in and yank this contraption out of me.  Those six minutes of waiting in the little room under a paper gown are by far the worst six minutes in a man’s life.  I stood there waiting for what I knew was going to be perhaps the most unpleasant experience of my life.  It was one that may even scar me not only mentally, but physically if the procedure was carried out incorrectly.  I did a quick Hail Mary, even though I am not Catholic.  I had seen this act done in a number of movies and though there was no need to leave anything to chance on this particular day.  I said a quick, “Please forgive me, Jesus, for all of my sins to date” prayer.  Then my heart skipped a few beats and soared when the urologist walked in the door. It was as horrific as I had imagined.  A tiny plastic blue tube attached to a fishing line was yanked from my ureter followed by my audible sounds of pain.

I remember leaving his office a humbled and free man.  Though the humility of it was extraordinary, the freedom had me vowing never to do anything wrong for the rest of my living days.  Trust me; you don’t want a ureter stent.

Flashers

This story is WILDLY inappropriate, but I can't help but share it because it had me in laughing out loud and holding my side mid-day today.

I wheeled my chair up to a table of five and six year old students assigned to my charge who were feverishly working on a myriad of literacy activities late this morning. I arrived mid-conversation to hear the following....  It is a good thing I had a scrap of paper and a pen in my pocket so I could scribble down the conversation verbatim.

Student 1: " When I was in Las Vegas for Spring Break we saw four guys in skirts that were showing people their butts."  (My interest peaked wondering what in the world he was taking about.  It was probably a couple of college kids wearing kilts or something.  Yes, I've always been good at making connections.)

Student 2: "They didn't have on any underwear?!?" - Said with disbelief.

Student 1:" No and one guy had writing on his butt."

Me: Not able to wait for the details to unfold.. "What did it say?"

Student 1: " I don't know it only had a few letters.  I couldn't read it." - He went on... "It was really inappropriate what they were doing." (He has heard me coin that phrase a time or two so it is nice to hear it used in a context that makes sense.)

Me: "What did your mom and dad think?"

Student 1: "They just ignored them.  It was out in public!  They were out in public!" - Emphatic emphasis noted

Me: "Oh."  (I know, quite the clever response, eh?)

Then I had to go on account of someone had "accidentally" taken a marker out of someone elses hand. - So, I missed the conclusion of the Las Vegas Flasher story.

Tinker Toy

I flew in an airplane today.  Well, if you can call it that.  I should have known that things were looking grim when I rounded the corner to Concourse E at the Portland International Airport around 10:30 this morning.  There is nothing quite like killing three hours in the Portland airport waiting for your connecting flight, by the way.  The flight from Portland to Seattle is a mere twenty-nine minutes. Now, let me tell you about Concourse E.  There isn't much to it.  Gate after gate of abandoned chairs and people-less spaces.  My level of concern crept up as I approached the end of the Concourse to find one lone United Airlines employee manning the gate and the check in booth.  He was busier than a one armed paper hanger, as the saying goes.

All seemed well until I heard some whizzing noise growing louder outside.  I expended the energy to turn and see what the commotion was.  I saw this Tinker Toy like airplane bouncing up to Gate E-7.  Hmmm, Gate E-7 was my gate.  I have lived to the ripe old age of nearly forty and have been to college a number of times, hold a few different degrees and still it isn't registering that low and behold the crew sitting at E-7, who apparently also were going to Seattle, were about to climb aboard the Tinker Toy "airplane" with me and make our way, hopefully, to Seattle.  I like jets.  I like the force and whirl of the Pratt & Whitney engines on a jet.  I like being able to stand all the way up in a plane.  I like a full beverage service on a flight...and the list goes on.

As we carried our bags down the stairs and out the door to meet the Tinker Toy airplane on the tarmac it was only then that I realized what was ahead of me. A man was taking nearly every carry on and wheelie bag, tagging it and throwing it on a cart next to the airplane.  Now I am the first to admit that I am not much of a quick study.  However, I did manage to put it all together that my stuffed to the brim, olive green Samsonite was also going to be hurled into the cart of bags.  So, I stopped right there on the tarmac and opened up Greenie to take out the laptop, e-reader and i-Pod so that they would survive the flight.  A pair of my skivvies managed to flap out during the re-packing. It was at that very moment that I decided I would switch to boxers.  They would be less embarrassing than tighty-whities blowing down the tarmac in the future.  Nice, I know.  I think I managed to capture them and put them back in the suitcase before too many of my fellow travelers realized what was happening. Crisis averted.

