Music to My Ears

A few weeks ago, I was telling my sister about listening to some of the Oldies but Goodies in my music collection. I can't remember exactly what started the conversation, but I got to talking about songs by Sam Cooke, The Temptations, The Four Tops, Frankie Valli, Aretha Franklin: the music we listened to growing up. My dad mostly introduced us to the glories of music from the 60s while on car trips.

She asked me if I would make a mix CD of songs for her and my niece, and I've been working on it ever since.

My niece is now somewhere in the neighborhood of 18 months old, and she loves dancing (particularly to Tejano music, with its polka beats and rockin' accordions). I decided I would make two CDs: one for my sister with all those fabulous old love songs, and one so my niece could have a rollicking good dance party.

I just finished the two CDs, and I have to say that the one for my sister was much easier.

Why was the CD for my niece so difficult? Because I listen to songs' lyrics.

I had initially included several songs by Diana Ross and The Supremes on the CD, but when I went back and listened, their lyrics were not the light-hearted love songs I remembered them to be.

Diana Ross repeatedly sings about giving up all of her friends and making her family sad so she can be with some guy who doesn't care about her, who has broken up with her, in fact, and who she's pining away for.

That is not the message I want my niece to hear, even if music is, at present, just something to bop to while she eats eggs and ham at Goode Company Taqueria. (You should see her "Ham Dance": it's adorable!)

I've been pretty lyric-aware since high school, when I realized that my mother was paying attention to what the people in my music were singing (even if I wasn't). She was open-minded about Metallica, but not so much about Rob Zombie, which was completely understandable. It's kind of strange to be on the other side of that situation: paying attention to lyrics so that my niece - the love of my life - doesn't grow up thinking that she should be an emotional slave to any man.

Strange how a baby can change your perspective on things, even when the baby isn't yours.

What's Goin' On?

Cue the Marvin Gaye.

Ahhhhhh. That's better.

I've been on a veritable roller coaster of ups and downs, recently. I was supposed to be a bridesmaid in a friend's wedding, but two of my doctors forbade me from flying to San Antonio and then driving to Laredo for the wedding. I can't say I blame them, as I was unable to drive myself for more than 30 minutes without needing to rest.

So that was a down.

But then, because I couldn't stay home by myself, I went to Houston with my parents for my 10 month old niece's dedication ceremony.

That was a definite Up.

But then, what with the organ music during the service and the lights in the sanctuary, I had a bad migraine attack.

Down again.

But then I went home and took some pain medicine and rested and ate some of the best biscuits known to mankind, courtesy of my sister, and I was Up again. Okay, really, I was "high", not "Up" but that's semantics.

My headache got worse during the drive home to Dallas, and I went to the emergency room, expecting to enter the hospital for in-patient care.

Down down down down. Down-be-doobie down down down down down.

And then I had a panic attack at the idea of being stuck in an uncomfortable hospital bed for three days, hooked up to machines, so I checked myself out of the hospital. Oddly enough, I consider that an "Up."

And today, I'm trying to get into the UT Southwestern Pain Management Clinic so I can begin treatment with them, there. UT has another teaching hospital in Houston, so I could just jump from the Dallas clinic to the Houston clinic. This has to be all squared away with my neurologist and my other pain doctor (who I'll have to stop seeing, I think). But hopefully that will happen today.

Trying to keep things on the up and up around here...

On the Road Again

I spent the weekend in Houston, visiting my niece.

My sister and brother-in-law also happened to be there.

Fortunately, on this visit, my niece - who can pull herself up into a standing position now! - did not vent her giddiness at my attention by throwing up a belly-full of formula on me. I appreciated the non-gesture.

Saturday night, my BIL barbecued ribs, and I successfully tackled the better part of a rack single-handed. My sister made one of her amazing salads - and chocolate lava cakes with a scoop of Hank's ice cream - and we enjoyed sitting outside in the cool evening breeze.

How much for ONE rib?

I also made out like a bandit, wardrobe-wise.

My sister bestowed two arm-loads of clothes upon me, including a drop-dead gorgeous jacket by Ellen Tracy. I promised to give it a good and loving home and have ordered special hangers for it, accordingly. It is time, I think, to cull the worn-out clothes from my own closet to make room for the ones my sister gave me, something I have not done in a while because I had to keep everything lest some catastrophic clothing plague hit the area and deprive me of the less hardy items that hadn't been around as long.

I had fully intended to come home, straighten up my apartment, and head out for the grocery store to stock up on foodstuffs for the week. Upon arriving at home, though, yesterday's migraine and last night's sleeplessness caught up with me.

I decided to just clean out all the old food from my refrigerator and to make a grocery list.

That's all I have the energy to accomplish, post-apartment-tidying.

I have no idea what I will eat for dinner, as I did not manage to sneak the remaining rack of ribs into my purse as planned.

Curses, foiled again!

