I'm moving down a corridor and someone is asking me if I want something
to drink. I don't remember answering, but apparently when I'm not in my
right mind, I still know I love Diet Dr. Pepper.
...everything's so fuzzy...I know I don't have the chronology right here...
The nurse helps me into the chair in the recovery room and asks me how
I'm feeling. "A little nauseated." My Diet Dr. Pepper arrives, complete
with bendy straw. I try to focus on the nurse's nametag, but it's half
hidden behind her lapel. Wait. Do scrubs have lapels? Anyway, nurse
Susan --Susie? Suzanne? I can't remember -- asks me what I want to eat.
"We have all kinds of things. Do you want peanut butter crackers? I
think we have Cheez-its..."
"Cheez-its!" I don't even let her finish. Cheez-its are delicious in any
mental state. Somewhere in here she stands me up and takes my blood
pressure. I only remember it was low and we kind of both looked at it
and laughed.
I'm sitting back down again and Nurse Su--- is talking. A LOT.
Definitely an SP personality type. Nurse S. gets me settled and brings
the Silver Fox back. I'm enjoying my snack -- very slowly, the Silver
Fox tells me later. He says I was grinning like a mule eating briars
(actually, his verbiage was more colorful) and chewing in slow
motion.
At some point my doctor passes by and makes a comment but I think I was focused too much on the Cheez-its to form a response.
Over the next several minutes, Nurse S. sits with me, talks to me, and
periodically stands me up and takes my blood pressure. "Still
nauseated?" "No." She and the Silver Fox are having a full-on dinner
party conversation, about how long she's been nursing and where and who
did the Silver Fox's neck surgery and where, and what the Silver Fox
does for a living, and I'm participating by listening.
My surgeon passes through again and says, "She's awake!"
Eventually I go through enough of the
stand-up-take-the-blood-pressure-sit-back-down process to pass the test,
and Nurse S. brings me my discharge papers: A pain diary, in which I am
to document once an hour until bedtime, and then 3 times a day for the
next week; a schedule of when I can return to taking my current meds;
and the list of dos and don'ts.
She leaves to get a wheelchair, the Silver Fox leaves to get the car,
and I am left behind the curtain to change. I'm wheeled to the car and
we say our goodbyes. It's about 11:30 a.m.
Meanwhile, I'm so hungry I could eat a sow and ten pigs. I'd hoped I'd
feel like going somewhere to eat, (I was actually craving Awful --I mean
Waffle-- House) but it's looking like hitting a drive-through and going
straight home to bed is going to be the best option. We've gone about
10 minutes down the road before I decide I want to look at my discharge
instructions.
"Hey, hon, what did you do with my papers?"
"I gave them to you."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I looked at them and gave them back to you."
"Well, why did you do that?"
Yes, friends, I left the papers in the chair under my gown. We turn around and head back to the surgery center.
...To Be Continued...
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Why I love the Campbell Clinic, Part One
After years and years of horrid posture and ignoring pain; weakness, numbness, and muscle imbalances on my left side; a recent round of Physical Therapy; and a few MRIs, I've been diagnosed with degenerative disc disease in two discs in my neck. It turns out we all have it to some degree, but some of us are symptomatic and some are not.
A few weeks ago my orthopedist gave me a couple of treatment options and I chose the more agressive: An epidural steroid injection. A temporary solution, but will hopefully give me enough symptom relief to rehab properly and get the herniated disc healed up a little.
Today was my procedure, which was performed at Campbell Surgery Center. This facility and these people were truly amazing. Here's a recap. There may be TMI, but I don't care.
7:30: Arrive early at surgery center. Complete forms, pay copay.
8:15: Called back; check in by nurse Nancy. provide urine specimen and 2 vials of blood. BP 98/60. Return to waiting room to wait for lab results. (I assume pregnancy and platelet function). Am seated directly across from a kitchenette with fresh hot coffee and fully stocked, shiny vending machines. I, of course, have been NPO since midnight. They are wrong for that.
