As The Butter Churns

April 30th A Real Pain In The Neck

   

    This morning, before I even opened my eyes, the searing pain moved through me like a knife jabbing me in the side. I lay there not wanting to move wondering if I could somehow justify staying in bed all day.

    Yesterday, as Henry, Mike and I moved the last bits of our immense pile of trash, I injured myself. I don’t know how exactly I didn’t fall. I just think my body finally said “Uncle” when Mike and I were trying to move some tables with chairs attached like at a fast food restaurant into the dumpster.

    Earlier, I had pulled and pushed and twisted a couple of smokestacks Henry and I had found. We got them almost to the bin with the tractor and a cable, but eventually we had to muscle them up and in. Actually think I may have cracked a rib. I've never actually cracked a rib before, but I would imagine this is what it feels like.

   

The pain is blinding and happens whenever I take a breath or move or blink. So after an uncomfortable night’s rest I opened my eyes and saw the now all too familiar frosty blanket covering the pasture and I just knew it was going to be a bad day. Snow? Seriously it’s almost May. I thought it was bad having snow at the end of March, it’s a good thing I didn’t know there’d be snow at the end of April or I’d have impaled myself by now.

    As I slowly tried to assemble Henry’s cheese sandwich using shallow breathing techniques left over from Lamaze classes, I realized this might be the perfect reason not to go on the three-day field trip. I considered my good fortune and I suddenlly found myself feeling glum. I started thinking about the trip and all the fun I was going to miss with the kids. I thought about the information I could learn about running a camp utilized by the school district. What is wrong with me? I guess it’s partly because Lisa is working that day and can’t go with me so I’d have to go to Seattle alone. Toby can’t come either because she’s in Canada. Which seems more like Romania at the moment because if she leaves Canada, she can’t go home for six months. It has something to do with her visa, but the end result is she can’t leave or she has to stay in the U.S. for six months. Needless to say she isn’t going to cross the border because I want a night out.

    Henry interrupted my thoughts with a pleading look.

    “What?” I asked still thinking of Southern Vampires and Canadian Mounties.
    He stomped his feet. “Mom, the song. Grandma’s song.” He said pointing at his shoes.

    “Oh right. OK." I broke into song which is not pleasant unless you're my child:

“Whenever Henry has his new shoes on, his new shoes on, his new shoes on, whenever Henry has his new shoes on, we will sing a song, it needn’t be too long, whenever Henry has his new shoes ooon.”

    Smiling at me, “that’s better.”

    I am not very musical, but my mother was big on celebrating everything when I was a kid. We celebrated new shoes and Fridays with the "Friday Song". We got presents on Chinese New Year and Groundhog’s Day. My mother's lesson was not lost on me or Lisa and so we sing the “New Shoe Song” and there are a lot of former 5th graders getting their driver’s licenses this year who used to climb up on their desks and ask for me to sing the new shoe song. I was thinking of little Jordie, who is now well over 6 feet tall as we walked through the slushy snow to the car. I knew it would be gone by lunch, but that didn’t seem to make me feel any better. Of course, I forgot my coffee. Miserable, and uncomfortable we pushed on toward school in silence.

    “Mama today is the big day.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “The day of the THE talk.”

       “Oh, the sex class.”

    “Yeah, yesterday they started and we all fell apart laughing when the teacher kept saying ‘penis and testicles’. She asked one girl if she was laughing because this was new information, but today is the day when they separate the boys and the girls and tell the good stuff.”

    Henry then brought up a language arts test.

    “Henry, when you take these essay tests, you can’t use words like big, little, puppy, sad. Those are second grade words and you know it. They want you to write with a vocabulary of a literate person. OK?”

    “Mama, I hate to write and if I do it well, then they’ll make me do it more.”

