So I tried some of LeBron James' new 'energy sheets'. You know, that thin little wafer you put on your tongue that has B vitamins and caffeine in it? It tastes like a dehydrated Red Bull and I can't tell yet if it works or not. It tastes so terrible it might double as an appetite suppressant and that might be where its true market is.
To be completely fair, that little sheet had its work cut out for it. Around 2:45 this morning our tornado sirens went off, which sent me into a panic. My alarm was set for 3:00 a.m. anyway so I could get up and study for our first test in pediatrics tonight...which followed my first day back to work in about a year and a half. I only got about an hour of reading in and then I rationalized that nothing was sinking in anyway because I was so sleepy, so I decided to nap for an hour and then get up and study for another hour. The storm siren went off a second time during that nap. And that last hour of studying was more panic as I came to the realization I really hadn't put enough time into the material. Cardiovascular and respiratory diseases/illness is difficult and deserves more attention than I have given it because I really do want to know this stuff.
So when Randy asked me this morning if I was nervous, I know he meant about my first day on the job. I said no, I was nervous about the test I had to take at 5:30.
The job is fine, and I'm grateful that I found it and it found me. And, even though I haven't had a call from the school nurse in quite some time (because Sofie has missed so much school), sure enough, the school nurse called me at 10:43 this morning. I snuck into the restroom to return the call, because I don't know what the 'personal call protocol' is there yet. Thank goodness all the nurse had to report was that Sofie's eyes were a little bit red and her nose a little bit runny. Her breathing was fine and no fever. But I'm glad they called me.
Around 3:30 this afternoon I thought I was going to die of fatigue, and could completely understand why George Castanza had a carpenter make a little cubby under his desk for napping. That's when I turned to my energy sheet. It probably helped a little. I made it to class, survived the test, and did fine. Not great and not bad, but I'll take it. But I am definitely tired. I had a really healthy day of eating going, too...a healthy protein shake for breakfast, had a healthy lunch in the company cafeteria, but stopped by 7-Eleven on the way home from class and somehow ended up with a bunch of orange food. Doritos and that glowy orange cheese that comes in a can with a lid that you peel off and risk cutting a finger or two. I don't think I've eaten that stuff in 15 years. But that's what nursing school and the first day back on a new job and tornado sirens and security badges and training manuals and calls from the school nurse can do to a person. So I guess I forgive myself. But I'm throwing that can of cheese away in the morning.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Eye Doctor in Mexico
As I look outside my office window, with the swirling snow and howling wind, I can only think of one thing. Mexico.
Living in Tucson had its perks and Mexico was one of them. It was about a 50 minute drive to the border town of Nogales. There are some really neat landmarks along the way. At the south end of Tucson is a beautiful old mission, built in 1700, that stands on the Tohono O'odham American Indian reservation. A few miles south of that is Green Valley, Arizona, and you're pretty much only welcome there if you are over the age of 65. Lots of golf carts. A little farther down the road is the Titan Missile Museum. We always meant to stop there and take a tour, but never did. There were 54 Titan (nuclear) Missiles buried under parts of Kansas, Arkansas and Arizona, and were deactivated by the SALT treaty, yet this one stays open now as a museum. A little more south are the Santa Rita Mountains, and the Madera Canyon with some of the best bird-watching around. You drive a little more and you'll see Border Patrol, and not long after that you come upon the very hilly, busy town of Nogales. There's a Nogales, Arizona and a Nogales, Mexico. You park on the Arizona side in a big municipal lot, and walk across. We've never driven across and we've never been there after dark. Two fairly important points.
I love bargains and so I love Mexico. It's pretty amazing to be able to walk into any pharmacy (and some of them look more like a closet than a pharmacy) and be able to purchase medications without a prescription. I had heard of a lot of Arizonans going to Mexico to get dental work done, because it was significantly less expensive. When Krystal told me she needed new contacts, I researched what using our eye insurance would cost, versus paying cash in Mexico. As I said, I love a bargain, and so off to Nogales the two of us went.
We had to go out of the touristy areas (which made me a bit nervous) to find any eye doctors. We went to a couple of offices, and either the doctor wasn't in, or they didn't do contacts. The streets were getting busier, absolutely no English was being spoken, and we were venturing farther and farther away from the areas we knew. I was beginning to wonder if this was such a great idea, and that maybe we should have just used our insurance. Finally we found another clinic. The receptionist spoke good English, and there was a Latina woman and her daughter who were well dressed and alternated between English and Spanish and sounded like they lived in Tucson, too, so then I was sold. They called us to a room. The doctor spoke English to us, exchanged a few pleasantries and then reached right into Krystal's eye and pulled her contacts out of her eyes. She looked at me and I looked at her. I thought to myself, oh no, what is this man going to do next? Technically we are in a foreign country, and truthfully my Spanish isn't very good, and if I called 911 (if they even had 911) I could not even tell them what street we were on. Thankfully it didn't come to that and the rest of the appointment followed the customs we were used to and we were left to think that although Mexicans may seem laid back with their siestas and all, maybe not Mexican eye doctors. The doctor and the staff were actually very nice, and I prepaid for the contacts, which they said they would ship to us once they came in. And sure enough, they did.