It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times

Best of Times

I am an aunt. My 8 lb. 3 oz. niece was born on July 25 at 1:29 pm. I'm overjoyed at the prospect of getting to spoil her rotten for the next 18 years of her life (and then some). My mom and I drove down to Houston as soon as we heard and met her Sunday evening, and I got to hold her.

Of course, as soon as she was put into my arms, I burst into tears.

That's how I roll, Dawg.

Right.

She's an incredibly lively baby, opening her eyes and looking around within hours of being born, kicking her little legs and moving her arms, amidst the motionless babies of the nursery born shortly before her. Amazing. The nurses all seemed as flabbergasted as my mom and I were. But then again, being the daughter of my sister, she's bound to be an over-achiever.

I kid! I kid!

As an aside, she was born at a hospital dedicated solely to women, so there were pregnant women everywhere. It was kind of... creepy. Something sci-fi about it, although I can quite pin down what it was. They moved around in big packs, too, with their mates alongside them. They give tours of the hospital to expectant moms on weekends. Crazy.

I also found out today that I am receiving a bonus on either Friday or Monday, which should be about the size of one of my paychecks (I hope).

Worst of Times

I have been placed on furlough. Without pay. My bonus and this next paycheck are the last ones I will receive until I am able to return to the office full-time, which is looking to be 2-1/2 or 3 weeks from now. Radio talked to me about it when I went into the office for an hour this afternoon (he caught me on the way out the door).

Then I talked to our book keeper, this afternoon, who informed me that I still had 60 hours of vacation left for the year (I have no idea how, unless I made up more hours than I realized for doctor visits) and about 30 hours of sick leave left.

I guess I underestimated the amount of work I've done during the past month I've been at home.

She told me I could use all that time towards the next couple of weeks I'll be out, if I need to. I think I won't, though, and I'll just live off the bonus and this next/last paycheck (I'm not going out, and not eating much in general, so expenditures are low, right now, with the exception of medical bills). God only knows what might happen post-op, and I want to be prepared in case I have to miss more work.

She also told me that they're going to go ahead and reimburse me the full amount that I paid towards the CT Scans (even though the whole amount might not be applied to the deductible at this time) because with the surgery, at least that much will be applied at some point, and they'll just figure it out from there. She was under the impression that I hadn't paid anything yet for the CT scans, so didn't realize I was already out almost $1000 that I'd have sitting on my credit card until the whole insurance debacle gets sorted out. So I'll get a check from the company next week, since I have to pay my credit card bill. She was much more understanding about the whole thing than I thought she would be, honestly.

At least the furlough won't change my insurance status, since I'm still technically employed. And the bonus will cover living expenses while I'm not getting paid. And I'll be able to pay off my credit card instead of racking up $130 in interest for the next month.

Always look on the bright side of life.

(Whistling) De-do. De-do-di-do-do-do.

Potential Resolution

Friday morning, I received a phone call from my doctor's (Dr. L) nurse. She had the results of my CT scan.

"Nothing showed up that could possibly be causing what you're experiencing, although we did find XXXXXX."

Huh. Okay. She continued, "We can book you for an appointment with one of the other surgeons in the practice if you'd like a second opinion, or you can discuss this with Dr. W (note: the doctor who referred me to Dr. L and who would typically handle problems such as XXXXXX.)"

"I think I'll talk to Dr. W before I proceed," I replied and hung up the phone. I called Dr. W's office to make sure they had the results of the radiology report from the CT scan, and had Dr. W had a chance to look over them yet? Apparently not, according to the receptionist, why did I ask?

"Because the results, according to Dr. L, show that there's something there that Dr. W needs to have a look at." Two hours later, after a discussion of the radiology report, I had an appointment booked for this coming Monday, after the normal appointment hours.

Yikes.

I did a little research on my own. Dr. L's nurse said that XXXXXX couldn't be the cause of the debilitating pain I've been experiencing.

Oh, really, Dr. L? Apparently, she hasn't checked the Mayo Clinic's website recently, which references almost every symptom I've exhibited as potential symptoms of the condition I appear to have.

Neat.

The good news is, according to The Mayo Clinic website (I'm addicted, now) and the National Institutes of Health website (their statistics are kind of broad, so I don't trust them as much), that there are multiple treatment options. The bad news is that almost all of them require surgery of some sort, and most of the surgeries are pretty drastic and have long recovery times.

More bedrest ahead, it appears.

Neat.

But at least there is (possibly) an end in sight for my current problems, so I can quit whining about them on my blog and get to feeling better so I can get back to the important things in life, like the imminent arrival of my niece, and working 8-hour days in the office, and providing my coworkers with stories of romantic entanglements that make them shake their heads and remark how lucky they are to be married.

Things I Now Know

A few things I've figured out during the course of the week (which has only run its course halfway):

1) The muscle relaxers don't do anything except knock me out for a couple hours so I can get some sleep.