    (On the way to school)

    “Henry, you can’t keep doing this. Promise me you’ll do your best.” I thought about his argument a moment as I drove remembering the same tactic. When I started at Rubin Postaer, Larry Postaer asked me to make him coffee. Well, he didn’t ask me in the traditional sense, he asked me in the Larry sense. He, in my opinion, is much like Lou Grant. He’d take his empty coffee cup and set it front of me. I pretended not to notice and he’d bang it down again. He was after all the boss and I was well twenty-something. So I went to the coffee machine and made a fresh pot. I put four bags of coffee in and let it brew. I came back. Larry took a sip and never asked me to make coffee again. Not a story Henry needs to hear.

    “You mean instead of mushy you want me to write gelatinous, and instead of purple you’d like magenta and instead of sad, you want devastated?”

    “Yes. You big jerk.”

    “Mom! I’d rather write “I lost my puppy and I was sad’, than write: ‘My basset hound pulled vigorously on the leash when it snapped and in that moment I wondered if I’d ever see him again as he bounded into the dense forest.’ It takes a lot less time.”

    “Henry, if you write ‘I lost my puppy and I was sad’, I’m going to break both your legs.”

    “Both?”

    “Henry.”

    “OK, but I get so freaked out. Last year Miss Elberfeld tried to get me to write, but I think she finally gave up.”

    We were early for school so I stopped at “IWONAMOKA” on Fairhaven Pkwy. and ordered a coffee. I hadn’t thought this through because when I went to grab the coffee I realized I couldn’t turn in that direction.

    "I really want that coffee but I can’t seem to grab it. Can you bear with me a moment.” I tried turning my body, but couldn’t do it. I could see the coffee it was just out of my reach. I thought this must be what Hell is like.I tried again. This time I could just slip my hand around the hot cup. Suddenly, I had a vision of getting one of my sudden painful attacks and spilling the coffee all over myself.

    I dropped Henry off at school and drove to Lisa’s house to take care of Winifred and Jack since Lisa, Chris and the girls have gone to Cabo until Monday. One of Chris’ very best friends, Howard (Uncle Ho-Ho) is getting married and they all went down until Cinco De Mayo.

    While I was at Lisa’s I did some work until the phone rang.

    “Lisa?”

    “No. Lisa’s on vacation, this is her sister.”

    “Denise?”

    “Yes. Oh, we were looking for you. We've been calling your cell. This is Laura the nurse from school.”

    “Oh, my sister doesn’t have good cell reception so I turned off my phone. Is there something wrong? Did Henry have another nose bleed?”

    “No. Um. He’s been hurt.”

    “Hurt? How?”

    “Well, we think he should go home. He’s in a great deal of pain. And you’ll want to see a doctor.”

    “What happened?”

    “He was hit in the head by a basketball.”

    “OK. I’m nearby. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I thought a basketball, how bad can it be. I know fifth graders and in elementary school- the only one with higher social standing than the kid going to the nurse is the person who takes them to the nurse. I put my things away and was just starting out when the phone rang again.

    “Denise? Laura again.” I thought, gosh OK, OK. I can barely move, but I’ll hurry.

    “I’m just walking out the door.”

    “Well, I thought I’d tell you that on further examination, I’m calling 911. The paramedics are coming. Don’t worry. But his symptoms are consistent with having a cracked neck.”

    “Wow. OK. Should I meet him at the hospital? Or come to the school?” Did she say don’t worry and cracked neck in the same phone call?

    I got in the car and called Tom, Toby and left Lisa a message as I drove to the school. I simply couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t fathom a basketball could do that much damage. I drove hoping, believing they were overreacting.

    When I walked in the door, I searched the room for Henry. Spotting him on a cot, I bent down to give him a kiss and some reassurance I was there. No real response.  I stood back as the paramedics streamed in the door. The room was swirling with activity. Paramedics here and there and equipment and all I could see in the swarm of blue uniforms were his new shoes and his orange socks.

   

Still not too nervous, I stood there with the principal and the office staff watching the drama unfold. They brought in the board and neck brace and strapped him down. Just then my phone rang so loud I about jumped onto a desk. That hurt my rib immensely. It was Lisa. I couldn’t explain what was going on which was too bad because I didn’t want her to worry, but worry was becoming more and more the emotion at hand.