8:45: Called back, tests passed, change into gown and get a warm blanket. (My favorite part), IV started by nurse Holly, answer second battery of questions, ID band check #2. BP still in the same range. Silver Fox retrieved by nurse Holly. We sit and make fun of each other for having trouble staying awake.
9:15 or so: Physician check, meets Silver Fox, 3rd set of questions answered, tells me I'm on deck. I really like my doctor.
About 10 minutes later: Rad tech arrives in lead apron and thyroid guard. I forget her name. Sweet and about 12 years old. LOL. 3rd wristband check. I'm instructed to remove earrings and necklace.
"And wristwatch? Glasses?" I ask.
"No, just what's near your neck."
"Oh, okay. (embarrassment)"
"They're pretty, though."
That's right, little fluoroscopy lady, appeal to my vanity. Hee hee hee. Silver Fox is sent back to waiting room with my handbag and bag o' effects.
Down the hall I go into the surgery room. I turn in my eyeglasses and put on the surgery hat. As I'm being helped face down onto the table, the doctor enters rubbing his hands...
"Welcome to the laBORatory!"
"Thank you," I say. "Am I going to leave with sutures and electrodes?"
He laughs. "Have you met Igor?'
"It's EYE-gore!!"
*Dear readers, my doctor did not catch the Marty Feldman reference, but I forgive him because he's spent his life not watching Young Frankenstein so that he can instead study how not to nick the dura when he STICKS A STINKIN' NEEDLE INTO MY SPINE.*
I'm lying face down on an operating table with my face in a hole and I'm wondering when they're gonna put that mask I see down there up to my face. The nurse anesthetist lady is messing with my IV arm. The rad lady puts a roll under my ankles. These people have this down to an art. Rad lady goes to her place in the corner. Doctor preps my neck and asks me questions about it -- I assume to gauge my lucidity. Then there is a long discussion about upcoming schedule changes for the day. I hear the NA singing. I have no idea what; but anyone who knows me will not be surprised that my knee-jerk reaction was to commence to singing "I hear singing but there's noooo one there!!!"
But I couldn't because that's the last thing I remember thinking.
*Part Two to follow*
A few weeks ago my orthopedist gave me a couple of treatment options and I chose the more agressive: An epidural steroid injection. A temporary solution, but will hopefully give me enough symptom relief to rehab properly and get the herniated disc healed up a little.
Today was my procedure, which was performed at Campbell Surgery Center. This facility and these people were truly amazing. Here's a recap. There may be TMI, but I don't care.
7:30: Arrive early at surgery center. Complete forms, pay copay.
8:15: Called back; check in by nurse Nancy. provide urine specimen and 2 vials of blood. BP 98/60. Return to waiting room to wait for lab results. (I assume pregnancy and platelet function). Am seated directly across from a kitchenette with fresh hot coffee and fully stocked, shiny vending machines. I, of course, have been NPO since midnight. They are wrong for that.
8:45: Called back, tests passed, change into gown and get a warm blanket. (My favorite part), IV started by nurse Holly, answer second battery of questions, ID band check #2. BP still in the same range. Silver Fox retrieved by nurse Holly. We sit and make fun of each other for having trouble staying awake.
9:15 or so: Physician check, meets Silver Fox, 3rd set of questions answered, tells me I'm on deck. I really like my doctor.
About 10 minutes later: Rad tech arrives in lead apron and thyroid guard. I forget her name. Sweet and about 12 years old. LOL. 3rd wristband check. I'm instructed to remove earrings and necklace.
"And wristwatch? Glasses?" I ask.
"No, just what's near your neck."
"Oh, okay. (embarrassment)"
"They're pretty, though."
That's right, little fluoroscopy lady, appeal to my vanity. Hee hee hee. Silver Fox is sent back to waiting room with my handbag and bag o' effects.
Down the hall I go into the surgery room. I turn in my eyeglasses and put on the surgery hat. As I'm being helped face down onto the table, the doctor enters rubbing his hands...
"Welcome to the laBORatory!"
"Thank you," I say. "Am I going to leave with sutures and electrodes?"
He laughs. "Have you met Igor?'
