Monday, April 13, 2009

Me and the Pee Part Three

Sigh. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I was sitting in my own URINE for two hours! That's where I was.

If you've driven from Pocatello to Logan, you know you're lucky if you pass a gas station every once in 10,000 acres or so. So clothes shopping is pretty much out. I would've been so happy to just drive home and crawl into bed and feel sorry for my stanky self, but Andie had slept over at my sister's, so I had to go through Logan on my way home to pick her up.

As soon as I got into Logan I stopped at the first store I came to. Walmart. I picked up a package of underwears, a pair of cheap capri sweats, and some baby wipes. I went to the express checkout, where the checker asked if I knew how much the underwear was, because it didn't have a barcode on it. !@#$%^&*%^$&#!, I thought to myself. She flipped the package over and over, looking for a barcode that was nowhere to be found. Then she called someone over. So, of course, a GUY came over, tried all the same things she had, and then declared that, "Sometimes the barcode is on the clothing itself," as he proceeded to rip open the package and pull out a GIANT PAIR OF MOM UNDERWEAR and turn them around and over and up and down until he was satisfied that there was no barcode up in there. He then made the announcement, much to my and all my fellow line-standers' dismay that he was going to have to run back and get another package with a proper barcode.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that any other time in the history of my life I would have said, as I always do if ever I'm holding up a line, "Nevermind. I don't need that," (even if I do) and let people move on with their day. But on this day, this most UNlucky day in all of my memory (which, really, only covers about the last few minutes, so, not really saying much, but STILL!) I really, really needed those suckers. I toyed briefly with the idea of turning to my fan club members in the line and explaining, "You know, normally I would just not buy them right now, but, you see I peed my pants today and I've been sitting in my pee pants for the last 2 hours and I still have to drive to Bountiful and I REALLY need those undies!" But I held on to what little dignity I had left at that point and just closed my eyes and did some deep breathing. Well, I tried to keep my eyes closed, but I kept peeking to make sure I wasn't busted by a former schoolmate or old ward member or past co-worker, or, worst of all...a former boyfriend *YIKES*, which would have been perfectly in sync with my day so far.

Finally, the barcode scout brought another package to scan. Now, the 3-pack that I had chosen to purchase (and, mind you, it's not a purchase I make more than once every decade or so, since I wear undies of a more religious nature as a rule) were black, white, and grey. The package that this guy brought over were hot pink, hot pink with multi-colored stripes, and purple with a zany geometric pattern. Just in case the spectacle hadn't been noticeable enough up to that point.

I wondered if, given all that time to stand there thinking about it, someone in line had figured out why I was buying that particular assortment of items. Hmm...why would one need a pair of pants, a package of underwearsies, wipes? Looks suspish to me...I bet she peed her pants! Gross.

I paid for my goods, thanked the helpful Walmart employees, and slinked off into the bathroom. I came out of there a new woman. I disinfected my car seat (not even kidding, that's why I got leather seats.) and drove to my sister's house.

Well, guess what. This story has a happy ending. When I got to my sister's house, my other sister was there too, and as soon as I walked in, all the pain and frustration and embarrassment of my unbelievably, ridiculously, freakishly messed-up day washed away as we laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Kerri told me, "Two words: Blog. It." Kelli told me that as soon as she heard Mom had left, she tried to figure out how long it would take to get to Pocatello, but realized I'd be long done by then. And that was before part three had even happened! Who cares about a crappy old day when you have sisters who love you? Not I.

Plus, it was the perfect experience to pull me out of writer's block, so YAY!

Part 2 of Heck Day 2009

Ahhhh. I finally arrived at the clinic after 4 1/2 hours of what should have been a 2 hour drive. It was nice to be greeted by Bob, who was worried about me and feeling badly for letting me drive somewhere by myself on half a brain and shoddy directions, and my mom, whose annoyance had faded into pity by now. They had both had their treatments already (which made sense, seeing how the appointment was at 10:30 and it was now 12:30!) Bob had gotten a shot in his hip, and Mom a shot in her knee.

My water marathon had paid off and I had a needle *shudder* in my hand, which was a million times better than last time in my ARM!! Ahhh! Gross! Quit making me talk about it!!!

