Good Things Come To Those Who Procrastinate

Me & Stepping Thru

I knew if I waited long enough, my sister would post about our most recent ordeal.  Tah dah!  You can read about it here but then come back because I’ve got a little bit to add.  *drumming fingers on the table*

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Back already?  Wow, you’re a speed reader for sure.

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O.k. so now you know why we were at the hospital (unless you cheated and didn’t go read the first part) but you don’t know the half of the story.  The good half.  The funny half.

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When Daddy finally woke up he was naked and he knew he was naked.  Before you freak out, just know that he was covered up to his shoulders with a sheet so it wasn’t like you could SEE that he was naked but trust me, he was naked.

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This posed a huge problem because my dear Daddy thought he was driving.  He kept yelling at us and telling someone else to drive because he couldn’t drive naked.  We tried cajoling him by saying “HBL is naked too and so is Coach (my brother in law)” and Daddy would say, “really?”  But then a few minutes later he’d say something about someone else driving because he couldn’t drive naked.  We kept telling him one of us would drive and he’d say O.k. but after a while he said “you all keep saying you’ll drive but no one takes the wheel.”  We got tickled and were laughing and he gave us a really dirty look and said “I don’t know what the hell is so damn funny.”  Haha….our Daddy hardly ever curses and this made us laugh even harder so we had to escape to the hall to compose ourselves.

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Oh.  He really REALLY thought he was driving naked!  I finally told the nurse that he needed a gown.  They wrestled the gown on him and he calmed down a little but kept asking how to get out of there because every time he drove out “that” door he’d end up in a pasture.  It was obvious that going along with him wasn’t going to cut the mustard.

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Skip to that evening after Stepping Thru and I had been called back to the hospital and since they’d sedated our Dad, they put a Depends on him.  Yes, a diaper for grownups.  We knew if he ever really knew that he’d have all our heads on a platter but we weren’t the ones in charge….yet.  Daddy’s wife kept referring to his “diaper” in front of him.  I finally turned to her and said “STOP CALLING IT A DIAPER”.  She asked what she should call it then and I said to call it disposable underwear or anything but a diaper.  Several more times she said “diaper” and ST had to straighten her out again.  Stupid woman seemed to have no regard for his dignity
and this just flat pissed me off.  grrrrr…..

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He was sedated but he was still having hallucinations about the terrorists and kept tugging at his underpants.  Stepping Thru and I were each sitting on opposite sides of his bed trying everything to calm him.  I tried holding his good hand but he keep taking my hand and and trying to throw it away.  I put my iPhone with the white noise turned on, beside his head thinking he’d zone out and he almost threw it across the room.  He pulled on his fingers on the arm that was wrapped and strapped down in a sling, until we thought he would pull them off.  Literally.  He also pulled at that damn disposable underwear until ST finally grabbed the side he’d pulled loose and took it the rest of the way off and then Dad threw the sheet off too.  No matter how many times we’d lay the sheet over his lower half, he’d throw it back off.

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We were texting each other across the bed but when it was too much to say via text, we’d meet at the foot of his bed but shield our eyes from seeing a part of our Daddy that we never really wanted to see.  Didn’t work.  I’ll never be the same again.  ack!

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Our reinforcement showed up about 2 a.m. and not a second too soon.  It was our Dad’s hired hand, Jane.  She’s my age but works like a man and keeps him lined out on a daily basis so we knew she could handle him.  That evening had been one of the longest of my life and since our husbands had already gone to the hotel, ST and I didn’t have to be told twice to go.

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I wish I could say the next day he was 100% but he wasn’t.  He still thought we were all walking on the walls and ceiling and he was searching the nurses pockets for guns but he’d have moments where he was perfectly lucid and normal.

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Funny turned into a nightmare that we all finally awoke from and now he’s home healing.  He’ll never be the same though.  As ST said, he remembers it all and he’s scared to death to ever be put under again.  He had to wait 10 days to find out if they’d have to do skin grafts and when they said it wasn’t necessary, he was able to relax a little.

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I’ve always said my Daddy would rather die doing something stupid (for his age) than die an invalid.  I don’t think this incident has changed that sentiment one bit and in fact I worry that it will only make him more determined to “go” his way.

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Only time will tell.

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I forgot to tell you why my Dad was pulling at his fingers.  He thought there was a knife there and he spent hours trying to pull that knife out to use it on the terrorists.  This was the arm he’d just had surgery on that he kept tugging at and he kept unwrapping his bandages.  But, the good news is…..he wasn’t pulling on what I originally thought he was pulling on.  His arms were under the sheet.  I wouldn’t have been able to survive that visual.  :)


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HAPPY TRAILS, Y’ALL……………

Has It Been That Long?

