As those of you who are my devoted followers facebook friends may have read, I had a little mishap with a ladder yesterday. This is particularly sad because
a) it is only quite recently that I have conquered a phobia of ladders, and
b) we had plans for a babysitter and an attempt at one month late anniversary dinner.
(Aside: I believe we may be destined to NEVER go out alone together again. The three times we have tried this either I have been sick or Pili has had a stomach flu.)
Our kitchen has this neat little bay window
Last Winter the kitchen was freezing all winter long with big drafts coming in through the sides of this window. When we got a chance to see the previous owners, we asked them what they had done about that.
They looked at it and said, oh well, you never closed the window all the way. Then they allowed as how that was a little tricky and called for someone to go up on a ladder and push from the outside while the other person locked from the inside. Do you see where this is going?
P’ito is napping. Pili is sitting in the window nook, and I am attempting to shove the #(@*! window into place.
I am still not exactly sure what happened. I felt the ladder slipping, and the next thing I knew, I was on the asphalt driveway, with the wind thoroughly knocked out of me and my back hurting. Poor Pili, who saw me disappear from the window, came running out,. Eventually I was able to report that I could wiggle my toes and I didn’t think she should call 911. At this point, P’ito woke up from his nap and began howling.
Rather delicately, I got up and walked into the house to pour myself a stiff drink take a couple of advil. After a few minutes, the oh thank g-d I’m alive started to wear off and the holy crap this hurts started to take over. It hurt when I breathed – not in a stabbing way, but still, ouch ouch ouch.
I think I ought to go and get checked out, I say. And off we head to the ER, almost two year old in tow.
After two hours of waiting (SPH, for those who know our fair city) I was finally rolled into the back. And then the stupid diabetes fun began. I tested and not surprisingly, was a bit on the high side (312, but who’s counting?) The nurse suggested that I not bolus, since they wouldn’t let me eat until the x-rays were done. Are you sure, say I? Well how brittle is your diabetus? asks she. I. Hate. That. Term.
Then of course, the doctor wants blood work. Can I just get a damn x-ray please?
The x-rays reveal absolutely nothing, so I wait for the doctor to come and give me a prescription for happy pills. But my the bloodwork and had revealed… are you ready for this? That my blood sugar was high. So they want a urine sample. I know that they need to cover their asses, but at this point I had bolused, and my sugar was a nice tame 144.
Grouchily I shuffle off to pee in a cup.
And then I wait. For about another hour and a half. At some point the nurse comes by and I ask her to please call Pili, who has taken the hyper boy home before he breaks a Very Important Medical Instrument or eats a non-latex glove, and let her know that I am not Christopher Reeve. She gets our neighbor to come over and mind the sleeping boy and once she is there, things are Much Better.
I start to wonder. Why is this taking so long? I know I don’t have ketones. But if my urine sample was okay, wouldn’t they have let me go already? Oh, someone is having a heart attack. I feel like an ungrateful wretch. Finally, the doctor comes back, watches me shuffle around in my very elegant gown, and writes me a script.
Today I ache in places I didn’t know could ache. Still – so grateful – for being in one piece, for my wonderful Pili, for modern medicine…
I’m still not sure how we’re going to get the damn windows closed. Maybe just enlist a third person to hold the ladder…
And just for the heck of it, a couple of cute kid moments:
P’ito has been obsessed of late with the book Grandfather Twilight. We read it pretty much every. single. night. At dusk, he wants to go around to every window in the house and observe Papa Twilight bringing the evening on. So the other night, he’s looking out the patio door around 6ish. He points to the cat, who is snoozing peacefully, and says “Kitty Cat! Papa Twilight!” (which sounds more like “tie light”). When the cat does not respond, he repeats – Kitty Cat! Papa Twilight! Getting more and more urgent in tone – come on you lazy cat, don’t you want to see the wonderful Papa Twilight? What’s wrong with you? The cat continues to ignore him, so he throws a truck at him. Well, it was really cute up to that point.
We have been teaching P’ito to say Obama. So as I am listening to NPR on the way to work in the morning, I hear this little voice suddenly pipe up from the backseat – “Obama!” “Go’bama!” That’s my boy.
Your running mate’s son has DOWN SYNDROME, not AUTISM.
and p.s. – Obama did not vote against Breyer. Breyer was apppointed to the Supreme Court in 1994 – long before Obama was in the Senate. Even Joe the Plumber knows that, Senator McCan’tRemember.
A year ago, you weren’t walking. Today, you want to RUN everywhere.
But still: intensely inquisitive, soaking it all in every moment of the day. Pumpkin, orange, HEAVY. Mine. Quick to hug and smile, grasping the power of “no” and rationing out your kisses more carefully.
Making me smile whenever I think of you in the midst of a dreary work day.