    It was when I got in the ambulance that I really began to worry. The paramedic told me, “His responses were consistent with a cracked neck. My partner tested him many different times and different ways because we know kids and drama, but he was reliable in his pain description and we’re concerned enough to not take a chance.”

    “Oh.” That was my brilliant response. I couldn’t think anymore.
Being in the ambulance brought back another memory. Ten years ago when my mother died (April 28th) – just after that really on June 16th when I was carrying Henry and looking at houses with Chris and Lisa. And while I was holding him, Henry grabbed some leaves from over my shoulder and as babies do stuffed a few in his mouth. Not much of a problem ordinarily, but these leaves were Oleander. They’re a poisonous plant that can stop your heart. The house was vacant, so we went to the neighbors and called 911. We drove down Topanga Canyon to West Hills Hospital where he had his stomach pumped and was put on a heart monitor. I remember sitting there with the nurse drinking thick coffee that God wouldn’t take my mother and my son. God only gives you what you can bear I thought and that would be more than I could stand. As we left the hospital that day, the nurse said.  “You’ll be back.”

    I started to worry.

   

When we got to the room, Henry started to come unglued. He was getting a little claustrophobic from the neck brace I think. And scared all these grown-ups kept telling him this wasn't just another bump on the head. It could be serious. No matter what I said he became more and more frantic. I tried calming him down, but the tears just rolled down his cheeks. Red-faced he kept repeating “Get it off, Get it off” Nurse, Jennifer came in and assured Henry the doctor would b e in soon and he could take the neck brace then. After she left the room the tears flowed and I heard. “This is the worst day ever. This board hurts so much it’s not funny and I missed Puberty class. Mama, I missed Puberty class. I’ve been looking forward to it since I was in third grade in Mr. Perez’s class. I can't believe I got hurt just as it was going to start. Why me? Why is it always me? I was just standing there.”

    I called Tom despite the fact you’re not really supposed to use your cell in a hospital, I wanted him to be able to talk to his daddy. He needed his daddy. I took a picture with my phone and sent Tom a pixmessage.

    When he finally did arrive, the doctor didn’t mess around examining Henry he simply sent him for an x-ray. Transport arrived and as they wheeled him away I wondered if they’d mind terribly if I just climbed up on the gurney with him so someone could take a quick peek at my rib.  My insurance isn’t as good as Henry’s, so I thought I’d better tough it out.

    The x-ray came back perfect so we were good to go. Henry was relieved because he wanted to make it to dance practice. I thought he should take a day off. I thought we’d all had enough. During the hour we waited for the discharge papers we started counting how many visits we've made the hospital since moving to Bellingham - between us they're been six. Depending on your point of view, we're either very lucky or very unlucky.  Someone once told me if it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. But I  prefer to think things could have been a lot worse. I think in general, we're very lucky.

    We drove home, carefully climbed in my bed each of us with a soothing cup of hot tea. Some days you just shouldn’t get out of bed.

February 13th Puppy-Dog-Tails

    The moment I drove away in my clean car an air of superiority took over. Suddenly, I looked down my nose on all THOSE grimy cars. I know for the next few days I will feel very good about myself. I’m now a better mother. I’m more successful. I should probably have a pedicure. When I turned a sharp corner onto the freeway on ramp none of my papers pitched to the side as I turned. I thought I truly am better that that mucky Saturn™ in the next lane. This is exactly why I am certain that very organized people keep their shoes in little boxes and hang their clothes according to color, and accountants look down on the rest of society.

    When I got all the way home, I got a call. Henry had fallen and blacked out. He has a bump on the head and needs to see a doctor. Off to the doctor we dash in our immaculate car. Here we are again. I mention to the receptionist very clearly – “This injury happened at school – I wasn’t there. I got a call. .”

    You start to feel like they think you’re creating these problems for your kid. Stitches,tetanus, concussion –I guess I looked self-conscious because the receptionist smiled at me and said very empathetically, “I have four brothers. You’re just the mother of a boy.” True.

