How "Santa" Saved me from my "Line of Weird"

Now, I don’t know if all of you know, but I am a nurse. I loved it and was proud to be a nurse. Eventually I had some grumbling, not ‘optimistic/nice person’ issues when I worked as a nurse in New Zealand but that is a story for another time. What I would like to discuss here is one of the hazards of being a nurse.

See, to become a nurse you have to learn stuff about the human body. All about how it is supposed to work and all about the horrors of when your body goes rogue and unfortunately, even when you take a break from being a nurse, that stays with you. You end up raising a slightly hypochondriacally-leaning daughter who always smells faintly of Purell. Also, you tend to over-react when a family member is sick demanding they go to the hospital immediately, without caring that you have just made them freak out that they are going to die. Furthermore, when something goes wrong in your own body, you are pretty sure it is cancer. Not that you are morbid or anything; you just spent four years in school hearing horror stories of people who were stupid and could have been saved but ignored symptoms and left it too late and now they are dead.

Fast forward a few years and I find a lump in my breast. Now to be honest, “lump” is not really the right word, more like a “line of weird”. Plus, I also have a weird stabbing pain there, so that is another box ticked. (Picture me sticking my tongue out at you and saying, “so there!” Because I am sure before I explained this you were rolling your eyes at my paranoia.)

After umming and ahhing with Al we both think I am fine. But we are leaving to a country where, if you are dying, it will cost lots of money and because I refuse to die of stupidity I decide to go to the doctor. My usual doctor doesn’t have any appointments till next week (after we leave for the expensive dying country) so I must see the drop-in doctor. After waiting 45 minutes (well, it didn’t feel that long because I kept ducking into the bathroom to make sure the “line of weird” is still there. It is, but it seems to be shrinking. This is not surprising because you find often when you are a hypochondriac just going into the doctor’s office cures you.) I consider escaping but I have already paid to see the doctor. I am standing in the corner because I have had to take over daily operations of my immune system and it is probably more dangerous for me to stand in the cesspool that is the local doctor’s office than for me to just deal with my “line of weird”. I try to act nonchalant because it looks a bit strange to see a woman standing in a room full of empty chairs, reading her Kindle. The other patients are trying to be polite but keep looking me up and down wondering if there is something wrong with me or if they should be keeping an escape route handy or if I know something they don’t know, like if you stand you get called in sooner.

A more fit, redheaded version of Santa (really this is an exaggeration as the only similarities are that he has a beard and is jolly) comes around the corner and finally calls my name. I follow along behind, head hung low in embarrassment because I know cancer doesn’t grow overnight as my line of weirdness has and I know that he will tell me that as soon as I sit in his office. But, because I am a nurse, I have also been drilled with horror stories of all those strange cases, those “exceptions to the rule” and I am now convinced that I have a new form of cancer that grows overnight. As we enter his office I find that he is not a doctor but a PA who is over from the States. I also find that I am pretty sure he is gay. This puts me instantly at ease. Now don’t judge me; it was a momentary lapse. I know I should not discriminate against heterosexual doctors who can be just as professional as the homosexual PA (or can they?) And people should not be labeled; they should just be people. But I like him better than most of the heterosexual doctors and not just because he might be gay but because he is REALLY nice and calm. And again, he may not be gay but he puts me at ease and, gay or not, I am happy now for him to touch my breasts.  He asks me what is going on and I explain. He does the exam and crinkles up his endearing face and says “but you have it on this side too…”, feeling both sides together. I say “No I don’t!” (And to be fair to me it was a smaller “line of weird” on the left than the right.) Then he says “I think that is a rib.”

At this I respond professionally, choosing my words carefully to ensure understanding: “Shut up! Do not tell me I went to the doctor because I have ribs!”  He was sooo nice and proceeded to explain that as I have recently started running again (because I have finally managed to make my immune system bow to the almighty drug) he thinks I have inflammation in the cartilage between my ribs, causing the slight swelling and pain. Now he even drew me a picture (because clearly I was not a healthcare professional who had spent years studying the human body, because what kind of healthcare professional needs to be told that she has a functioning body part?) and sent me on my way.