"It's EYE-gore!!"
*Dear readers, my doctor did not catch the Marty Feldman reference, but I forgive him because he's spent his life not watching Young Frankenstein so that he can instead study how not to nick the dura when he STICKS A STINKIN' NEEDLE INTO MY SPINE.*
I'm lying face down on an operating table with my face in a hole and I'm wondering when they're gonna put that mask I see down there up to my face. The nurse anesthetist lady is messing with my IV arm. The rad lady puts a roll under my ankles. These people have this down to an art. Rad lady goes to her place in the corner. Doctor preps my neck and asks me questions about it -- I assume to gauge my lucidity. Then there is a long discussion about upcoming schedule changes for the day. I hear the NA singing. I have no idea what; but anyone who knows me will not be surprised that my knee-jerk reaction was to commence to singing "I hear singing but there's noooo one there!!!"
But I couldn't because that's the last thing I remember thinking.
*Part Two to follow*
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Cooking from a Paper Sack
The Silver Fox and I bought a half share veggie subscription from Whitton Farms CSA and so far we've received 3 sacks. I kind of like the idea of both a weekly surprise and also having at least some of my meal planning done for me. I'm going to try to record what we get in our sacks and what we end up doing with it, mostly just because I want to.
Week 1
Items in sack:
What I did with it:
I made a giant strawberry and spinach salad except it was a strawberry, spinach, sorrel, and red lettuce salad. I just used one of the 100,000,000 recipes for the dressing that can be found on teh innernets. I used some of the onions for the dressing and in the salad.
I roasted the artichokes with thyme and under each artichoke I put a lemon wheel and a clove of garlic. To fill the rest of the dish I roasted one of the sweet potatoes. The Silver Fox doesn't like artichokes and never has, a fact I discovered after I served them to him.
There were leftover strawberries. I hulled them, spread them on a sheet pan, stuck them in the freezer 'til they were frozen, then put them in a zip-top freezer bag, where they will wait for me throughout the Summer and Autumn. If they last that long.
The bread got eaten by the slice with lots of butter.
Week 2
Items in sack:
What I did with it:
Okay, honestly, this bread is going to be the death of me.
Ate some peaches out of hand, but sliced most of them and froze them. Also froze the strawberries.
Had a spinach salad with some turkey kielbasa. Made a root veggie roast-up of beets, potatoes, and the other sweet potato from the week before. The Silver Fox has decreed that "beets don't suck."
Week 3
Items in sack:
What I did with it:
Asian turkey lettuce wraps! I used Kalyn's recipe. From the sack, I used onions, sorrel leaves, carrots, and zucchini. From the store I used iceberg lettuce, hothouse cucumber, Nam Pla from the Winchester Farmer's Market in the hood, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, cilantro, and chili garlic sauce. I skipped the peanuts. I like my wraps to have lots of veggies, so the sorrel, carrots, zucchini, and cucumber were just wrapped up in the lettuce with the meat stuff.
I sauteed the bok choy with garlic and ginger and served it as a side.
The peaches got eaten sliced on my cottage cheese every morning. The Silver Fox just eats them whole. Well, I'm pretty sure he doesn't eat the pits.
I haven't done anything with the beet yet, and the rest of the zucchini I'll snack on as crudités.
The bread was gone in about 2 days.
We get another sack tomorrow...stay tuned.
Week 1
Items in sack:
- savoy spinach
- sorrel
- red leaf lettuce
- 2 sweet potatoes
- 1 quart chandler strawberries
- 2 tiny globe artichokes
- paper lunch sack filled with wee baby onions just been born
- artisan wheat boule
What I did with it:
I made a giant strawberry and spinach salad except it was a strawberry, spinach, sorrel, and red lettuce salad. I just used one of the 100,000,000 recipes for the dressing that can be found on teh innernets. I used some of the onions for the dressing and in the salad.
I roasted the artichokes with thyme and under each artichoke I put a lemon wheel and a clove of garlic. To fill the rest of the dish I roasted one of the sweet potatoes. The Silver Fox doesn't like artichokes and never has, a fact I discovered after I served them to him.