October 19th Edward Scissorhands

Tom had his hand surgery yesterday and is recovering. He said he looks like Edward Scissorhands. There are pins sticking out of his fingers in all directions and will he will need at least seven to eight months of physical therapy, but the prognosis looks fairly promising for using his hand in everyday life. He may not recover his strength and whether or not he’ll be able to play golf again is another question. Although truth be known, I’m not sure he could ever really play golf in the first place.

He’s groggy from a heavy-duty pain medication and is doing ok for now. I wish I could have been there to help him, but as it turned out I wouldn’t have been too much help in this condition. Here I am recovering from my hospital visit on Lisa’s sofa, while Tom is recovering in California. All three of us have been admitted to the hospital in the last week. I couldn’t have predicted that.

My face is so swollen from all the heaving I did that my eyes and in fact my whole face is puffy. I’m almost unrecognizable. Lisa got me some Preparation H™ for my face. I look like one big hemorrhoid. I’ve slathered it all over and am hoping for a miracle. We’ve got tickets to the Humane Society Masquerade Gala tomorrow and I really want to go. 

    The ass jokes are now flying fast and furious. I’ve heard Butt Head used several different ways – this seems to get a big laugh every time.

October 17 It Comes In Threes

 

    I’ve never been the worried mother type. People always wonder if Henry is the youngest of three or four, because I don’t get upset, but if you have a son, that is as athletic as Henry, you can’t worry over every little thing. The truth is he usually doesn’t get hurt. He’s a gymnast and he has incredible body awareness. He’s always been that way. I can remember when he was about four he’d be roaming around and I’d always hear “whose little boy is this in the orange shirt? Do you realize he’s been somersaulting down this hill?” “Do you know, he just climbed that tree?” “Has he walked across the teeter-totter before?” “Are you ok with him flinging himself off that swing like that?”
    “He’s fine,” I’d reply non-plussed. Actually, it’s gangly, klutzy Quinn who gets hurt following behind Henry.

    Well, sometimes I should worry a bit more.
Henry told me on Monday that he hurt his leg on something by the tractor. I cleaned it and dismissed it. Oh, I asked him how it felt and if he was ok, but I didn’t really think anything was wrong. I went through the motions; I opened it up on Tuesday and poured hydrogen peroxide on it, gave him a bandage and sent him on his way.
    Until we were on our way to gymnastics and he took off his pants to change into his shorts. I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown and swerve off the road. His leg was red and swollen and he was very obviously not going to gymnastics. I called the doctor’s office from my cell phone and once again we were en route for emergency medical care. Yep, he had tetanus. Tom’s having hand surgery in the morning and we’re at the hospital. I couldn’t believe it.
Henry got the requisite shot and medication; we went to Lisa’s after the doctor as we were going to spend the night. Not because of the tetanus but because I had a small business conference in the morning. I felt like “Loser Mother of the Year”. I mean really we’re on a farm now. I should take things more seriously. Henry said he forgave me, but I really felt upset. My stomach hurt. I wondered if I was just nervous about the conference.
    I went to bed early and about an hour later, I started getting sick. I thought, well that’s the end of it. I’ve always been a fairly efficient barfer –years of tequila experience- so I thought I’d feel better now. I didn’t. I kept getting sick. Soon the dry heaves set in and wouldn’t stop. Since leaving California and teaching I don’t have the best insurance so I didn’t want to go to the hospital when Lisa suggested it about midnight, but at about 2:00AM money was no object. On the road again, for another round of emergency medical care. They took one look at me and I was in a room in less than ten minutes. They put a liter of fluids in me and fixed me up. Lisa was amazed at how quickly I’d gotten dehydrated. I got a shot of something miraculous and the vomiting stopped. I swear, I’ve not seen this much hospital personnel since my mother had chemotherapy. Thankfully, Lisa called the business conference for me and told them I wouldn’t be coming. I didn’t want to be rude.
    The next day or so was like a dream. I’d open my eyes and see Lisa and the kids doing something and then I’d blink and they’d be at the table eating dinner. I’d blink again and they were sitting in front of the fire. I felt like a tortoise in a world full of jackrabbits.