Well, we climbed on the airplane and b y climbed I mean, literally climbed up the steps that magically pop out of the door that flips upside down when opened.  Who knew?  I wondered if this tinker Toy door could hold my weight, but threw caution to the wind as a large girl in front of me and I took to the stairs.  Let's see what this thing is made of I thought.  Worse case scenario, the door would pop off and they would have to pull around one of the real airplanes to cart the twenty-seven of us up to Seattle.

I hunched over and stumbled to seat 5A.  I stuffed all 6'5" of me into the seat and hoped for the best.  Donna was the flight attendant.  It took me a few minutes to figure out what all of the commotion was in the back of the "airplane". Donna was going row by row and rearranging passengers, reassigning seats.  This was new to me.  When Donna got to my row she eyed me up and down and then paused.  Apparently I was well suited for seat 6A and was directed to move back a row.  I stood up.  Well, stood up is an overstatement.  I sort of hunchbacked it up and moved back a row.  In doing so my rear end grazed the arm of the rather large woman sitting across the aisle.  Apparently this was pleasing to her because I heard, "Oooo, Thanks!"  Sort of shocked and half in disbelief that she was thanking me for such a move I instantly thought, "I am not giving away freebies today! Pay up!"

 Some other idiot who was flying with me asked, "Why all the moving people around?"  Good!  Someone else asked the pressing question that I needed an answer to. Hold on to your hats, kids.  She was moving people around to ensure an even distribution of weight.  Not only were we going to bounce through the sky in this wanna be airplane, the flight attendant was charged with distributing passengers evenly so the thing didn't fly sideways all the way up to Seattle. 

Well, everything was settled and we were ready to bound toward the runway.  The door closed, Donna gave the safety speech.  I paid full attention this time.  I was sure this thing wasn't getting off the ground.  If it did, it surely wasn't going to stay aloft for more than thirty seconds.  I did familiarize myself with my surrounding and located the two nearest exits to me, one of which was behind me, just like they say.

The pilots fired up the whirly gig propellers and Tinker Toy shook like one of those vibrating exercise belts from the past. We bounced out to the runway where the engines whirled up to a whine and we were tearing down the runway.  I prayed hard and fast that she would get airborne.  I also said a few Hail Marys even though I am not Catholic.  I did stop for a brief second and wondered if I had selected the wrong religion.  So, a few Hail Marys seemed necessary for good measure just in case.  The front of Tinker Toy tipped up and we were in the sky on the way to Seattle....

Octopus Week

My Friday morning commute has long been one of my favorites on account of traffic has always seemed light.  I can sleep an extra 12 minutes and make it to the job site in record time.  This past Friday was a different story of course.  Perhaps it was because I pushed the limits of "sleeping in" and slept until 7:22 a.m.  My fear is that it was because of the unkind things I thought of the United States Postal worker who seemed less than eager to help me mail a big box the afternoon before.  Bad karma can destroy a good commute.

I take Hwy 99 south through downtown Seattle to work.  My least favorite part of this commute is when I am on the stretch of this highway that is a Double Decker viaduct.  Southbound is sandwiched between the pavement below and the northbound lanes above.  Though I am not Catholic I often wonder if a Hail Mary would be appropriate when I enter this contraption each day.  There have been years of controversy in Seattle over how to replace this decrepit piece of highway that will surely collapse if the right person just blows on one of the posts too hard. Thus, we keep driving on it on a hope and a prayer that today isn't the day it will tumble down.

Well, this past Friday traffic was at a standstill on the viaduct.  (Insert racing heart and irritation here.)  I always wonder if today will be the day the thing crumbles and my red car is flattened into a pancake.  Because traffic was crawling I had the opportunity to read every sign and billboard on the boardwalk to Elliott Bay down below.  In the midst of my irritation with traffic I was elated to learn that Octopus Week is fast approaching at the Seattle Aquarium.  For starters, my mind was taken off the traffic for about thirty seconds as I searched my memory banks to see if I had any prior knowledge of an Octopus Week.  Nope.  This was new learning for me, people.  So, as I pondered what it meant I crawled my way to work on the viaduct.

Late Friday afternoon I posted on my Facebook page that Octopus Week was fast approaching.  A smart colleague of mine posted back that indeed it was true and that two octopi are united during this week and have a sort of frisky encounter on February 14th, if you catch my drift. - This was a jaw dropper.  Who knew that octopi were having scheduled "play dates" for an audience to see?  I couldn't wrap my mind around how octopi even engage in this adult activity, but I was ever curious.  A quick Google search later and I had more information than necessary.  What was most alarming was that the male octopus often just gobbles up the female octopus after the fun is done!  Who knew?

At any rate, here is to a successful encounter on February 14th at the Seattle Aquarium.  I hope the lady octopus doesn't get gobbled up.