Why is it that on any given day I can be completely in love with some doctors (yes, Lu and I have decided to leave Mike and Luke and become part of Dr. Saeed's harem. No, I don't know if he has an actual harem, but we aren't afraid to start one.) and completely disgusted by other doctors? Not to mention nurses...
First, Lu's appointments went well yesterday. She got the okay to leave the house and appear in public sans mask. Which is really good, because yesterday she was extremely pissy about having to wear one and I had to deliver (for roughly the 360th time) the lecture on accepting things gracefully versus acting like a spoiled five year old. But since she's currently on so many antibiotics and has more to take once she finishes those, I'm pretty sure she has like an invisible electrified germ fence around her. The unfortunate news is that they have to wait til early November to do most of the immunological testing since she had IVIG infusions the beginning of August. They said she has 3000 other peoples antibodies running through her system now. And yet she still managed to get two different kinds of pneumonia and a kidney infection. Unbelievable. But she feels pretty good and is hoping the surgeon will let her go back to work at her next appointment. She did take back over the laundry which makes my knee happy.
So lets move on to the bizarre portion of this post. For those of you who have been reading from the beginning (thank you Danica!) or those of you who have read the archived posts, when I started this blog I was about to have surgery to remove my right ovary and the cyst that had taken it over. The surgery was a comedy of errors but the cyst was benign and I slowly healed up. Lately however, I've been having some pain in the exact area where the cyst used to be. It feels exactly like it did when I had the cyst. So I called the doctor's office.
Me: Um. Yeah. I had my right ovary removed last August due to a huge cyst. But now I'm having pain in the exact same place and it feels like it did when I had the cyst.
Nurse: Well you can't have pain in an ovary you don't have.
Me: (duh) well I didn't say it was the ovary, it's just in that vicinity.
Nurse: How long have you been having the pain?
Me: Off and on for the last couple of months but more so the last two days.
Nurse: What are you taking for pain?
Me: Nothing. (because I'm not a whiny little b*tch)
Nurse: Well are you sure they took out your ovary?
Me: Well, if they didn't I'm gonna be really pissed off since that's the whole reason they split me open!
Nurse: Well it's probably not gynecological.
Me: Um. Couldn't it be something at the surgical site? Doesn't she want to take a look?
Nurse: *huge exasperated sigh* I'll talk to the doctor and call you back.
So the next day, she calls back~
Nurse: The doctor says to take Tylenol or Motrin for pain.
Me: Um. Okay. (shouldn't we figure out why I'm in pain first?)
Nurse: and if you start to run a fever it might be appendicitis so you should call your regular doctor.
Me: That's it?
Nurse: Yes.
Really?! I almost asked if I was being punked!! Who has appendix pain in their right lower quadrant?! Do they think my appendix shifted in to fill the empty space left by my ovary? Or is the appendicitis in my non existent ovary?? Bear in mind this was the doctor who only did an ultrasound on the ovary after I put my foot down about it. I'm so finding a new doctor, if the ovarian appendicitis doesn't kill me first.
And in other news, Sean withdrew from College. A week after classes started he came to me with a plan. He said he was miserable every minute of class (which I thought he might be) and that he was too young to be miserable (which he knew I'd agree with). So he withdrew and is planning to get a job or two and save all year. Next year he wants to go to three different high adventure boy scout camps. He'd go on the OA work program so he works there for half the time and then gets to play. The prices aren't bad and I'm all for seeing some sights and having some fun before you settle down. He'd get to go to the mountains in West Virginia, the Florida Keys and Philmont in the New Mexico mountains. So he's been busy filling out applications. One he filled out was for Bonkers, which is our towns version of Discovery Zone or Gymbaree.
Me: You just want to work there so you can check out all the hot single moms.
Sean: Yep. Nothing says sexy like a diaper bag.
I'm hoping he doesn't mean that.
Well, I'm off. Mike has his appointment today with the orthopedist to go over his shoulder MRI. Then we're off to his physical therapy and dinner at a Mexican restaurant I've never been to. I guess that's worth having to kill an hour while he's being tortured.