2) If you call your doctor's receptionist in tears, you don't get to speak to the nurse, you get to speak to the doctor.

I also know that I have a CAT scan Thursday morning at 9 am, which means I have to arrive at the hospital at 7:45 am (an ungodly hour) so I can drink some contrast, let it seep its way through my system, and then go lie in a tube while a herd of Siamese roams around sniffing for maladies. I'd rather have lab work done, but that's just because I'm partial to the canines.

My incredibly devoted mother - who has the patience of Job, and a name that is probably mispronounced every bit as often despite its brevity - is driving me to the hospital, just as she drove me to my doctor's appointment this past Friday. And just as she took me to dinner last night and to lunch today.

I do have a bit of relaxation to look forward to at the end of the week, though. A while back, my father was given a gift card to Nordstrom to partake of their spa services (in particular, a massage and pedicure), but he never scheduled his spa day. In fact, he forgot about his spa day, until my mother reminded him. She then gently suggested that, seeing as all of my vacation days are going towards doctor's visits and to my sister's upcoming delivery of a niece for Ms. Strainedconsciousness to spoil rotten, it would be nice to give me a mini-vacation by donating the aforementioned spa day to a worthy cause, namely: myself.

So this Saturday, I will be receiving a one-hour massage, followed by a one-hour facial, and then will stagger back to my apartment to rest, hopefully knowing a bit more about my innards following the feline scans to take place Thursday morning.

Hopefully. The suspense is killing me.

Okay, I Need Another One...

The weekend is almost over. In fact, it's essentially done for.

And I could really use one more. Right now. That would be great. Thanks.

Friday night, after skipping Happy Hour, because it was in Ft. Worth, of all the inconvenient places to host Happy Hour for a bunch of architects from Dallas, I came home and worked for a while longer. Because really, what else was I going to do? I'd had a migraine earlier, so I couldn't drink, anyway. Stupid migraines, with their stupid "no drinking alcohol after taking this medicine" medicines. Psh.

After transcribing Uncle Moneybags' existing floorplans from their 1958 hard copies into digital copies (loads of fun, let me tell you), I got an itch to organize something. That never really bodes well, because it usually means a couple of hours of organizing, but I decided to go ahead and run with it.

So I reorganized my bookshelves, in anticipation of what will henceforth be known as The Great Living Room Rearrangement of 2010. If there's another living room rearrangement this year - which I highly doubt there will be - then I will append a month to the second one. For posterity's sake.

This coming Saturday, if all goes as planned, my dad will assist me in moving one very large steel book case from one end of my living room to the other. At the same time - okay, on the same day, obviously not completely concurrently - my TV will move from one end of the apartment to the other. I'm swapping the TV and the book case. It's going to be epic.

I really hope I like the way the layout works... I'm pretty darned sure I will, though.

I failed to get more than 5 hours of sleep, Friday night, not because of an overage of organizing, but because I simply couldn't sleep. This has occurred multiple times this week, and I'm chalking it up to migraines keeping me awake (yes, they can do that, if they strike at night). So I slept poorly, woke up later than intended Saturday morning, and then showed up later than intended at my parents' house where I discovered that...

My dog had been bored to tears at some point and found a nice mushy pile of mud and set to churning it, perhaps with an eye towards profiting by starting a brickyard. Because it seriously looked about like a mudpit in a brickyard. Amazing.

And he tracked a good deal of it inside, of course, where it dried into the carpet. The carpet which, in an hour's time, a host of males would see while they retreated to my parents' house during my sister's baby shower, which was being hosted elsewhere.

I got out the vacuum, wearing my cute little "I'm going to a baby shower" outfit, and set about cleaning up what I could, and then picking up the larger chunks, while the world's greatest brother-in-law took the dog outside and washed his paws off with a hose. I secretly think it was my dog's way of retaliating for my sister's failure to bring her own red-headed pups to visit. He's usually very sweet, but he has his moments, and he's something of an ornery old man, these days.

My mom and my sister arrived at the house in the midst of the grand clean-up (my BIL Swiffered the floor while I touched up my make-up post-vacuuming), and then we jetted to the shower, spent three hours there, got back to my parents' house, rested for a little over an hour, then hosted my BIL's mother, aunt, and cousin for dinner. I drove home that evening and tried to crash. Again, I failed.

This morning, I ran a couple of errands, then met the family for lunch before my sister and BIL departed for Houston with their baby swag. This baby will be the best-dressed baby ever, just in case you were wondering. And then I ran a couple more errands (Container Store! Oh! How I've missed you!) and came home. I intended to go to the grocery store, and to Target, because I need light bulbs and food. But I decided that, heck, I had enough stuff to make pancakes, and I really needed to use those ingredients anyway, so I'd just eat pancakes for dinner.

Pancakes are kind of like men: they can be a lot of fun at the time, but then there's a huge mess to clean up, and you totally regret them later.

Heh. Heh heh. Heh.