I just saw the eye doctor six months ago here in St. Louis, and already feel like my prescription needs tweaking. I wish I could just zip on down to Mexico right now. I would go to the very same clinic, and this time prepare myself for the 'taking out of the contacts'. Maybe Krystal could come down with me from Phoenix. And maybe we could drink a delicious margarita afterwards and go bargain for a nice purse or two.
Living in Tucson had its perks and Mexico was one of them. It was about a 50 minute drive to the border town of Nogales. There are some really neat landmarks along the way. At the south end of Tucson is a beautiful old mission, built in 1700, that stands on the Tohono O'odham American Indian reservation. A few miles south of that is Green Valley, Arizona, and you're pretty much only welcome there if you are over the age of 65. Lots of golf carts. A little farther down the road is the Titan Missile Museum. We always meant to stop there and take a tour, but never did. There were 54 Titan (nuclear) Missiles buried under parts of Kansas, Arkansas and Arizona, and were deactivated by the SALT treaty, yet this one stays open now as a museum. A little more south are the Santa Rita Mountains, and the Madera Canyon with some of the best bird-watching around. You drive a little more and you'll see Border Patrol, and not long after that you come upon the very hilly, busy town of Nogales. There's a Nogales, Arizona and a Nogales, Mexico. You park on the Arizona side in a big municipal lot, and walk across. We've never driven across and we've never been there after dark. Two fairly important points.
I love bargains and so I love Mexico. It's pretty amazing to be able to walk into any pharmacy (and some of them look more like a closet than a pharmacy) and be able to purchase medications without a prescription. I had heard of a lot of Arizonans going to Mexico to get dental work done, because it was significantly less expensive. When Krystal told me she needed new contacts, I researched what using our eye insurance would cost, versus paying cash in Mexico. As I said, I love a bargain, and so off to Nogales the two of us went.
We had to go out of the touristy areas (which made me a bit nervous) to find any eye doctors. We went to a couple of offices, and either the doctor wasn't in, or they didn't do contacts. The streets were getting busier, absolutely no English was being spoken, and we were venturing farther and farther away from the areas we knew. I was beginning to wonder if this was such a great idea, and that maybe we should have just used our insurance. Finally we found another clinic. The receptionist spoke good English, and there was a Latina woman and her daughter who were well dressed and alternated between English and Spanish and sounded like they lived in Tucson, too, so then I was sold. They called us to a room. The doctor spoke English to us, exchanged a few pleasantries and then reached right into Krystal's eye and pulled her contacts out of her eyes. She looked at me and I looked at her. I thought to myself, oh no, what is this man going to do next? Technically we are in a foreign country, and truthfully my Spanish isn't very good, and if I called 911 (if they even had 911) I could not even tell them what street we were on. Thankfully it didn't come to that and the rest of the appointment followed the customs we were used to and we were left to think that although Mexicans may seem laid back with their siestas and all, maybe not Mexican eye doctors. The doctor and the staff were actually very nice, and I prepaid for the contacts, which they said they would ship to us once they came in. And sure enough, they did.
I just saw the eye doctor six months ago here in St. Louis, and already feel like my prescription needs tweaking. I wish I could just zip on down to Mexico right now. I would go to the very same clinic, and this time prepare myself for the 'taking out of the contacts'. Maybe Krystal could come down with me from Phoenix. And maybe we could drink a delicious margarita afterwards and go bargain for a nice purse or two.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Everything happens for a reason...
One of our nursing teachers made a comment this weekend that she believes everything happens for a reason. Sometimes I have a hard time with this statement. I think that often times things happen for a reason. And then other times, things happen as a result of an action or a decision, either good or bad. Cells going haywire in the body, a person's decision to drive when they've had too much to drink...
But she went on to say that God puts people in our life for a reason and to take in as much as you can from their being there. And that's something I totally agree with. Sometimes we are faced with some pretty unbelievable circumstances, but it can bring a new wave of people into your life, who have much to teach you. It helps to make all the heartache make a little more sense.
