The Neverending Cough - An Update

I'm done with all the poking, prodding, x-rays, scans, sleep studies, breathing tests, bloodwork, scopes, pulmonologists, ENTs, gastroenterologists, lab techs, nurses and plumbers for the moment, so I thought I'd come up for air long enough to bore you with the latest news on The Neverending Cough.

Believe it or not, it is better.

And I was just kidding about the plumbers.

What has been determined so far is that I do indeed HAVE blood, and not ice water, running through my veins. This finding soundly negates opinions to the contrary held by The Girl and The Boy, and, during my more hormonal times, the Hubster.

What has also been determined is there are parts of my body doing things unbeknownst to me, and they will have to be watched in the future to be sure they behave themselves. I seem to be qualified to receive a shot for the asthma called Xolair due to the results of some of the myriad of tests I've been through in the past month. If you have any experience with this drug, please do let me know. I'd be most interested in speaking with you.

Also discovered recently is a possibility The Neverending Cough (hereafter referred to as TNC) could be the offspring of a condition known to the common man as reflux. When the doctor, an ENT, mentioned this to me, I looked him in the eye and said, "Oh no. Reflux doesn't cause coughing. I have COUGHING. Like from ASTHMA. Or BRONCHITIS. Reflux is something to do with your stomach and acid and stuff, and it isn't the cause. Really."

Because, I'm like a doctor about twenty times over and I KNOW all this stuff, a'ight? Duh.

But he was stubborn because he used to be a Colonel In The United States of America Armed Forces and all, and he made me take this medicine anyway. Besides, he's bigger than I am and he threatened to tell my mom if I didn't straighten up and fly right.

So I took the medicine. Mom would put the Fear of God in anyone.

Two weeks later, the cough is half of what it was. After six months of hacking my head off, it seems the man may have actually hit on something that works. Could be dumb luck, or it could be that they've had me on every other prescription medication known to man so far and they finally found one that works.

Or it could be he actually knows his stuff.

Time will tell. I'll check back with you next month to let you know.

And lastly? Thank God for a pulmonologist that actually CARED enough to DO something. Y'all? If you ever need one of these and you're in my area, don't hesitate to call Dr. Courtney Langdon. She's the BEST!!!

End of commercial and update.

Oh, one more thing? God been berry berry good to me!

Carry on.

The Time, How She Flies!

Oh. My. Word.

She of the Writer's Block has returned with Random Thoughts to celebrate over a week of inactive brain cells. And as those brain cells tend to fire up, I'd step back if I were you. You never can tell what might catch on fire or explode or emit noxious gaseous substances and chemical reactions of the unforeseen.

Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!

Oh, I jest. Of course, you're too young to remember a show that premiered in BLACK AND WHITE way back when there was no such thing as a COLOR TELEVISION SET, now aren't you? Silly me. Unless, of course, you happened to see the reruns on The History Channel or Nick At Night or something like that.

Believe it or not, children, I even predate CABLE TELEVISION.

Close your mouths, now. It's impolite to gawk.

So, back to the original Post of Inconsequential Things No Person On Earth Cares To Know. In no particular order:

• Remember when I told you about getting lost in the city that was not so far, far away? The Girl had a tournament closer to home last Saturday. It was only 30 minutes away, in a city where I used to work on a regular basis. And I didn't get LOST, really, it's just that I didn't know exactly where the place was, and ended up driving five miles out of my way to get to the place where the tournament was held.
  
  Don't worry. I have since taken the first step every addict takes and admitted I have a problem. I have also asked my son to research a GPS unit for me.
  


• The Girl's team came in 2nd place. Also, my butt is just now recovering from feeling like two 50 lb. bags of concrete that someone left out in the rain and then let dry in the sun. The facility didn't allow us to bring in our own chairs, so we ended up having to sit on bleachers for the ENTIRE DAY. I cannot explain to you in mere words the unmitigated joy I felt at being set free from THAT prison at the end of the extremely long, drawn-out, extended tournament. And did I say it was long?



• The whole family was able to attend church together on Sunday. While that may not seem like an earth-shattering event to most, it is something to note for our clan. Hubster works nights, and it takes a supreme effort for him to stay awake long enough to drive home, much less sit through a church service. However, for some reason or another he was able to start early Saturday night, get home early Sunday morning, get some sleep, and get up in time to drive us all to church. It was both grand and gross. Wonderful, because he was there! Yucky, because he messed with our routine. :-) No stop for donuts and coffee/milk on the way, no lingering after church is over to talk with friends....he was strictly business. We'll have to work on that.
  


