Day 145 of 365

As I sat in the waiting room of the Pain Clinic this morning, I was thinking I didn't belong there. This was my second visit and again I noticed there are two types of people who go there.

The first kind are folks who look like, well... look like they're on drugs. Eyes heavy, slurred speech, unsteady while walking, unkempt. While waiting for my appointment at 9:30, I listened as a gal was explaining to the receptionist how she needed her morphine and how she couldn't wait until her 2:15 appointment to get it. Explained she was taking other pain killers but they weren't working like morphine did. How she needed to get in sooner so she could get her morphine sooner. I got the impression by listening and watching the receptionist during the conversation that this happens quite often.

The other folks there are too happy, talking non-stop to other patients and staff. At most doctors offices, people for the most part keep to themselves. But both times I've been at this particular place, strangers are striking up conversations (and they're not quiet about it) left and right. Who comes to a pain clinic, all chipper and hyper? People on drugs.

This isn't a pain clinic in some strip mall - it's in a reputable hospital in Boise. There I sat, no pain pills in my system, wondering if I'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.  Which group of people would I fall into after this appointment?

As it turned out, neither group. The MRI results the doctor was waiting on never arrived. He did find some notes about the MRI from my previous doctor, but now this pain clinic doctor has decided he wants a new MRI.

So now I'll wait on insurance approval, try and fit an MRI in between my work schedule, and go back to the clinic in a few weeks. More waiting without relief.

To add insult to injury, I received two bills from my last visit to the pain clinic. My doctor's copay had already been paid, but the additional bill was from the clinic itself. I was charged a $75 "facility usage fee" for use of the clinic. Insurance paid most, but it looks like every visit I'll have to be paying my copay to the doctor and a fee to the clinic. Never heard of such a thing.

I'm this close (imagine my thumb and forefinger almost touching) to calling it all off. But having updated MRI results would be helpful. I just don't know how helpful it is to keep dragging this out.

On a more pleasant note, this afternoon I wasn't dragging things out but digging things up.

Some new red potatoes from our garden.

Day 144 of 365

As I was sewing up some more Turtle Pillows (like the one I did on Day 132) for Paul Newman's Hole in the Wall Camp, I was thinking it would sure be nice if someone around here could help me out with them.

It's not that I'm lazy. And I love sewing, so it's not that. It's that they take so darned long to make one. And I'm making 23 of them.

With all the baby quilts, I can use my rotary cutter to cut the blocks, sew block after block assembly line style, keep a straight stitch running, and not have to change thread colors.

But with these turtles...
*the shapes have to be cut by hand.
*all the seams are curved.
*some steps require basting.
*pinning is required with every step.
*pressing is required with each step.
*three different fabrics are being used for each one.
*each different fabric requires different colored thread for the top-stitching.
*buttons have to be sewn on for the eyes.
*black "toes" have to be sewn in.

Not hard, not beyond what I can do, but time consuming when multiplied by 23. I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

It would be nice to have someone around to help out. My husband helped me do some pressing, but quickly bored of it. (And made it clear he wasn't interested in any pinning or sewing or cutting.) And my daughter? Well, sewing isn't her thing. I helped her make a rag quilt years ago (which gave me hope for the future), but she hasn't been interested in making another one. She made a fall-themed quilted square for her apartment wall with the intention of making one for each season, but it never happened. Her fall-themed one is now still on her wall in July.

So it got me thinking - since I don't know anyone around me that sews or quilts, I do know someone who I can force to help me. I think.

This person has plenty of time on her hands. She owns a sewing machine. She's done a couple fleece blankets over the past year. She used to sew baby clothes for me. And she's moving back to Idaho this week.

That would be my mom. She doesn't know it yet (she does now since she's reading it right here), but she's going to have to come over to my house and help me with some of my charity projects.

It'll be good for her. And it'll be good for me to have someone helping out.

I'm hoping I'll get the turtles done before she shows up, though. Five more done today, 17 more to go.

Day 143 of 365

It occurred to me as I was swimming in the pool the other day that life as I know it is about to change.

In the next two weeks:
*I have to go back to the pain clinic and decide if pain meds are the answer.
*My mom is leaving California and moving back here. And moving into the apartment with my daughter.
*I go back to the gastroenterologist and find out if surgery is forthcoming. (I don't think so.)
*I go back to work.