As I look around my fairly messy home on this Monday morning after clinicals, I think about Terri. I only met her a year or so ago, in the stressful environment known as nursing school. She is a 'more mature' nursing student, like me, struggling to take care of her daughter and mother, work full-time while going to school full-time. Not so long after I met her, she made a rosary for Sofie and asked if it would be okay for her to have it. I cried when she handed it to me. It hangs on our bedroom wall and it always will. Even though she has suffered a lot of personal heartache, she is a giving, warm person, and always has a smile to give. Her dad passed away a short while ago, and she was left with running the family's flower shop. The economy took its toll, and after being in business for years and years, she made the difficult decision to close the shop and find a new job. She is reinventing her life and not looking back. A person could learn a lot from her.
I am getting ready to go back to work and wondering how I am going to get Sofie fed and dressed and medications given and plopped into her wheelchair ready to get on (and off the bus), still get my schoolwork done, while learning a new job. Lisa is the person I lean on to help us. I rely on her, but I learn a lot from her. She patiently let me practice taking blood pressures on her, and gave me some pointers on finding a person's pulse, when I couldn't quite get it in the beginning. She has no medical training but knows a lot, because of her own medical problems. She never gives up, has more common sense than anyone I know, and has a gut instinct that cannot be matched. I just called her and she didn't hesitate to say yes and help us out. Thank God for introducing us to Lisa.
Thank God for the both of them, and so many others. And even the not-so-nice ones, because they have something to teach us too.
But she went on to say that God puts people in our life for a reason and to take in as much as you can from their being there. And that's something I totally agree with. Sometimes we are faced with some pretty unbelievable circumstances, but it can bring a new wave of people into your life, who have much to teach you. It helps to make all the heartache make a little more sense.
As I look around my fairly messy home on this Monday morning after clinicals, I think about Terri. I only met her a year or so ago, in the stressful environment known as nursing school. She is a 'more mature' nursing student, like me, struggling to take care of her daughter and mother, work full-time while going to school full-time. Not so long after I met her, she made a rosary for Sofie and asked if it would be okay for her to have it. I cried when she handed it to me. It hangs on our bedroom wall and it always will. Even though she has suffered a lot of personal heartache, she is a giving, warm person, and always has a smile to give. Her dad passed away a short while ago, and she was left with running the family's flower shop. The economy took its toll, and after being in business for years and years, she made the difficult decision to close the shop and find a new job. She is reinventing her life and not looking back. A person could learn a lot from her.
I am getting ready to go back to work and wondering how I am going to get Sofie fed and dressed and medications given and plopped into her wheelchair ready to get on (and off the bus), still get my schoolwork done, while learning a new job. Lisa is the person I lean on to help us. I rely on her, but I learn a lot from her. She patiently let me practice taking blood pressures on her, and gave me some pointers on finding a person's pulse, when I couldn't quite get it in the beginning. She has no medical training but knows a lot, because of her own medical problems. She never gives up, has more common sense than anyone I know, and has a gut instinct that cannot be matched. I just called her and she didn't hesitate to say yes and help us out. Thank God for introducing us to Lisa.
Thank God for the both of them, and so many others. And even the not-so-nice ones, because they have something to teach us too.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Go Mountaineers!
West Virginia didn't play for a national championship Wednesday night, but we set a few bowl records, including scoring more points than any other team in any bowl game. Ever.
I didn't always 'get' Mountaineer football. We went to our first game in 1989 when I was a newly-hired reporter at WVVA-TV in Bluefield, West Virginia. We offered to shoot a night game one weekend, and drove the 3 1/2 hours up to Morgantown. Once we got there, we started to understand. There was that sea of blue and gold that flowed into the stadium. There was a lot of energy, a lot of hootin' and hollerin', and a fair amount of beer being drunk outside the stadium. We took our press passes and headed up to the press box. Lined up facing the field, were a series of miniature boxes with lights and cameras and microphones. You could stroll along those boxes, and in one moment hear the voice of the legendary Jack Fleming, and a few steps later on a big game night, Brent Musberger, when he was with CBS Sports, and various other announcers, all fighting to project their voice over the roar of the crowd. You wanted to stop and stare, but you were a member of the press too, and shouldn't be quite so mesmerized, but we were. Just beyond the boxes, was a long buffet table full of all the food you could eat, and a barrel of that fizzy flavored water in blue glass bottles. It was heaven. Almost heaven.
Being on the sidelines was even more exciting, and I really enjoyed the press room afterward. Win or lose, Don Nehlen would be humble, exhausted, and ready to get the heck out of there. It must be exhausting to coach a college football team.