There were leftover strawberries. I hulled them, spread them on a sheet pan, stuck them in the freezer 'til they were frozen, then put them in a zip-top freezer bag, where they will wait for me throughout the Summer and Autumn. If they last that long.
The bread got eaten by the slice with lots of butter.
Week 2
Items in sack:
- another round loaf of wheat bread
- very small clingstone peaches
- quart of strawberries
- white waxy potatoes
- small bunch of beets
- savoy spinach
- I think I've forgotten something
What I did with it:
Okay, honestly, this bread is going to be the death of me.
Ate some peaches out of hand, but sliced most of them and froze them. Also froze the strawberries.
Had a spinach salad with some turkey kielbasa. Made a root veggie roast-up of beets, potatoes, and the other sweet potato from the week before. The Silver Fox has decreed that "beets don't suck."
Week 3
Items in sack:
- A big beet
- carrots
- more peaches
- bok choy
- sorrel
- 2 small zucchini
- another sack o' onions
- a square, flat loaf of bread with oats on it
What I did with it:
Asian turkey lettuce wraps! I used Kalyn's recipe. From the sack, I used onions, sorrel leaves, carrots, and zucchini. From the store I used iceberg lettuce, hothouse cucumber, Nam Pla from the Winchester Farmer's Market in the hood, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, cilantro, and chili garlic sauce. I skipped the peanuts. I like my wraps to have lots of veggies, so the sorrel, carrots, zucchini, and cucumber were just wrapped up in the lettuce with the meat stuff.
I sauteed the bok choy with garlic and ginger and served it as a side.
The peaches got eaten sliced on my cottage cheese every morning. The Silver Fox just eats them whole. Well, I'm pretty sure he doesn't eat the pits.
I haven't done anything with the beet yet, and the rest of the zucchini I'll snack on as crudités.
The bread was gone in about 2 days.
We get another sack tomorrow...stay tuned.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Just Call Me Fraülein Maria
I am a mentor teacher for our district. It's a very glamorous and well-respected position, let me tell you. I help write and revise our curriculum, I facilitate and present at professional development meetings, and most importantly, I visit new teachers to our program. I review their lesson plans, watch them teach, offer advice, answer questions, and provide sample activities which I also demonstrate with their students.
Visiting new teachers means visiting their schools, and in the five or so years I've been doing this job, I've toured many different neighborhoods within the city limits. I've seen lovely places, but I've also seen gang tags, working girls on the curb at 8:30 a.m., a man using a hand truck to roll a folding table down the MIDDLE OF THE STREET, grown men standing on the lawn staring at a plastic grocery sack, various and sundry cement lawn statuary, and what I thought was a crack house because people kept parking and going in and out. It turned out to be the house where the lady sells nachos and pickles. I know because when I went into the office at this particular school, one of the secretaries had been across the street to get some nachos.
At the school I've been going to this semester, I get to visit with a Kindergarten class and a fourth grade. We've been having a good time and I look forward to seeing them. (My protégé is doing a really good job, too -- gotta give credit where it's due.) This school is adjacent to a public park but has a chain link fence surrounding it. On my past visits, while driving to the back of the school to park in the faculty lot, I've noticed that the park looks clean and deserted.
This past Monday I drove around -- as has become my custom -- but the gate to the parking lot was chained and locked. There was a car in the little drive beside, so I parked there, grabbed my bag o' crap™ and guitar case, said a prayer and proceeded to locate the nearest entrance.
Did I mention there's a chain link fence encircling the compound?
Yes, dear friends, your Aunt Sat traipsed around the school, through the park, loaded down with music teaching accoutrements, trying to remember if it was this neighborhood that her friend Baby Spice said a body had been found in and hoping that throwing 30-pound dumbells in the air for the past 4 weeks would make her stout enough to take somebody out if necessary.
Five minutes later, I was safely inside the school office signing in, and after two hours with my protégé and his students, including a rousing rendition of "Peanut Butter and Jelly," I had forgotten my adventure. Until I went back downstairs and remembered. So, back around the school I went, but this time there was a man in the park. He was talking on a cell phone. He was also probably somebody's granddaddy and waiting to walk them home from school.
