Coming Around Again

Warm, homemade Tapioca Pudding.
There are times when I get an urge to cook or bake something like Tapioca Pudding.  I never think much of it while in the process itself but, at some point I find myself smiling for no reason and, then, when I stop to think about it, she's there. 
Perennial flowers in Spring and Summer.
Living in New England through long, cold winters, there are few things that can make me smile with wonder like a kid on Christmas morning.  Walking through the yard in the Spring and reacquainting myself with Perennials as they pop up from the flat, brown ground like magic is one of those things.  As I stop and enjoy the moment, she's there.
My Mother passed away on May 23, 2009 from Pancreatic Cancer.  Hers was pretty well advanced at diagnosis.  They tried, unsuccessfully, to do a Whipple procedure to remove the Cancer and she died 18 months later.  We did not have a fantastic relationship at her death but we were geographically close and, therefore, I was with her for a lot of the year and a half from diagnosis to death. 
To say I was not at my best would be an understatement since my Stepmother had died, from inoperable Lung Cancer three weeks before my Mom was diagnosed.  For my Stepmother, I provided roughly 75% (maybe more) of her in home care as directed by the Visiting Nurses who would come in once a week or so.  She was diagnosed late in May of 2007 and died early in November of 2007.  The year the Red Sox won their second World Championship in four years.  My husband and I went to Game Two with friends at Fenway Park.  It was the first time I'd taken off from caring for her in months.  That night, she would try to get up, by herself, to go to the portable toilet in her bedroom.  She fell and, in doing so, broke her hip since the Cancer had spread through her bones.  She was gone roughly a week later.
At any rate, it's safe to say I was an emotional mess from May 2007 through May 2009, the time from diagnosis to death of both.
For the next year, I was angry.  Very angry.  Angry that my Mom was far from perfect, angry that my Father and Step-siblings did the least amount to help care for my Stepmother as was humanly possible.  Angry that I missed the better part of two years of my kids growing up while I was busy taking care of these two women.  Angry that my husband had to take over doing just about everything at home during that time.  He did it all without question but I always felt like I was letting him, the girls and myself down. 
Two years out, I started remembering good things and forgetting bad things and quietly started mourning the loss of my mother. 
Now, more than four years later, things are coming around again.  Things like making homemade Tapioca Pudding and watching flowers come up in Spring.  These things are every bit to me a warm hug as they are food or beautiful  accents to our yard.  My Mom is with me.
When I feel my Mother there, whether she's in my head or actually floating around the house, it gives me solace.  It is stronger and more tangible than anything any organized religion has ever been able to provide.  It melts off the candy coating of a cliché and turns it in to something personal and trustworthy.  Something I will keep with me always. 
Finally, it makes me smile a lot more at the experiences with my own daughters.  I love it because I know that some day, when they're cooking or baking or even when they're laughing at a joke together, I will be with my girls. 
To me, that's religion coming around again.

There needs to be some sort of prize for being stuck on "Forever Hold"

Okay, so I realize that there are people in the world with problems so horrifyingly huge that, when compared on a chart, people keep trying to dust the crumb representing my problems off because it's just a distraction.  I get that.  That having been said, I'm reminded of an early episode of the TV Show "Ally McBeal".  Georgia asks "Ally, what makes your problems so much bigger than everyone else's?"  She gives it an honest moment's thought, matter-of-factly replies "They're mine" and walks away.  So, now that we know just how narcissistic I am, let's move on, shall we?

This morning, I was making some calls from our land line, and one of those calls happened to be my Doctor's office.  Nothing earth shattering, just calling in to pay a bill.  I'm telling the representative on the other end my credit card number.  It's important to note I'm speaking slowly and clearly because everyone knows, when you say "Nine", the person at the other end will invariably hear "Five".  You say "Fifty", they hear "Sixty" and so on.  So I'm marveling at my model citizenship because I've made this person's job a little easier by caring enough to enunciate.  After reading the card number, pausing briefly and clearly stating the expiration date, I ask if she would like the numbers on the back of my card (model citizenship - anticipating her needs - wink).  There's the first moment or two of quiet when I'm thinking 'Gee, this person really takes their job seriously and is taking as great care in recording the information as I did in providing it'.  By moment four or five, I just think she's just being rude.  Then I start to say "Hello?  Anybody there?"  Next I tempt fate by saying something really embarrassing like "Yo, Dinglenut, ya' still there or were the bagels in the break room calling you?"  (Someday I will dig to the bottom of that thought process but not today.  I have a gut feeling that it would make a fantastic blog and I don't want to blow more than one good idea per blog - it always seems like overkill and, quite frankly, gives the reader unrealistic expectations for each subsequent blog.  I crack under that kind of pressure).

