Friday, June 29, 2012

How to destroy a summer in one second

I am not a happy camper...quite literally and in ever sense of those words!!!  To begin with, I think you can all be extremely happy with the fact that I DIDN'T CUSS!! That might be a first for me. 
I'll set the stage.
It is June 21, 7pm at Lake Five and I am the only living person tough enough to brave the water.  It has been raining for 5 days but tonight it is warm with that wonderful heavy air that keep the glassy lake as still as death.  I have already skied around the lake twice and have swam 4 laps.  The lake is just so calm that I think- hey, I could ski again!  I don my gloves and life jacket, and grab my ski.  Stewart has backed the boat up and is swinging the rope around and around, just as he's done a million and 3 times before, preparing to let it go so it can fly to either side of me- almost always within arms reach- yeah, he's that good.   I usually don't even bother to watch because he can throw that rope to the side of me with amazing accuracy- like I said we've done this dance for years and years. For some reason I stood up straight and watched him this time... first mistake.  So there he is- a sort of cowboy rodeo slash water skiing rope twirler of the first order whipping that rope into an eye blurring frenzy-  he let's it go and before I can even react, the thing is headed straight at my head.  In my own defense, you have to realize it takes the rope exactly .00578 seconds to crack my skull open- I realize this too, so also in that split second of time I say to myself holy shizolah, that thing is coming right at me, well, that stinks, so what am I going to do about it.  I could duck but actually I don't think I have time for that. No, there must be a better option.  I do need the rope to be in my hands at some point, may as well kill (no pun intended) two birds with one stone and save a millionth of a second.  It takes more time and energy to bend over and pick up the rope so yeah, that's the solution, I'll just catch the rope that is coming at me with the speed and force of super sonic jet.  So I fling my hands up...second mistake... and BAM! Ouch and no I didn't cuss- honest! Oh ouch ouchie ouch!!! By the way, and be impressed- I did catch the rope- but I didn't hold on to it long.  I could feel huge pain in my left little finger- the same one I broke catching a very short low bad basketball pass.  (stupid girl) I look at it and it's not sticking out at a weird angle like the last time- I don't need to pop it back into place like the last time.  So because I have vasts amounts of knowledge and medical expertise and those are definitely the medical criteria for determining a broken bone, I thinks pfff- well that's good, it's not broken- I've got my stuff on so I'm ski-en!  It's a bit painful trying to put the ski on but I manage.  I hold the rope in my right hand and for a fleeting instant wonder if I could get up one handed...  don't let's be silly! So I firmly grasp the ski handle in both hands- ouch ouchie ouch shoot ouch.  I definitely felt something pop in my hand- right under my little finger. So like the practical careful person I am, I let up on two fingers and yell hit it. More ouchy shoot ouchness but I am up  and I am skiing.  Not my best efforts to cut some rooster tail! This thing is hurting.  I only go around once, darn it.  Back at the trailer I gingerly get dressed, and sit down to put ice on this bad boy.  After a half hour of that I look at it and feel around a bit.  I do not want it to be broken, so in my mind it's not.  Kurt and Stewart think differently- so off to the ER we go- at 9 pm.  Short story long, I show it to the Doc, he takes a few ex-rays and sure enough I have a boxers fracture.  Stangely the doctor walks back in the room and says "I can't believe it, you really did break it."  Hmm really?- that's why I'm here??  Shucks, I just thought we'd spend quality some time together talking about the crappy weather! No shizzzz Sherlock!  5th metacarpal bone broken horizontally under the knuckle.  He want's to know if I want something for pain.  nope.  Just tell me how long before I can ski again.  Six weeks.......SIX WEEKS!!!??? seriously?? I didn't swear-  I did say an F word- but fart is much better than that other word which actually I have only uttered twice in my life and really I don't know where it came from in those instances because I HATE that word!  So fart it was.  And fart it remains.  That Dr. made the mistake of not casing this broken hand.  He half cast it and wrapped it with a tensor bandage with velcro.  hehehe- pfff.... VELCRO! As if I can't escape from velcro!  I am giving it 3 weeks- 19 days to be exact.  Then I shall be skiing again.  Stewart is trying to conjure up and manufacture some kind of harness for one handed skiers that he saw on the internet.  Yeah,  like I want that thing hurtling at me! Nope- I'll just ski like an Englishman drinking tea..pinkies up and very proper and dainty like............NOT!
So yes- Camping this summer will see me with one eyebrow and Stewart will be doing the dishes!  Serves him right!
Here is a picture of the offending hand.  This is at the 1 week mark and counting.  The back of my hand is just yellow- so not as impressive.  I also have a rope handle shaped bruise on my arm.  Stewie may be doing dishes for a long time!

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

There is actually a name for this?? Go figure!!

Disclaimer- Some parts of this post may be gross- stop here if you don't like gross.  I am not kidding.

