I'm Not Contagious, Just Gross

We all have our crosses to bear. One of mine apparently, is my sinuses. If I were Hindu and believed in reincarnation I'd want to come back the next time as something without a nose. Oy vey! I've had it with my nose and the channels that feed it.

Hula has always been healthy as a horse, with one exception, her head. My medical files are thin. I had no real childhood illnesses; no chicken pox, no measles, no mumps. I had no broken bones and was 44 years old before I ever had any stitches. Well, unless you count that episiotomy, but let's not talk about that, shall we? I've spent a grand total of two nights in a hospital, and that was when I gave birth to Teen Angel. The good Lord blessed me with a fabulous immune system, but boy, did he kick me in the backside with the nasal passages. And the flat chest, but let's not talk about that, shall we?

At least once a year, usually in December or February, I have a really good sinus infection, and I blow gunk for days. Gallons and gallons of gunk. So much that I've often wondered where it all came from. I got a big clue a couple of years ago when the dentist looked at my x-rays and blurted out, "Oh, my God!" Thinking I had a big fat cavity, I said, "What? What?" He then told me I had the biggest sinus cavities he'd ever seen. I asked him if he was making a pass at me.

I managed to make it all the way to February this winter before the crud started working its way through my head. I could tell this past Saturday that a mucus party was starting in my head. And the really charming part about my sinuses is that much of my drainage goes down my throat. You're not reading this over dinner, are you? It plays havoc with my throat and eventually my stomach. The only upside to that is that I get this nice sultry Demi Moore voice for about four hours before my voice completely disappears.

There is nothing sexy about a sinus infection, though. You know that Nyquil commercial with all the snoring sleepers? Well, lady number #2 is me.
And I wish I were joking about that. When that commercial popped up on the TV last night, Hubby laughed out loud and said, "There you are!" And he was right. I gurgled, choked and snored so much last night that I woke myself up several times. And all of the sinus medications make my jumpy, so I scared myself every time I woke up. All night long, it was snore, jump. Snore, jump. Snore, jump, gag. Hot, right? It just screams get cha' some of that. Fortunately, Hubby is very understanding. Every time I had a coughing fit in my sleep last night, he patted me gently on the arm. It was kind of sweet actually. Well, except for the part about the snot running down my cheek. Really? You're still eating?

I guess it's a somewhat small price to pay for being healthy the rest of the year. I'll struggle through the laryngitis and the raw nose for yet another time and will likely need a shot in the arse before it's all over. Oh, and the fever blister should show up any day now. I'm so smokin' hot I burn myself. Or is that just the Vicks Vapo-Rub?

The Price I'm Paying for Suddenly Warm Weather

My persnickety sinuses are out of control. They hate big swings in the weather. Crap, crap, crap. I woke up Thursday with congestion and a zit the size of Mt. Hood. I figured it wasn't going to be a good day. The hot water heater died about two hours later. I usually like it when I'm right. Not so much on Thursday.

Yesterday, I woke up with a fever and signs in my tissues that a sinus infection had set in. I get about one sinus infection a year and never get over them without medication, so I headed to the walk-in clinic after sleeping until about eleven o'clock.

The upside to this situation? I went to the clinic during the UK SEC tournament game and had no wait because apparently everyone else was at home or work watching or listening to the game. I breezed in and out of there in thirty minutes.

The downside? I woke up this morning with dried snot on my face and a zit the size of Mt. Hood that just won't go away.

Just When I Thought This Family's Luck Was Finally Changing

2009 just isn't our year. On top of everything else that has happened, we got more bad news this week. Our niece has four sons. The third son spent Sunday in the emergency room with flu like symptoms, stomach pain and weakness. By twilight he had been flown to Nashville where they ran multiple tests. Tuesday, they diagnosed him with leukemia. Yesterday, they did a spinal tap to see if the cancerous cells are in his spine. Now we await word on just how bad it is (or isn't) and what kind of treatment lies ahead for little W.. He is just a fifth grader.

If you are the prayin' kind, send some prayers his way. He could certainly use 'em. We're all really scared for him, so you might tack us, his parents and siblings and the rest of the Hula-gen's onto your list, too. This one came out of nowhere.

Just Another Day in Paradise

It’s been quiet around here for a solid week. Too quiet. So quiet that I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop because the Hula-gen’s lives are always filled with mayhem. It’s not that we like to roll that way. It just happens to be the hand we’re dealt most of the time, and we’ve come to expect it. And so do the people around us. Mama seemed shocked when she asked me this past weekend how things were and I said, “Calm.”
“Really?!”
“Really.”
“Hmm. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Yeah, thanks.”