Back to the call.  Due to my Clouseau like detection skills, I've determined the call has been disconnected.  I hang up and try dialing again only to get dead air.  Like an idiot, I start saying "HELLO?!?"  progressively louder, thinking the person on the other end may have just inexplicably gone deaf during our phone call.  Hang up again.  Try to redial and now I'm getting a busy signal.  As though I'm in one of those silent educational short films they use on programs like Sesame Street, I turn to the camera with a look of surprise tap my index finger to my temple, and seem to be saying 'Hey!  I know, I'll use my cell phone!!'  Using said cell phone, I try to call the land line.  "Your call cannot be completed as dialed.  Please check the number and try again".  Even though this is my home phone number which has been the same damned number for 35 plus years, I second guess myself and click "Recent Calls" on my cell phone.  Looking at the camera puzzled, 'Nope, not the wrong number....Hmmmmm'.

Our services are bundled so I check Cable.  Nope, Cable's fine.  Internet, well, I'm writing this blog, aren't I?  Finally, I bite the bullet and call Customer Service where I am told by another recording that "Due to an increased call volume, wait times may exceed ten minutes".  I decide I've got nothing better to do so I wait.....and wait............and take the dog outside......and wait......and have a piece of warmed up Banana Bread slathered with butter.  (Yes, I deserved the extra butter because I was subjected to excessive wait times).  THIRTY ONE MINUTES later, I decide I HAVE got better things to do and hang up.  Why - after all of that waiting didn't I just suck it up and deal with it?  I'll tell you why - Because with my luck, just as I sit down to pee, the perky Customer Service Rep would chime in with "Thank you for calling Comcast where we strive to make your life easier, my name is Jane Doe, how can I assist you today?"

After completing important matters, being the glutton for punishment that I am (AND sensing there's a blog somewhere in this experience), I call back.  Now, I wait.....and wait.....and SUDDENLY there's a series of clicks, I get very excited and start doing the 'I'm the next customer in line and, therefore, the current VIP' dance in my head when another recording starts.  "We apologize but due to higher than normal call volumes wait times will be extended........We are experiencing outages in your area and have technicians working to resolve the problem.  Please call back at a later time".

Standing there, mid dance move, I'm speechless.  This lasts roughly 1.8 seconds when it clicks that it's a recording that has just told me everything I already knew.  A recording I waited more than a half hour for so I could hear everything I already knew.  By this time I'm thankful it's a recording because I unleash a whole can of Frustration and Swearing Whoop-ass on it.  "DO YA' THINK - GENIUS A**?????  FOR F***'S SAKE - I KNOW I'M A LITTLE STIR CRAZY BUT I DON'T HANG OUT ON HOLD FOR *HITS AND GIGGLES YA' USELESS *OUCHEBAG!!!"

From there, I hung up the phone and just stood there, reliving the moment.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  Sometimes swearing is excessive and gratuitous but other times there is just no substitute for an appropriately placed F-bomb!!

Now, if that's the worst problem of my day, I'm luckier than a whole big chunk of the world's population!!!

Have a fantastic weekend!

Stuffed French Toast

Okay, so every once in awhile I get truly inspired by something to try making a new dish.  It happens to all of the great Chefs in history.  Julia was often inspired by a particular region and, sometimes by the Vineyards in said region...

My inspiration?  Typically it comes in the form of getting a "rumbly in my tumbly".  You know how some people predict weather using their various aches and pains?  I rely on my stomach for inspiration as well as predicting what culinary delight I will create.  It's a gift.

This morning was like the Perfect Storm in terms of cooking.  It's Sunday, dreary and a cool 68 degrees on the back porch.  Finally, my daughters did the grocery shopping for us yesterday.  Throw in the memory of a beautiful B & B in Vermont where my husband and I married and the Chef there made us Stuffed French Toast;  Hearty bread dipped in egg mixture, slathered with a sort of peach frosting and another piece of the bread.  I'd never heard of anything like that before and enjoyed every bite.  Culinary Karma was in the air this morning....