 

October 14 The Cutting Edge

This morning, I spoke to Tom and this is what he told me:

I was cutting maple (a very hard wood) planks for my ceiling on a Saturday. I was making dado cuts which are grooves which don’t cut all the way through the wood; consequently the guard has to be removed, as it would prevent me from making this type of cut. Also, because of the nature of this type of cutting, one must apply downward pressure almost directly over the blades which normally is not a problem because the wood is between your hand and the business part of the saw. I had cut several pieces and was priding myself for my safety, using a push bar and standing to the side, not directly behind the piece I was cutting in case it kicked backward. I have been taught to respect power tools. I began with the longest pieces working my way down to the shorter ones and was almost finished when one of the shortest pieces which had a knot on the underside took me by surprise and was catapulted backward 10 to 15 feet away.

As I was applying pressure down, the force of the launch fractured the bone in my middle finger, or as the doctor called it my “California finger”, in four places and sprained my index and ring fingers. This would have been serious enough, but since the departed wood no longer acted as a buffer between my hand and the saw blades, my index and “California” fingers came in contact with the unkind steel teeth spinning at 3000 rpm. This did a lot of superficial damage as well as severing tendons in both fingers. I immediately clenched my hand to prevent excessive bleeding and didn’t even look at the damage. I only knew it wasn’t good and Band-Aids® wouldn’t be enough. I tightly wrapped my hand in the nearest, cleanest available rag and got myself to the emergency room. It wasn’t until the emergency room doctor unwrapped the rag that I became aware of all the carnage. It wasn’t pretty and was beginning to throb mercilessly. Approximately four hours after the accident, the dangly pieces of flesh trimmed away, the lacerations neatly sewn and my hand bandaged and splinted, the nurse in attendance was telling me to come back on Monday for a follow up when the emergency room doctor looked up from his paperwork and adamantly said “No, you have to see a hand specialist as soon as possible!”

October 13th What Day Is It?

    Lisa and the kids went with me to pick out my cabinets and counter tops. We put the address in “Loretta” and started out for Mount Vernon. The shop was small, but they had quite a few displays. It didn’t really matter I had two thoughts to consider. The first was price and the second was color. I wanted red cabinets. This got the ball rolling. I picked red cabinets with a smattering of reeded glass fronts. I chose a butter cream center island and black cabinets to construct a kind of china cabinet on the far end of the kitchen. I know it seems like a lot of colors, but I had an all white German-type kitchen in my last house. I fashioned it after my godmother, Anna, who was the family cook. (a story for another time.)  And although I loved it and the hand painted cherry tiles Tom made - it was tough to keep clean. White shows every gooey chocolate-pudding-finger-print.
    The cabinets were easy enough to decide, and the drawer, cabinet configuration was a snap. It was the counter tops that gave us all stress. I am an old fashioned girl who likes an old fashioned tile. However,

There once was an ill-mannered Weimaraner named Bruce,
He was strong, destructive and annoying when loose
One day while confined to a crate he broke out
In my kitchen he spilled red wine on my precious white grout
Sadly,that was the last tile counter I’ll ever choose

(he wasn't mine)

So I am now going for an easy to maintain, easy to wipe, solid surface. It leaves me a little cold really, but I’m all about the practical now. Of course, Lisa and I are drawn to the more expensive ones, but I’m trying hard to stay away from granite. It’s nice, but it’s more than I want to spend and I like the quartz. I thought I wanted to go dark; Quinn loves the dark and believes that is the only satisfactory choice, but as Lisa and I think about the every day things we determine dark could be a fatal error. Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Lisa leaves me with the “cabinet counselor” while she runs to Starbucks and gets us each non-fat lattes. Armed with a full cup of caffeine, I make my choice.

    I spend the rest of the day light-hearted. I’ve made a big decision and we’re soon going to have a kitchen that is acceptable. While it is expensive, I think it is money well spent. Just as I’m about to go to bed, the phone rings. It’s Tom. He’s had an accident. My mind is whirling, accident, accident. He’s in the hospital. Something about the table saw, his fingers, nerve damage, and loss of blood – he’s talking and I can barely comprehend the words. He can’t talk for long he’s in too much pain. I hang-up.