After about 20 minutes my loving, if not overly nurturing, husband said he and the boys were gonna go ahead and take off for their fishing trip. I gave him the "You're going to leave me like this? With a NEEDLE in my VEIN?" look, but then decided to woman up and quit being a baby about it. "Okay, I'll be totally fine. Don't even worry about me. You guys have fun, now! Love you!"

Anyways, my mom was still there, so I should be able to survive.

The IV treatment takes about 2 hours. The room where the treatment is administered has, like, ten or so LaZBoy chairs against 3 walls where people chill with their IV bags. Some people talk, some sleep, some read, and some watch the big screen, which, so very UN-helpfully kept playing episodes of some violent, bloody, gory CSI-type show, not CSI, though, but the one with Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump. *Editors note: I have since learned that it was, indeed, CSI NY (in case you cared). Anyway, not helping with the gross-out factor. I have to be very distracted during the IV treatment or I start zeroing in on the fact that a NEEDLE has PUNCTURED my VEIN and is STILL IN THERE!!! And start getting all weird and freaky about it. So, Mom and I chatted for a while and laughed discreetly at the lady who could NOT not be talking every possible second of the day and would chat up anyone and everyone within the sound of her voice who happened to make eye contact with her. She was a kick.

After a while, though, I could tell mom was itchin' to get the heck out of there. You and me both, Mommy. You and me BOTH! So I said I was totally fine and I would just do my crossword puzzle and she really didn't need to stay just for me. So she said, "Oh, good! 'Cause I told Goldie I'd be at bowling by 4:30! Later, dude!" And she was gone. Okay, I exaggerated. She was slightly reluctant to leave me, but I assured her I had it under control, and she really loves bowling.

Well, I proudly made it through the ordeal, or had nearly made it through the ordeal anyway, when I suddenly got extremely nauseated and light-headed. I was either going to pass out or throw up. One or the other for sure. I was passionately hoping for pass out, because WAY less embarrassing, you know? But both scenarios were staring me down equally, so I tried to call the nurse over, but couldn't remember her name and I couldn't call her "nurse" because, how rude? And she was busy and walking in and out of the room, but never close enough for me to get her attention without using her name. So I asked a guy in a nearby LaZBoy, who wasn't hooked up to a NEEDLE *Shiver* if he knew her name. He didn't, but he went and got her for me after seeing the color of my face.

She came over and told me it was just the magnesium in the IV and I'll be just fine and she can take the needle out now and blah blah blah... I just wanted her to stop talking and get that thing out of my arm so I could get to the bathroom before I humiliated myself in front of everyone in one way or another. As soon as she disconnected me I walked as quickly and nonchalantly and in as straight a line as possible, while trying to make it out the door in a conscious state. Mercifully, I made it to the bathroom and managed to shut the door before I puked my guts out. My guts were bright purple. I wondered for a moment what the heck was in that IV before remembering the Jamba Juice my mom had brought me earlier. Phew!

Well, those of you who know me, what do you think would happen (to me) simultaneously during a bout of the cookie-tosses? Keep in mind that I have to practically wear a diaper just to play soccer. You guessed it. I peed. A. Lot. [Sorry, you know I've tried to avoid this subject on this blog, even though it plays a huge part in the embarrassing aspects of my life, but just -- just -- be quiet and keep reading! I wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't the entire point of the rest of my day from Hades. But it is. So I HAD to. Sorry.]

So, I was hanging out in the bathroom, trying to figure out what to do and crying for the 5th time that day, when the nurse knocked on the door and said, "Kimmy, are you okay in there?" I opened the door, looked at her meaningfully and said, "I threw up."

"Oh," she said, compassionately, "That's okay. Don't worry about it. It happens a lot."

I fixed my gaze slightly more poignantly and said, "And I peed."

"Oh, yeah," she says, "You probably needed to after all that water, plus the IV."

"I peed while I was throwing up."

She cocked her head to the side like a puppy and squinched her eyes up, as if to say, "I'm not quite getting what you're trying to tell me."


"OH! Oh, it's fine! I can give you a towel to sit on on the way home."

It was SO NOT fine, though I'm sure it was perfectly fine for her, so she wasn't lying or anything. But not fine for me, not at all.

"I'm still supposed to get some shots. In my back." (Which involves lying face down on a table --with my giant pee spot smiling up at everyone!)