Years later, when the press passes had long disappeared, we bought our own season tickets in section 213. There were no VIPs in our section, just a lot of good people who would show up Saturday after Saturday, rain or shine. Sure, there are probably a fair share of doctor and lawyer-types in the stands, but most Mountaineer fans are regular people. They are coal miners, teachers, shopkeepers and the like, many of whom risk their lives traveling those windy country roads, and the speed traps on Interstate 79 to make it to Morgantown on game day. They are truly some of the kindest, most giving people you can find anywhere.
There are no professional sports teams in West Virginia, and until recently only a smattering of Starbucks. So, when I see the 'flying WV' logo on TV, I see and think about the people of West Virginia, much maligned and largely misunderstood. West Virginia might not always fare so well in polls, but its people make mighty fine neighbors, and like last night, are capable of just about anything. Go Mountaineers and may those records stand for a long, long time!
I didn't always 'get' Mountaineer football. We went to our first game in 1989 when I was a newly-hired reporter at WVVA-TV in Bluefield, West Virginia. We offered to shoot a night game one weekend, and drove the 3 1/2 hours up to Morgantown. Once we got there, we started to understand. There was that sea of blue and gold that flowed into the stadium. There was a lot of energy, a lot of hootin' and hollerin', and a fair amount of beer being drunk outside the stadium. We took our press passes and headed up to the press box. Lined up facing the field, were a series of miniature boxes with lights and cameras and microphones. You could stroll along those boxes, and in one moment hear the voice of the legendary Jack Fleming, and a few steps later on a big game night, Brent Musberger, when he was with CBS Sports, and various other announcers, all fighting to project their voice over the roar of the crowd. You wanted to stop and stare, but you were a member of the press too, and shouldn't be quite so mesmerized, but we were. Just beyond the boxes, was a long buffet table full of all the food you could eat, and a barrel of that fizzy flavored water in blue glass bottles. It was heaven. Almost heaven.
Being on the sidelines was even more exciting, and I really enjoyed the press room afterward. Win or lose, Don Nehlen would be humble, exhausted, and ready to get the heck out of there. It must be exhausting to coach a college football team.
Years later, when the press passes had long disappeared, we bought our own season tickets in section 213. There were no VIPs in our section, just a lot of good people who would show up Saturday after Saturday, rain or shine. Sure, there are probably a fair share of doctor and lawyer-types in the stands, but most Mountaineer fans are regular people. They are coal miners, teachers, shopkeepers and the like, many of whom risk their lives traveling those windy country roads, and the speed traps on Interstate 79 to make it to Morgantown on game day. They are truly some of the kindest, most giving people you can find anywhere.
There are no professional sports teams in West Virginia, and until recently only a smattering of Starbucks. So, when I see the 'flying WV' logo on TV, I see and think about the people of West Virginia, much maligned and largely misunderstood. West Virginia might not always fare so well in polls, but its people make mighty fine neighbors, and like last night, are capable of just about anything. Go Mountaineers and may those records stand for a long, long time!
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Speaking up...
Sofie went back to school today, like a lot of children. Only she hasn't been to school since November 8th.
The school and I have a notebook we send back and forth everyday in her backpack. Since Sofie can't talk, the notebook talks for us. Today I wrote in the notebook to please limit her walking, as her right foot/ankle is strained.
If you were to look at her right foot/ankle, without her brace, you would see that her foot takes a sharp turn inward at the ankle bone. Children (and adults) with cerebral palsy often have this and she is prone to injuring that foot just because of its awkward position.
She was walking pretty well until the other day, when we went to get Botox. A special doctor injects botox into some of her leg muscles which relax the muscle and interrupt this constant 'messaging' that causes the muscles to contract, and her foot to turn inward. Before we get the injections though, the physical therapist lays Sofie on the table on her belly, takes a goniometer (looks kind of like a protractor) and tries to 'stretch' that ankle to get the foot into what every therapist dreams about...the 'neutral' position. Now I don't know why we do this every time exactly, but we just go along with it. This time, though, the therapist pushed really hard against the sole of her foot, and even grimaced while trying to stretch it out, and Sofie started to cry. Sofie doesn't talk, but she will cry if she's in terrible pain. Shots, IVs, and blood draws don't make her cry. And this did. I told the therapist she never cries and it must be hurting her, but she continued. I finally whisked her long little body from the table and grabbed her and held her. It took a few moments for her to stop crying. Eventually she did, and the therapist measured the other side, which has much less tone.
The doctor came in and completed the injections, and we were soon on our way out the door. Once outside, I put her braces back on so she could walk for a little bit. I put the braces on, stood her up, and she collapsed, like a broken marionette. I tried again, and we had the same response. By now, I am breaking into a cold sweat and panicked, because she wasn't walking like this 30 minutes ago. I decide to go downstairs, and get a Coke and a brownie (something we always do after Botox) and then, if she's still doing this, I will freak out.
