I need help, I lost my mom...

Child was very precocious. She was active, social, smart, and busy. All the time. We went places often. I had to teach her early who she should approach if she got lost. We even had a color code. I wonder if she still remembers it? I taught her to recite her name, address, and phone number by age 3. When I had pneumonia before she was even 3, I taught her how to dial 0 and say, "My mommy can't breathe." Luckily, she never had to make the call, but I am confident she would have calmly done so. After I coughed really badly, she was to ask me if I could breathe. If I could not answer, she was to make the call.

Anyway, if she got lost she was to approach a police officer first. She was to tell him/her she was lost and request assistance in locating me. This was pre-cell phone days. But, what to do if no officers were present? I didn't want her to hide and wait for one.

So we made up a heirarchy of who is to be approached if no officers were around. We discussed it. If we were shopping, she was to go to a salesperson in the store. After that, a person who looked like a mommy. Third choice, I picked teenagers. They are usually pretty helpful. Really. For a lost child? I figured that was a good choice. Next was an older couple.

My child would not have panicked for one minute if she had been separated from me. She knew what to do and would have done it. This is the child who stood up in her seat at age 3 or 4 and yelled at everyone in the movie, ET, when it appeared he was dying. We were in the last row, so everyone heard her clearly, "What is wrong with you people? Why are you crying? Can't you see he is just PLASTIC?"

I knew what to do too. More than once, in the grocery store, she responded immediately to the intercom system saying, "Child! Please come to the front of the store. Your mother is ready to leave." She would come scurrying up. She wasn't lost. She was busy. She was also probably a teenager by then.

Deputy update

Child called me this evening. I asked her to tell me exactly what the deputy said to her when she asked him for help. He said, "No. I don't have any." He then rolled up his window and took off.

I had told her at the time that the sheriff department's new building was just a mile down the road. I checked the time, and said it was probably shift change and he wanted to get back. We agreed that wasn't right anyway.

Child has a friend who is also a deputy at the same sheriff department. She explained the incident to him, and he said no, they don't carry cables but they do carry something else to charge batteries. The friend told her the deputy should have stopped to help. He asked her what time it happened, and he said it was probably the deputy's shift end.

Like I said to child, the deputy did not know if perhaps child was stranded from out of state (he didn't see the vehicle she was in), had been beat up last night, and had 3 babies in the car. It could have been the case, but luckily was not. I hope next time whoever he ignores is not in that situation either.

I hope he went home and considered how he would feel if it had been his wife or daughter seeking help.

I can't say that child will turn again to an officer if she has a problem. That is why I felt like I had watched a bad accident happen.

 

 

oops

For any of you ladies who read my private journal in the past, I am again writing. The last couple of days I have made several entries. If you are interested in reading and I haven't sent you an invite, please ask. It's ladies only, though.

I almost posted one of the entries here, and it was definitely NOT one I would want here!

If I make that mistake again, and don't catch it, I sure hope someone emails me right away and says HEY!

I would have been so embarrassed, not to mention TOSsed.

 

Please help, officer

This afternoon my daughter called me, very distraught. She had borrowed the truck of a good friend and the battery died as she was trying to get gas. She was stuck in a gas station, and did I have jumper cables? No, I don't, but I will come, I said.

I drove to the gas station. Child was asking people who drove in for gas if they had cables, and no one fessed up. Suddenly, her face lit up, and she ran to the street. There was an Oakland County, MI sheriff department car sitting in the left turn lane.

Child is just a thin slip of a very pretty young lady. She was dressed in clean jeans and a t-shirt, with no makeup on and her long hair in a pony tail, as is appropriate for someone moving items from one home to another. She went to the officer and said, "Sir, I am stranded here. Do you by chance have jumper cables?"

What man, let alone a well-provisoned officer of the law could turn that down?

That particular officer did. He said, "No," and took off.

I felt like a witness to a very bad accident.

 

 

 

No, it won't hurt

When I had the tarsal tunnel syndrome in my foot that was being treated as faciitis, I had several very painful cortisone shots in my foot. They were really bad. I almost broke a piece off the doctor's table trying to squeeze with my hands so as not to budge my foot even a fraction. I can't understate how it feels to have something thick as Jello injected into the bottom of your foot, and then have the needle dragged along the bone.