Amidst all that,
*My husband is going away to a conference for a week.
*He has a birthday.
*We celebrate our 27th wedding anniversary.

When I was swimming in that pool, I realized it probably was the last time I would get some freedom. The last time I could truly relax.

Summer is over, school is beginning.

And I'm still not sure how I feel about that. As much as I've been living day to day, I'm afraid I'm starting to think too much about the future.

Not intentionally. It's happening in my dreams again, just like on Day 54. Bad dreams about not getting enough done at work, not thinking things through and making mistakes at work. Dreams about forgetting all this personal growth work I've done in the last few months.

In my most recent dream I was telling someone that as soon as I think about school/work, I get a knot in my stomach.

It may have been a dream, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it's true.

I feel it happening already. After several rounds of work-related phone calls and e-mails this past week, I feel the knot in the stomach starting.

Spending today in the gardens and in the sewing room helped untie the knot, especially when we came across this.

Our first green bell pepper of the season.

Day 142 of 365

I don't like to drive. Highly dislike it.

I don't remember it always being that way. Don't remember feeling that way when I got my license, but I think it happened soon after we were married.

Since my husband doesn't drive - and never has - I take him everywhere. Every doctor's appointment, every meeting, every athletic event. Any time he leaves the house, I'm the one driving him.

It doesn't help that we live in a small town without stores around.

Grocery store, Target, Walgreens, Home Depot, McDonald's, movie theater? Almost 20 miles. Doctor's office? Up to 40 miles, depending on the doctor.

When I was a stay at home wife, first pregnant and terribly sick, I had to drive him several miles to work. I clearly remember heaving in the driveway as he waited for me to get in the car and get driving so he wouldn't be late for work.

When I had internal bleeding with my first ectopic pregnancy and had to get to the hospital ASAP, I drove myself.

There have been times I've had to drive him 45 miles to a conference, turn around and drive the 45 miles back, then another 10 miles so I can get to work before 7:30 AM.

I've driven every family vacation. 10 hours to the Oregon Coast, only to have to lie down and close my eyes from having such a headache. When we've traveled, my husband and daughter have gone to dinner without me more times than I can count.

27 years of being the sole driver and chauffeur for two different people (three if you count my daughter) wears on a person.

But on the trip we took this week, my daughter helped out with the driving. I was shocked at the difference it makes when someone else is driving. Usually driving long hours with no one to relieve me is so exhausting, but being a passenger for a bit of the time was sure a nice respite.

And I found out what it is like to be a sightseer.

Exercise update: 96 consecutive days. No bike mileage report - it plummeted because several days were spent swimming instead.

Day 141 of 365

My husband watches food shows on the Travel Channel and the Food Network. Those shows where the host travels around, going to different restaurants, learning how to cook the signature items. We've even been to some of the places shown on some of the programs. Even made Coney Island dogs back on Day 18, and a pulled pork, coleslaw, and fries sandwich on Day 71.

I half halfheartedly watch the shows. One show I saw had a restaurant making chicken fried steak.

Chicken fried steak is on the Deb-doesn't-eat-it list. I've tried several things on the Deb-doesn't-eat-it list that went quickly back to the top of it. Escargot. Deep fried alligator. Soft shell crab.

Shrimp used to be on that list, too. Many years ago at the state fair I tried some spicy Cajun shrimp and have been a fan of shrimp ever since.

My husband and daughter love chicken fried steak. There is a restaurant in town that serves it and they have occasionally ordered it. No tasting from that plate for me. When our daughter was old enough to gamble and we went to the casino, either one of them would order it there, too. (And it was huge there - a whole platter full.) Still no tasting for me.

But after I watched that particular show making chicken fried steak, I made my mind up to try it. No gravy for me, though.

I tried it at the local restaurant when my husband was out of town. (Didn't want anyone to know that I was giving in.) It was okay, but not great. Tried it at the casino one time, too. Even better.

And this time at the casino, a must-have. Yummy platter-sized chicken fried steak, without gravy. Delicious, but too much for one person alone.

Even my husband and daughter split theirs, all smothered in gravy. (The picture is just half a serving.)