It’s been so long since I’ve visited my own blog that even after reading the title of my last post, I had no clue what I’d written about.

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I have an excuse.

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I’ve been waiting on my sister to thaw out and write about the whole ordeal but she’s probably waiting on me so I’m not sure which one will cave first.  I’m wondering if she’ll ever thaw enough to sit down and tell you the entire story because I’m not sure I can.

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Sometimes life is just plain hard.

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I’m still here and I still try to visit you, my bloggy buds, even when I don’t leave a comment.

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Forgive me.

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HAPPY TRAILS, Y’ALL…………

Boxers or Briefs, Mattress Dancing and Birthday Confusion

Exploding underwear!   If I hear another word about exploding underwear, my head might explode.  At least I didn’t say my underwear might explode.

The other night HBL and I are trying out our new damn bed by watching a little television.   The 10 p.m. news came on and all they could talk about was exploding underwear, even treating us to pictures of gross men wearing bomb laden underwear.  I’m laying there trying to read and enjoy the damn new bed and HBL is just talking talking talking.  Finally he leans over to me and says “You know, sometimes I have exploding underwear.”

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I couldn’t help myself.  I rolled closed my eyes, clicked my ruby red heels three times then opened them to find myself still laying in bed beside a man who just told me he sometimes has exploding underwear.  Where did I make this wrong turn on the road that is my life??  *I really do love him, exploding underwear and all*

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Stubborn, my 5 year old grandson, has informed us he’s half American Indian and his dog is half Basset Hound.  He’s not.  The dog is not.

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I picked Stubborn and Sassy, his 8 year old sister, up from school last week.  Stubborn jumped in the car and announced that his teacher had missed his birthday yesterday but she gave him a card, pencil, and eraser that day.  At the same time, Sassy and I said “yesterday was your birthday???”  Stubborn said “yeah, I guess so.”  I started laughing and Sassy said “YOUR birthday is July 13th!”  Stubborn got this disgusted look on his cute little freckled face and said “well, I guess that means she missed it twice.”  At that, Sassy and got our biggest laugh of the day.

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For the record, it was his “half birthday” which she celebrates for all the kids who have a summer birthday and don’t get to celebrate at school.

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Speaking of the damn new bed, we got a different bed because HBL has shoulder problems and thought this bed might help with the pain.   I loved our old bed.  I still lust over our old bed that is currently leaning up against the wall in our bedroom but being the good wife I am, I agreed we needed something to help with his back pain.  My friend ordered a Select Comfort Sleep Number and couldn’t sing it’s praises enough.  She has arthritis and swears it’s the greatest invention since sliced bread and begged us to come sleep in her bed.  I was afraid the 3 of us wouldn’t fit so HBL got sucked in by QVC did some research and ordered this miracle bed that was to be the answer to all his whining prayers.

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He had the pleasure of playing with it for about a week before I got back to Texas and thought he had all the kinks worked out and was a very happy man.  Yes, I’m still talking about the bed here.  What’s wrong with you people, anyway??

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The first night I slept on the damn new bed was an adventure.  I’d pump it up to 50 and then back down to 20 and finally settled on 35, only because that’s my friend’s sleep number.  Never mind that she’s all of about a foot shorter and at least seventy five pounds lighter than me, I thought we’d surely have the same sleep number.  We didn’t.  My hips hurt like crazy when I woke up the next morning.

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The next night we decided to put our 4 inch memory foam on the damn new bed to see if that was something we could both agree upon.  The reason I loved our old bed was because of this 4 inch memory foam topper and my hips were missing being cradled in it’s soft foamy cushionyness.  Cushionyness is a word, right?

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That night of sleep, and I use that term loosely, on the damn new bed with the lovely foam topper was one of the longest nights of my life.  I flipped and flopped all. night. long. and finally threw back the covers and got out of bed at 6:45 a.m.   If you know me very well, you know I do not acknowledge that there is such a time as 6:45 a.m. unless I’m forceably extracted out from under the warm cocoon of my covers by evil forces.  That was the worst night of “sleep” I’ve ever experienced.

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Tonight we’re taking the foam topper back off and I’ll give it another try with a different sleep number.  I’m going to try 25 and HBL is a firm believer in his sleep number of 65 which means……oh dear, I hope he doesn’t start rolling downhill.  If you don’t hear from me…..

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Note:  I was already leery of this purchase after reading Jan’s encounter here.

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If you have a sleep number bed, what’s your opinion?   If you like a soft bed and your significant other likes a hard bed, what’s your solution?  We have until February 4th to decide if we’re keeping it or not.   Help!

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HAPPY TRAILS, Y’ALL