So, on that thought, I went back to the shoulder doctor today, MRI films under my left arm because it hurt to carry them with the right one. We looked at them together. The last time I did that it was to have the clinic doctor prove to me that yes, I did have a bone in my hand broken all the way through.

We looked at the films. I do not have arthritis in my shoulder, but I already knew that. I do have a partial tear of my rotator cuff, which was a relief. Partial isn't so bad. I have a bone spur, and really icky bursitis.

He said a cortisone shot should help. I said I heard my mommy calling me and I had to go. Actually, I expressed concerns regarding the pain based on previous experience. He assured me, as did the nurse, that it would not be as bad. I honestly didn't believe them for a second, but agreed to it.

The doctor came back into the room and said he had a first year medical student in the hallway who had never done a cortisone shot and would I mind? The doctor will probably recover full use of his eye.

He was joking. I knew he was. If he really had an inexperienced student, he would not have admitted it. He would have just offered my shoulder to any old fool off the street and still projected great confidence.

He told me he was ready to do it, and I braced myself. I felt the anesthetic injection, but not as badly as on my foot. He then said he was doing the cortisone. It went in the back of my shoulder, so I couldn't see what he was doing, but I felt it. He expressed surprise that I did not swear, squirm, tense up, or question his ancestry.

I waited for it to get really nasty. He said he was done.

Huh. It wasn't that bad, not at all. Much closer to a B12 or antibiotic shot than what I have had done to my foot. The nurse told me it was because I have more tissue surrounded my shoulder than on my foot.

I asked her if she were calling me fat.

She offered me all the pain medication I wanted. I said no thanks, I didn't go there for drugs.

If I need the other shoulder done, I will be fine with it. This is a good thing, since it's getting gunky from trying to take the pressure off the right one. I go back in 8 weeks. I am to take it easy for 24 hours.

Yeah, right. I went right from there to the nursery and bought a few flats of flowers. I carried them to the car and from the car.

 

Smithy

I love to read, I really do. At any given time I have at least 5-7 books sitting on my end table, a veritable treasure trove of vicarious thrills for my personal enjoyment. Most of us have a similar kind out outlet - television shows, restoring an antique car, remodeling a home - something that puts our brains on idle status and let's the old gray matter do its required housekeeping without our interference.

Fiction is my choice of weapon. The topsellers are often on my list. I also read some arcane authors. Give me a well written vampire novel and I am happy as a pig in, uh, you know. Chelsea Quinn Yarbro writes some extremely interesting historical novels, going back to very ancient times; however, her main character is a very charming vampire.

Another well known writer of the underworld is Laurell K Hamilton. She brought sex to the undead. I find her funny, charming, and one of the most undiciplined writers I have ever read. About three books ago I almost wrote to her and said, "Please, please let me edit your next book. I will do it for free. Please don't insult my command of the language any more." Her grammar, her spelling, all of it - enough to insult any careful reader.

Recently, I teased our Faux Cowboy for writing "Jane Austin" when he meant, of course, "Jane Austen." I knew he knew better, so teasing was appropriate.

I used to work with two other social workers who felt like I do. One has a law degree and one has a master's degree from Harvard. We used to argue over word usage, grammar, spelling, and those little details no one ever cares about. It was fun for us, and a nice break from writing reports about various abuses to children we had witnessed.

Once, I was reading a book by Stuart Woods. He is very impressive in his command of the language. He doesn't even use literary license when people are speaking. However, a sentence caught my eye. I was shocked. The grammar was wrong. I re-read it. I took it to work, and read it to the two wordsmiths. Two of us agreed it was wrong, one sort of hedged, unsure.

What to do? I wrote an email to Stuart Woods, stating that I love his books, and appreciated hiscommand of the language. However, would he please explain the sentence in question?

Most surprisingly, I received a response. He stated, "The New York Times would certainly agree with you, however, I chose..."

YES!!! I was right!