The Coke and brownie did nothing to cure the situation, and I freaked out. I took her back up the elevator to the doctor's office, which is full of pediatric patients waiting for the same shots. I told the nurse something was wrong, we had just gotten Botox and now she can't walk. The nurse magically found an open room (probably to get us away from the others) and the doctor came right in. I was panicked, and told the doctor so. She started to panic a little too. I said 'maybe we gave her too much Botox'. She responded she gave her what she always gives her. I then said 'maybe she's having some serious adverse reaction.' She said normally the Botox doesn't kick in for about 5-7 days. She wanted to put her in the hospital to observe her for 24 hours, but I wondered what that would accomplish, since that would be well within that 5-7 day window. And we had just gotten out of the hospital not long before that. I told her no, that I would be taking her home. I know the doctor didn't agree with my decision, and she told me so. But as the exchange continued, I started to piece together that she was probably injured from the stretching, and told the doctor to tell the physical therapist to be more careful. I was really upset.
We went home and I replayed the visit in my mind. I have a policy of sleeping on an issue before making a call or sending a letter I might regret. Bright and early that next morning I called the physical therapist's office and left a message. I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't come to the phone, because I wasn't quite sure what I was going to say. She called back, and I told her I think she hurt Sofie. She paused and apologized and after much back and forth, said we could always refuse to have the ankle measured. And I countered that perhaps she should ask the parent or caregiver how the child expresses pain, because they never have.
I appreciate it that she apologized.
But the whole incident reminded me of a couple of important things. We always do have the right to say no, as patients. We had the right to not have the therapist try to bend her ankle into a position it doesn't want to be in, but she wasn't going to tell us that. The other point is that when someone hurts you, you should let them know. Maybe not the all the little hurts, but definitely the big ones. As assertive as I can be sometimes, I also don't like to hurt people's feelings. It stressed me out to call the therapist, but I am glad I did. No matter how long you've been doing something, you can always do better. And no how matter how many Botox appointments we've been to, I could have done better too.
The school and I have a notebook we send back and forth everyday in her backpack. Since Sofie can't talk, the notebook talks for us. Today I wrote in the notebook to please limit her walking, as her right foot/ankle is strained.
If you were to look at her right foot/ankle, without her brace, you would see that her foot takes a sharp turn inward at the ankle bone. Children (and adults) with cerebral palsy often have this and she is prone to injuring that foot just because of its awkward position.
She was walking pretty well until the other day, when we went to get Botox. A special doctor injects botox into some of her leg muscles which relax the muscle and interrupt this constant 'messaging' that causes the muscles to contract, and her foot to turn inward. Before we get the injections though, the physical therapist lays Sofie on the table on her belly, takes a goniometer (looks kind of like a protractor) and tries to 'stretch' that ankle to get the foot into what every therapist dreams about...the 'neutral' position. Now I don't know why we do this every time exactly, but we just go along with it. This time, though, the therapist pushed really hard against the sole of her foot, and even grimaced while trying to stretch it out, and Sofie started to cry. Sofie doesn't talk, but she will cry if she's in terrible pain. Shots, IVs, and blood draws don't make her cry. And this did. I told the therapist she never cries and it must be hurting her, but she continued. I finally whisked her long little body from the table and grabbed her and held her. It took a few moments for her to stop crying. Eventually she did, and the therapist measured the other side, which has much less tone.
The doctor came in and completed the injections, and we were soon on our way out the door. Once outside, I put her braces back on so she could walk for a little bit. I put the braces on, stood her up, and she collapsed, like a broken marionette. I tried again, and we had the same response. By now, I am breaking into a cold sweat and panicked, because she wasn't walking like this 30 minutes ago. I decide to go downstairs, and get a Coke and a brownie (something we always do after Botox) and then, if she's still doing this, I will freak out.
The Coke and brownie did nothing to cure the situation, and I freaked out. I took her back up the elevator to the doctor's office, which is full of pediatric patients waiting for the same shots. I told the nurse something was wrong, we had just gotten Botox and now she can't walk. The nurse magically found an open room (probably to get us away from the others) and the doctor came right in. I was panicked, and told the doctor so. She started to panic a little too. I said 'maybe we gave her too much Botox'. She responded she gave her what she always gives her. I then said 'maybe she's having some serious adverse reaction.' She said normally the Botox doesn't kick in for about 5-7 days. She wanted to put her in the hospital to observe her for 24 hours, but I wondered what that would accomplish, since that would be well within that 5-7 day window. And we had just gotten out of the hospital not long before that. I told her no, that I would be taking her home. I know the doctor didn't agree with my decision, and she told me so. But as the exchange continued, I started to piece together that she was probably injured from the stretching, and told the doctor to tell the physical therapist to be more careful. I was really upset.
