A friend of mine gave me that card. Isn't it great? Now, I will admit to having felt picked on in the past few months, and to having been sorely tempted on numerous occasions to fall into that old yucky Victim mentality. But I've decided that whoever is doing the picking knows exactly what they're doing. Me? I'm just gonna relax.
I'm far enough away from the surgery now, and dealing with enough less pain to realize the absurdities and blessings that have occurred from this unplanned interruption in my life. My mom and sister, Pam, arrived the day before surgery. Mom flew back to Georgia last Sunday and Pam just left this (Sat.) morning. Dad got here yesterday and will stay until I feel comfortable driving myself again. They're doing me in shifts. I'm sure this is for their sanity as well as mine and is just a brilliant plan.
While I'm definitely ready for some alone time, I sure did hate to see Pam go. I've only known her for 44 years, but I learned something about Pam I never knew: in her daily life she's a school-bus driver - a no-nonsense benevolent dictator with the kids on her bus and the lung power to be heard over 20 or 30 of them. But by night I think she's a frustrated Florence Nightingale. She patiently fetched me water, food, and anything else I needed, washed my hair, did the grocery shopping, rented movies for us to watch, drove me back and forth to doctor's appointments and physical therapy, and generally took excellent care of me. And I only had to nudge her a little to keep the floor swept and the dishes washed. I'm really lucky to have the relationships I do with my sisters and I appreciate them more and more.
Speaking of physical therapy, I've decided it takes a special kind of person to deliver such torture all the while convincing you it's for your own good. I hit the jackpot with my physical therapist as he looks like this guy and despite myself I find I kinda look forward to PT. Wouldn't you? It's great to have something nice to look at when you're being twisted, and stretched, and prodded and pushed and you know you're going to hurt like hell when it's over.
You might call all that stuff one flavor of ice cream in this scrumptious little sundae I'm making. The whipped cream?
On Monday, three days after surgery, my co-workers, Peggy & Tom, showed up at my house with a letter. The letter was from my employer of the past two and a half years, and in its entirety read: "Due to seniority, you are laid off effective March 1, 2008." It had postage on it and was ready to mail which is exactly what that cowardly lion was going to do.
The cherry?
I'm far enough away from the surgery now, and dealing with enough less pain to realize the absurdities and blessings that have occurred from this unplanned interruption in my life. My mom and sister, Pam, arrived the day before surgery. Mom flew back to Georgia last Sunday and Pam just left this (Sat.) morning. Dad got here yesterday and will stay until I feel comfortable driving myself again. They're doing me in shifts. I'm sure this is for their sanity as well as mine and is just a brilliant plan.
While I'm definitely ready for some alone time, I sure did hate to see Pam go. I've only known her for 44 years, but I learned something about Pam I never knew: in her daily life she's a school-bus driver - a no-nonsense benevolent dictator with the kids on her bus and the lung power to be heard over 20 or 30 of them. But by night I think she's a frustrated Florence Nightingale. She patiently fetched me water, food, and anything else I needed, washed my hair, did the grocery shopping, rented movies for us to watch, drove me back and forth to doctor's appointments and physical therapy, and generally took excellent care of me. And I only had to nudge her a little to keep the floor swept and the dishes washed. I'm really lucky to have the relationships I do with my sisters and I appreciate them more and more.
Speaking of physical therapy, I've decided it takes a special kind of person to deliver such torture all the while convincing you it's for your own good. I hit the jackpot with my physical therapist as he looks like this guy and despite myself I find I kinda look forward to PT. Wouldn't you? It's great to have something nice to look at when you're being twisted, and stretched, and prodded and pushed and you know you're going to hurt like hell when it's over.
You might call all that stuff one flavor of ice cream in this scrumptious little sundae I'm making. The whipped cream?
On Monday, three days after surgery, my co-workers, Peggy & Tom, showed up at my house with a letter. The letter was from my employer of the past two and a half years, and in its entirety read: "Due to seniority, you are laid off effective March 1, 2008." It had postage on it and was ready to mail which is exactly what that cowardly lion was going to do.
The cherry?
I can't seem to make myself unhappy about it. As a matter of fact, my sundae is covered with a mound of cherries on top. I'll tell you more about them in upcoming posts.
Thanks to all of my blogging friends for the great support and encouragement. It is appreciated!
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