My daughter recently pointed me towards a new writer of ghosts, witches, wereanimals, and vampires. Her name is Kelley Armstrong. I am finishing her second book now. She has an imagination, but can't write in English. Perhaps it is due to the fact that she is Canadian, but when I read a sentence like, "If I was smart," I have to stop, laugh so hard I almost need to change my clothes, and think, "Oh, but do you have to be so obvious about advertising it? If you were smart, we would be able to tell!"

These days, every time I see a written word that ends in an "s," it has an apostrophe, even though it does not denote either possession or a contraction. It sets my teeth on edge. Or should I say it set's my teeth on edge?

Oh, I make mistakes. I cringe when they are pointed out to me, and then I laugh. I maybe should have been an editor. I have an eye for it, but sometimes I will miss the content of what I am reading because of an error in syntax.

I think I get a different entertainment out of books than most people do.

 

Overtime and footage

Most of what Mother Nature has created leaves me in awe. She made a few mistakes. I don't see a need for poison ivy, mosquitoes, or stinging wasps/hornets/bees. We might need the bees (I call them all bees), but I can personally do without the stingers. Can't they just buzz us and skip the part where they sit down on our tender flesh and sit down hard?

My bushes in my yard look like they belong to an abandoned home. At least I feel they do. I like them nice and neat. I even trim trees - always a good Kodak moment. So I decided to improve the curb appeal on my white elephant and get out there.

Y'all know I hate the bees. I am terrified of them. All of them. If I see or hear something yellow and black, I am gone. Like the wind. I can go fast enough so that a multiple-stinging kind only gets in one stab. I prefer to go for zero. I already have lost a point this year to poison ivy, so I will try harder with the stingers.

Usually I trim the bushes with electric hedge clippers. I dragged them out, thought about it, and put them back. It was Sunday night. The whole neighborhood was quiet. I waited until 8 pm with hopes that the bees would be tucked in for the night. Nope, not in my yard. Mine get paid overtime to stalk me.

So I pulled weeds for an hour, until I had two garbage cans full. Some of that was from trimming the holly bushes and the rose bush. For some reason the bees don't care if I trim the rose bush when it's in bloom, but they dive bomb me when I trim bushes with no flowers. That is what I was doing last time one got me good.

By 9 pm, I decided to try again. I grabbed the hand hedge clippers and went after the 5 bushes in front that need to be global in shape. Right. They are 30 years old and have succumbed to gravity or something. I try to shape them, but have about as much luck as I do on my own body. Maybe I have better luck with my body - it's round. By 10 pm, I realize I am clipping in the dark and can't see anything. I figure it won't make much difference.

This morning I got up just before 8 am and realized it was cold and cloudy. I ran outside and grabbed the hedge clippers again. The bees slept in a little due to the lack of sun. I was allowed half an hour before I saw one. I delicately decided to go back in the house and pay bills. It will go on like this until I can finish up the trimming.

In the meantime, the Saturday lookers didn't show as scheduled between 12:30 and 1:30. I returned after walking the dogs for a full hour. I messed up the house and grabbed a dish of cherries for lunch. THEN they showed up. I saddled the dogs back up for another walk, and took off again.

I haven't heard a word. The real estate lady has not corrected the front footage on my house on the listing, but she did rewrite the rest of it, leaving off the sizes of my bigger rooms, removing the showcase listing, and removing two of the three pictures that were up. She did not add the interior pictures yet, although she whined for them so she could get them right up.

I feel she is now hostile to me, based on the above behavior and the tone of her last few emails. I give it until tomorrow. If the footage isn't corrected, I will have to call the office and request to be released from my contract with her. Do you think that will enrage the other agents against me? I am so unsure in these real estate dealings. It has been so long. My last house sold to the first people who came through. I don't feel equipped to sell by owner, nor do I feel comfortable letting strangers in here without someone else, like an agent.  I expect a call this week from the condo people to tell me mine is ready and to schedule a walk through.

My agent lives in my sub. Maybe I can convince the wasps to move.