So, just in case anyone is wondering, I have had confirmation from another healthcare professional that I do in fact have ribs.

Rule number 7 – PART 2: How to assist those around you to continue being an optimist/nice person even if you are not: At the Movies.

I realize I have mentioned this before but after a recent experience at the movies I feel it needs to be explored in much greater depth. I found myself in a movie theater with carefully chosen friends who don't talk but sitting next to a row of 7 teenage boys. They apparently thought they were at a public film forum. Otherwise, I am not sure how it is possible to have THAT much to say during a film. In order to remain an optimist/nice person, I tried to imagine all of the reasons someone would be compelled to speak through an entire movie. I thought maybe the constant stream of words was because someone did not speak English and had brought their own personal interpreter. But then I picked up enough words to realized they were all English speaking (clearly I did not try very hard as this was my only idea but to be fair, I was trying to actually watch a film at the time). Next, I tried a few sighs and mean glaring (which is surprisingly ineffective in a dark movie theater); nothing worked and the words continued to flow unimpeded from the teenage mouths.
Then, just to make sure I reached another level of insanity, they decided to text their other friends (the ones not at the movies) to tell them what a great time they were having. I can't imagine they were having a good time because I am pretty sure to this day they will have no idea what actually happened during this particular film.
After spending WAY too much time pondering the reason behind talking in theaters and just how close I had come to standing up, running to the front and screaming "SHUT UP!"  Thus putting my days of being an optimist/nice person behind me, I decided intervention was necessary. Therefore, I have developed a fool proof series of questions to help anyone who may still be confused about the subject. I am also available for seminars given for the very discounted rate of the cost of a movie ticket.  Or,  you could just casually post this, perhaps on Facebook, (This is particularly effective if you have a friend who you love but just can’t help themselves.) and be like "HA! isn't this funny? LOL!" (even if you don't think it is funny, saying it is funny might get them to read it). Then hopefully you will have a reformed talker that you are  free to take to the cinema anytime you want.

So, in summation, there are very few reasons to speak in a movie. (None that I can think of but there could be something. Like maybe, "Close your eyes! If you watch this scene you will never sleep again and forever be an angry bitter cynic who believes everyone will eventually just kill each other." But this would be a one time emergency situation because I am unlikely to have gone to see a film requiring this sort of intervention.) The trip to the movies is supposed to be an all encompassing absorbing experience. To be explored in much depth AFTER the credits roll, when you are free to explore its profound meaning, criticize its idiot director, writer or actor, or just say "That was amazing!" over and over. Feel free to quote line after line or explain the six degrees of separation between you and Steven Spielberg. The floor is yours! However, if you want to talk to me in a movie theater, while the movie is rolling, your opinion is immediately invalid because you can't possibly have acquired all of the information needed to have formed an opinion worth me missing any part of the movie. Plus, I would like to continue being a nice person and sitting there mulling over your words tends to make me think not nice thoughts while I miss even more of the film I paid to see. For instance how ridiculous your opinion is and how you may or may not have brain cells.

I will say that the rented movie has slightly more lax rules. This is because I either did not feel the movie would be worth a full price ticket, or I have already seen it in the theater. Also, the rented movie provides ample opportunity for witty banter which I am fully in favor of especially for the absolutely ridiculous film that should be mocked mercilessly. But remember, NOT in the theater! It is dark for a reason people!!

Rule number 7  -  How to assist those around you to continue being an optimist/nice person even if you are not. PART ONE.

Now I may be breaking one of my rules here slightly but if you recall in the little sidebar thingy to the right -> I reserved the right to be bossy. SO here it goes …

When making any decision, please take just a few minutes of your overall decision making time to determine just how big your contribution will be to someone's overall level of annoyance or possible insanity.

