Great Caeser's Salad, Jimmy! This looks like a job for Possum Man!

Wow. You know, a lot can happen in 24 hours. Almost enough to make a TV show about. Almost.

Anyway, the trip to the doctor with the kids went just fine, and mercifully there were NO shots and NO finger sticks. Of course, the moment I got to the desk to sign in, SOMEONE had to go. "Can you wait?" "No, I needs to go NOW!" Knowing how hard it is to get a 'sample' when it's needed, I asked the receptionist if there were any spare specimen cups around, 'cause I wasn't wasting this trip. She nonchalantly said I need to go back to the lab. I left the older two there at the desk to finish filling out the sign-in sheet and Heap Little Bladder and I scurried off to get a cup--me pleading for her to wait, her walking quickly in an odd, twisting, cross-legged gait reminiscent of Red Skelton as Clem Cadiddlehopper.

Get to the lab and explain situation--kid, needs to go, don't know if chance will present itself again--all in my patented "DaddyStress" voice, used to gain sympathy and quick action. She was nonplussed. "You'll have to go in there and they'll give you one," pointing languorously to the room next to the one she was in. Inside were a cadre of highly trained medical professionals, in deep concentration as they listened intently to the weather alert on the TV. "He needs a specimen cup, his little girl has to go." They glanced over their shoulders and one worker began a very deliberate and stately procession from the front of the TV screen to the cabinet. All the while, Bladder Control Poster Child is happily twisting and jumping on one foot. "I really gots to go BAD, Daddy!" she whispered. "I know Sugar, but they've got to get you one of those little cups, and APPARENTLY THEY'RE REALLY ADDICTED TO HEAVY PRECIPITATION, TO THE POINT OF WANTING TO CLEAN UP A FLOOR FULL OF PEE, AND I GUESS THEY WANT TO MAKE ME EVEN MORE STRESSED 'CAUSE THEY'RE MOVING SO DADGUMMED SLOW THAT I COULD HAVE GONE IN THERE AND GOTTEN MY OWN DANGED PEECUP FASTER THAN THEM!" (Gosh, got to have something done about those voices in my head!)

After the nice lady managed to get the cup and a stack of medical-grade WetNaps, she held them out to me. "Do you know how to do a clean catch?" "Yes, YES, YES! For cryin' out loud--the ball is caught in the air and not dropped or trapped, and it's scored as an out! Gimme the dadburned utensicals!" (Those darned voices AGAIN)

"Yes, ma'am, I've done it before, thank you." Get in the restroom, do the 'one, two, three, swipes you're clean' deal (sung, of course, to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" ) and finally plop her on the pot.

trickle.

"That's IT!?"

"Uh-huh, I done now!"

"OHHHHH no you're not, young lady! All this trouble, you're gonna top off that tank!"

Wicked little imp grin.

"Uh-uhhhhh, Daddy! I's frew with ALLLL my tee-tee. Noooooooo more!"

Sigh.

Back to the waiting room with my great big cup of widely scattered afternoon dampness. Got called back quickly, got their vitals and heights and weights and everyone got a thorough over-going, and were pronounced to be veritable pictures of equine health. Pay the bill and head home, pick up Girl Two from school (who was a bit sad that she didn't get to go, too), call wife and find out she had just got off of the phone with Middle Girl's teacher. "She says Rebecca's been squinting a lot and can't see the board. I made her an appointment to go see the doctor this afternoon after I get home. Get me out some jeans and a tee shirt to put on when I get there."

Sigh. On the one hand, Wife and Daughter get to plunder around in Wal-Mart for a while, which is nice; on the other hand, it's now raining in wrath-o'-God portions. Oh well. Wife gets home, kiddies dance for joy, and suddenly Mom doubles over. "Ouch!" Well, now, something's wrong here. She says it feels like something popped when she moved. Having just had surgery, this does not sound like A Good Thing. She sits down for a while and has alternating bouts of misery and near-misery. "Do you want me to take her?" "UUghmm-no. You have to Uhmmmh take Jonathan to Cub SCOWWWTs." Aw CRAP. I had forgotten all about that. "Go get you're stuff on, son." Remembering the last time I thought we had a pack meeting (which I figured out we did not have after a two-hour wait) I thought I might better call the pack leader and make sure this time. Lucky thing I did. "Uh, nope, no meeting tonight, uh, I don't think, uh, no, looks like, uhhhhh, no, no meeting tonight." Well, that was out of the way. "Son, go take your stuff back off and hang it up."

