Too Bad There Aren't Freequent Faller Miles

My youngest son is an ER regular. His asthma keeps him going on average three times a year. 

On one visit when he was 13 or 14, the nurse noticed his cavalier attitude toward triage and remarked, ‘You must be a vet’. Without missing a beat Joe deadpanned, “I was in ‘Nam.”

Last night his twin came in from skating complaining that his wrist hurt. These complaints are par for the course. A few months ago their older brother came in after a fall and told me his elbow wasn’t ‘as bad as it looks’ which is good because it looked like hamburger with gravel in it.

Well, even after icing the wrist all night, Josh was still complaining and it looked a bit swollen. In the ER the doc showed him his X-ray and pointed out where the fracture is. Josh said to him gravely, ‘doc, how long do I have?’ Without missing a beat the doctor responds, ‘I’d say 6 months….. You should start planning.’

Well played, doctor.

A week later we went to Doernbecher for a second x-ray. When we got there they were having a 'fire drill' which means that every one is expected to go about their business as usual while lights flash and an alarm buzzes loudly about every thirty seconds. You may not realize this but riding in an elevator during while alarms sound is terrifying. Basically a perfect way to create a panic attack in a susceptible person (me). By the time we got to the pediatric check in desk- despite averting my eyes from the flashing light-  my heart was racing and I felt faint.This was the perfect time for me to try my Bach's Rescue Remedy. If you don't know, it is made from flowers and has an alcohol base. If you have ever wondered what it would taste like if you kept your cut flowers in a vase full of whiskey, this is the product for you!

After many chats with residents, an attending and Josh's pediatrician (a professor), a new x-ray,  a consult with radiology, we learned that the small bone in his wrist was in fact, broken. Josh was anticipating a cast that covered on hand and part of his forearm. What he got instead is a cast that goes almost to his arm pit (we have to stabilize the entire arm to ensure the tiny wrist bone will heal).

Now Josh's right arm (his writing hand, of course) is frozen in a handshake formation. In addition to this stance he can also do 'hitchin' a ride'.

On a positive note, Josh is getting really good at writing with his left hand. Maybe even better than his right.

Mr. Fix-It

I have been computer-less for days leaving me with only my phone and Kindle HD for communication.  Luckily I have a buddy who can fix anything I can break. 

To give you a mental picture- this man and his wife are connoisseurs of what most of us think of as the ‘gothic’ lifestyle. They are brilliantly adorned with any number of tattoos and piercings and leather and .. well you get the idea. I took my youngest child to visit them solely because they have such interesting pets including a cat which has no fur which she just *had* to see. She considers their house to be Halloween every day. (The Adams family would say that some of it’s ‘a little much’- I have more than once found a dead rat defrosting on the counter for the snake’s dinner.) Despite the, let’s say ‘somber’ décor, this couple is ridiculously happy and loving toward one another. I have begun to think that there is some sort of inverse home décor karma. I know a lot of people who have cheerfully appointed homes who seethe continuously with a quiet bitter rage toward their spouses but hanging out with these people is like being in a rom-com directed by Tim Burton. 

Well, what I do is I tell him that I am making something yummy for dinner (today’s was fajitas and carrot cake with homemade cream cheese frosting- frosting so sweet and creamy that it’s as if an angle swooped down from heaven and took a dump in your mouth). After I have plied him thoroughly with beer and vittles I will proffer my non-working item and beg for help. When offered said item, he will ask for whatever tool he needs (screwdriver, pliers, duct tape, nun chucks, bent paperclip) and precede to MacGyver my item back into a working piece of electronics/repair my car/secure my escape from incensed drug lords and I am back in business!

Just Jogging Along and All of the Sudden....

I needed an accountability check. You know, where you commit to someone and they commit to you? I made the horrible mistake of agreeing to a 5k in just two short, short months. Tonight I decided I’d better prepare by getting outside and actually moving. I walked up the big hill behind our house and I was feeling really good about myself and decided to break into a jog. After about twenty paces I realized I was headed straight for a couple who were enjoying an intimate moment in the field. And one of them seemed to be dressed as a honey bee. All bright yellow and black stripes…. I literally just stopped, turned around and walked away. I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up the pace because my head was screaming “WHAT. THE. #@$!” I mean seriously. That is sick. I have probably been scarred for life by furries. 

Then I came home to see this comment from my baby sister- and liked by my cousin:

Communion and Cannibalism

Something has been bothering me all week. According to the Catholic tradition of transubstantiation the bread is literally the body and the wine (or in our case non-fermented kid friendly grape juice) is literally the blood. The way in which we do it, dipping the bread into the cup lead me to think, uh oh….Is this church sanctified cannibalism? By recombining the elements, are we reanimating Jesus? Are we creating zombie Jesus? Should I capitalize zombie in that sentence? Would this mean I am inhabited by a zombie type spirit? Would I want to eat brains? Would zombie Jesus eat human brains? If you ask me, that would be a serious step back for Him… 

Or maybe have I just come up with a simple way to describe the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.