Questions you could ask yourself:

 

 

Because here is how it affects me when I am writing. It often ends up looking like this:

I am not sure how I got here. I have just experienced the terrible feeling  that I have not been awake for the last Gotta git dat   twenty minutes of the drive. git dat   I chastise myself, turn the music up a little louder and roll the window down. 

Gotta git dat boom boom pow

The bitter cold annoys me sufficiently to wake me up. As  I am following a long bend, I suddenly have to hit the brakes, hard. A small blue hatchback has boom boom pow  stopped just ahead, not quite off the road, lights on and its door is open.  I pull up behind it,

You’re the reason all those cute girls havin babies

trying inconspicuously to press down the lock on my door. cute girls havin babies Now what? Clearly this is not a good situation for a woman by herself but what if someone needs help? Cause baby you o o o o o o o make me feel alright. Cause baby you o o o o o o make me feeeeel alright. I reach for my cell phone; no signal, of course.  I roll down the window, just slightly, to see if  you o o o o o o make me feeeeel alright I can hear anyone. Nothing, just an owl in the distance. Great! Why does there have to be an owl?  I decide it is time to act. As I exit the safety of my vehicle.

Bubble yum bum bad um bam bad um. Bubble yum bum ba dum bum be dum.

“Hello?” I say, too softly for Bubble yum bum anyone to hear. “Hello!?” I try, a little louder. I peer into the darkness but the lights  Bubble yum from both cars have made it impossible to see.  I start edging down the embankment when I hear another car pull up. I peer back over the road’s edge and see a man,  Bubble yum bum ba dum bum be dum about my age, getting out of his truck as cautiously as I did. His face mirrors my fear and I cover my mouth to avoid giggling. yum bum  Someone this scared can’t be a threat. I raise myself up and give him a wave – he jumps so far he  Ummm ummm Bubble yum bum ba dum bum be dum. Oh  never mind.

If you have decided that you don't care how your music choice is affecting everyone around you, when I pull back the curtain angrily, could you at least give me the satisfaction of a well placed glare? I mean, I stand there for like ten minutes glaring at you. So, could you at least look up and pretend to be afraid of me?
Thanks

 

Lessons learned this Thanksgiving

Now before you keep reading, for the sake of my ego, I must state for the record I can cook and in the past have prepared a successful Thanksgiving dinner. However, this year provided ample opportunity to learn some things:

1.       When you learn online how to grill a turkey and it turns out perfectly the first time, this is a fluke.  

On reflection, the problem was twofold. One, an over inflated ego at last year’s triumphant grilled turkey and thus ignoring the warnings sprinkled throughout the recipe. For instance, “take care on a windy day as this will change grilling times” and “Make sure you have enough gas in the bottle. You don’t want to run out half way through.”  And two, having a helpful husband. At first glance this may not seem like a problem but when it is time for him to go check on the turkey and I keep yelling “Wait! Help I am stuck!” it definitely becomes a problem. After one of these delayed checking episodes, he comes racing back inside screaming “It happened!!” He sprints through the house gathering shoes and keys “What happened!?” I yell as he runs out the front door “The grill is cold! We ran out of gas!” he says from the driveway and then speeds off down the street to get more gas. We console ourselves that it couldn’t have been too long but we add some extra time on the end and adjust our side-dish cooking times accordingly. My guests arrive just late enough that I look organized and have managed to not answer the door naked. At around 5 I send Alan out for the update on the turkey. He is gone so long I forget where he is and ask a guest who says he is outside messing with the grill. I go about my cooking, Al returns, stands next to me and says quietly “Well, the fish is done!” I gape at him. Apparently, our turkey, after three hours of cooking, is the appropriate temperature for grilled fish. He takes me outside and points accusingly at the grill and asks “Did you know there was a huge gaping hole at the back of the Grill?” I shake my head as the wind swirls around us. We realize, the grill temperature has not been 375 to 400 as the grill thermometer was reading but more like 200.

