Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
There are the sort that sometimes require you to firmly place your hands on the table, stare the offender down, and invoke the first rule of of parenting and international diplomacy--“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” That usually gets them dried up pretty quick.
Then there are the sort that come from being tired and cranky and deranged that usually are worst on long car trips--those are harder to bring a halt to without either stopping at Stuckey’s or turning around and half-yelling that you really WILL give them something to cry about if they don’t stop the noise.
Then there are the kinda fakey ones that result from dropping a teddy bear in the toilet or getting poked in the arm with a Power Ranger or getting stared at or from having someone repeat everything as soon as you say it or a billion other imagined insults to person or reputation. These are more like summer showers--quick downpour, then after the steam clears, it’s like they never even happened. Don’t even need an umbrella.
Then there are the kind that come from getting hurt--falling down the hill, falling off a rubber ball and hitting your head, paper cuts from getting into the paper you weren’t supposed to get into. These are pretty sincere, but you can always work in a lecture as you kiss it and make it better or put on a bandage--“You know, if you hadn’t been doing what I told you not to do, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” Nyaah. So there.
Then there are the kind that come from terrible pain. Pain that your daddy swore wouldn’t be there, and pain that you have no way of stopping, and pain that everyone keeps telling you is for your own good, and pain that even though it hurts more than you can stand you still have to be real still so they can keep hurting you. The tears that come out then are the worst, and they can just about make a grown man break down and cry, too.
Poor little chick--got her to the ear doctor yesterday and figured it would be a routine sort of visit. Her ear still seemed a little stopped up, but I figured that it would be better. Got called back, waited, read my car comparison reports, answered questions about the contents of the exam room, doc finally came in and…the fluid had returned and was just as bad as before. SO, we decided to go ahead and put in a tube, which Cat though was pretty keen.
Off to the procedure room, wait, read, wait, get wad of anesthetic cream in her ear, wait for thirty minutes. Doc came in, sucked out the anesthetic, which seemed to give her a bit of discomfort, but not so bad. She lay perfectly still with a little grin on her face, and then it came time to insert the tube.
And more ouch. Suction.
OWWW! Big hot tears started squirting out of her eyes, and then the sobs, but she still kept her head still. Face beet red, terrible tears, more poking and prodding, dropped one tube, had to get another, tears, finally got another one and got it in place, more suction, more tears. Finally he got all done, and explained that there might have been an acid-base reaction in her ear to the anesthetic that neutralized its effect and made it hurt worse than it should have. Whatever. It just about killed me. He put some antibiotic drops in and plugged her up with a cotton ball, and she clambered out of the chair onto my lap for some much-needed hugs and kisses and songs and a promise of a special surprise for being so very brave.
After a few minutes she was down to lightly scattered sniffles, and the sweet Russian nurse gave her a drug company pen AND some animal stickers AND a plastic bag to put them all in. She gave a tiny little thank you and we made our appointment to come back in ANOTHER two weeks. And I forgot to get her a doctor’s excuse AGAIN. Small wonder.
Off to the parking deck, and by the time we got to Level F, she was back to her usually bouncy and inquisitive and fidgety self. Kids sure are resilient. If only I was.
Drove home, she wrote on her bag with her new pen “MOMMY I GOT A TUEB,” then we stopped at the drugstore to get her prescription filled--tiny bottle of antibiotic drops--SEVENTY FOUR BUCKS! And that’s WITH insurance. Thankfully, the doctor also gave us a prescription for a big bottle of The Good Stuff for any lingering pain--Tylenol 3, with the hearty, tasty and addictive goodness of codeine. It was for her, just in case she hurt, but after all that I would gladly have downed it myself. MMMmmm. Narcotics.
While we waited, she decided on what her surprise should be. “Daddy, I want a toy. And a drink. And a snack.” Fair enough. She picked out a non-sugar fizzy drink, a smallish bag of cheese curls (that’s my girl!) and for her toy, finally decided on a polar bear holding a little heart-shaped box of Whitman’s chocolates from the half-price cart full of Valentine’s detritus. Home, where she sternly instructed me NOT to tell anyone about her ordeal so that SHE could fill them in on her bravery under fire. Again, fair enough.
After all that hubbub died down, it was time to take Oldest to her clarinet lesson, so we did that and got tangled up in the big meeting being held at the high school about Trussville starting its own school system, then had to run to the store for Reba to get some plates and a gift for a going-away party for someone at her office. By the time I got home and ate supper, I was rather tired, and didn’t finish doing the work that I had taken home with me, SO…
I have to finish is now. Which means YET ANOTHER day of paltry output here at Possumblog, which I know will probably disappoint all two of you, but it is just the way things worked out today. ::sigh:: Maybe tomorrow there will be time for more fun ‘n’ games.
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