It Sounds Like Rice Krispies Around Here in the Morning

We're having a week where Mr. and Mrs. Hula-gen are feeling our ages.  If anything else aches or falls apart, you're going to have to start calling us Achy and Breaky or Creaky and Squeaky.  Or grunt and Groan.  We seem to be falling apart somewhat.  Although I will say my grip is apparently still better than Teen Angel who managed to drop a bowl of macaroni and cheese ON THE LIVING ROOM RUG last night. 

My foot is much better, but it's not completely healed.  I've been babying it as much as possible.  I can run three miles on it about three times a week, but I'm not running every day because it's just not well enough for that.  And it appears my ankle is somewhat weak.  It still has a tendency to roll outward if I step on slanted surfaces or something uneven, like a rock.  Or nothing at all.  I rolled it yesterday walking in flat shoes on a flat sidewalk to a lunch meeting.  I have the grace of a bull elephant these days.  Anyway, I'm trying to keep it in decent condition so I can do my part in the Iron Mom relay race in a couple of weeks.  After that, we'll see.

Hubby's right foot is killin' him.  He says it feels just like the left foot did when he had a heel spur.  The spur surgery was quite the ordeal so he's trying to limp along (Get it?  Limp along?) until he takes care of the other issues he's dealing with like the hernia and THE GALLBLADDER FROM HELL.  My diagnoses a couple of weeks ago was right.  His gallbladder is bad, and it needs to come out.  He is scheduled for surgery next Thursday, and he can hardly wait.  Which tells me a lot because the man would rather walk ten miles across hot coals barefoot than go to a doctor, much less sign up for surgery.  He is hurtin' for certain.  I was shocked at how readily he agreed to have that little ol' gallbladder yanked out. 

I can't wait for him to feel better, but sister mercy, getting there will be no fun.  He is not a good patient.  He was cranky in the surgeon's office Tuesday just because he had to fill out paperwork, and I don't expect it to get any better until everything is healed.  To say that he has no patience is like saying Hershey's dabbles in chocolate. 

Why are most men that way when it comes to medical issues?  You have to drag them to the doctor and then baby them through every step of recovery.  And women have little patience for that.  Why ?  Because we birth babies.  I'm not saying we're right (okay, I probably am), but we feel like childbirth trumps every medical issue a man can bring to the table with the exception of third degree burns over a great percentage of his body.  Even kidney stones.  Yes, even kidney stones.  You men like to compare that the childbirth, but we're not buyin' it.  If you compare how much the urethra has to expand for a kidney stone to how much the hoo hoo has to expand to pass a seven, eight or nine pound baby, childbirth wins hands down in our book.  Especially if you give birth WITHOUT AN EPIDURAL.  Really, there ought to be a badge you get to wear once you've done that.  Something along the lines of "Missed my Epidural.  I am Woman!"  I'd wear that stinkin' badge every day, and it's been nineteen years since I missed my epidural.  Believe me, you don't forget something like that.  Poor Hubby, for as long as he lives, he has to put up with my dismissal of his aches and pains with the reminder that I didn't get to use my epidural.  That's just the way it is, men.  Until science finds a way for you to give birth, we are going to declare our gender the winner of the I've Suffered More game.  It may not be fair, but look at it as a trade-out for your ability to pee anywhere standing up and the fact that you don't have to deal with menstruation. 

Next week should be interesting.  Hopefully, Hubby will sail through this procedure with flying colors.  The doctor is going to dig around and check out that hernia while he's in there, repairing it if need be.  THEN we'll begin to think about that sore heel.  And maybe the popping knee.  And the sore breast bone.  And the stiff hand......      

I Could Really Use a Faded Lilly Right Now

Can we chat? It feels like ages since we’ve really talked. Girlfriends, I’ve been so busy I don’t know whether to wind my butt or scratch my watch. Maintaining a blog has been low on the priority list as I’ve been tied up with commiserating over my lack of an invitation to Fashion Week. And I’ve had to worry about Charlie Sheen AND Lindsey Lohan all in one week. And then they went and whacked off Zsa Zsa’s leg. Sister Mercy! It’s enough to make a gal take to the sofa with Oprah reruns and bon bons. Unfortunately, there’s no time for that since the Hula-gen’s are in the middle of a series of health crises.

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I was bragging about each of the Hula-gen’s staying healthy for a change? Well, I knew it couldn’t last. The other shoe dropped, and it was a platform with a five inch spiked heel. First the dog got kidney stones, which involved some inadvertent peeing on our bed in the middle of the night. By the dog, not me. Lord, how I hate changing bed linens at 2am. Jack had surgery this morning, and all went well, but he has to stay at the vet’s office for a couple of days, and I’m sure he’ll be incredibly needy when he comes home. He’s almost as good as Mama J. at guilting you into doing things for him. Almost.

Mama J.’s heart is out of rhythm again. They are testing her for A-Fib tomorrow, so another hospital stay could be in her future in order to shock her back into rhythm. Bless her heart; she just can’t stay out of the hospital for more than three months at a time. And we can’t keep her home when she feels bad. She gets stir crazy in the house, which I understand, but I really don’t think a trip to Bob Evans for biscuits and gravy is what the doctor had in mind when he said to take it easy while we wait for her test results. My sister-in-law gets the enabling award for driving her there. I can’t judge though. I’ve been lured by biscuits and gravy into bad behavior before, too. Gravy is the root of all evil. Quick gravy tangent-At the Chamber of Commerce breakfast last month I showed my country roots when I got to the end of the buffet line with a big biscuit on my plate and loudly asked, “Did I miss the gravy?” There wasn’t any. And it seems I might have been the only one expecting it.

Hubby took Papa T. to the eye doctor yesterday during the whole Bob Evans incident, and they found out Papa T. has to have some unexpected eye surgery next week. It’s to repair work he’s had done previously, and his recovery is going to overlap Hubby’s surgery to have a heel spur removed March 1st. Hubby is going to be on crutches for a couple of weeks, so there is going to be a big scramble to get everyone to their respective appointments. Since Hula will be the only one with a driver’s license not in high school at that time, she will be shuttling folks around town to various doctor’s offices. Good times. I haven’t had this much fun since the hogs ate my little sister.

I haven’t even mentioned Teen Angel’s vasculitis yet. It flared up again recently with such force that she looks like she has leprosy. Thank heavens it’s not swimsuit season or we would have a fashion crisis on our hands the size of Kim Kardashian’s backside. She’s taking it all in stride, although she doesn’t like that I’ve taken to affectionately calling her Dot. And I haven’t even mentioned the sad state of my sinuses or how Ticketmaster shut me out on tickets for the Nashville Adele concert at the Ryman. Oh, and Teen Angel has taken up roller derby. ROLLER DERBY! Is this what children do to you after you nurture them and keep them safe for eighteen years? They join activities that can cause broken bones and busted teeth that I spent a few thousand dollars straightening with braces. Aye, yi, yi. It’s all too much to think about right now. I’ll think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow’s anotha’ day. Let’s just hope tomorrow doesn’t bring any hemorrhoids.