Now to get Reba in the bed and immobile and get to the store. She was liberally loaded with some of those good ol' Elvis drugs and propped onto the bed with the cordless phone and the TV remote. "Y'all, I've got to take Sister to the store--PLEASE don't make a lot of noise and fight with each other--Mama's tummy is hurting. So be quiet. And don't fight. And don't tear up anything. And don't mess with each other. Or fight." Finished with my stunning mastery of American Middle East policy, it was off to the Promised Land of Wal-Martestine.

The exam went fine, and sure enough, she was in need of glasses. We picked out frames (after looking at every single pair in the store) and then went in search of milk, bread, deodorant, and Rolaids. It was during our hunting and gathering that I came upon what promises to be the greatest invention known to mankind.

On the end cap, there by the bread, was a display of pork rinds. But not just any pork rinds, my friends. GIANT, huge, thick pork rinds the size of a regulation NFL football! Massive sheets of fried pigginess! Pork rinds so large that one, broken into normal sized bits, would fill a regular sized bag. Of what genius did these spring? To which porcine Einstein must we pay homage? THIS is what America is all about! What other country in the world has such wonders? And in what other country can you get giant pork rinds, bread, milk, Rolaids, and deodorant ALL IN ONE PLACE!?

Anyway, we get home and Reba is still in pain. This is now Definitely Not A Good Thing. The kids get their baths and go to bed, and I keep trying to get wife to commit to going back to the doctor. She's like a walking, talking, Python sketch--"It doesn't hurt that bad. Just sort of a constant, sharp, stabbing feel to it, as with a dull serrated-edge carving knife. Not very bad, though. Except in my lower abdomen, which also has a bit of a nasty burning sensation. Otherwise, right as rain." "Can you move about, dear?" "Well, only in minute, desperate wiggles, but it's not unbearable as long as I'm not breathing." Reba's kinfolks all grew up in the country, and her mother is always telling her she comes from strong stock, which makes Reba sorta mad--"Makes me sound like cow!"--but let me tell you, I've seen her go through pain that would cause a Hereford to swoon. Which is just one more good thing about America--my wife could kick Saddam's butt through a brick wall.

But, enough's enough--she had a fitful night and by 5:30, I was up and getting ready to take her to the emergency room. Somewhere in among the getting ready and the getting up of children and the trying to figure out how I was going to get them to school and her to the ER, she got in touch with her surgeon, who said to come see him at 8:30 and he would get to her between surgeries. Well, at least I could get the kids to school at the regular time and not have to dump them on Grandma to shuttle.

She put on her clothes and decided not to put on makeup, which is about as close to admitting she was in dire straits as she will ever get to. I took the kids on to school and came back for her and even though it was too early, more or less forced her out of the house. "We're going to be early." "IT'LL BE OKAY! He won't mind!" I won't mind, either. Being Mr. Worst Case Scenario, and having experienced the cruelty of just about all of Murphy's Laws, all I can think of is trying to get across town during rush hour and some moron losing a load of chickens and we wind up getting stuck in a three mile backup with her in pain and no way to get to the hospital. So for me, early is GOOD.

We get there with (thankfully) no problems and about 30 minutes early (go figure). She has to wait a pretty long while but finally Doc comes in and pokes and prods a bit-- "Does this hurt? How 'bout now? How 'bout now?" Then he takes a double handful of belly and squeezes--"THAT'S IT!!" Apparently, she is still suffering some inflammation around her tummy caused by the way in which the abdomen is squeezed and squished and pulled up to get the hose pipe deal in. Nothing ruptured, nothing ripped. Just normal post-op pain. Except about two weeks later than expected. Take Advil and rest. We head back home and stop to get a drink so she can take her Advil. As we pull into the driveway and the garage door goes up, she taps the cup and says "I'm going to leave that in here." I have a feeling..."And why are you going to leave it?" "So I can sip on it on the way to work." Aaarghhhhhh! "You have some sick time--TAKE IT!" "Well, I've got a stack of stuff to do, and I'm not sick--I just hurt."

Sigh. I get my keys, giver her a kiss, and get in my car and wave to her as she backs out of the driveway.

What a woman.
posted by Terry at 2:55:00 PM