Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Texting, Pop and Whoppers

Not that you really need to know....I've been away "helping" a client die. It's an honor to take this journey with someone. Now that the journey has ended, I'm back to blog.

A few weeks back, right after being diagnosed with a terminal illness, the client asked me to be with her when she died. I promised I would do just that. I would be her "gate-keeper."

It is what I do. It's nothing heroic. It's not brave. It's what I do. I've had the opportunity to be with several clients as they transitioned from this world to the next. When people ask me about it--how can you be with someone who is dying?--I don't know how to answer them except to say "it's what I do" and that "it is an honor," as I fully believe it is the ultimate honor and it is something that I can do. 

To hold someone's hand, to look into their eyes and convey that this is somehow okay, to say words of which they need to hear...it changes your life. They change my life by letting me be there. I can only hope my presence can somehow help their last moments be bearable, comfortable, peaceful.

The client died yesterday afternoon. I am relieved to report I was able to fulfill my promise. I was with her before, during and after her death. I was able to hold her hand and say the words of which she asked to hear. I asked for her hand and opened the gate. She did all the rest.

I am grateful for the opportunity she afforded me.

As she was dying much sooner (and faster) than had been anticipated, I had to alert a few of my co-workers of the pending event. I didn't want to get up and leave as it was pretty easy to tell we were getting close to the end and I had promised to be there when she passed away...yet, I had promised my peers to alert them of a change in status.....I would not leave....I could not leave....so, I apologized and pulled out my cell phone. 

A friggin' cell phone! This lady is dying and I'm texting people!

I'm texting that she's dying WHILE she's dying. There is something very, VERY wrong with this. I wanted to throw up. I did not want to do this....yet, I didn't know how else to get ahold of the people who needed immediate contact. And so, although it was horrible, I did what I had to do and she knew I had to do it. I had to be true to my word while being true to my word and there was only one way to do it.

No one should have their final hours interrupted by texting. No one. For this, I say I am truly sorry.

Anyway, this is all too maudlin, so let me say a few happy words about this lady. You would have liked her. She earned recognition and respect, so I want to give it to her, if only through a few words in a tacky blog. She had a tough life. Mental illness is a cruel master. She lived with a mental illness that spared her nothing....and yet, she remained positive, helpful, friendly, determined. 

She was a naughty tidbit, 
                full of vim and vigor,
                       a stranger to no one, 
                               an addict of soda and chocolate.
You could easily make her day with a hello, a can of Pepsi and a box of Whoppers.

I'm sure she.gave her parents a run for the money.

She had friends. Long term friends, neighbor friends, agency friends, friend friends, stranger friends.
She always had a smile for everyone.
Bus driver, another client, the person taking her blood, a true stranger...always a smile.

She was always more concerned about others than herself.....
She's laying in bed dying and she is worried about other people.
She wanted to spare us, to comfort us, to reassure us.
She worried about all of us and always asked how we were doing.

If she had one milli-second of regret or doubt, I do not know of it.

She spent hours on end watching her two favorite TV shows. She was engrossed,
engaged, entertained.

She lived her life on her terms, despite being captive by mental illness. 
She made friends with her captor. 
After all, she had never met a stranger. 
Even a captor could be a friend.

She had mental illness but she wasn't her mental illness. She was so much more.

In her honor, I ask you eat some Whoppers or drink some Pepsi (the real stuff, out of the can, please). She won't judge you for smoking a cigarette in her honor so you could do that, too...but, only if it's menthol...
That would tickle her pink. 
*******************************************************
Godspeed to a very wonderful lady. Save a bar stool. You know what I mean.
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Saturday, April 12, 2014

Singing the Lucy Blues

I'm sure you've all heard of "Where's Waldo?"  Well, I'm playing a new game called "Where's Addi?" It doesn't have the same ring to it but you get the idea. Besides, I look pretty good in red and white stripes.

Here's a recap of the week: dying client, eye-sty-ing dog, clothes-washing and going on a mission from God. There you have it.

Let's stick with the dog, because at least that's fun in an expensive way and doesn't involve someone dying and doesn't involve me doing more work for the church.
Poor, poor Lucy. She must have gotten jealous of how much money we spent to keep Freckles alive back in 2010. She's out to outspend her sister.

Here's a photo of her imitating her favorite dog on the planet, Blue Dog.

No, this was not a planned donning of the blue. Lucy just joined me in making some artwork for an upcoming show. I was painting...next thing I knew, I had a dog with blue.
The wife was not amused.