STUFFED FRENCH TOAST

Serves 4 - 5

Ingredients

1 - Loaf French Bread (or bread of your choice)

1 - Pint Ripe Strawberries hulled and sliced (roughly 1/8 inch slices)

4 - Ounces Cream Cheese (Half a standard block), softened

1/8 Pound of good Prosciutto, shaved

1/4 - Cup Confectioners Sugar plus extra for dusting

3 - Extra Large Eggs

2 to 3 - Cups Milk 

A few shakes of Cinnamon and/or Nutmeg

Cast Iron Skillet thoroughly preheated over Medium heat

Cooking Spray

Large piece of aluminum foil

Sandwich sized Ziploc bag

Instructions

Slice French Bread on a diagonal in (roughly) 2 inch wide slices and set aside.  

In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs.  

Whisk in Cinnamon and/or Nutmeg. 

Whisk in Milk until all are thoroughly combined.  

Set aside while prepping other ingredients to give the spices time to really flavor the egg mixture.  

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, using a wooden spoon (or whatever works best for you), thoroughly combine 1/4 Cup Confectioners Sugar and Cream Cheese.  Set aside.  

Spray skillet with cooking spray.

Dip a piece of bread in the egg mixture and place it on the skillet.  

On that piece of bread, layer the following:  One layer of Prosciutto, then 1 - 2 Tbls. of Sweetened Cream Cheese (we used a frosting spreader for this) and Strawberries.  

Dip a second piece of bread in the egg mixture and use it as the final layer in this 'sandwich'.

Repeat with remainder of ingredients.  

Cover skillet with the foil, shiny side down.

After 2 or 3 minutes, remove the foil and using a wide spatula, lift the corner of the sandwich to see if it's browned.  If yes, carefully flip over the sandwiches and replace foil over skillet.  If no, give it another minute.

NOTE:  If you're using Cast Iron, turn the heat down to low or medium low at this point to prevent the sandwiches burning.

Flip the sandwiches a couple of times more and remove them to a serving dish.  

Fill the Ziploc bag with the remaining sweetened cream cheese mixture.  

Squeeze all air out of the bag and close the Ziploc.  

Shake the bag until all of the mixture has settled at one of the bottom corners of the bag.  

Snip open a small hole at that corner of the bag.  

Use this to pipe the mixture on to the top of the sandwiches.  

Stick strawberry slices in to, or around, the cream cheese mixture. 

Put Confectioner's sugar in to a sifter and sprinkle it over the sandwiches and serve.

This is so tasty and it goes as nicely with a Mimosa as it does an ice cold glass of Milk. Also, it's fun to cook this with a second person since it lends itself to an 'assembly line' method of preparation. 

Enjoy!!!

A Year of First Lasts...

With social networking tools like Facebook readily available to all, participants get instant updates and feedback on whatever fellows are experiencing at the moment.

This year and, particularly this time of year, there are lots of parents bleeding bittersweet emotion about their eldest graduating High School on the pages of Facebook. Since I am viewing that particular milestone through the rear view mirror, I thought I'd share some thoughts on the experience. Also, I will apologize in advance for, very likely, not making you laugh.

In the 1991 movie about a rock band made up of teenage misfits, there is a scene that includes one of the band member's Dad. Though I haven't seen the movie since then, I recall a certain line in particular. It hit home with me for two reasons; First, I was born a smart ass and I'll die a smart ass so I always appreciate quick wit. Second, I lost both of my maternal grandparents to Cancer that year. Believe it or not, it made me laugh out loud when the Dad (chastising his 'no-good' son) says "And you, yeh malignant little bastard...". 

Now we've come 'round to the reason this particular quote recently resurfaced in my brain. From the moment they are conceived, we witness the never ending miracle of growth in our children. As parents, we are powerless to slow or stop it. The role and responsibility we are blessed with is similar to that of riverbeds and the rocks they hold while the water changes its course causing the rocks to smooth and soften with time. We are given an opportunity to teach, direct, redirect and watch as the water passes by toward its next destination.

The first year of a child's life is filled with "Firsts". First smile, first food, first giggle and first steps. My memories of my eldest's Senior year in High School are filled with what I refer to as "First Lasts". The last first day of High School; the last football game where she played in Marching Band; the last school concert; the last Equestrian Show. It seemed everywhere I turned, I was being reminded that our kids are with us for such a short time. This realization made me feel several things, not the least of which was sad. What I also felt was pride, joy, privilege, unending and always growing love, but most of all a very pronounced feeling of Awe. Our children hold us in a state of awe for always.