♥Spot
Showing posts with label weird shit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weird shit. Show all posts
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Ghosties Again...
Ah, so I took a break from blogging yesterday. Sean is still got the cough he's had for ten days now and I wasn't feeling great either so we crashed on the couch and watched scary movies all day. And um..yeah...you guys know me too well...I did still do two loads of laundry, make beds, play laundry room CSI, make supper and shower and smell good. I know, my idea of a "lazy day" is slightly skewed. But it was a good day!
So for a horror movie update~ 100 Feet is a movie about a woman (Famke Janssen) who murders her abusive husband in self defense. She's sent to prison but then changed to house arrest. She can't move out of the 100 foot range of the alarm box without setting it off. As it's a huge ass brownstone in NY, this doesn't allow her to go outside. To make things worse, her husband's old partner (Bobby Cannavale) is pissed she killed her husband and harasses her to no end. But worst of all...the Hubby comes back in ghost form and returns to his habit of beating the crap out of her. I thought it was an okay movie. I wasn't ever bored and didn't poke fun at it. However, Sean gave it a thumbs down. He thought the girl was ridiculously stupid and that Famke Janssen is not only a bad actress but unattractive as well. I tried explaining that she used to be a supermodel but he didn't care. So I guess all in all this movie gets a shrug.
We also watched The Haunted Airman. This one is a BBC production starring Julian Sands and Twilight Heartthrob Robert Pattison. If your only goal is to stare dreamily at Robert for an hour and a half, rent this movie. If you want a good plot, solid acting, and a few jumps~ rent something else. The movie was confusing from the beginning. You never do really know what's real and what's a figment of Robert's mind. But he does a lot of that "brooding" look. An hour and a half of my life I'll never get back. Thumbs down from both of us!
Okay, on to an "October ghostie" story. And this one is PG so even Cynica can continue reading...
I live on 745 acre Boy Scout Camp. Of course a lot of it is timber and there's a 40 foot lake. There is a house on the property that was built 26 years ago for the last Ranger to use. We now reside in the house. Here's a pic:
Kind of got that snow white cottage thing going on doesn't it? It's deceptively small looking however. It's like an optical illusion or something, because once inside it's really big. Like 3600 square feet big. Anywho, it's not haunted. Not in the least. I'm not even afraid to be home alone at night. I can read ghost stories, watch a scary movie, nothing. It's safe.
But the garage is a whole other story. The garage is set across the drive from the house. It's one of those Morton buildings, you know made of metal and totally modern. And big. It's a two car garage. My husband insists during the winter that I park my car in there. Which does save on scraping off ice and snow and what have you. But I must admit that the garage scares the pudding out of me. The ground it sits on was where the original house on the property was located. It was an old farmhouse that was already there when the Boy Scouts bought the property over 50 years ago and of course the house was much older than that. I have no idea what the history of this property is but that is a spooky piece of land. Inside they built a little room in the front, but it doesn't extend all the way across the garage so theres a little cubby hole area (if cubby holes were 4 foot by 4 foot) in the front on the side. The light doesn't really reach this area so it's always dark, even in the daytime. And that is the area that bothers me. Not because it's dark, but because it feels wrong. Now, my hubby says it feels fine. And none of the kids seem to mind it either. But Mo's friend Alex, who's 20 and my "all things ghostie" buddy and another friend went in there one night close to midnight to see if they got any impressions. Both boys high-tailed it back into my house in 10 minutes. Yep. Creepy feeling.