    Your life can change in a blink, in a phone call. I’m not sure what it all means, the only good news I heard was that it was his left hand. He’s an artist, a carpenter a builder of dreams, strong and proud. What will it mean if he can’t use his hand? It reminds me of another accident he had years ago while carefully constructing our  redwood  deck.

I went to Home Depot™ to the dreaded return desk and when I cam home he charged out of the house demanding to know where I’d been. Defensive, I reply “ The return desk, where you sent me”.
A few seconds later he asks me “What day is it?”

“Craig’s birthday.” I answer hesitantly.

“What did I get him?” he asks blankly.

“A phone.” I answer, now completely confused and terrified.

“Where were you?” He asks seriously.

“I told you, Home Depot™”. I answer as I look around and see the ladder outside on the deck Tom was working on crushed by a huge beam. “What happened here?”

“I don’t know. I think the ladder imploded. What day is it?”

“Craig’s birthday.

"I’ve got to go see him.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” I thought amnesia happened in black and white movies. You know like fainting spells and the vapors. I suddenly had visions of complete disability dancing in my head. I thought I could put him in front of a wall and have him paint it green. He’ll see that it’s half done and keep painting. Then he can paint it blue.” Do you remember your doctor’s name?”

“My doctor’s name? I don’t need a doctor? Just tell me what day it is!” He yells.

“I did. It’s Craig’s birthday.” I respond as calmly.

“Well, what did I get him?”

"A phone.” I dial the hospital and tell them we’re coming in. We drop Henry at Toby’s and head to the hospital; it’s only about a mile away. 

A few hours and a MRI later, Tom starts criticizing the fonts on the plaques hanging in the ER. Ahh, ever the Art Director, I knew he was going to be ok.

He made it through that one, but will he be ok now?

October 1st In Stitches

    In the morning my mood was dismal, another dark morning. Another day of hearing “No, I’m sorry, it sounds like a great idea, when you get it going, let me know, I’d love to come.” Another day of hauling bales of hay down to the cattle in the wheel barrel hurting my back and getting covered in slop.
    My mood improved as the day progressed. I did chores around the house, had lunch with Little Chris, cleaned the barn with Roxy, and worked on commands with Irish the giant puppy. I think he grows an inch a day.
    Mike isn’t home during the day because he’s substitute teaching almost every day at Mt. Baker High School. He loves it. He comes home filled with stories of the students and excited about the next day. I’m just hoping he can find some nice woman and get married. If someone doesn’t prepare his food he’ll eat microwave cheese sandwiches, yogurt, chips and shredded wheat. He won’t even make a pot of coffee; he’ll drive ten miles to get one to go. Whatever.
    He called me after he got out of school said he’d pick Henry up from school and drive him to gymnastics. I was thrilled. Things were really going my way now. He called a little later and said he was busy doing things in Burlington and he’d wait for Henry to finish and bring him home. YES! I was really getting a treat. I started dinner. I thought I’d make a roast so there would be a nice hot meal when they got home.
    The phone rang. It was Mike, he started with “Don’t get upset” When people start with this phrase, you know something bad is coming. “Henry’s chin is ripped open and I think he should go to the hospital.”
    “What happened? Can I talk to him?”
    “Hi Mama,”
    “What happened, Boo-Boo?”
    “I hit my knee on my chin when I was on the tumble track. It hurts and it’s really bloody. My coach told me to just put ice on it and close it with duct tape like when he was a kid.”
    “Let me talk to Mike.”
    “Yeah, uh Denise, I can see it’s hanging, I think he needs stitches.”
    “Ok. Ok. I have to throw something on; I’m already in my pajamas. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
    “I don’t know where it is.”
    “Yes, you do, it’ the same one you took me for my eye.”
    “I wasn’t driving, you were.”
    “Right.”
    “Get off at Sunset and go left. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
    We prepared to sit in the waiting room for a while, as Henry’s injury wasn’t life threatening and he wasn’t in too much pain. He was more than a little annoyed that the nurse seemed to think he was two when she was examining his chin.
    “Now, Henry, I’m going to put some magic water on your chin so it doesn’t hurt when I touch it. OK?” She said extra smiley.
    “Do you mean anesthetic?” He asked slowly as if he was talking to a three year old and he gave me a look. I wanted to pinch him.
We ate dinner out of the vending machine while Mike made small talk with three quarters of the people in the ER including those who only spoke Spanish.
We finally got out of there at about 11:00PM with three well placed stitches by a very nice doctor who said they would keep Henry from having a scar.