As I pass he says, "Good afternoon, young lady." "Hello!" I say, smiling.
"You been playing that guitar?"
"Yes, sir, or at least trying."
"You have a good one."
"Thanks! You too."
Whew! I'm so glad I didn't have to go all Kung Fu on Granddaddy. I could have hurt him really badly.
Visiting new teachers means visiting their schools, and in the five or so years I've been doing this job, I've toured many different neighborhoods within the city limits. I've seen lovely places, but I've also seen gang tags, working girls on the curb at 8:30 a.m., a man using a hand truck to roll a folding table down the MIDDLE OF THE STREET, grown men standing on the lawn staring at a plastic grocery sack, various and sundry cement lawn statuary, and what I thought was a crack house because people kept parking and going in and out. It turned out to be the house where the lady sells nachos and pickles. I know because when I went into the office at this particular school, one of the secretaries had been across the street to get some nachos.
At the school I've been going to this semester, I get to visit with a Kindergarten class and a fourth grade. We've been having a good time and I look forward to seeing them. (My protégé is doing a really good job, too -- gotta give credit where it's due.) This school is adjacent to a public park but has a chain link fence surrounding it. On my past visits, while driving to the back of the school to park in the faculty lot, I've noticed that the park looks clean and deserted.
 | |
| I have confidence in not being attacked and left for dead. |
This past Monday I drove around -- as has become my custom -- but the gate to the parking lot was chained and locked. There was a car in the little drive beside, so I parked there, grabbed my bag o' crap™ and guitar case, said a prayer and proceeded to locate the nearest entrance.
Did I mention there's a chain link fence encircling the compound?
Yes, dear friends, your Aunt Sat traipsed around the school, through the park, loaded down with music teaching accoutrements, trying to remember if it was this neighborhood that her friend Baby Spice said a body had been found in and hoping that throwing 30-pound dumbells in the air for the past 4 weeks would make her stout enough to take somebody out if necessary.
Five minutes later, I was safely inside the school office signing in, and after two hours with my protégé and his students, including a rousing rendition of "Peanut Butter and Jelly," I had forgotten my adventure. Until I went back downstairs and remembered. So, back around the school I went, but this time there was a man in the park. He was talking on a cell phone. He was also probably somebody's granddaddy and waiting to walk them home from school.
As I pass he says, "Good afternoon, young lady." "Hello!" I say, smiling.
"You been playing that guitar?"
"Yes, sir, or at least trying."
"You have a good one."
"Thanks! You too."
Whew! I'm so glad I didn't have to go all Kung Fu on Granddaddy. I could have hurt him really badly.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Silver Fox Joins the Twenty-First Century, Part the First
The Silver Fox is an extrovert and, I swear, that boy loves to talk on the phone better than any 13-year-old girl who ever lived. I've been known to play like I can't hear the phone ringing so that I don't have to talk on the stupid thing. I've used smartphones for a few years now, and because I'm somewhat of an Apple fangirl, I currently have an iPhone 4. The Silver Fox, on the other hand, has had this phone since 2006. I promise he's fairly technologically savvy, but this phone -- honestly, I don't know what is the deal here, but it's been with the SF so long that it's become like a member of the family. He shows it off to his students. "I don't need 'bells and whistles', I just need a phone that works." What is he, 80 years old?
Granted, the Silver Fox is the man who had a Facebook account for two hours once. He set it up, posted, added some friends, played around, and looked up to realize it was two hours later. He deleted the account immediately. He says it's because he wasted so much time, but really, that's never stopped him before. It's more like he'd rather just pick up the phone and talk to you. (He also hates to type, mostly because of a spinal cord injury that causes his fingers not to do right.)