Now, you'd think I could easily avoid this garage and that would be that. And now, I can. But when I worked outside the home, I worked retail. Which meant alot of my hours were at night. That meant coming home to a dark garage. Now, I'm no chicken. I didn't call my hubby every night and demand he meet me at the garage. Nope. (Not that he would have anyway...) I'd come home, pull down towards the garage, stop, get out and open the garage door (yeah, we lost the remotes) and pull in. Then, with the car lights still on, I'd get out and turn on the overhead in the garage. Turn the car off, shut the doors. Then I had a choice...turn off the lights and walk through the small room to get to the door. Or turn off the lights, make a mad dash out the large garage opening and pull the door down fast. Yep. That's the one I did. I would then walk all the way around the garage on the outside to get to my house. If I gone out the front door of the garage, theres a path straight to the house. An always cleared off path. Not me. I was that scared. I'd wade through snow, rain, whatever in order to bypass going out that door. I always felt like something was right behind me when I used that door. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I'd fight the urge to look behind me (Never look back!!) or to break into a run.
One night, I came home late. It was pitch dark. In fact, hubby had forgotten to turn any of our outside lights on (and let me tell you people, the country is waaaayyy dark at night). So I did the usual, pulled up to the garage, got out and opened the overhead, pulled in. Then I gathered my courage, got out of the car and screamed bloody murder. Something had touched my hand!!! I nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Then I realized that the dog was out of her pen and had her nose in my hand. And was giving me the "why is my human screaming" look. Well, actually since it was so dark, I was pretty damn happy to have the dogs company. =]
So there you go. We've actually talked about doing some EVP sessions and taking some night photos in the garage. And the little cemetery from the slide show. If I get the gumption up to do it...I'll let you know.
good scares & night screams,
♥Spot
So for a horror movie update~ 100 Feet is a movie about a woman (Famke Janssen) who murders her abusive husband in self defense. She's sent to prison but then changed to house arrest. She can't move out of the 100 foot range of the alarm box without setting it off. As it's a huge ass brownstone in NY, this doesn't allow her to go outside. To make things worse, her husband's old partner (Bobby Cannavale) is pissed she killed her husband and harasses her to no end. But worst of all...the Hubby comes back in ghost form and returns to his habit of beating the crap out of her. I thought it was an okay movie. I wasn't ever bored and didn't poke fun at it. However, Sean gave it a thumbs down. He thought the girl was ridiculously stupid and that Famke Janssen is not only a bad actress but unattractive as well. I tried explaining that she used to be a supermodel but he didn't care. So I guess all in all this movie gets a shrug.
We also watched The Haunted Airman. This one is a BBC production starring Julian Sands and Twilight Heartthrob Robert Pattison. If your only goal is to stare dreamily at Robert for an hour and a half, rent this movie. If you want a good plot, solid acting, and a few jumps~ rent something else. The movie was confusing from the beginning. You never do really know what's real and what's a figment of Robert's mind. But he does a lot of that "brooding" look. An hour and a half of my life I'll never get back. Thumbs down from both of us!
Okay, on to an "October ghostie" story. And this one is PG so even Cynica can continue reading...
I live on 745 acre Boy Scout Camp. Of course a lot of it is timber and there's a 40 foot lake. There is a house on the property that was built 26 years ago for the last Ranger to use. We now reside in the house. Here's a pic:
Kind of got that snow white cottage thing going on doesn't it? It's deceptively small looking however. It's like an optical illusion or something, because once inside it's really big. Like 3600 square feet big. Anywho, it's not haunted. Not in the least. I'm not even afraid to be home alone at night. I can read ghost stories, watch a scary movie, nothing. It's safe.
But the garage is a whole other story. The garage is set across the drive from the house. It's one of those Morton buildings, you know made of metal and totally modern. And big. It's a two car garage. My husband insists during the winter that I park my car in there. Which does save on scraping off ice and snow and what have you. But I must admit that the garage scares the pudding out of me. The ground it sits on was where the original house on the property was located. It was an old farmhouse that was already there when the Boy Scouts bought the property over 50 years ago and of course the house was much older than that. I have no idea what the history of this property is but that is a spooky piece of land. Inside they built a little room in the front, but it doesn't extend all the way across the garage so theres a little cubby hole area (if cubby holes were 4 foot by 4 foot) in the front on the side. The light doesn't really reach this area so it's always dark, even in the daytime. And that is the area that bothers me. Not because it's dark, but because it feels wrong. Now, my hubby says it feels fine. And none of the kids seem to mind it either. But Mo's friend Alex, who's 20 and my "all things ghostie" buddy and another friend went in there one night close to midnight to see if they got any impressions. Both boys high-tailed it back into my house in 10 minutes. Yep. Creepy feeling.