August 9th The Eyes Have It

 Toby, Dean and the Donaldsons had all gone home, but Mike and I were still continuing to scour the shelves, and the floor. The layers of grime kept coming off and the color of wood got lighter and lighter. The black streaks were disappearing.

    All was going well. I was thinking how powerful this cleaner was, eating through the grease so quickly. I leaned way in to get at the back of a corner cupboard when it splashed in my eye. I reacted immediately, yelling at Mike to read the label and call Poison Control. With the carelessness of overconfidence and the rush to get things done I hadn’t put my safety goggles back on because they kept fogging up. Mike read the bottle and it didn’t look good. I was flushing my eye while he calmly talked to the woman at Poison Control. Henry was frantic. I could hear in his voice how scared he was with every, “Mama, are you ok?” I was scared, too. You don’t really think about your eyesight until you face the prospect of losing it. My eye burned and I kept imagining it being eaten away by the grease-cutting-wonder.
    Mike relayed the information that I had to get in the shower, open my eye and flush it for thirty minutes and then call Poison Control back for the next steps. This was serious. I asked him to ask the woman if we should immediately to the hospital since it was over forty minutes away. She said no, I had to do this now. It was not a relaxing shower. Mike kept yelling from the hallway how much time had elapsed. Henry kept coming to the door to see how I was. After the shower I had to lie on the bed and keep my eyes closed for twenty minutes. This is when you really start to imagine the worst. I was terrified to open my eyes at all.
    We called Poison Control again; by now Mike was chatty and familiar with the woman. I could hear him saying “Oh yes, it’s me, Mike. Yes, she’s out of the shower, oh uh huh, yes, oh I’m fine, just a moment . . .“ I lay there thinking they’re awfully chummy. You’d think they’re going to exchange recipes or something. Mike commanded me to open my eyes. I didn’t want to, but I did. I could see! We were all relieved, especially me. Mike handed me the phone and the lady began asking me questions. I said it didn’t hurt any longer but, yes, it felt like I had an eyelash in my eye. This was what she was afraid of. Great. This meant I had to go to the hospital. One question. Where was the hospital? Neither of us really knew Bellingham. We were lucky to find Home Depot™ and the Iwanamoka drive-thru coffee kiosk.

    Mike is not at all comfortable driving my van so I drove. Lisa looked up the address of the urgent care clinic we took Phoebe before we picked a pediatrician. I plugged that into my navigational system.  I call her Loretta. And off we went. Forty minutes later we arrived and found the urgent care clinic closed.  Now what? It was about 10:J0PM and we had no idea what to do next. I called Lisa again and she sent me off in another direction to St. Joseph’s hospital. When we arrived it turned out we were at the hospital’s adult convalescent campus. It was all locked up for the night. Desperately hoping this was the right place, we circled the building several times. Too frazzled to think I called Lisa again. She called the hospital and got the correct address for the Emergency Room.

    Being from Los Angeles, I expected to wait. And I suppose we did wait for a while, but only for a fraction of the time I would expected. But the most amazing part of my experience was that they took my symptoms – (Poison Control had called ahead – she really was a nice woman) and treated me without seeing my insurance card. What? I had never heard of such a thing. I couldn’t find my insurance card in my purse and was getting extremely anxious. The woman told me to relax, gave me my case number and told me to give them a call in the next week. I love this place, how civilized.

It turns out I have an abrasion that will heal itself.