AND I AM NOT ALONE?  Oh my good gosh Miss Molly- I am stunned. Vindicated, amused and horrified- all in the same breath.  After years of being perplexed and aggravated, ashamed and weird, the light has been turned on and I am no longer alone in the darkness.  I am-are you ready for it-drum roll- an Emetophobe.  I have Emetophobia.  There I said it- I am out of the closet- or bathroom as may be more apropos.  For those of you who have no clue what I am talking about,  here is wonderful wikki's definition of my malady.  Pay special attention to the last sentence-

Emetophobia (from the Greek εμετός, to vomit, and φόβος (phóbos), meaning "fear") is an intense, irrational fear or anxiety pertaining to vomiting. This specific phobia can also include subcategories of what causes the anxiety, including a fear of vomiting in public, a fear of seeing vomit, a fear of watching the action of vomiting or fear of being nauseated.[1] Emetophobia is clinically considered an “elusive predicament” because limited research has been done pertaining to it.[2] It is considered to be one of the most common phobias in the world.[3]

For clarification, I think I fall into a sub category.  Fear of watching and or hearing the act of said chunk blowing.  I don't particularly love being sick myself but I don't freak out about it.  I wouldn't want to throw up in front of people either-  I have done that once,  when I was pregnant- couldn't be helped-  but it was Stewart and nothing seems to bother him.  He was raised on a farm- nuf said.

 One of the most common phobias in the WORLD!  Well isn't that special.  I was reading a fellow Emetophobes blog today (quite by accident) and something he said pricked my interest-  He said when ever his kids say "I have a stomach ache", he goes into fits of anxiety.  I mused to myself, "hhmmm, that sounds vaguely familiar."
I have always wondered why I get like this- why the flying part of flying doesn't scare me or really bother me- in fact I think blowing up in an airplane wouldn't be a bad way to go- but being in that confined tube with people who may or may not puke is more than I can handle and I have to take drugs-lot's of them- so that I am so hopped up on Adivan that I could care less what anyone does on the plane.   Why when someone says I feel sick do I get a buzzing in my ears and feel the need to run.  Why when my poor niece got sick in the back seat of a car did I scream for my sister in law to STOP THE CAR and frantically jump out of the front seat and walk briskly down Mayor Magrath drive to parts unknown. Like Wikki said- irrational!

I am remembering back to my wedding shower, when my pregnant sister in law got sick and had to throw up in the gutter beside the car while all the ladies at the shower stood watching her.  I couldn't believe that they all stood there so calmly nodding their heads and smiling like this was the most natural thing in the world.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  I thought if this is what being married and pregnant means, that you hunker down in a gutter,  hurling your tiny shower sandwiches, cookies  and pink punch up for all the world to see, I want no part of it.  I almost called the wedding off right then and there-  Riding home in the car with that poisoned woman, who could at any moment, unleash this monster all down my back, was shear agony.  I turned my head to the window and tried desperately not to cry or hyperventilate.

I almost NEVER visit sick friends or relatives in the hospital. You can guess why- there are sick people in there.  Only when I absolutely have to visit- and even then I come and go, in and out of the room and watch them and the other patients like a hawk for any signs of stomach unrest, the entire time I am 2 shades away from a full blown panic attack.   I have been in the elevator with patients on gurneys who look pale and sickly, and I have almost had to tell them to move over, because I am having a heart attack.  When I was in the recovery room after having one of my kids- a lady in there was sick-  I got up yanking the IV tubes along with me and walked out of there- nurses trailing behind me yelling at me to get back in bed. Not happening! I attended the birth of my first grandchild-  I did fine until Whitney said she was nauseated.  FREAK!  Kudos to Whit for holding it in!  Whitney should know how much I love her because I stayed there, all the time wanting to run screaming from that room.   It was one of the hardest thing I have ever done.  I am proud of myself for doing it, but not ever going to do it again.  EVER.

What did you do when your kids got sick? You are all wondering that, I know (along with who blogs about this kind of thing? My blog, my rules...  I did warn you!)  Well God protects crazies in all kinds of wonderful ways.  For some reason,  I was able to deal with them.  I am chalking that up to God, because no other person place or thing has been able to fix this phobia.  With my kids,  maybe it's because they started out just spitting up, they started out as little tiny hurlers.  As they grew into large man sized, bring it from their toenails, the sounds reverberating off the bathroom walls pukers- well they know me and they try very hard to be discreet, quite, and they try not to announce that they are sick.  The strange thing is they were really good, at a very early age, at hitting the john or the supplied ice-cream bucket.  And if they didn't it was Stewart's problem.  One of the many reasons I love that man! Oh by the by- Stewart almost never throws up- and somehow, if he does, he is pretty darn quite about it. 

I hesitate to share this with the blogging world, because there are some who may use this against me- tell me they feel like they are going to be sick just to watch the freak out show-  ( if any of you DO try that, trust me, I will hurt you- I will find out what makes you crazy and I will use it to make your life a living hell)  But man it's kind of good to know you're not alone in your "elusive predicament."
This particular phobia raises it's ugly head in all types of circumstances.  Couple it with claustrophobia and yes, Erma Jean, you've got a walking talking freak show on your hands. That would be me!  I am wondering if there is a cure for this, but then I think- I've heard about people who are terrified of spiders or snakes being exposed to hundreds of spiders or snakes to "cure" them...  I just can't see myself sitting in a room full if helpful but sick folk, all throwing up to cure me of MY ills.  The thought of that is so utterly appalling and insane, I can not even go there in my mind.  Nope, probably just going to have to live with it, like so many phobia ridden people do.  My biggest fear is that someone I need to take care of, a child or a husband, a mother or father will get cancer and kimo therapy.  I will be utterly useless.  My hope is that if that happens, God will intervene somehow, like he did with my 3 kids.  I know that would be the only way I could be of any help to a sick person.

So there you have it, my fine peeps- the real and truly strange me.  I am apparently joined by many in the world in my fear.  We are a strange lot, human beings, are we not? If you are ever in my presence and you feel sick, please keep it to yourself- in every way!!!