Now, you'd think I could easily avoid this garage and that would be that. And now, I can. But when I worked outside the home, I worked retail. Which meant alot of my hours were at night. That meant coming home to a dark garage. Now, I'm no chicken. I didn't call my hubby every night and demand he meet me at the garage. Nope. (Not that he would have anyway...) I'd come home, pull down towards the garage, stop, get out and open the garage door (yeah, we lost the remotes) and pull in. Then, with the car lights still on, I'd get out and turn on the overhead in the garage. Turn the car off, shut the doors. Then I had a choice...turn off the lights and walk through the small room to get to the door. Or turn off the lights, make a mad dash out the large garage opening and pull the door down fast. Yep. That's the one I did. I would then walk all the way around the garage on the outside to get to my house. If I gone out the front door of the garage, theres a path straight to the house. An always cleared off path. Not me. I was that scared. I'd wade through snow, rain, whatever in order to bypass going out that door. I always felt like something was right behind me when I used that door. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I'd fight the urge to look behind me (Never look back!!) or to break into a run.
One night, I came home late. It was pitch dark. In fact, hubby had forgotten to turn any of our outside lights on (and let me tell you people, the country is waaaayyy dark at night). So I did the usual, pulled up to the garage, got out and opened the overhead, pulled in. Then I gathered my courage, got out of the car and screamed bloody murder. Something had touched my hand!!! I nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Then I realized that the dog was out of her pen and had her nose in my hand. And was giving me the "why is my human screaming" look. Well, actually since it was so dark, I was pretty damn happy to have the dogs company. =]
So there you go. We've actually talked about doing some EVP sessions and taking some night photos in the garage. And the little cemetery from the slide show. If I get the gumption up to do it...I'll let you know.
good scares & night screams,
♥Spot
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
That story I promised you on Sunday
Okay, so the other day I promised you a story to astound and amaze you. Or was it terrify and repulse you? Or maybe it was amuse and bewilder you? I don't remember. But this is the story you're getting so I promise it will have one of the three effects above.
So I posted before about my "spidey sense" and so far no one has come up with a better name so we are just going to go with that for now. And I mentioned how it is not really useful for personal gain (unless you count avoiding doom which is kind of a point on the gain side really). And then I said unless I started talking to ghosts and became a medium on one of those ghost shows (but really the good ones never use mediums so I'd have to be on one of the mediocre ones and I don't know if I can settle for mediocrity). And then I said that I really didn't want to talk to ghosts. It's true, I really don't. I wouldn't mind seeing one (like a totally non threatening, non scary one of course!) but I don't want it talking to me.
Well, here's the kicker...according to my mom and dad, I used to talk to ghosts. When I was little. I know that you are all pretty freaked out and amazed and OK, maybe mostly freaked out because I know I was!! But they have at least two separate accounts of this behavior.
First, when I was between two and three, we lived with my grandparents (dad's side) for awhile in Bloomington, IL. This was just before my dad joined the air force and began whisking us all over the place. I guess the house my gparents lived in was notably haunted. Lights turned themselves on and off, things mysteriously got moved around, and people passing by the house when my grandparents weren't home would hear the sounds of a party and music and see lights on. It seems that more then one friend of theirs actually got pissed because they thought they had a party and didn't invite them. (It was the early seventies you know). Anyway, the story goes that one night my mom woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of me chattering away (this probably wasn't all that unusual as I'm told even then I was a "talker".) But she said I was even pausing as though I was having a conversation and someone was talking back. She said I didn't sound upset at all. She went down the hall and into my room to find me standing in a corner of the crib chatting animatedly to the empty room. When she asked me who I was talking to I promptly informed her "the lady" and that the lady was cold. She picked me up, I fussed some about the lady being cold and waved "bye bye" as she started down the hall. At which point she started booking it back to her own room, me in her arms. They moved me into their room after that. And we were only in that house a couple more months. I have no recollection of this at all. (of course!)