2.      Stop trying to make homemade bread to serve. Ever.

I learned this lesson after a disastrous attempt by my sister Michelle and I to replicate my Aunt Patsy’s addictive cinnamon and potato rolls in my closet kitchen  (Seriously there is a drug in them or something; you can’t stop eating them even though you are consuming copious amounts of the other amazing food she has also made.) They were the size of footballs and softballs respectively. She and I swore never again to attempt them. However since this was over 12 years ago, and my kitchen and cooking skills have both improved, I decide to try again.  Not Aunt Patsy’s rolls (I am not that stupid) but biscuits, because my Kiwi guests have not had them. The first batch was amazing; I was so proud. I ate a whole one (so yummy) and I decided everyone would want at least two.  So I made another batch. When we finally sit down to our dinner at eight thirty, I of course, served the biscuits. I took mine last and took a bite, instantly spitting out it. It tasted like armpit. I was too late to save my guests; some had already gagged theirs down (or hopefully thrown it outside when I wasn’t looking.) Later, as I was just drifting off to sleep I was pondering what went so wrong with the damn biscuits when my eyes popped open. For the second batch I had found the exact right amount of butter in my fridge without having to cut into another block. I was pretty happy about this but I failed to notice that it had been in my fridge so long it had come back to life as a cow. At least the mystery was solved. My biscuits tasted like you had licked the inside of my fridge because the butter which had grown legs and a mouth actually had licked the inside of the fridge.

3.      Sometimes ovens get tired too.

When you are dead on your feet after cooking all day the day before Thanksgiving you might think “I will just make the brownies. So I have less to do tomorrow.” You really should go to bed because your oven apparently needs a rest too. You will put the brownies in for the allotted time, at the allotted temperature, and check they are done with a tooth pick. Then when you go to serve them the next day at nearly midnight because the turkey took 7 hours to cook instead of three ,your guests will say “NO! I love eating brownie batter! Yum!” This is because they are hungry and have already thrown your biscuits out onto the lawn.

4.      If you stick your hand in the oven you will get a burned finger. If you do it again you will burn your other finger. If you do it again you will burn your arm.

5.      Just because putting veggies in your gravy is yummy doesn’t mean you should put more veggies in your gravy. (Because you forgot to buy carrots so your helpful husband runs to the store and buys 6 pounds because you were freaking out) your gravy will be carrot soup instead.

6.       When you invoke the tradition of sharing what you are thankful for, be prepared for your child to embarrass you.

One of my guests was sharing how he was grateful to live in a country that gives him a student allowance to live on. Very valid gratefulness statement. Then my daughter chimes in “Well that’s not going to last forever, so don’t get used to it!” Now, I am trying to give her a stern 'you are being rude' face. However, I can’t stop laughing at the witty political humor with great comedic timing. So I have learned my lesson but she certainly hasn’t. Because explaining to your child she is being rude, while laughing, doesn’t really work.

7.      When you decide to keep the family tradition of playing a card game after Thanksgiving Dinner perhaps you should rethink teaching your friends (the ones who think you are nice) Pounce.

This may not occur to you right away but when you are standing screaming at your guest to “take your two of hearts off the damn pile!” it will occur to you. This game is best played in the safety of your family who have to love you even when you scream during Pounce. Next time, when the option is between watching a movie or playing Pounce, take the movie option.

So this Thanksgiving I am thankful for friends who drive 40 minutes to my house and then wait four hours to eat dinner. After you have finally fed them they will learn a new game and then let you scream at them. I am thankful for new medication that allows me to make a Thanksgiving dinner and recover in less than 48 hours. I am thankful for a husband who rescues me when I am stuck even though the turkey will suffer. I am thankful for an incredibly smart and funny daughter who is already way cooler than I am. I am thankful for my Mom and Dad who are still fun to be with and teaching me things to this day. I am thankful for my beautiful sisters who never stop encouraging me and let me say ANYTHING (and you two know the rest). I am thankful for friends who could not come to Thanksgiving but who in just one afternoon can fill my love tank to overflowing (you know who you are). Extended families that are so much fun I can’t wait to spend Christmas with them! And much more but this is a blog people and let’s be honest, most of you stopped reading after number one. Love you guys!