 

Hurry up and wait

This is getting old, this house selling business. My realtor lady put down on the listing online that my front yard is 61 ft wide. No wonder I am not getting any traffic. I am on a cul-de-sac, and my lot is rather pie shaped, but it doesn't come to a point, fercrissake. I had to write her an email (written trail, written trail) that corrected her - I had shown her TWO land surveys. Both showed just under 100 feet across the front, which is the smallest side. But not 61 feet! She also cannot post the pictures I sent her. She doesn't seem to understand how to make a picture a jpeg - which really confuses me, since I sent them in jpeg format. I wrote to her and explained that her computer might have changed them, and told her to resave with a new name, blah, blah....

So, this morning I decide it's time to catch up on paperwork. I went upstairs and grabbed all the papers I hid up there so I could show the house the other day. This is a slowly-developing routine, being able to hide stuff fast, and hide it not in closets, cupboards, basement, or garage. I am getting good, but it still takes time. I have no memory, so it's a crapshoot to find stuff sometimes. I spent 15 minutes this morning finding Wiz's hyperthyroid medication.

Once I tossed all the backed up papework, newspapers, bills, etc, on the table, I realized that I didn't do dishes last night. I am usually not one to leave any dishes out, but last night I was tired and I did.

At 10:30 this morning (only a few minutes ago) I got a call from the realtor. Someone wants to see my house at 12:30. Today. To me, that means some realtor is preparing an array of houses for some looker to browse through.

I haven't dealt with moving in 30 years. Has anyone ever had any luck selling a house when the realty company calls with two hours' notice? If I saw a house I might want to buy, I would call and ask for an appointment in the next few days, whenever convenient for the seller. I wouldn't say I have to see it within 2 hours. Am I missing something here?

Now I have to go hide those papers all over again, do the dishes, run the dishwasher, put the good comforter and the shams on the bed, put my shoes away, fold the dogs' blankets inthe living room, change the kitty litter, fluff up the bathrooms, vacuum.....then drag the dogs out for an hour walk, again in the sunniest most dangerous time of the day for me. It's cold today, too.

I am glad someone is coming, because that means a potential buyer, but geez, I am not enjoying this process at all. Last year I could have said, "Three people may come. I am able to move in 30 days. Make sure they are all pre-approved for their mortgages." This year, we are having a one-state recession and I am at their mercy.

My condo is so close to being done, I could be moving in next week. Every time I go with the dogs, we meet new neighbors. I think we are going to be very happy in our new home. We just need to get there. As it is, I need 30 days even if today's lookers are buyers. Closing doesn't happen in a week.

 

 

Visitors

When I was maybe 23 years old I worked in the medical school of my university while I worked on my first master's degree. I met several nice new friends there. One was also in some of my classes, and she is the one who talked me into take a 'temporary' job with the state as a social worker, even though I told her that was one job I never wanted to do. I stayed 27 years. She didn't.

One of the other ladies I met was a couple of years younger than I was. She married, got divorced, became a nurse, moved to Phoenix, moved to Albuquerque, then remarried a man in the air force or army air corps, whatever it is. I forget. Maybe it's the navy.  Anyway, they have moved all over the world on assignments. Both are nurses with master's degrees. They have finally settled for good in New Mexico, close to El Paso, Texas.

Every year or two they come here to stay with her parents and we visit back and forth. I consider this friend to be one of my very best. I haven't been to her newest home yet, but I assuredly will, especially since it has a winery. In the meantime, we get a friendship fix starting tomorrow. She and her husband will be in town for 10 days. I will be doing a lot of driving back and forth, visiting with her, her husband, her parents, and possibly her sister and her family, too. I am always so glad to see long time friends :)

Also, this weekend, I expect a short-term guest at my house. A member of Molly's Addison's Dogs group is going to rescue a very abused great dane and offer him a forever home. This dog doesn't have Addison's, but the rescuer has a heart of gold and is willing to drive from the outskirts of Winnipeg, Manitoba to Midland, MI  for 20 hours each way to get the dog. I am on the way, so have been added to the route. He is trying to visit with a few ADDogs along his route. The cause of the need for a support group can be very emotionally fueled. He was so happy that our group was able to provide him with enough information regarding how his vet was improperly treating his dog that he "paid it forward" by fostering an incorrectly medicated standard poodle with AD, getting her properly dosed and stable, and sending her on to a forever home, obviously with a rip in his heart. 