The Nokia has been dropped, hit, perhaps even run over. I do know it has been involved in a few moving vehicle violations. Miraculously, the thing still works! Recently he's been using his phone to text more, mainly to reply to people who text him, and people will send him pictures that he can't open, so when the trusty Nokia started to show signs of giving up the ghost, he started dropping hints that he might want "a phone with a keyboard." Okay, with real buttons, I ask, or a touch screen? "I'm not sure." This has been going on for months. He'll go back and forth -- the Nokia is awesome, no, it's dying, he hates texting, but clients text him and he needs to be available, etc. etc.
This week he decided he wanted to take the plunge. My job was to go online to see what was available, and he chose a refurbished iPhone 4. (With very little input from me, I promise.) I ordered it online and we waited for it to arrive.
To be continued.
Granted, the Silver Fox is the man who had a Facebook account for two hours once. He set it up, posted, added some friends, played around, and looked up to realize it was two hours later. He deleted the account immediately. He says it's because he wasted so much time, but really, that's never stopped him before. It's more like he'd rather just pick up the phone and talk to you. (He also hates to type, mostly because of a spinal cord injury that causes his fingers not to do right.)
The Nokia has been dropped, hit, perhaps even run over. I do know it has been involved in a few moving vehicle violations. Miraculously, the thing still works! Recently he's been using his phone to text more, mainly to reply to people who text him, and people will send him pictures that he can't open, so when the trusty Nokia started to show signs of giving up the ghost, he started dropping hints that he might want "a phone with a keyboard." Okay, with real buttons, I ask, or a touch screen? "I'm not sure." This has been going on for months. He'll go back and forth -- the Nokia is awesome, no, it's dying, he hates texting, but clients text him and he needs to be available, etc. etc.
This week he decided he wanted to take the plunge. My job was to go online to see what was available, and he chose a refurbished iPhone 4. (With very little input from me, I promise.) I ordered it online and we waited for it to arrive.
To be continued.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
What's in a Name?
I love words. I love language; I love to read. I love poetry and prose. I love grammar, etymology, proper usage and semantics. I also love to spell. No, really, I love spellin'!
I also love order. I have a lot of "Deputy Dawg" in me (as my husband, the Silver Fox, likes to remind me -- he does not consider this the compliment that I do) and I like rules and directions and for people to follow them. Order is good. In the beginning the Spirit moved over the water and the Lord created order out of chaos, until Adam and Eve had to go and screw it all up for all of us scheduling types. I'm just biding my time until Jesus comes back and sets it all right. I don't know what all of you spontaneous types are going to do in the Kingdom, but I'm sure we can work something out for you.
My affinity for spellin' and rules (read: total dorkiness) made me a natural choice for judge of our school's Spelling Bee several years ago, and because I was the only one who seemed to be able to interpret the infamous rules ten and eleven (read: because I'm a total loser), I was promoted to pronouncer when the former Matriarch of the Bee retired from teaching. It was a grand day, let me tell you. I bought a new outfit and everything.
Since then, I've only missed the Bee once, and, believe me, it was unavoidable. That's another post for another day. The year before, while I was on stage pronouncing and explaining rules for all of the babies and their mamas and their teachers who still remember the rules from nineteen aught-seven (they were different back then), there was a special visitor from another school in the back of the room. She had just been appointed coordinator of her school's bee and she was visiting us to see how to run the bee.
She leaned over to our bee coordinator and whispered, "Who is that lady? Does she work for the 'Spelling Bee Company'? Can she come and help at our school?" And, that, my friends, is how your Aunt Sat became the Spelling Bee Lady.
I also love order. I have a lot of "Deputy Dawg" in me (as my husband, the Silver Fox, likes to remind me -- he does not consider this the compliment that I do) and I like rules and directions and for people to follow them. Order is good. In the beginning the Spirit moved over the water and the Lord created order out of chaos, until Adam and Eve had to go and screw it all up for all of us scheduling types. I'm just biding my time until Jesus comes back and sets it all right. I don't know what all of you spontaneous types are going to do in the Kingdom, but I'm sure we can work something out for you.