High School Graduation is an emotional time for parents and their children. Roles are changing with each milestone and measure of maturity. Lots of times, I didn't recognize these changes until well after they'd swept by like the water in that river I mentioned. Sometimes I felt as though I'd cried enough bittersweet tears to feed that river for eternity. Tears spurred on, sometimes by sadness at the loss of the little girl but mostly those spawned in complete pride and adoration of the young woman she has become. What I did recognize as it happened were captured as various snapshots in my mind. I'm not big on Scrapbooking, though I wish I was, but I have enough memories of my daughter from that final year of High School to fill up an entire Scrapbook. What's difficult to see, when you see that Cap and Gown or that Diploma, is that there are many, many more Scrapbooks in the future, just waiting to be filled. For me, that realization came on the day we brought my eldest to College for the very first time and got her as settled in as possible. I kept thinking and wondering if I could possibly live there with her and continue to keep her safe and comforted....I might be able to set up a little cot under her bed...

That second feeling NEVER quite goes away but it is ALWAYS the second feeling. The first feeling is that of letting go a kite that this young adult is flying on her own and watching the beautiful colors and patterns flying on the wind. It is my most sincere wish, dream and hope that my daughters continue to grow and amaze me as they make their way in life but, more importantly, that they wish, dream and hope for themselves and whatever the future has in store for them.

So, with every eye roll, sigh of frustration, tear shed and irritated "Mooommmm..." or "Daaaadddd..." you go through this year, the only advice I can give is to do your level best not to touch or mar the delicate and colorful new wings breaking through the chrysalis for the first time. Rather, take the snapshot in your mind and keep it there always. It may only be one tiny piece of the puzzle but to leave it out would forever leave the puzzle incomplete.

To my Daughters and Stepdaughters - I love you all so much more than you will know until you have kids of your own one day......a long time from now.... You each make me more proud than I can say.

To Parents watching their children complete this year of First Lasts, recognize it all for what it is and own the bittersweet feelings that accompany it. They will always be part of who you are.

How to stare in to the eyes of a Coyote and live to tell about it

Yesterday started out exactly the same as every other day over the past five months. Haul my posterior out of bed, limp upstairs, get a cup of coffee and snag a few sips before hitching the dog to his leash and taking him outside for some morning relief. At this point, we make our way from the house, across the driveway. That, as you will see, is where all similarities (to previous days) stop.

Buddy is a smallish dog. He probably weighs sixteen pounds and is a mix of Boston Terrier and another type of wire haired terrier. His physique, being what it is, gives him a bit of a Napoleonic complex. I've always said that, if he were human, Buddy would drive a large truck with a lift kit. Far more entertaining in a dog than his human counterpart. Just my humble opinion.

Our garage is not attached to the house so we walked across the driveway and around my husband's Jeep, which was parked in its usual place next to the garage so that we could get to our 'usual' path for walks.

Note: What I'm about to describe to you took all of about 30 seconds though the detail described might make it seem much longer. In my brain, it took about an hour.