Addison's disease is rare, and many vets have never treated it or are not familiar with how to treat it optimally. My vet has learned a lot from my suggestions, and Molly has thrived beyond the vet's expectations. I hope other dogs learn from her new knowledge. I think my vet only dealt with this once or twice before in her career. It's easily misdiagnosed and overlooked.Many dogs die before they can even be diagnosed, and many undergo unnecessary major surgeries in an attempt to locate the cause of the problem.

Molly will meet him first. He has to pass her inspection. I will have a friend here with me when he comes, anyway. I err on the side of caution. Even Remo had to pass inspection with my nephew's Great Dane, Golden Lab, and Pit Bull.

Once I peeled the dogs off Remo and made them stop licking him, we went to lunch.

 

Say cheese!

My realtor lady wanted to come in my house and take interior pictures for the advertising. I have balked on that. Finally I told her I would do the pictures myself. First, I needed to depersonalize the rooms and make them really boring.

I finally got around to it. I took over a dozen photos and I swear, Molly or Wiz managed to get in more than half of them. I have never taught my animals to pose for the camera. I don't even take a lot of pictures. It really made me laugh to look in the view finder and find a beast sitting there.

Of course, I am easily amused.

Molly and Wiz are going to become Internet Stars! Molly will be driving Terra's car in the parade that will inevitably occur.

I emailed the pictures to the realtor lady and she responded. Here is her email:

The came out beautiful..I don’t know how to resize them.  I need them in JPG format , less than 1MB  and size about 512x400 pixels and  pixel depth is 76 dpi.  I don’t know what they are talking about but when I download them and email them to myself the software asks if I want to make them smaller and I click yes and I can usually use the photos.  Can you do that?  P. S.  I love the beasts in the photos.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

I said sure, no problem, and redid them for her. Maybe I can sell my own house, too.

 

I lost something

Today was my MRI. I was very nervous about this, due to my claustrophobia. I went with much trepidation, much like last month when I went to the airport. It seems fear of fear starts early.

A very pregnant lady came and got me out of the waiting room and took me to a small trailer parked on the grounds for the medical facility. Hmmm, I thought. I never had an MRI like this! (I have had my right knee and right foot done in the past.) They had exactly one machine in there, and it fit nicely. Yet another nice looking young man got me ready to go into the machine. Where are these guys coming from? Do I need glasses or something?

He and I talked a little ahead of time, including how I would not be allowed to move at all for 30 minutes. He offered to put a cloth over my eyes. I said - You want to put a cloth over my eyes for 30 minutes and I can't move to remove it? I don't think so. I can just close my eyes.

I held my breath as he pushed the buttons to slide me into the machine. If you have never had an MRI, it involves being inside a machine that feels much like a very small, tubular coffin. It is very noisy, but causes no pain. 

While I was adjusting to the interior of the machine, I realized my heart was pounding and was glad they weren't monitoring that.

I waited for the fear to really hit me.

It never did. I almost went to sleep as my heart rate slowed.

True, I did go to my happy place, but I only needed it to pass the time because I was bored. If I had been tired enough, I think I would have fallen asleep.

I attribute the fear to the ADD from the pneumonia vaccine reaction, and credit the Adderall for curing it. Who knew?

I have no major fears left other than bridges, and having taken a cab over a bridge above a river in Vancouver, I can tell you that while I didn't panic and have to hold myself back from trying to exit the car, I didn't really look out to try to enjoy the view either. Maybe in time, this one will go away too. It is my oldest one, so perhaps it is the hardest to leave behind. I have no fear of bridges in Florida. Only every other place.

Anyone else ever have a phobia that went away with no effort on your part?

 

 

How far would you go?

As I was saddling up the hogs today and taking them for a walk, my mind was wandering around. Maybe it needs a leash and collar.

My condo is almost done. It has carpeting, inside doors, appliances, and looks about ready to be cleaned up for inspection. I went yesterday with the dogs, and they rushed to the front door, only to find it locked. I was just glad to see that the dogs were happy there.

My mind keeps wandering to the fact that my house is not sold, no offers have been made, and my condo is almost done. My financial guy says start processing a bridge loan. My CPA says stick it out, you have a great house and it will sell. My gut says "oy," and my brain says "let's think about something else."