The second occurrence was much more ongoing and lasted about eighteen months. When I was four we moved to Okinawa, where my dad was stationed. I actually celebrated my fourth birthday on the plane crossing the pacific ocean. At first we lived in a house in one of the villages and I really only had my mom and my dog, Fuzzy, for company. When we moved on base, my mom got rid of the dog (she and he were not friends to put it mildly) So, even though I was in kindergarten (I started early, back then they let you do that), I didn't have a whole lot of friends. So when I started talking to a boy named "Manny" that my parents couldn't see, they figured it was your typical imaginary friend solitary children come up with. But things got increasingly weird as I made them set a place for "Manny" at the table, cried when my mom shut the door too fast and caught "Manny's" elbow in it, walked as though there was someone actually beside me, and had one sided conversations. The doctors assured them it was normal behavior and I'd outgrow my need for my imaginary friend when I started making more real friends. Well "Manny" stayed with me throughout our stay in Okinawa even though I did make real friends. And there were a few odd happenings- once during a typhoon when there was no power, a small plug-in lamp in my bedroom stayed lit anyway. And then "Manny" even followed us back home to America the year I turned 6. Our first stop in America was a visit to my grandparent's (Mom's side this time) home in Illinois. At that time my grandparents were still married (they divorced the next year) and my grandfather was still an alcoholic. One afternoon, my father was taking a bath (they didn't have a shower) in the (only) upstairs bathroom and I was playing in the hall outside the door where our suitcases were stored. My mother had admonished me to stay right there while she went in to rinse my dad's hair for him (picture a 6'2" man crammed into an old fashioned claw foot tub). I was playing horsey on the largest suitcase when suddenly I got up and ran to the door to the bathroom and grabbed the handle. At that moment the sound of a gun going off echoed through the house. I don't remember much of what happened but apparently my father, dripping wet and dressed only in a bathrobe raced downstairs to find my drunken grandfather, my uncle who'd taken the gun from him, and my grandmother. My grandfather had been waving the gun around and it accidentally discharged, sending a bullet straight through the ceiling and exactly where my leg would have been had I still been playing horsey on the suitcase. Well my dad came really close to doing great violence to my grandfather but grandpa spent the night in jail instead. My extremely shaken mother asked me why I'd come to the door when I did and all I could tell her was that "Manny" told me to. "Manny" disappeared after that and I never mentioned him again. While I don't remember much of it (just flashes of scenes) this story still gives me goosebumps. And I thank my lucky stars for "Manny", whoever and whatever he was.
So there you have it. Kind of explains my life long interest in ghosts and all things paranormal, doesn't it? I hope that you, whether you're a believer or not, enjoyed the story. I'm kicking around the idea of making it into a novel (so don't go stealing it!). So which reaction did it get from you?
goosebumps & gratitude,
♥Spot
So I posted before about my "spidey sense" and so far no one has come up with a better name so we are just going to go with that for now. And I mentioned how it is not really useful for personal gain (unless you count avoiding doom which is kind of a point on the gain side really). And then I said unless I started talking to ghosts and became a medium on one of those ghost shows (but really the good ones never use mediums so I'd have to be on one of the mediocre ones and I don't know if I can settle for mediocrity). And then I said that I really didn't want to talk to ghosts. It's true, I really don't. I wouldn't mind seeing one (like a totally non threatening, non scary one of course!) but I don't want it talking to me.
Well, here's the kicker...according to my mom and dad, I used to talk to ghosts. When I was little. I know that you are all pretty freaked out and amazed and OK, maybe mostly freaked out because I know I was!! But they have at least two separate accounts of this behavior.