As I rounded the Jeep and looked to the edge of the woods behind our garage, approximately ten or fifteen feet from me, a very large Coyote was standing perfectly still and staring at me. Since it hadn't moved up to this point, Buddy had not yet spotted it.
I screamed something really effective like "GO AWAY!!!!!" in a strangled, shrill scream that only seems to present itself when I'm in full panic mode. As I screamed, the Coyote turned its head and, in doing so, made itself known to Buddy. In the rapid fire way that they do in situations like this, two things happened. The Coyote did actually turn to lope away until Buddy started barking, growling and lunging at it. At that point, it turned back toward us as though perhaps it thought Buddy might have something interesting to say or, at the very least, could serve as breakfast. We repeated this process twice, maybe three times so that the Coyote, in his indecision, looked almost as though he was dancing.
There are parts of your brain that catalog tiny details such as sights, smells and feelings for you to relive later when you have the chance. One of these things was the absolute magnificence of this animal. It probably weighs somewhere around 70 or 80 pounds, has a beautiful coat and gorgeous eyes. Also, I recall it's movement being very graceful. All in all, a beautiful animal. Unfortunately, for both of us, not an animal I'd like hanging out in our back yard. That brings us back 'to the moment'.
Once I realized the Coyote wasn't in any hurry to leave, I did my best to "run" back to the house, literally dragging Buddy behind me. I say dragging because if Buddy had his way (along with opposable thumbs)he would have un-clipped the leash and attacked the Coyote. His hackles were so far up, it looked as though someone might have electrocuted him. Apparently, he has hackles all over the place because even the hair on his legs seemed to be standing at attention.
What with the various maladies I have, my version of "run" (at best) is a quickened limp. So there we were, Buddy scrambling to get back to the Coyote at one end of the leash and me, screaming for him to come, getting back to the house as soon as possible. I am hard pressed to think of a time when I was more frightened. By the time I made it to the stairs of the house, my husband was at the door and wondering what all of the commotion was about. "THERE'S EITHER A SMALL WOLF OR A REALLY BIG COYOTE BEHIND THE GARAGE!!!!!!!!!" I yelled. Now, this is usually the part of my stories where whatever it is I've seen has disappeared and everyone wonders (again) if I'm becoming even more crazy than I was the day before. Not this time!! My husband was out there, staring it down. My brother went out there with a Garden Hoe in hand (the tool, not someone's personality...) and my Stepfather joined in the fun as well.
For an hour or so, this Coyote could be seen all along the edge of our yard, where I usually take Buddy for his walks.
After seeing it with her own two eyes, my daughter went straight for the internet where she looked up Wolves and Coyotes. She came back in to the kitchen a little while later to tell me the following facts, I think, in an attempt to help calm me:
1) It's definitely a Coyote.
2) Coyotes tend to research the areas where they hunt and make frequent visits in that effort. 3) If the Coyote was rabid, I probably wouldn't have made it back to the house.
I can't tell you how much better I felt after hearing those things but I do know that her heart was in the right place.
In the mean time, I had also gone to the Internet to try and find a phone number for the State's Fish and Game department, thinking they might be able to advise us on what to do (if anything) and even send someone out. Honestly, I should have known better because it was a Saturday. Imagine that? A State Office being open on Saturday? What was I thinking?!?!?! Isn't it nice to know that any type of Animal Control is available from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., Monday through Friday? Apparently, nobody shared that schedule with this particular animal.
Well, once the excitement died down and adrenaline was no longer pumping through my body like a freight train, I realized I hadn't thought to grab the camera and get a picture. Of course, this led to a plethora of ideas on how to lure the Coyote back to the yard. Omitting the ideas my husband came up with that required using Buddy as bait, I will share a few with you. Before I start to list them, let me say that inspiration comes in all shapes and sizes. Most of ours came from other Saturday morning experiences three or four decades ago.
1) Place a black circle on the lawn. The idea being we could walk over said circle but, when the Coyote tried to chase us, he would inexplicably fall in and we could snap pictures of him there.
2) Procure a large Slingshot, place ourselves in it and wait to spot the Coyote. The idea here is that the Slingshot would project us directly at the Coyote, who would obviously get knocked over. With Wile E. unconscious, we could take all of the pictures we want.
3) From Acme Company, purchase a whole bunch of things such as giant springs for our feet that we could use to "jump" the Coyote, Large road signs directing the Coyote over a cliff where he would land in a 'pouf' of smoke but wouldn't be injured. A number of other things could be purchased as well but the key here is to get them all in a giant, wooden crate that says "ACME" on the outside. Simply by placing this crate in our yard, the Coyote would be drawn to us based on some deeply inherent instinct.
4) Finally, instead of Buddy barking and growling at the Coyote, we would put him in a Road Runner costume, train him to run incredibly fast, stop on a dime, say "Meep-meep" and run away again. This would drive the Coyote nuts and he would chase Buddy without ever being able to catch him. We would use this technique to obtain action shots with the camera.

That was our excitement yesterday neatly wrapped up with plans for the next time he visits.

Fun with Hypodermic Needles...

When we last left off, I was just being called in to the day surgery area for my nerve block/steroid injection. The nurse who retrieved me took off like a shot (no pun intended. Honest) for the changing room and was halfway down the hall before she realized I was limping along behind. First indication that there could be a problem: "Oh, I see you have a limp". "Yes. I thought I'd take it out for a spin today...". She giggled nervously. Now, at this point, I'm already so nervous that there is no saliva left in my mouth which, in turn means my upper lip is stuck to my front teeth and my hands are shaking. Did I respond inappropriately by giving her the barest of fake smiles in hopes of preventing my teeth from ripping four layers of skin off my lip?

Just a side note here. Nurses always give their names and even wear a name tag on their scrubs. Do you think I can remember a single nurses name from yesterday? That'd be a big Nope. At any rate, she introduced herself, showed me where I could get changed, handed me a "ball gown", the oh-so-fashionable slipper socks and a bag to put my belongings in. I swear to you she called it a ball gown.

Two things. First, thank God those slipper socks were extra large because I haven't been able to shave in ages and they did manage to cover up some of the gap between them and the Bob Mackey billowing about my legs. Second, she told me to put my stuff in a locker and bring her the key. As God is my witness, I do not recall handing her that key so it remained an added worry until after the procedure. Why didn't I just ask? Well, I believe I've already admitted to my unreasonable and extreme fear of needles so I was down to as little conversation as possible. Plus, just as I came out of the changing room, she explained to me that they would be putting in an IV.......