The thoughts wandered to wondering how far would someone go for love? And for love of what? I remember a man in MI married a young lady with a nice inheritance. He had already lied to the social security board, claimed himself to be blind, and was collecting disability benefits. He also went shooting, with a gun. He went on vacation with the young, pretty, wealthy wife on whom he had taken out lots of life insurance. She ended up off her horse with a bashed in skull, and she died. He collected the insurance and left the country. A few years later, he was apprehended. He loved money.

A woman was recently released from prison in Montreal. She had been on a killing spree with her man. If I remember right without looking it up, she had helped kill her own sister and another woman for sexual gratification. His, I think. We hear stories of good women getting together with loosers and finding themself party to serious crimes they would never do on their own. We also hear of men who will do anything to make their women happy, including things like killing the husband.

How far is normal for someone we love? The basic rules are not to steal, lie, or cause harm. Calling in sick for a husband who is at a baseball game - is that too far? Knowing your spouse has filed claim for damage to his car that he did himself? Getting in a bar fight to protect your lady's honor?

While I was pondering where a reasonable place is to draw the line, I realized we were walking on the church parking lot. I was concerned maybe it was too hot for the dogs' feet, so I decided to get them off the blacktop. Molly balked, and I looked at her to see why.

Remember the woodchuck Molly made friends with recently? Once it was a horse. This time, a bird. Molly was facing a small blue and white bird, and her tongue was hanging down. She definitely had a smile on her face. She was not pulling on the leash, not trying to rush or harm the bird. She wanted to get closer to it, and see what it was, maybe offer it a chance to join her pack.

I sighed, and thought about all Molly has been through in the last year. I moved a few steps closer to the bird. I thought only crows strut, and the rest of birds hop. No, this one ran. It ran all across the parking lot, which hold several hundred cars. It would look over its shoulder, and keep running. We walked along, not getting too close. When we got to the fence, the bird flew over, and then Molly willingly changed direction, shooting me a look of thanks. I followed a bird for love of my dog.

A minute later, I saw the bird right behind us. Maybe it did want to join Molly's pack. Who knows?

 

Plan B

It's much cooler here today. In fact, the house was only 75 degrees earlier instead of 88 degrees. I was actually considering a sweatshirt when I returned from the appointment with Chicken Little, my financial advisor.

The first guy never showed up last night to get his cash to buy the equipment for my new heating and cooling systems. I was distressed. My friend Christine had offered for me to call a friend of hers, but I said no, I was all set....so I contacted Christine and said, hey, I need that number after all....I called, and second guy came out today.

I figured that meant another week without a/c, but the guy has his own business and at least I would be dealing with a licensed, insured business instead of a guy working for a licensed, insured business but on his own time.

His eyes are about the color of this font. Very nice, polite, got along well with the dogs, the cat even came out, he seemed trustworthy. He played with the thermostat, went outside, went in the basement, and told me he thought it might be something with the thermostat. I just stared at him in shock.

We went back upstairs, and he got out his little toy to check the voltage - I forget what that tool is called - voltmeter? -and I walked out of the room for a minute. The next thing I remember is hearing my air conditioning kick in. I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry.

For almost no money at all, I have an invoice that says I have working units that need no repairs at this time and do not need to be replaced. My vents are readusted, the humidifier pan is cleaned, the thermostat is reprogrammed (I think he was making himself useful to justify his service cost and labor bill), and I am all set.

Two minutes later I hear a knock at the door. There was the first guy. He had lost my phone number but wanted to be sure we were still good for Saturday. I assumed he also wanted his money. I said thanks, but no thanks. Everything is running fine now.

In his defense, I did say I thought the unit was dead. I had myself done everything the second guy did to the thermostat, with no luck. I asked him what he did, and he explained it to me step by step, and I had done the same exact thing several times.

Karma, I guess. Who knows? It could die again tomorrow. I sure hope not.

Presenting...