Lucy is now mucking her way through an anal gland tumor, wobbly legs and disgustingly-licked-over skin. She has now decided to add what I would label a meibomian gland adenoma to the mix. (Me and the Internet--always a dangerous combination.) It's no big deal and super-common and only becomes a problem if the thing starts rubbing on the cornea.

Well, guess who is gifted in the let's-grow-a-big-eye-cyst-and-cost-you-money? You bet: Lucy.

I wasn't going to do anything about it as it's not something you do anything about....unless, it starts bothering the dog. I thought I might take a photo, post it on Book de la Face and call it a day....but, Lucy's eye got red and irritated and booger-y. So, back to the vet we went, charge card in hand. Having it fully removed (as hers in deep into the eyelid and not something you just snip off--of course it's not) is a major expense and needs a surgeon. The vet looked at it and agreed with my observation that it was deep into the eye lid.....she looked and looked....

.....and then, the vet decided to go the cheap route this time: S-S-S-S-Q-U-E-E-E-E-E-E-Z-E!

I must say, an impressive "thing" burst outta there and plopped onto the table. Lucy still has the cyst but it's smaller and it is not on as much of her eye now. I was instructed to use special eye drops (another day, another dog with eye drops) and to keep an eye on it.

It was then time for the anal gland examination and expression. Imagine how excited Lucy was about this. She now recognizes the "hold her tight for the anal gland exam" position and starts wiggling the second the vet tech assumes the "hold her" position. She has had her anal glands expressed many a time as the one with the tumor is giving her fits. Last time we were at the vet, Lucy sprayed the vet with the most-pungent-smelling stuff known to man--I'm telling you, she "got" that lady full force with a gift of anal gland juice. I shouldn't have laughed but I couldn't help it--I mean, the vet was wearing a vat of this stuff. As it was time to do it again, I warned the vet to "button up" and "stand back." Thank god she laughed. With the death grip on the greased-pig-wiggly dog, the vet released the Cracken and all was well. No one ended up wearing anything and I'm sure Lucy felt much better. After all, who the hell wants full anal gland?

The vet then said something I wasn't expecting; in fact, I don't think any of you would expect this sentence to come out of your vet's mouth (well, unless you knew something was amiss in this department).  Call me a prude but my jaw dropped wide open when the vet announced: "Look at this--her vulva is red and inflamed."

The vet grabbed Lucy's tail, lifted it straight up, grabbed Lucy's girl parts and had me take a gander.

Um, yeah, I guess. I've never really every looked at Lucy's girl parts so I can't judge if they look different or not.

The vet then said something I wasn't expecting after hearing about said girl part problems; she asked: "Do you have any of that ear medication left?"

At first, I thought she has skipped on to a new subject and I thought, "oh geez, she has ear problems, too?" Then, I realized the vet wasn't talking about her ears. She added, "just use some of that ear medication and put it on her vulva."

Oh my achin' ass....Now I have to put ear medication on Lucy's girl parts? This is ridiculous. Like I want to put ear medication on canine girl parts. I don't even have one shred of an idea of how I am going to do this. Eye drops, ear drops I can do. This? I'm gonna need therapy.

So, Lucy Bark of Poteidaia, an almost-twelve-year-old party pup has a growth on her eye lid, only half her teeth, blue hair, an anal gland tumor, quick-filling anal glands, wobbly legs that go ever which way, itchy skin and an inflamed vulva. Not only that but she has an inflamed vulva that needs ear medication.

Makes Freckles blindness and deafness seem like a picnic. 
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Friday, April 04, 2014

Do You have Any Money?

Last weekend, I finally had the opportunity to pay off a thirty-year-old debt. I'm good about paying back my debts. Sometimes it just takes a little longer.

There was an Eddie Money concert in town 30 or so years ago and the wife and I were supposed to go. Well, we DID go....we just didn't stay. Why?

Because the parking was so horrible that I refused to stay.

Some things never change. I must have been killed in a parking lot during a previous life.

Who doesn't go to a concert because the parking is bad? We were very young so I don't know why I already had been cursed with this parking lot affliction but I had it bad. The parking was worse than a drunken stampede and I couldn't stand the thought of trying to escape this melee while surrounded by thousands of drunken drivers....I refused to park and I drove home. Done. No Eddie Money for us. No more talking to me from the wife for the rest of the night.

I had to hear about this for 30 long years--rightly so, I must agree. Thirty years is a long time.

I never thought I'd get to pay that debt off but then it happened: Eddie Money came to the area to put on a concert. Eddie Money! This was my chance. We ordered our two tickets to paradise and waited for the debt-pay-off.