But honestly, it was hard to enjoy our week of peace because I kept waiting for something bad to happen. I know, I know. It’s a bad habit. What can I say? I’m a little scarred from the previous tragedies in our lives.

So it was no surprise when Hubby called me at work yesterday and said he, Mama J. and Teen Angel were on their way to the hospital with Papa T. Papa T. had a rough Sunday with nausea, vomiting and other stomach distress I will only describe as Mt. Vesuvius. He failed to get better, and he seemed really dehydrated Monday morning, so off to the ER they went because they couldn’t get him into the doctor’s office. Was the mayhem about to begin?

Nurses and doctors spent a few hours poking and prodding him until they decided he had some internal bleeding and he needed to stay for more tests. He was not happy. In fact, he was downright surly. “The only reason they’re keepin’ me is ‘cause I have good insurance!” he told the rest of the ER. Never mind the internal bleeding. Ah, perhaps the mayhem was beginning.

Papa T. is not a good patient. In fact, he’s a nurse’s worst nightmare. You also have to understand that when he turned 76 years old he declared himself finished with preventive testing. He feels like he’s lived long enough to quit most of the routine tests that roll around every few years, (including regular teeth cleanings). The only stuff he wants to endure is necessary repair work. After his last colonoscopy he declared that he was finished with colonoscopies forever and was pretty ticked off when they found polyps and they told him he’d need another rear end Roto-router in three years. “Bah! We’ll see,” he said. He just hates medical tests, and he definitely hates the hospital. He hates hospital food, and he hates hospital gowns. I expected him to be in rare form by the time I got to the hospital yesterday evening. Instead, he was pretty quiet. Surprising. We made small talk, and he seemed pleasant. Still waiting on they mayhem to begin.

Teen Angel and I took Mama J. down to the cafeteria for dinner, and when we returned we found that Papa T. had received and eaten his dinner, which consisted of broth, tea and a cherry Popsicle. He hates cherry Popsicles. In fact, he hates any meal that doesn’t consist of at least three vegetables and two pieces of cornbread. “How was your dinner Granddaddy?” we asked.
“Terrible. I had beef broth and it tasted like S**T!!! The only thing that was good was the tea, and that’s not sayin’ much. I don’t know how many dinners I’ve had in my life, but I know that was definitely the worst I’VE EVER HAD!!”

Ah, there’s the chaos I was waiting for. I looked at Hubby and Teen Angel and we started to laugh. And guess what? Papa T. has to have a colonoscopy tomorrow. Did you just hear the thud of the shoe dropping? Pray for us, brothers and sisters, it could be a long week. But at least things are back to normal around here.

Things That Tick me Off

Unexplained nausea that lasts all night and forces me to lose an outstanding pasta dish..and nearly choke to death in the process. I'll spare you the rest of the details. Let's just say I'm home today, reading the instruction manual for my camera and sticking close to the bathroom. Ack!

Twenty Words or Less

Spring bug..101 fever...pissing me off....filched antibiotic from husband...ran errand...woozy...need another nap...BLECH.

It's Just One Big Party After Another Around Here

Hot steamy dog vomit spewing all over the furniture, the walls, the bedding and us for five hours Thursday night. Six loads of laundry between 10pm and 2am. The fun never ends around this place.

Getting There

The doctor while listening to my lungs---

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Do you live with a smoker?"

"No."

"Have you always wheezed like this?"

"I've never wheezed."

"Well, you do now."



Asthmatic bronchitis and a sinus infection was my diagnosis yesterday. I was guessing a sinus infection on the way to the doctor's office. I wasn't counting on the asthma bronchitis thing. It does explain why it feels like a Clydesdale is standing on my chest. I was sent home with three prescriptions and instructions to get back into bed until I feel really well. That means I missed work yesterday and again today. Four and a half days this week. I haven't taken that much sick time in years. Oh well. Even if I had the strength to be there I'd gross everybody out with my gagging and coughing. So, I will just lay here.....and read...and daydream...and ponder solutions to world peace...maybe decide who I want to vote for.



I've had a special treat this morning. Hubby is babysitting a three year old for a couple of hours, and I've been listening to them chat and play, my 53-year old kid and this precious, talkative toddler. Hubby dragged out some of his toy collection, the stuff that's okay to play with like Lincoln Logs and a train. They've built buildings, a ranch, a prison (Hubby's idea) and knocked them all down. They drank a little juice and Toddler spilled some news about his family that I'm pretty sure is supposed to be a secret. Good news, but a secret nevertheless. Oops! They've watched a little bit of TV, and I'm surprised that Hubby seems to know all about these kids' shows. So that's what he and the dog do on rainy days. Hmm. Retirement must be nice. Oh, now they're playing pirates. Tee Hee. They're so funny. Toddler will go home in a few minutes and I hate to see him leave. I've so enjoyed eavesdropping on his and Hubby's playtime. This was better than TV...or the newspaper...or daydreaming....or thinking about the darned election. Anything is better than thinking about that election.