Pictures of my new condo, taken a week or so ago. I haven't been back since Memorial Day, so for all I know it's almost done. My house is not sold yet. In fact, I am getting the new air conditioning and furance installed on Saturday, so it's really not a good idea to show it until it's cooled down. It's been very, very hot in the house. I am hoping a whole new heating and cooling system helps sell my house. The condo people have already tried once to get me to set up a date for close, but I told them no way.

In the meantime, remember my fooked up shoulder? The one that called me some very, very unkind names when I tried to clean windows? I had the appointment yesterday morning at 8 am with the specialist. It would have been very helpful if the paperwork they sent me in the mail had been received timely. It was waiting for me after I got home from the doctor's office. All I had was the doctor's name. I couldn't find the paper with even the phone number on it.

Luckily, I found it online, even with incorrect spelling, and was only a few minutes late due to traffic. I forgot about rush hour traffic. I don't DO 8 am any more.

First, the receptionist wants me to fill out all the papers, including what the presenting problem was, and I filled them out so fast she was stunned. (I had already told her I did paperwork well.) I read my book for a while, then a nurse/tech came and got me, and put me in a room. She also had to know the presenting problem, and wrote something down. I assumed it was the problem so I wouldn't have to go over it again.

She took me across the hall and took several X-rays of my right shoulder, having decided to focus on that. I was also there for the left shoulder and both knees. It was the left shoulder that sent me to PT for months last year. She took off, and I read again, freezing my bum off. I had on a skirt and sandals, and I was very cold in there. I have no a/c at home, so to go from 88 degrees and humid indoors to 69 air- conditioned degrees was refrigeration-uncomfortable for me.

Eventually a GQ model came into my office, sparking my interest and causing me to smile for the first time all day. He introduced himself and said he was the PA. I think he had a name, but who remembers details like that? He asked for the same information, including the presenting problem. Luckily I am a female and did not have to add priapism to the list.

He did strength and range of motion tests on me. One test was for me to hold my arm to the side, palm up, and push up against his hand. I just said, "No." He seemed confused. I said it would hurt too much and I wasn't going for it. Probably no one has ever said no to him before in his life, and I can understand that. He offered a shot of cortisone to help relieve the pain, and I said, "No thank you."

He left, and I read again for a while, after looking around for a blanket or two. Never found one. Next came the PA again, with another GQ model. Again, I smiled. He introduced himself as the doctor. He probably had a name, too, but who cares? He asked me about my presenting problem. I was too polite to ask if he can read or not, so I explained again what was wrong with my shoulder. He did the exact same range of motion and strength tests. For once, I had patience with this sort of repetition.

I again said NO to the same test. He begged. I pushed. It hurt. A lot. He seemed pleased. He also offered me a shot of cortisone. I again said, "No thank you."

He then told me I seem to have a torn rotator cuff and would need surgery. I had visions of what I might say if he gave me Versed. Versed is a better truth serum than scopolomine. I laughed. Picturing duct tape on my mouth, I listened more politely. He said I would need an MRI first. Of course.

I said fine, I would have an MRI. However, I do have claustrophobia. I said I would be OK as long as I knew I *could* get out, even though I would not move. He offered me a rx for Valium as long as someone drove me. I just looked at him.

The models left, and the nurse/tech came back with the paperwork. She handed me an rx for the MRI and one for Valium. Without a word, I returned the Valium one. I know how to meditate. I have a Happy Place. In fact, I now have a new one.  I left, and moved on to my next appointment for the day - the dentist. Don't ask.

Sorry it tookme so long to get the condo pictures here. I have been busy, hot, and crabby, but I did finally find a cure for heat rash. I never had that before. Besides, this morning I saw the Vampire. He surprised me by agreed with the refusal of cortisone. He really worked my shoulder over well. I will do anything to avoid surgery. However, this shoulder has hurt me off and on for maybe 15 years. Perhaps I should not have tried to lift that shelving unit in the basement and drag it up two flights of stairs by myself. I stopped when I realized I would do better with a crowbar, but maybe I tried too hard. Who knows?

Don't be shy. I expect to hear LOTS of horror stories about shoulder surgeries. I WANT to hear them. I have heard everything from one that actually healed up fine to another who told me she would rather give birth again than have her rotator cuff repaired a second time.