We went home and I replayed the visit in my mind. I have a policy of sleeping on an issue before making a call or sending a letter I might regret. Bright and early that next morning I called the physical therapist's office and left a message. I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't come to the phone, because I wasn't quite sure what I was going to say. She called back, and I told her I think she hurt Sofie. She paused and apologized and after much back and forth, said we could always refuse to have the ankle measured. And I countered that perhaps she should ask the parent or caregiver how the child expresses pain, because they never have.
I appreciate it that she apologized.
But the whole incident reminded me of a couple of important things. We always do have the right to say no, as patients. We had the right to not have the therapist try to bend her ankle into a position it doesn't want to be in, but she wasn't going to tell us that. The other point is that when someone hurts you, you should let them know. Maybe not the all the little hurts, but definitely the big ones. As assertive as I can be sometimes, I also don't like to hurt people's feelings. It stressed me out to call the therapist, but I am glad I did. No matter how long you've been doing something, you can always do better. And no how matter how many Botox appointments we've been to, I could have done better too.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Grand Canyon
We were 'all in', and before long we were packing for the trip. We had two shetland sheepdogs that were getting to be pretty old dogs, and as luck would have it, one of them just up and ran off. They would do this from time to time, but hadn't as of yet at our home in Salt Lake City. We searched and searched and although we should have been really looking forward to the trip, and their arrival, we felt a sense of dread about leaving home for a week. What if we didn't find her?
Our friends arrived and we were still so excited to see them. We caught up for a bit and then shared the news about our missing dog. Now if you were to visit Diane and Rebecca's facebook pages, you would see that they are more cat than dog people. They have even been known to put up a photo of a cat as a profile picture. Yes, they were concerned, but what were we going to do? Cancel the trip and stay home and look for a dog that we may never find?
So, of course, we went on with the trip. We started out showing them a beautiful canyon in Salt Lake, called Big Cottonwood Canyon. It's a beautiful drive, with great mountain views, craggy peaks, and an abandoned mine entrance here and there.
Just after this picture was taken, the 'girls' all piled in one car with the men in the rental car behind us. We thought it would be so funny to pull over on the side of the road on the way back down the canyon and pretend to be broken down, that it would absolutely freak the men out. So we pulled over, figured out how to raise the hood, and all five of us peered into the engine and waited. We were all laughing so hard we were shaking. The men would be so worried. The men's car approached, quickly surveyed the situation without slowing down, and whizzed right on by us. When we caught up with the men and asked them what kind of husbands and fathers they were, not to stop and help us, they told us they knew it was a set-up, that there was no way all five of us girls would have our heads perched over any car engine like that. So smart they were.
The next day, it was southward down Interstate 15 to Zion National Park, near the Utah/Arizona border. Some say they like Zion better than the Grand Canyon. I'm not one of them, but it is unbelievably beautiful and worth a visit or two.
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| Rebecca, Kelli, Diane and Bill in front of a rock formation |
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| Krystal and Loretta in front of same rock formation |
We enjoyed as much of Zion as we could, but it was time to get back on the road and head to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. For most of us, it would be our first trip there. We had booked a couple of cabins and were so excited for the adventures ahead. We headed mostly south and a little east, through still more beautiful scenery, and then started to climb the Kaibab Plateau. Once you're on the plateau, you start to feel like you're nearing Grand Canyon territory. There are fragrant pinion pines, and interesting high mountain desert scrub. You descend a little bit, the trees start to get taller...ponderosa pines, spruce, and aspen trees. We saw miles of burned out trees from a forest fire years ago. Still standing and as charred as ever. It's amazing the toll that fire takes out there.
We kept on driving and finally we neared the historic lodge at the North Rim, nestled in pines and surrounded by cabins, two of which would be ours for a couple of nights. The lodge is beautiful, and the view of the canyon from it would take one's breath away. We hung around the lodge, had dinner there, and an electrical storm moved in with lightning that lit up the entire lodge and deck and some of the canyon. We moved into our cabins, and Krystal remembers Randy and Bill drinking beer on one of the porches and screaming that they were almost struck by lightning! We figured that it was just crazy beer talk, but sure enough, lightning did strike a tent nearby. It was a big topic of conversation around the cabins and campground that next morning.