First, when I was between two and three, we lived with my grandparents (dad's side) for awhile in Bloomington, IL. This was just before my dad joined the air force and began whisking us all over the place. I guess the house my gparents lived in was notably haunted. Lights turned themselves on and off, things mysteriously got moved around, and people passing by the house when my grandparents weren't home would hear the sounds of a party and music and see lights on. It seems that more then one friend of theirs actually got pissed because they thought they had a party and didn't invite them. (It was the early seventies you know). Anyway, the story goes that one night my mom woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of me chattering away (this probably wasn't all that unusual as I'm told even then I was a "talker".) But she said I was even pausing as though I was having a conversation and someone was talking back. She said I didn't sound upset at all. She went down the hall and into my room to find me standing in a corner of the crib chatting animatedly to the empty room. When she asked me who I was talking to I promptly informed her "the lady" and that the lady was cold. She picked me up, I fussed some about the lady being cold and waved "bye bye" as she started down the hall. At which point she started booking it back to her own room, me in her arms. They moved me into their room after that. And we were only in that house a couple more months. I have no recollection of this at all. (of course!)
The second occurrence was much more ongoing and lasted about eighteen months. When I was four we moved to Okinawa, where my dad was stationed. I actually celebrated my fourth birthday on the plane crossing the pacific ocean. At first we lived in a house in one of the villages and I really only had my mom and my dog, Fuzzy, for company. When we moved on base, my mom got rid of the dog (she and he were not friends to put it mildly) So, even though I was in kindergarten (I started early, back then they let you do that), I didn't have a whole lot of friends. So when I started talking to a boy named "Manny" that my parents couldn't see, they figured it was your typical imaginary friend solitary children come up with. But things got increasingly weird as I made them set a place for "Manny" at the table, cried when my mom shut the door too fast and caught "Manny's" elbow in it, walked as though there was someone actually beside me, and had one sided conversations. The doctors assured them it was normal behavior and I'd outgrow my need for my imaginary friend when I started making more real friends. Well "Manny" stayed with me throughout our stay in Okinawa even though I did make real friends. And there were a few odd happenings- once during a typhoon when there was no power, a small plug-in lamp in my bedroom stayed lit anyway. And then "Manny" even followed us back home to America the year I turned 6. Our first stop in America was a visit to my grandparent's (Mom's side this time) home in Illinois. At that time my grandparents were still married (they divorced the next year) and my grandfather was still an alcoholic. One afternoon, my father was taking a bath (they didn't have a shower) in the (only) upstairs bathroom and I was playing in the hall outside the door where our suitcases were stored. My mother had admonished me to stay right there while she went in to rinse my dad's hair for him (picture a 6'2" man crammed into an old fashioned claw foot tub). I was playing horsey on the largest suitcase when suddenly I got up and ran to the door to the bathroom and grabbed the handle. At that moment the sound of a gun going off echoed through the house. I don't remember much of what happened but apparently my father, dripping wet and dressed only in a bathrobe raced downstairs to find my drunken grandfather, my uncle who'd taken the gun from him, and my grandmother. My grandfather had been waving the gun around and it accidentally discharged, sending a bullet straight through the ceiling and exactly where my leg would have been had I still been playing horsey on the suitcase. Well my dad came really close to doing great violence to my grandfather but grandpa spent the night in jail instead. My extremely shaken mother asked me why I'd come to the door when I did and all I could tell her was that "Manny" told me to. "Manny" disappeared after that and I never mentioned him again. While I don't remember much of it (just flashes of scenes) this story still gives me goosebumps. And I thank my lucky stars for "Manny", whoever and whatever he was.
So there you have it. Kind of explains my life long interest in ghosts and all things paranormal, doesn't it? I hope that you, whether you're a believer or not, enjoyed the story. I'm kicking around the idea of making it into a novel (so don't go stealing it!). So which reaction did it get from you?
goosebumps & gratitude,
♥Spot
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