"Wait...What? Are you serious? Nobody told me about an IV. Look, this isn't a surgery!" I cried. Panic was increasing rapidly and this woman was the only hope I had for getting talked off the ledge. "Oh, I know, but we put one in 'just in case'" she said. One of my least favorite phrases ever - "Just in case". In case of what?! In case I start to bleed out at the injection site? In case they want to inject something funky through an IV? In case I pass out? In case the electricity cuts in the middle of the procedure? WHAT?!?!

"They hardly ever have to do anything with it....". Hold it right there, Missy. Lesson number 85 to any health care giver whose care I am in for even a millisecond: If 95% of people don't have an issue with something, you can be sure that I will be part of the other 5%. It's just how it goes in this rock and roll show...

Now she has me back at my bed and literally tells me to "...hop up on to the bed". The situation was deteriorating faster than an ice cube in H-E-Double-Toothpicks and they had yet to do anything.

Of course I asked her if she would numb my skin before placing the IV (a standard with me and I have happily waited a half hour for someone to be pulled from another facility to do just that). I've said it before and will say it again, I. Am. A. Giant. Sissy. "Look at that tattoo" she said. "How did you manage that if you're so scared of needles?". Don't ever let anyone tell you that getting a Tatt is like getting an injection. It's like comparing a mild hangover to passing a kidney stone.
"Well, it's just a Pediatric IV so..." I interrupted her to ask "Can you numb the skin or not?"
"I can if you want but..." "I want".
As she's preparing the IV she says "Ya know, most people come out of the procedure saying 'It really wasn't that bad'. In fact, I swear he does such a good job with the procedure just so he can ask them if it was as bad as the IV.........he's not someone you'd want to live with but he's definitely someone you want performing this procedure". She is blowing me out of the water at this point and I'm silently calculating how quickly I could "hop" out of the bed, down the hall, get my stuff and get the hell out of there. Seriously, I was considering leaving in the Johnny and Slipper Socks. 'I really don't care who sees my hairy legs at this point. Get. Me. Out.' Alas, I stayed. I really hate when the wrong personality is up to bat at times like those.

Aside from that mess, everything at that point, procedurally speaking, was going great and the IV was in. Emotionally, as you may have guessed, was a sequence of very different events that were pushing me closer and closer to the edge of my bed. One nurse explained the procedure like this:

"First, he'll numb your skin a little and, then, you'll feel...well, you won't feel it but some people say they can hear a 'Pop' when he starts the actual injection". My chin dropped and I referred her to rule number 85 again. Was she really telling me this in a syrupy voice because she thought it would make me feel better? I swear I was starting to hyperventilate but they asked me if I wanted a magazine (no thanks) and left me alone with my anxiety (for which I normally take meds but that was a no-no for this procedure). Barbarians.

Somewhere around a day later, another nurse came in, asked me a bunch of questions and explained the procedure again. She used phrases like "then he has to find the source of the pain with the needle" and "the medication does hurt as its going in but that doesn't last very long..." Lady, YOU are not going to last very long unless you get this show on the road. I didn't say that out loud but she must have recognized something in my eyes and complied.

After a short ride through the halls, she backed me in to the O.R. Why the O.R.? Since the Doc uses a "live" X-Ray to help guide the needle to the right place (just typing that made me feel like hurling) as well as to see where the contrast is showing up, the procedure takes place in the O.R.

The Doctor was already in the room and asked how I was. I told him what I told the 15 people before him who asked "Petrified". He acknowledged my fear of needles and said he would explain everything as he went and would try to keep me as comfortable as possible. Inadvertently, at this point, I threw the nurse directly under the bus. "She told me you're going to numb the site first". He shot a quick glare at the nurse and said "She told you about a different way of doing this procedure. I put everything in one injection, as we discussed yesterday". 'Oopsies - sorry lady whose name I can't remember'.

He had me roll from the bed I was on, to the Operating table which had a stack of three pillows on it. Since the X Ray machine is in the shape of a "C" that goes over and under the table, I had roughly a foot of clearance to roll over and "put your belly button right in the middle of these pillows" said the nurse. 'Oh sure, I thought, and for my next trick, I'll saw myself in half and pull a rabbit out of my....' nevermind. The reason these Barnum & Bailey's Circus Folk want you to do this is so that your back is in the best position for the injection. This meant I needed to be on all fours with my backside held high... Oh, gee, why didn't I think of that - it's so cozy and I don't feel at ALL vulnerable.... Truth be told, after giving some thought to how the spine works, it did make sense to me. Not that I had a choice, mind you, but still it was an ounce of much needed reassurance.