Here's a photo gleaned from the Internet to illustrate what Eddie looked like back in the early 1980s.

We went to the concert as scheduled, with no park lot traumas in site. I was giddy at the chance to repay the debt. I made the wife stand in front of the theater so I could take her photo with Eddie's name on the marquee. We entered and took our seats, soon noticing first that we were the youngest people in the crowd. A scan of the crowd confirmed that the place was packed with 900 white, middle-aged fans.

To say it was unreal is an understatement beyond compare. At one point, the wife turned to me and said, "Pinch me. Is this really happening?"

The wife took a gander and asked, "Why are so many people wearing Chicago Bears jerseys?" I hadn't noticed, so I turned toward the crowd. Yup, lots of Bears paraphernalia. I answered that Chicago Bear fans are year round fans. (Sounded like a good answer.) Her little Green Bay Packer soul got a little nervous. I assured her no one could tell she was a Packer Backer.

I was wrong with why there were so many Bears Jerseys. It had nothing to do with year-round loyalty....it had to do with the opening band.

Quite to both of our surprises, the opening band was "The Chicago Six," best know for being comprised of players from the 1985 Super Bowl Champion Chicago Bears. I kid you not. (They technically are now the Chicago Three, but who's counting?) Out comes Dan Hampton, carrying the bass. Out comes Otis Wilson, ready to sing.  And, then.....Steve McMichael stumbled out onto the stage, carrying an old acoustic guitar.

In case you're wondering: No, the Chicago Six are not going to win a Grammy.

Actually, it was quite fun. I'm not sure if Steve was drunk, stoned, goofing around or had been hit in the head one too many times....they said he played 'rhythm guitar' but I don't think there was a lot of actual guitar playing going one. A cheer erupted from the crowd when Dan explained that Walter Payton used to be their drummer.

If you have the chance to see the Chicago Six & you are a Bears Fan & you don't have to pay: go.

Here's a blurry photo of Dan on the bass. He looked pretty good, considering his participation in a brutal sport for many a year. You could Dan and Steve kind of gimped around. I imagine they are ALWAYS in some kind of pain. Otis looked pretty spry. He was fine as a singer but played a lousy tambourine. No offense, Otis.
The next opening band (which was no longer an opening band) was the guy from Toto. I feel badly describing him that way but it's good enough for this blog. I was a big Toto fan back in the day, so this was a bonus. (Yes, I saw Toto in the 1980's. No, there were no parking traumas that time.) There were some surreal portions of this middle act...but, nothing we couldn't survive without a chuckle and pinch.

Finally, the moment we'd been waiting for--for THIRTY years--arrived: Eddie Money took the stage. Good-bye, debt! Hello, Eddie Money! I almost burst into tears. Such a weight was removed from my shoulders. He could have just stood there and I would have been fine.

He sounded great. It was very entertaining. It was a great venue to hear a concert. We really did enjoy it, even though there were many a "pinch me" moment.

My photos sucks. It's a camera phone thing. But, you get the idea. Eddie's in the middle. We were about six rows back.

There is no polite way to say this: Holy Cow, Eddie Money is old!!! 

Which leads to the next statement: Holy Cow, we are old!!!

Don't tell anyone, but the wife and I are old enough to know all the lyrics to Eddie Money songs and to own his albums. ALBUMS. Not CDs. Albums. I own his albums. Old!

I've gotten used to going to concerts where the light show and stage happenings are a very integral part of the show....so, when Eddie Money's stage was comprised of a sheet with his name on it, I was pretty surprised. What a spoiled brat I have become.

He played all his hits. He played the harmonica. He played the sax. He sang with his daughter. He did some little spins in place. In many ways, it was worth a thirty year wait.

Or, maybe not. Hard to say.

Here's another bad photo. Someone should tell Eddie that he shouldn't wear blue with black...he should wear blue with orange. After all, this is Chicago and he was following the Chicago Six.

Eddie was looking a bit rough. Okay, really rough. At one point I commented to the wife that he reminded me of my Aunt Julia. I'm not sure what that was all about but that's what I thought.

Who cares if he looked rough? He sounded great.

The only issue was that I was standing in beer. Someone a few rows back spilled their beer and it had rolled my way. I had my good gym shoes on so I was a little bitter. I couldn't dance in beer. I'd ruin my shoes and splash suds everywhere. Very disappointing.  Very disgusting.

Eddie wouldn't have minded standing in beer. He would have danced in beer. Eddie would dance in a beer-soaked parking lot. He certainly wouldn't let an unruly parking lot keep him from attending a show.

Thirty years. I hope the wife feels the love.