• Look at this face. This is the face of one of the "kids" of my good friend HeyJules. Not only is HeyJules a gifted photographer and writer, but she's got a heart a mile high, wide, and deep for animals. Do me a favor and travel over to her blog, Late to Life. She has a post up there about how to help pugs just like hers find homes that are almost as loving as hers. Almost.



• This weekend I read two entire books. TWO. DOS for our Spanish-speaking friends. Clearly I am an addictive personality. One can only wonder what on earth would happen if I were to fall into the pit of (gasp!) almond extract abuse, or even (horrors!) EXERCISE!!!! But we won't go there. And come to think of it, we haven't....not for eons.

And so, Gentle Reader, this ends yet another spine-tingling episode. Unless, of course, you were sitting at the same tournament as I was on Saturday last, then you have my empathy.

One can only hope I'll find bigger and better things with which to wow the reading public before next I write.

And all God's chillun' said, "AMEN!"

Oh, The Shame...The Shame

I have documented my inability to discern directions before. It's nothing new. It's a well-known fact that I can't find my way around the block, much less around a city I don't know without a map or a GPS device.

Unfortunately, this weekend I had neither.

And Lo! The National Guard almost had to be called out to find me.

It happened thusly:

The Girl plays volleyball. She had a tournament in a city about an hour north of here. It's a city I've been to maybe three times in my entire life. Even though I've visited there very seldom, I could find any place you asked me to find.

Just so long as it was along either side of the freeway that runs through the city and I could keep that place in sight the whole time I was traveling to it.

Otherwise, I'm, you know, SUNK.

Luckily for me the motel we decided to stay in was just off the freeway. The Girl had to be at the tournament at zero-dawn-thirty, and there was no way I was getting up an hour prior to that to get her there, so we just stayed the night in town. Thankfully, the place where the tournament was held was also just off the freeway.

I was in like flint...or so I thought.

Usually at these type of events the host has some sort of refreshment stand where one can purchase lunch and snacks throughout the tournament. However, they decided not to do that this time, and since the tournament lasted ALL DAY LONG, I was in charge of sallying forth in search of sustenance for the hungry.

I took orders from my daughter and my pseudo-daughter (who sleeps across the street but lives most of the time at my house and plays volleyball on my daughter's team). They wanted sandwiches from Subway. I'd also seen other parents at the tournament with drinks from Starbucks, so I decided to stop there while I was out. And I thought I'd drop by a grocery store and get some healthy snacks for everyone as well.

Lofty goals, all.

I set out, armed with directions from one of the girls officiating the tournament. Subway was easy enough to find, but I had to ask a policeman in a parking lot how to get to the Starbucks. Having procured my beverage, I stopped at the grocery store across the street and picked up the rest of the items on my list, and realized I no idea how to get back to the tournament.

Oh yes, we've been around THIS block before.

So, I set off to the left. And I drove.

And I drove.

And I drove.

Did I ever tell you there's nothing worse than having to go to the bathroom and being lost in a town you don't know?

Yeah.

Picture it....an old, fat lady, jiggling up and down in the seat of her car, searching frantically from side to side trying to find something that looks vaguely familiar. Some landmark, some sign from God, some GAS STATION, for cryin' out loud!

Finally, after about 45 minutes of aimless driving, I found myself back in familiar territory. Ahead was a gas station with a clean restroom and directions to where I needed to be! Never doubt that there is a God, children. Never doubt it.

I arrived fifteen minutes after the father of my pseudo-daughter, who left from home as I left to pick up lunch. The girls were starving, but alive.

Me? I kissed the ground and swore never to leave home again without The Girl because SHE inherited her Daddy's genes and can find the way home.

Everything Except the Kitchen Sync

So I have this addiction.

Well, in addition to coffee and chocolate and anything else edible, along with your general propensity to sloth, that is.

Allow me to introduce you to my new best friend, the MP3 player.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

"The old lady's gone nutzo!" you say. "She's BONKERS!! Boppin' along the avenue, struttin' to the tunes, having the nerve to ....GET JIGGY WID IT??? At HER age??? Something must be DONE!!!"

Dear Friend, you could not BE more wrong!