I think the girls had perhaps looked at pictures of the Grand Canyon before the trip and expected lots of cactus, and maybe a bit warmer temperatures. That's the South Rim, only 10 miles straight across the canyon but a 200 mile drive to get there. We loved them, but there was no way we were going to drive to the South Rim. Sometimes I think the Grand Canyon's more enjoyable for the adult, as we envision what it must have been like to first stumble upon it, how to get around it, and live within it. The canyon changes color all day long and shadows and light trade places. As much fun as Monet seemed to have painting haystacks, he would have had a heck of a time painting the ever changing Grand Canyon.
We spent a couple of days there, and then the night before we were to leave, we decided that we all needed to get up before sunrise, to see the sun come up over the canyon and then go. Randy was in charge of the wake-up call, and, well, as you can see from the picture below, it's already light out.
We all marched anyway, single file, to the nearest overlook.
This picture says to me, this is great and all, but can we just get on the road and head to Las Vegas?
We did leave for Las Vegas just after that picture was taken, and for some reason we stopped taking pictures. We can be a little bipolaroid when it comes to picture taking sometimes. But I remember the drive well. We drove and drove, and would meet fewer and fewer cars and the girls got to see a lot of that desert landscape they didn't think they were going to see. The sun moved deeper into the western sky, and we'd play cat-and-mouse on the road, and catch up to each other side-by-side and roll down our windows and sing whatever song might be on the radio or make goony faces at each other. Just like all of us were 12, and not just the passengers in the back seat. We came upon an old gas station and store in the middle of nowhere, it seemed, and we relished the opportunity to go inside and take a break from the road. It was a place more for the locals, than the tourists, and tolerated us in our cowboy hats and tennis shoes long enough to take our money for gas and snacks. There were some dusty souvenirs inside, and old slot machine and I'm pretty certain Randy and Bill put a couple of dollars in, just because they could. Back on the road, the sky turned its usual pinks, oranges and reds, and then the stars popped out. It was very, very dark out there.
We drove some more, and then started to descend a little and way off in the distance was the glow of Las Vegas. When you've been driving for hours and surrounded by so little, it's somewhat comforting to see the sparkle of Las Vegas out there, waiting for you. When she saw the glow of the lights, I will never forget hearing Rebecca whisper from our backseat, "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
The traffic increased and soon we weren't alone anymore, but surrounded by the sensory overload that is Vegas. The girls were in a trance, and were excited to be there. We had booked adjoining rooms at the MGM Grand, and they would be a far cry from the cabins at the Grand Canyon. We had a great time there, Randy and Bill would plot to sneak off and gamble in the middle of the night. If Rebecca hadn't heard them come in at 4:00 in the morning, it's doubtful we would have even known they were gone, except for the dwindling 20 dollar bills in their wallets. There was the legendary story that while playing blackjack, one of them told the dealer to 'hit' on 21. Which is really quite funny, considering the two of them had bought books prior to the trip, so they could read up on how to win at blackjack.
Before we knew it, it was time to go our separate ways.
Bill, Diane, Rebecca, and Kelli went on to L.A., and even though it was Diane's lifelong dream to see the 'Hollywood' sign up close, Bill would have nothing of it (I think that's a direct quote).
We went on home, and a few days after we got back, Randy scoured the area, and found our dog over 30 miles from home. A woman who rescued Shelties from animal shelters had found our dog, and knew she was someone's pet and we got her back.
This trip will always remain my favorite vacation, with the best of friends, and to top it off, in our beautiful backyard.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Resolutions and predictions
My husband asked me yesterday what my favorite New Year's eve memory was. I had to think for a bit, because when you are married to a musician, chances are you will spend many New Year's eves at home alone. Don't feel sorry for me, though, because I like to go to bed early.
We decided there was a tie. There was the party hosted by Bill and Diane Huffman, in Princeton, West Virginia. It had to be in the early 1990s. It was the last time I ever drank whiskey or ate anything with rosemary in it. I had baked two loaves of rosemary bread, which I took to the party, and which I ended up being very sick on. And the other memorable New Year's eve, was the 'Jamaican' New Year's eve party at my sister and brother-in-law's house. We ate jerk chicken, sat in the hot tub, and my brother-in-law set off a quarter-stick of dynamite precisely at midnight. It was pretty unforgettable.
Another New Year's eve activity that I can remember is a tradition we used to have in which we'd sit around the table on New Year's eve (or day), grab a sheet of paper and write down three predictions for each member of the family, and for ourselves. It was highly confidential. We didn't dare discuss our predictions and they were sealed in a manilla envelope and stored in the filing cabinet until the next New Year. We'd get them out, and read them out loud, and see if our predictions rang true. One year, I predicted Randy and Krystal would climb Grandeur Peak in Salt Lake City, and they did. I think I predicted Krystal would read a book when she was 11 or 12. And I think she did.