Figuring that I should play as fair as possible, I took this moment to announce that A) I had to pee and B) there was a very good chance I was going to scream and/or swear. The Doc must have spotted my cowardice because he asked if I could "...hold it because the procedure will be over so quickly". Grudgingly, I supposed I could. As for B), he said "That's fine. The only rule we have about swearing is, if you say something we don't understand, you have to explain it to us". "Oh no" I said. "Just the standard variety of four letter words. Sometimes, there's just no equal to a well placed F-Bomb."

Now the procedure. First, let me attempt to give you the road map he was going to navigate. The joint he was aiming for is the right Sacroiliac joint which is one of two that connect your pelvis to the bottom of your spine. Close your eyes for a second and just picture where you think that would be. As it turns out, the injection site was higher up and slightly off center to the right....Got it?

He thoroughly Betadyned my backside, and talked me through that in a very soft and slow, monosyllabic voice. Imagine Mr. Rogers voice but slowed waaaay down. Sort of like a 45 being played at 33 (for those of you who recall record players). Every time the man paused, I was expecting the next words to be something about the injection starting. This meant, every time he started to speak, my blood pressure went through the roof until he said something innocuous and I would breathe again. This probably only lasted roughly one minute but, to me, it was so long that I second guessed my decision about no magazine. Probably they wouldn't have let me have one at that point anyway but, now that I think of it, maybe they should do that to help distract a neurotic freak like myself. Anyway, there were things that needed to be prepped. For each step, I pictured the blood pressure cuff busting open and flying around the room like something in a cartoon.
"...and now...(insert flying cuff here)... I'm applying more Betadyne..." Oh Jesus.
"...and now...(another flying BP cuff)...I'm going to drape the site..." 'Okay,' I thought, 'the next one has to be it'....
"...and now...(there is now BP cuff air traffic control heard over the loud speaker)...I'm going to blot it a little". My non existent patience were wearing thin.
"....okay, now I'm going to start just at the site so we can get some Novocaine in there. And here it comes". I hissed an intake of air and squeezed the poor nurses hand for all she was worth. He waited a minute to let it numb up a little. Then came the fun part....
"....okay, now I'm going to make my way down to the SI joint.."
"AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! $HIT!!!!" (Me, not him which, in retrospect, is a good thing).
"...okay, I want you to rate your pain on a scale of one to ten. One being minimal or no pain and ten being unbearable.."
"TEN!!!! TEN!!!"
"....okay, I need you to rate the pain first, for your lower back, second for your buttock and third for your leg"
"ARE YOU #&%KING KIDDING ME?!?! IT ALL HURTS!!!"
"...okay, ten across the board"
"...now I'm going to inject some more of the medicine..."
He did this four times. Each of those four times drew multiple F-bombs and Holy S-words which, by the way, I believe count as a prayer of sorts.
"You're doing great" the Nurse said. Why do they say stuff like that when there is absolutely no way you can haul off and beat them over the head? Wait. I just answered my own question. It's okay though, because I no longer felt bad for throwing her under the bus. Nor did I worry about how I was digging my nails in to her hand with each new pain. Oh, I said I was sorry....

Eventually, it did end and I was basically pain free for the first time in five months. I'll get back to that. While the nurse wheeled me from the O.R. to the recovery area, she said "You did great. See? It wasn't that bad". My only response as I wiped tears from my face was "It sucked". This same woman who before the procedure, told me it wasn't going to be bad at all now answered me with a sympathetic "I know". Someone fire her already for God sake.

That nurse handed me off to another nurse who asked the same question and got the same answer. "It sucked". "Oh, but you're not in pain now, right?" "Nope, you're right, no pain right now".

That nurse informed me that I'd have to wait 20 minutes before I could leave. She sent my daughter back to sit with me and checked my vitals every five minutes. Everything being okay, she brought my clothes and shoes to me. I got dressed as quickly as possible, ecstatic over feeling absolutely no pain whatsoever. I was like Grampa Joe from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, getting out of bed for the first time in 20 years. I wanted to do a jig like he did but, instead, walked (not gimped) down the hall past the Nurse's station where a hand full of nurses looked up and said "How'd it go? You look great!" "It sucked" I repeated. We all got a good chuckle out of that which was a good thing because I was still laughing when the nurse said "You get a free T-Shirt for coming in today!!" Seriously? I started looking around the room for hidden cameras but never broke stride as she handed me the t-shirt. I thanked her as my daughter and I made our way to the car where I immediately busted out the two percocet I had in a baggy in my coat pocket. "Let's go to Dunkin' Donuts so I can put food in my stomach and take these bad boys".