"It's fine! You'll be fine," she reassured me.

Fortunately, I had to wear a gown up top and it happened to be long enough to cover any massive dark areas on the back of my pants. And the nurse (man, I still don't know her name!) was kind enough to arrange the gown strategically, once I was on the table. But there was still the matter of (pardon me, but) the smell! This same doctor has had me on a bumload of vitamins for the past few weeks, plus the IV full of mostly vitamins, so, well, you can figure it out.

At that point the doctor came in. He had obviously been briefed on the fiasco I had just experienced, because he kept apologizing for my terrible day, etc. And then he told me there was another doctor there that was learning the procedure and would I mind if he came in and watched?

Oh, well, it smells like PEE in here, but...


Think it's over? Not yet. Part 3 coming up.

My Day From Heck or How it Turns out the IV Treatment Wasn't the Worst Part of My Day

This is part 1 of 3, documenting a freakish streak of bad luck and stupidity, which occurred on April 8th, 2009.

Wednesday began with a feeling of foreboding. I was worried about the IV treatment I would have to endure later. I'd been guzzling water for two days straight, trying to make my veins huge and easily accessible so I could have the needle in my hand instead of my *gulp* arm! Ble-e-e-e-echy! The doctor's office is in Pocatello. Yes, Idaho. Bob was going, too, along with my mom. But Bob was going to take the boys on a fishing trip straight from the doc's office, so we drove separately. My mom and I were going to drive together, so she was going to meet me on I-15 after driving from Logan through Tremonton so I wouldn't have to go the long way through Logan. Are you seeing any red flags yet? I should have.

Of course, Bob dusted me in the first 20 minutes, but no problem, I'd find my mom and she'd keep me from getting hopelessly lost.

Did I mention the doctor I was going to see thinks he can reverse the effects of a stroke I had 10 years ago that left me with memory, concentration, and balance problems? He claims to be able to increase my brain function. Keep reading. You will eventually see the irony in this...

When I got to Brigham-ish, I called Mom and told her where I was. Here were her instructions:

"Okay. There's a big mountain range on your right. When those mountains start going down and there's a break in them before the next range of mountains, you'll see an exit. When you get off the exit and turn left, you'll see me."

"Can I see you from the road?"

"No. You have to get off and turn left. And then I'm right there. There's nothing off this exit but fields and cows."

" What town are you in?"

"I don't know! I can't see the signs on the freeway! It's easy, you'll see it."

"Is there a mile marker that you can see?"

"No! I can't see anything on the freeway!"

"Uhhh...okay. I'm sure I can find it."

I drove. I watched the mountains. They started going down and I could see a break before the next range. But, you know, those turn out to be pretty vague directions, considering that there's a really wide range of possible interpretation of said directions.

I did eventually see an exit with nothing but cows. Kind of. It didn't look exactly like what she was describing, but close enough. I got off. Nothing. I got back on.

I did that four more times.

The phone rang. "Where are you?"

"Where are YOU?"

Long story less long: after 30 minutes at 80 miles per hour I still hadn't found her. I was nowhere near anything she had described. I was confused and frustrated. She was frustrated. I told her there's no way I hadn't passed her by now, I had no clue where I was, and I didn't know what to do.

She was all peeved and told me fine, she'd just drive herself to Pokey. I felt bad. And confused. I called Bob and told him about it. He said he could've sworn he saw her little truck off one of the exits. I said why didn't he stop and pick her up? Oh well. He said that's weird that I couldn't find her and I had turned off to the right when the freeway split, right?

Huh? The freeway splits? Crap.

So, I was halfway to Boise by now. I pulled off in Snowville for a potty break, since I was still chugging water like a camel and asked the kind lady at the gas station if there was a quicker way to Pocatello than backtracking all the way to the mythical "split" in the freeway. She told me I was in luck. There is a road that connects the two freeways, accessible from a road right in front of the gas station! Lucky me! Here were her instructions:

"Okay. There's a stop sign right in front of the station. It's not that one. The next stop sign you come to, turn right. After that, you'll go for about 20 miles on a winding road and then you'll come to an entrance to I-15."