Not So Fast

Um, I left out a step in the previous post. You know, the one about suffering a setback when you try to bounce back too fast. I went back to work today, but needed a nap by the time I got dressed and drove there. I held on as long as I could but had to bail around 2pm. You know you look bad when the gal behind the counter at Subway peers over her glasses, asks if you're okay and frowns when you say yes. I managed to hold off on passing out while waiting for Hubby's and Teen Angel's sandwiches. It was back to the pj's and recliner this afternoon. I've been trying to stay awake long enough to be good and sleepy so that when I curl up with my friend Tylenol PM in a little while I'll get a good night's sleep despite this innerd chucking cough. I'm surrending again, my friends to the whims of illness, taking one last stab at a hibernation under the healing covers that will hopefully, lick this mess once and for all. In the meantime, I've enjoyed watching from a distance the goblins begging for candy at my front door and Hubby making ghostly sounds at them. I love little trick or treaters. They're so stinkin' cute. Medicine of a different kind.

Down in The Bed

To the tens of readers wondering where I've been the last few days, it is with great pleasure (NOT) to inform you I've been laid up in the bed with some kind of crap that has knocked me on my butt so hard, I couldn't get up for two days. I had a 102 plus fever for thirty hours and my sinus cavities throbbed so badly it felt as if my face had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Every part of my body hurt, including my teeth. I haven't felt this bad in years. I'm on the mend and hope to be back to work tomorrow, but right now I'm taking it one hour at a time. My goal in the next two hours is to bathe away this sweaty layer of gunk left by the fever. Maybe later today I'll work my way up to eating something other than a can of mandarin oranges. I don't want to get carried away, though.

Illness has its stages. Not the average cold kind of illness. I'm talking about take to the bed sickness. It starts with that chill that makes you wonder if you're coming down with something, but you refuse to accept it initially. Which is what I did Sunday night. I couldn't get warm, but I thought I got chilled at a bonfire/weiner roast we had just been to. I knew something was wrong after I'd been to bed for a couple of hours and still couldn't get warm despite being sandwiched between Hubby, the dog, a comforter and a wool blanket. The next stage is accepting your fate and giving in to it. Curling up in the fetal position in bed and begging everyone to leave you alone with instructions to check on you once an hour to see if you've expired. I had trouble sleeping yesterday because my body hurt so badly, and the daylight seeping through the shades hurt my eyes. There was also the matter of the phone ringing off the wall. Wrong numbers. The electronics store thanking us for buying a TV from them Saturday. The Cingular store thanking us for buying a cell phone from them Saturday. I would have turned off the phone if I'd had the strength to get out of bed, but I couldn't lift all the blankets I had layered on me. Depending on your illness, this waller in the sweaty bed in your own skank and want to die stage can go on for one to several days. Thank goodness there was no pukefest with this adventure.

My fever finally broke around four this morning. That brought on stage three, starting to take little steps toward basic hygiene and venturing outside the bedroom and bathroom. It's nice when you don't have to debate with youself anymore about whether you feel up to crawling out of bed and sliding on your stomach to the bathroom to pee. Without going into detail I will say that a trip to the potty this morning was evidence that I need way more fluids. I wanted to drink more water yesterday. I just didn't have the energy to reach it. Just out of curiousity, I stepped on the scales and found that I had lost five pounds. At another time in my life this would be thrilling news. I've always said a good case of the flu is better than any fad diet. But right now, I need all of my pounds, so I have some catching up to do in the eating department.

I have shed my layers of warm in stages, the last being the raggety old housecoat. I'm down to the nasty pajamas now. They're all going into the washing machine when I take a shower. The shower should signal the beginning of stage five, sitting up and moving around for the rest of the day. This stage usually involves the futil search for something good on TV. I've seen the TV Guide and my choices are going to be limited to crappy, ten year old movies, the insipid "Whose Wedding is it Anyway" and endless episodes of "The Barefoot Contessa". I'd read a book, but it makes me dizzy to look at the lines. In fact, I'm getting dizzy just typing. Stage six will come later tonight. That will involve going to bed early, say 8pm, so that maybe I'll have the strength to go to work tomorrow. Right now, I'm focusing on the shower. Oh, and the dog. I'm home alone today, and he hasn't been out since 4:30 this morning. His bladder is getting full, and I need to psyche myself up for a trip outself. Pray for me brothers and sister. It's a long walk to the yard.