Thursday, September 9, 2010

Once upon a time...

... there was this woman.

She was kinda getting old and had some issues with pain. Not just the getting old kind of issues; real issues with physical therapists and pills and stuff. She did all manner of things to cope with said pain. Hot tubs (at her sister's house - a whole nother story...), drugs to dull the pain, drugs to increase her pain tolerance, research to understand her pain, spiritual enlightenment to accept her pain. blah blah blah. Mostly she tries to keep her mouth shut about it because there are others in far worse circumstances; and, well... no one likes a whiner.

Over the course of years of dealing with this pain, she has developed TMJ (another painful condition, go figure) most likely from grinding her teeth. Hmmm; wonder why... I digress. In any case, at some point a physical therapist was called in to render assistance. He "gave" her a TENS unit, which is akin to a modern shock therapy treatment so small you can carry it in your purse. A personal taser, if you will.

Fast forward with me, a couple of years later to when her pain is back at an intolerable level. She went to the closet to pull out aforementioned personal taser to treat herself- which sounds a little inappropriate, but you get the point. She had her daughter carefully measure out the trigger points in her upper back that were the alleged cause of her pain and applied the contacts. The pain ridden woman then carefully chose a setting which delivered about as much zzzt as her sore muscles could endure. She closed the safety cover and curled up for a little snoozy.

About that time the beautiful, but cruel, daughter turned on the discovery channel and the sound of "mike's" voice from Dirty Jobs could be heard thru the living room. Aha, thought the woman in the midst of her treatment.... I like that show and it would give me something else to think about other than the taser that I have purposely attached to my own flesh.

She raised her head from the soft pillow in order to turn herself into a position in which to view the screen. In a twist of fate, she inadvertently flipped open the cover to the settings, spun the dial to full ZZZZZT, and flipped the cover closed.

There were several ways in which you could have relieved herself of this predicament. Unfortunately, she was unable to think of any of them.

She lived.

The End

Friday, September 3, 2010

Thirty four days

That's how long it has been since I have held him, looked into his eyes, felt the stubble of his little man-face, and known for sure that he is really okay. We have talked; we have texted. We have spoken of love and shared cross words and made up again... all normal things but from 8 hours away.

I have cried in Walmart. I have cried at the mall, at work, and at church. I have cried in the kitchen, the living room, the shower. In some ways, it reminds me of childbirth. After nineteen hours of labor they put this tiny little piece of creation into your arms and all is forgotten. The mess, the pain... all fade into the sweetness of that face - which is, of course, the only reason you ever do THAT again. Somehow, when he walked out the door every power struggle we ever had, every pair of shoes I ever tripped over, every exhausted evening spent leaning over a tub, every vomiting session, every horrible piano recital... all gone. I miss him so much that I hurt. literally. It is the second hardest goodbye of my life.

Don't get me wrong. I wish him heaps and heaps of success. I don't wish him to come home, as much as I wish that I could roll back the clock to 1989 and do it all again. I love to hear of how much he loves his classes and how he is finally applying himself in school...

because someone is finally asking him to do something he cares about.