When Sofie was a couple of years old, I remember writing a prediction for her. That she would walk that year. The next year when we opened it I was heartsick to see what I had written. She still wasn't walking. She didn't walk that year, or even the next, or the next. She is only now walking better than she ever has.
We abandoned the prediction tradition and I am careful to predict or resolve anything anymore. In 2012, I am 'supposed' to graduate from nursing school. That is, if nothing weird happens. For example, I could accidentally cut off some of my fingers chopping onions or develop a severe allergic reaction to alcohol prep pads. Lord knows, you couldn't be a nurse and be allergic to alcohol prep pads. And trust me, I've considered these possibilities because I know that...anything can happen. I mean, what are the odds that we would finally have a baby, and the doctor would nearly cost her her life trying to deliver her? What are the odds that the 12-hour surgery they performed to replace the portion of her skull they took out to relieve the bleeding in her brain would just...disintegrate a few months later? Or that at one year of age, she would develop an abscess in her brain, and actually survive it? What are the odds you would take one of the doctors who is so obviously at fault to court, and lose? Or that you'd be in Park City celebrating the sale of your home and a bite of hummus caused an allergic reaction and she nearly stopped breathing. Or the time we were visiting family in Illinois and she mysteriously went into respiratory distress and had to be airlifted to a children's hospital in St. Louis?
So I am cautious to predict anything. Nowadays, when a doctor or other health care professional tries to reassure me about the odds of anything adverse happening, I laugh inside. But I also believe those odds can work in our favor, and they have. She lived. A second team of doctors later fixed her skull. She smiles a lot and sometimes she even laughs. She helps me stir pancake batter and grind pepper. And she knows we love her.
I think about those crazy weird odds and try to approach every day as if a miracle can happen, because it often does.
Sofie and Grandma Budd after her second surgery.
We decided there was a tie. There was the party hosted by Bill and Diane Huffman, in Princeton, West Virginia. It had to be in the early 1990s. It was the last time I ever drank whiskey or ate anything with rosemary in it. I had baked two loaves of rosemary bread, which I took to the party, and which I ended up being very sick on. And the other memorable New Year's eve, was the 'Jamaican' New Year's eve party at my sister and brother-in-law's house. We ate jerk chicken, sat in the hot tub, and my brother-in-law set off a quarter-stick of dynamite precisely at midnight. It was pretty unforgettable.
Another New Year's eve activity that I can remember is a tradition we used to have in which we'd sit around the table on New Year's eve (or day), grab a sheet of paper and write down three predictions for each member of the family, and for ourselves. It was highly confidential. We didn't dare discuss our predictions and they were sealed in a manilla envelope and stored in the filing cabinet until the next New Year. We'd get them out, and read them out loud, and see if our predictions rang true. One year, I predicted Randy and Krystal would climb Grandeur Peak in Salt Lake City, and they did. I think I predicted Krystal would read a book when she was 11 or 12. And I think she did.
When Sofie was a couple of years old, I remember writing a prediction for her. That she would walk that year. The next year when we opened it I was heartsick to see what I had written. She still wasn't walking. She didn't walk that year, or even the next, or the next. She is only now walking better than she ever has.
We abandoned the prediction tradition and I am careful to predict or resolve anything anymore. In 2012, I am 'supposed' to graduate from nursing school. That is, if nothing weird happens. For example, I could accidentally cut off some of my fingers chopping onions or develop a severe allergic reaction to alcohol prep pads. Lord knows, you couldn't be a nurse and be allergic to alcohol prep pads. And trust me, I've considered these possibilities because I know that...anything can happen. I mean, what are the odds that we would finally have a baby, and the doctor would nearly cost her her life trying to deliver her? What are the odds that the 12-hour surgery they performed to replace the portion of her skull they took out to relieve the bleeding in her brain would just...disintegrate a few months later? Or that at one year of age, she would develop an abscess in her brain, and actually survive it? What are the odds you would take one of the doctors who is so obviously at fault to court, and lose? Or that you'd be in Park City celebrating the sale of your home and a bite of hummus caused an allergic reaction and she nearly stopped breathing. Or the time we were visiting family in Illinois and she mysteriously went into respiratory distress and had to be airlifted to a children's hospital in St. Louis?
So I am cautious to predict anything. Nowadays, when a doctor or other health care professional tries to reassure me about the odds of anything adverse happening, I laugh inside. But I also believe those odds can work in our favor, and they have. She lived. A second team of doctors later fixed her skull. She smiles a lot and sometimes she even laughs. She helps me stir pancake batter and grind pepper. And she knows we love her.
I think about those crazy weird odds and try to approach every day as if a miracle can happen, because it often does.
Sofie and Grandma Budd after her second surgery.
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