Current mood: amused
Once Upon A Friday, is a true story taken from a day in the life of none other than myself, Cheryl Newman. I preface the story with that, because otherwise it may be a bit too unbelievable to believe that anyone could have a day quite like mine was on the 12 of May, in the year 2006.
It all started at 1:30am that Friday morning; well really I suppose the trauma you could say actually happened around 9:00pm the evening before, when my mother first steped on a 50 year old, rusty nail from a floor board on my brother's new-to-him house, but my story begins at 1:30am. My dad woke me up. Part of the disorientation I experienced at this point was because I have temporarily re-located to our upstairs gameroom for a bedroom, as my 96 year-old great grandmother has taken over my bedroom. As most 1:30 am wake-up calls are, it was an emergency, "Cheryl, can you please take your mom to the emergency room." So naturally, I jumped out of bed and got dressed. After 20 minutes of trying to figure out which hospital to go to so that insurance would cover it, we just decided to go the one downtown (a good 25 min. drive from our house). The hospital story has some elements to it that do add to the insanity of the Friday but pale in comparison to the ones coming up, so for the sake of brevity (which I realize I have already lost), I will pass over the details of my mom not removing her hand from her bottom so the nurse could give her a shot, but instead asking if she could just talk because it was much more enjoyable than the alternative. We left the hospital around 3:30am about which time the anesthetic began wearing off for my mom. So we went to WalGreens to fill her pain medication prescription and antibiotics. While there I decided to do a little grocery shopping as Great Grandma gets cranky if she does not have protien in the mornings and we were currently out of eggs, milk and bacon. "Taint funny McGee," is the phrase we are currently hearing, while she shakes the longest pointer finger in the world, if things aren't quite how Grandma thinks they should be (including her breakfast). We are still trying to figure out where the name "McGee" came from and who decided a proper usage for the word "taint" could be followed by "funny McGee" versus the dictionary definition of: "(tnt) v. To affect with or as if with a disease. "
One prescription hydrocodone pill later, we made it home. By the time we made it home, the pain was unbearable, and putting her swollen and infected foot below her head was not an option. We tried hopping, tossed around the idea of sleeping in the car, and finally arrived on a combination of a crab walk/scoot with her right leg in the air to get my mom into the house. Twenty minutes into our neighbors thinking I am dragging my drunk or dead mother into the house, she made it to the doorstep, (and please picture this) she lay on the floor, lifted her arms up to me and asked me to drag her to a couch. (we tried taking a picture to commemorate the event, but all I got were pictures of her on the floor) Another pain pill later and almost a call to an ambulance to come manage pain, I decided to wake my dad at 6:00am to help me.
By now you are probably wondering where my dad has been; well, being the responsible and thoughtful daughter that I am, and my father turning 50 in March, not to mention his incredible digestive wonders we often hear/smell, I scheduled a colonoscopy for my dad and it happened to be that Friday. So, all Thursday and through the night to Friday, he was relegated to staying close to a toilet due to the laxitives they had him on for the procedure. 6:00am I went to bed for about 4 hours to be woken up by a phone call from my brother, panicked about my mom and to check and see if the infection had spread (I thought he had information or news that developed in my short nap, but everything was fine). Too late, I was up now for the long day. Well, then my grandma appeared fully dressed for the day wearing her nightgown, blue gingham pants underneath and then she somehow found my closet and borrowed a white polo shirt of mine to wear on top of her nightgown, no bra necessary. I let her alone in her new outfit and made her the protein filled breakfast I had purchased at 4:30am. Just before my dad and younger brother were to leave for the hospital, my grandma shat her pants. We keep her in adult diapers for such occasions as these, but nonetheless, it is always messy. To spare myself from dry-heaving and anyone that reads this rediculously long blog, I won't go into detail, except to say that cleaning her up was followed by giving her a shower. That sounds reasonably harmless, except for the fact that my childhood allergy is still strong. When I was very young I told my parents, in all sincerity, "I am allergic to gross things," of which cleaning a great grandmother's dirty diaper is one. My allergic reaction this time was unfortunatly seasless dry-heaving.
So, finally a break, mom is asleep, Grandma is clean, and then a phone call. Jordan let my dad drive himself to the hospital and now the hospital won't start the procedure until someone is waiting there with my dad. Our housekeeper was at the house so I felt comfortable she could handle any certain emergencies while I drove my brother downtown to drop him off. Since I obviously was not going to make it into the office today, I decided I should take advantage of the time and exercise. I jumped on the trampoline, ran around the block and came inside to check on everyone, jump on the trampoline, run around the block and check on everyone, repeat, and repeat again for 40 minutes. (jumping is good for the lymphatic system, and also to make you appear crazy to the barely English speaking housekeeper.) Shortly after that, mom summoned me for a bucket, the pain pills finally hit her stomach and they were not settling well. She didn't want me to be there for that, so in consideration of my allergy, I assured her it was no problem to run away at that moment. I went to hide. I hid, by myself, upstairs in my new makeshift bedroom for 10 minutes. On my way down the stairs I meet my brother who had just returned from the hospital with my groggy father, asking me if I can clean throw-up because he will dry-heave. I politely gave him his turn at it.
The rest of the evening had minor events in it, enough that it was in line with handicapped day, in a nutshell they included my father arguing with me in his sleep (twice) and not remembering it, my grandma in 30 second to 2 minute intervals, informing me of my father still asleep on the couch and trying to take him to a bed that she did not know the location of, intermitent moans from my mom, making dinner, and me leaving town on my scheduled trip to see Micah's brother graduate from OU. I fortunately have a kind and selfless girlfriend who was willing to take a shift with my disabled family, so I left town and drove with my boyfriend to Norman. It didn't take long before I was laughing at the day and then falling asleep in the car. Before I catch you laughing, let me say, "taint funny McGee."