Yay! Okay, sounds good. I came to the first stop sign. Check. I proceeded down the country lane heading seemingly into nowhere. And I do mean nowhere. There were literal tumbleweeds tumbling across the road and I didn't pass a single car. There was nary a house to be seen, only fields and more fields. I felt like I was driving to LaLa Land. And I kept NOT seeing a stop sign. Sure, there were little dirt roads that turned off my road, but nothing substantial, so I was fairly certain I was on the right road, but where in the world was the mythical "stop sign?"

After about 13 miles I decided Nowhere was an actual place, and I was going there. I thought, if I hit a moose and die out here, no one will EVER find me. I thought, I am on the flippin' wrong road! And I turned around and went all the way back to the gas station.

"Could I see that map again? I think I was on the wrong road."

"Huh? You're back? There's only one road. Here, I'll draw it out for you. Okay. So there's a stop sign right out here. It's not that one."

"Right. Check."

"You'll go about 17 miles and there will be another stop sign."

"Wait, now. What was that? Yeah, I don't think I went quite far enough." (And thanks for the head's up about the SEVENTEEN MILES!!!!)

So off I go. Sure enough, 17 miles on the Road To Nowhere and a stop sign appears! Yay! Now I just have to drive 20 more miles on another winding, abandoned road and then I'll be on the freeway, after which I can drive another hour or so and finally get there! Easy!

Meanwhile I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of civilization which might possibly feature a BATHROOM and stopped at every available opportunity.

Eventually I pulled into Pocatello! Yay! I was SO relieved to be in Pocatello! I called Bob and told him I was there and asked how I get to the office now. Here were his instructions:

"Okay. So, you're going to get off on the 3rd exit in Pocatello."

*Record scratch*

"Say, huh? I already got off on the FIRST exit!" (And thanks for the heads up about the 3rd exit, bee tee double yoo! Could you maybe have mentioned that in one of the twelve phone calls we've had in the last four hours? Oh, and isn't it extra-handy that you have a GPS both in your truck AND on your iPhone and I have a whopping NONE?! How is that helpful?)

After three, count 'em, THREE different people gave me three different versions of how to get to the office, and several turnings around, and crying for the fourth time that day, I finally pulled into the clinic. Yay! Ugh.

My stupid brain kept me from getting to the doctor who claims he can fix my stupid brain!

Departure: 8:00 A.M.
Arrival: 12:30 P.M.

And just when I thought nothing else could go wrong that day...well...stay tuned for Part 2 (Electric Boogaloo).

Friday, April 03, 2009

Media Moratorium

I'm cutting WAAAAY back on the media. It's going to be painful, but I have to do it. It's taking over my life and I'm taking my life back. Here's how it's going to be:

NO tv. Well, not very much tv. Very little tv, if any. Perhaps just American Idol. And the final episode of ER because it's the final episode -- ever.

Computer: One hour in the morning, then shut down. One hour in the evening, then shut down. I actually did this yesterday and it was okay. I had to turn it on a couple of times for information and kids' homework, but because I had to boot it up and wait and everything, I really thought about it before I turned it on. And then I turned it back off.

The problem is that I pass the computer all the time and it calls to me. It winks its cute little Mac eye (or is that iMac? Oh! Zing!) at me and says, "You want some of this? Come on, just check your email and then browse a little. You can still get some work done. Let's see...go get some laundry and you can (pretend to) fold it while you catch up on a show you missed. But, I mean, you can catch up on some blogs, too, while you're on here. Oh, and make sure you check the news, cause, you know, you gotta stay up on the news. And the weather, so that when you think about going running you can talk yourself out of it because the weather doesn't look too good. And, oh! You know how funny some of those Onion videos are! You should see if there are some good ones today. Ah! Facebook! Don't forget to check your Facebook page, along with the pages of several other people whom you vaguely remember from 20 years ago. They might have some great pictures or links that you can get caught up in, or "25 random facts" or "One Word" notes. Oooh, who's online right now? You might want to chat with someone. Oh, remember how you just signed up on Twitter? Better check it out because you just never know what Ashton and Demi are going to be saying, those funny kids! Hey, is there a new podcast on itunes you haven't checked out yet? Whoa! Dude! Are you going to get dressed or what? The kids'll be home in 20 minutes! Do you want them to know you've been sitting here wasting your day away? Jeez! Get a life, why don'tcha?"

It's a love/hate kind of thing. I love sitting around all day, accomplishing nothing. But I hate getting caught.