You see, this device has become my vocal library, if you will. I listen to recorded books by the score. I listen to podcasts. I listen to sermons, radio shows, and anything else my family groans about having to suffer through. Yes, there is music on this compact wonder, but it's more of the peaceful, restful, instrumental type I've grown to love in my old age. Yes, there are a few of the get-down-get-funky 70's era tunes we all know and love, but you'll most likely find me SINGING to those rather than dancing to them.

This grandmama ain't no dummy.

No longer do I have to listen to hip hop or rap as we travel in the car. No more do I have to suffer through the interminable football/basketball/baseball/hockey
/shuffleboard/pingpong weekends! If I don't like what the family chooses to watch on TV, I turn on a book or radio show. I even use my little jewel to lull me to sleep at night.

In short, it's saved what little sanity I have left.

I would like to personally and publicly thank both Mr. Sansa and Mr. Woot for providing me with such a wonderful way to sync with the audio world.

Now, could you please work on my kitchen???

The Cutie Update

Color me a happy Granny.

But if you call me that, be prepared to be smacked one. (Ask my poor Sis....she's suffering the effects of my wrath now.)

The reason for my upbeat mood? Just this:

This is who spent the night at Nana and Pawpaw's house over the weekend. This little bundle of two-year-old energy. This now-you-see-me-now-you-don't lover of cookies and candy and "goggies" and Cheerios. This giver of hugs and "uv yews," this interminable asker of "What's zat?"

She can count to ten, knows her colors, and almost knows her alphabet. If you give her a piece of paper and a pencil, she will always draw the letter "M" for you. Of course, she may have to read it for you in order for you to understand, but to her it's an "M" nevertheless.

So, while Daddy and Mommy were away celebrating Daddy's birthday with massages and a luxury night at a grand old hotel, we got our exercise.

Because I don't know if you know this, but the general two-year-old population of this earth?

THEY NEVER STOP MOVING.

EVER.

But it sure is sweet when they see you and yell "NANA!!!" as they run into your waiting arms.

And at the end of the day, it's even sweeter to be able to rock them to sleep in those same, now tired, arms.

Miracle in a Bottle - The Fountain of Follicle Youth

I'm going to let you in on a deep, dark secret.

The hair color? Straight out of Aisle 8 at the local Wal-Mart.

Oh, it's mine. Never you fear about that. I bought and paid for it, so I have every right to it. It's called Light Ash Brown. I got that color because after paying my hairdresser $40 and up every month for a few years to apply much the same color I do now, I wised up and realized that I could do basically the same thing for a quarter of the cost.

I don't get fancy. No highlights or lowlights or streaks or pink or purple stripes. I know that amazes some of you, given my penchant for the Wild and Crazy, but I actually am fairly conservative in my follicular views. You won't find any perms or crazy styles on this head. Not that I didn't go a little off the deep end in my day, but let me assure you I NEVER INHALED ANY PERM SOLUTION.

Every now and then, however, I do get a "wild hair" and find myself doing something absolutely nuts with my scalp cover. And most times my Most Excellent Hairdresser will try to talk me out of it. Sometimes I listen. Sometimes I don't.

Such was the case when I decided about four months ago that I needed to grow out the color that was on my head so that I could actually see the God-given color my hair is without the benefit of chemical enhancement. I go through this every five or six years whether I need it or not, just to see if I can last long enough to really grow out all of the bottled color. My Most Excellent Hairdresser thinks I'm certifiable every time this happens, and asks me why on earth I would want to look "that OLD" on purpose.

To be fair, she's been around the block with me for the last 25 years or so, so she's paid her dues. I give her that for free.

Wanna know how I did? I failed. Miserably.

But in my defense, a girl can only look so bad for so long without harm to her psyche. And mine was pretty darn crippled after four months. Four months and a hairdresser who loves me.

So today I caved.

I had the monthly cawfee tawk with HeyJules this morning, took The Girl to the library, then decided to bite the Preference by L'Oreal bullet. BEFORE the nap. Even though i didn't sleep well last night.

Clearly, this was a BIG DEAL.

And in doing this little thing, I found out that Light Ash Brown is NOT the color I was given by God naturally. My true hair color is actually DARKER.

I will take a moment to let that little factoid sink in, because this is obviously proof that my little "grow it out" experiment is TOTALLY NECESSARY in order to keep things as close to reality as I can. Who knew?

However, the children are now much happier. Mom doesn't look as old, all her hair is the same color, and she might even be allowed to leave the house and accompany her offspring to a public place now.

The wonders, they never cease. And they all come from a bottle.