That's pretty much where the story ends except there will be an Epilogue to come tomorrow. I have people to thank and people to rake over the coals so stay tuned.....

And now for something completely different....

If you have been lucky enough to NOT put up with my whining about various health issues over the past five years, let me catch you up: 2007, 2008, 2009 - Kidney Stone surgeries. 2010 - UPPP and Kidney Stone surgeries. 2011 - Kidney Stone surgeries. 2011/2012 - Herniated Discs and Arthritis in the Sacroiliac (SI) joints. Now you've caught up and I can begin the story.

To treat the Herniated Discs, I took oral steroids and went to five sessions of Physical Therapy. Not only did I not get the entertainment value of talking like Arnold Schwarzenegger, an explosion of muscles, nor did I experience 'Roid Rage' (Oooh, you may want to verify that last bit with my husband...) but the pain got worse and seemed to intensify in my right hip and leg.

From behind the safety of his 20 inch computer monitor (pet peeve, close the laptop when speaking to me please), the relatively recently-graduated "Doctor A" said the pain is coming from the herniated discs (even though they're herniated on the left and my pain is on the right) and he could do steroid shots in the two disc areas to see if that worked. Otherwise, he didn't seem to think it looked too bad. Dear Doctor A's Parents, You wasted a fair amount of money on med school for 'Boy Wonder'. Love, Pam.

"Doctor B" took tons of time to look at me, asked questions with the final one being "Has anyone ever X-Ray'd your hip?" When I answered "no", he shook his head and immediately took X-Rays. What they showed (Arthritis in the SI joints) made much more sense in relation to my pain. Recommendation? Novocaine and Steroid injection in the SI joint on the right side. More about Doctor B in the Epilogue next time.

"Alex, I'll take 'What Doctor B is selling' for $200"....

Fast forward a couple of weeks to yesterday when I went to the Pain Management Doctor and was sitting quietly in the waiting room. First, can I just ask - would it make anyone else nervous if you heard, say, a series of beeps that electronically unlock the door, allowing the Doctor to move from his Office to the Waiting Room? Or, is it just me?

At any rate, once in his office, he performed an extensive interview, looked at XRays, the MRI, and office notes from various other Doctors and the Physical Therapist. He spent about an hour and a half with me which ought to tell you something. He talked about the procedure he was suggesting (which was almost exactly what Doctor B prescribed). He said he would do an injection directly in to the right SI joint (If ONLY it meant Sports Illustrated. Alas, no...). The injection is a compound of three drugs: Novocaine, a Steroid and a Contrasting fluid. Since the entire procedure is done with a 'live' X-Ray of the area in question, the contrast is important so he can see exactly where the medication was going. The other two ought to be self explanatory.

Now, as a general rule, I think information is good. Information is our friend and a helpful friend at that. This having been said, my first comment after hearing about the procedure in detail was a standard speech about my unreasonably extreme fear of needles (aka Bu-Bye "helpful friend"). This prompted him to ask me a few more questions. He also told me he gives the injections on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He strongly suggested I sign up for Tuesday (today) so that the anxiety had less of a chance of hanging around long enough to give me a heart attack. Every fiber of my being was standing there, tail between its legs just begging for Thursday. Apparently, a NEW personality of mine (We'll call her Sybil for purposes of this story) is a loud mouthed so-and-so because she instantly drowned everyone else out and made me blurt out "Tuesday!!". Before I could explain to to the good Doctor that the newest member of the team spoke out of turn, the procedure was booked and I was being ushered out to the waiting area to read some paperwork before I left.

This morning, my eldest daughter was kind enough to pick me up at 7:15 but not before I was able to read a Facebook post regarding the size of the needle I could expect during this procedure. In her defense, this person thought I was already at the Doctor's office so it wasn't maliciously intended. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I was, at that point, a woman on the edge. 'Sybil???' I thought. 'Are you there Sybil?'. Apparently Sybil had the day off. I used to work for someone like Sybil. Start a fire and then drop out of sight and go MIA.

We arrived at the Clinic on-time, I filled out a little bit of paperwork and a few minutes later, someone swung open the Stainless Steel kick-plated doors and called my name.....

To Be Continued.....