My affinity for spellin' and rules (read: total dorkiness) made me a natural choice for judge of our school's Spelling Bee several years ago, and because I was the only one who seemed to be able to interpret the infamous rules ten and eleven (read: because I'm a total loser), I was promoted to pronouncer when the former Matriarch of the Bee retired from teaching. It was a grand day, let me tell you. I bought a new outfit and everything.
Since then, I've only missed the Bee once, and, believe me, it was unavoidable. That's another post for another day. The year before, while I was on stage pronouncing and explaining rules for all of the babies and their mamas and their teachers who still remember the rules from nineteen aught-seven (they were different back then), there was a special visitor from another school in the back of the room. She had just been appointed coordinator of her school's bee and she was visiting us to see how to run the bee.
She leaned over to our bee coordinator and whispered, "Who is that lady? Does she work for the 'Spelling Bee Company'? Can she come and help at our school?" And, that, my friends, is how your Aunt Sat became the Spelling Bee Lady.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Random Things Strangers Say to Me
As an introvert, I spend a lot of time down in the mineshaft of my own head, even when I'm out in public. Oftentimes I will have no idea what is going on around me until I realize a random stranger is talking to me. (Obviously it's a stranger -- no one who actually knows me would mistake me for approachable. But I digress.) The best example of this phenomenon is the time I prayed in SuperLo in front of the spaghetti sauce with a lady who was going to have to decide whether to euthanize her dog.
So, anyway, I've been frequenting the YMCA here lately, following the workouts as prescribed in The New Rules of Lifting for Women. This involves the free weight section of the fitness center, where men doing eleventy-bazillion bicep curls look at me all askance. Not really, everybody's looking at themselves, but I'm paranoid and that's why I take the Zoloft. Here are three random things said to me at the gym over the past week:
1. Sixty-something man tells his personal trainer he needs to take me home so he'll have someone to "work out with." He's been there every time I've been back.
2. Forty-something man tells me I look "fit." "I just wanted to tell you that." He gestures to his face as if it's my countenance that makes me look fit, and not the jelly roll around my middle. I hate to tell him, but that's the Bella Bamba. (I'm grateful that he waited until after my warm-up set but before I started dragging 95# up my legs to tell me this.)
3. And the bestest of the week: Street man/potential panhandler (now, I'm not one to judge based on appearance, but I've lived in downtown Memphis for 12 years) approaches at the trolley stop and I get all ready to tell him that I don't give out money but I'll buy him a sandwich from across the street, but instead of telling me that he just got out of jail AND the hospital and just needs enough money to get to West Memphis, he says, "You need to go back and work out some more because you don't have a thong. You need a thong." He didn't even stop, just kept walking by.
I know people say crazy stuff to people all the time, but it's always a surprise for me to be jolted out of my own thoughts by strangers with something to say. Can I get a witness?
So, anyway, I've been frequenting the YMCA here lately, following the workouts as prescribed in The New Rules of Lifting for Women. This involves the free weight section of the fitness center, where men doing eleventy-bazillion bicep curls look at me all askance. Not really, everybody's looking at themselves, but I'm paranoid and that's why I take the Zoloft. Here are three random things said to me at the gym over the past week:
1. Sixty-something man tells his personal trainer he needs to take me home so he'll have someone to "work out with." He's been there every time I've been back.
2. Forty-something man tells me I look "fit." "I just wanted to tell you that." He gestures to his face as if it's my countenance that makes me look fit, and not the jelly roll around my middle. I hate to tell him, but that's the Bella Bamba. (I'm grateful that he waited until after my warm-up set but before I started dragging 95# up my legs to tell me this.)
3. And the bestest of the week: Street man/potential panhandler (now, I'm not one to judge based on appearance, but I've lived in downtown Memphis for 12 years) approaches at the trolley stop and I get all ready to tell him that I don't give out money but I'll buy him a sandwich from across the street, but instead of telling me that he just got out of jail AND the hospital and just needs enough money to get to West Memphis, he says, "You need to go back and work out some more because you don't have a thong. You need a thong." He didn't even stop, just kept walking by.
I know people say crazy stuff to people all the time, but it's always a surprise for me to be jolted out of my own thoughts by strangers with something to say. Can I get a witness?
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