Wheel of Misfortune

Misfortune - noun - an unfortunate condition or event.

Synonyms: problem, difficulty, setback, adversity.

Well, that pretty much sums it up, my friends!  This past week has included numerous catastrophes with an extra scoop of hilarious.

Back up to the last time we were at home. I spilled grape juice all over the kitchen, and my Mom came running in the room with a disgusted look on her face.

"Mama, don't worry, I'll clean it up."

"With WHAT?!"

"Umm...the mop??"

"NO, don't use my new mop; I don't want it to get dirty! Use the old one."

Wait. WHAT?!??  She absolutely never ceases to amaze me.  Let's apply that same logic to some other scenarios:

A bleeding patient walks in the ER, and the doctor says, "NO! Don't use those towels.  The hospital just ordered them!"

Or the boss on a construction site says, "Good grief, Billy Bob, don't use the NEW dump truck to haul all that dirt!"

Some things I'll just never understand.



Then one night last week - or on a day that ends in "y"- I talked Ryan into ordering Outback for dinner.  He's been working out and proclaimed that he wanted a grilled chicken salad.  Fair enough.  I'm pretty sure that the loud noise I heard on the other line was the waitress fainting after I said "no thank you" to the cheese fries.

I got home from an exhausting day with our precious brown bag of goodies in tow.  Emerson was content in her high chair in the great room watching Spongebob and eating puffs.  This is a clear indication that we will be able to eat in peace, so on many occasions we eat dinner on the couch.  I was taking one item out of the bag at a time and said, "Oh, Ryan, here's your chicken!  That's strange that they didn't put it in with your salad. But here it is - !!!!"

And just that quickly, the $10 salad that was so meticulously prepared with cheese, eggs, tomatoes, and other healthy foods placed to perfection hit the corner of the table, sending every last shred of it all over the foor, my coffee table books, under the couch, on the pillows.  EVERYWHERE.  And in that instant Ryan looked in disbelief as I shouted, "NOOOOOOO!!!!!"

Emerson glanced briefly in the direction of the noise and gave me a forgiving look for interrupting her Spongebob episode.

I was so furious about the whole thing and offered Ryan my food.  He wouldn't take it, of course, but he still ate his plain grilled chicken that had escaped the incident alive, er, cooked.  He then proceeded to give me a hard time about it for the rest of the evening.

So the next time I order a salad the following question should be asked...

"Would you like that tossed, or dumped ma'am?"

A special shout out to The Office's Kevin Malone for this reenactment of my salad spill

Then there was the stomach virus that hit our family like a tidal wave.  Thursday morning I got a call from daycare that Emerson was vomiting and needed to go to the doctor.  Ryan's Mom came that afternoon so that Ryan and I could go to work on Friday.  That ended up not happening.

At around 6:00 on Thursday evening my stomach started feeling strange.  And in hindsight, ordering O'Charleys probably wasn't the greatest idea.  But I ate it, nonetheless.  Fast forward to 7:30 and I was desperately, violently ill.

'TAKE ME HOME, JESUS; I SEE THE LIGHT!!!"

It was that bad, really.  My stomach was twisting in absolute knots, and I had already taken Zofran.  Twice.  It didn't help.  

After being sick probably 15 times I woke Ryan's Mom up at 11:30 and told her that I needed to go to the hospital.  Without batting an eyelash she got up, got dressed, and helped me out of the door.  My attempt at walking into the Emergency Room would have made the average police officer question my sobriety.  Every step was agony, and my head was spinning worse than that time I made the terrible decision of riding the Starship 2000 at the fair.

I was also wearing brightly colored Hello Kitty pants.  I like these pants for several reasons: they are warm and cuddly, Joy gave them to me, and they have an elastic waist band.  But in my humble opinion they are not designed to be worn in public.

Like, ever.

We've all heard of peopleofwalmart.com.  I'm willing to bet that they could start a "people of the emergency room".com, and it would contain just as much refinery.

I gripped the sign-in desk and filled out my forms like Jack held onto that piece of wood in the ocean;  I was desperate and knew that death was imminent if I did not get some help. 

Then I suddenly started losing all feeling in my hands, feet, legs, and face.  It was absolutely horrifying, and I later found out that I had hyperventilated.  Emphasis on the hyper.  I was also wallowing on the floor in my Hello Kitty pants, muttering in slurred speech that I couldn't feel my face or move my hands.  Surely the staff had the mental ward on speed dial.

Then they whisked me back to an examining room where they took my vitals (or lack, thereof) and put me in triage.  If this didn't remind me of my labor story, then I don't know what would.  I was given three heated blankets and, upon having my blood taken and receiving an IV, screamed louder than all the brides at Kleinfield.

After all these years I finally figured out why they ask you to make a fist when getting your blood taken...so that you are prepared to punch the appropriate medical staff in the nose if you're unsatisfied with their performance. They also gave me Phenergan on top of the double dose of Zofran.  I have never in my life been so disoriented.  I was mumbling about Ryan and towels in the bathroom (what? I'm not at home?), being cold and wanting the light off, something inaudible about Emerson, and just absolute nonsense.

Then there was the drink I was required to consume for the CT scan.  I have NEVER in all my life had anything so disgusting.  Ryan's Mom kept coaxing me into drinking it and putting the straw in my face, and all I could think of was some conniving way to make her forget about it.

Hey, look over there! A squirrel!

It didn't work.  I had to drink every last drop of that disgusting solution and then scoot - or shove - my body in a most uncoordinated fashion onto the scanning table.  Here are a few familiar household items that are larger in width than that table.

This toothpick

A single piece of asparagus

This drinking straw

Seriously, how could a regular sized male- a football player, etc- ever fit onto one of those?!?  My arms were falling off and flailing about.

I have no recollection of being wheeled back to my room, but later a couple of nurses came in and informed me that they "found some things" they needed to discuss with me.  "FOUND" some "things??"

My mind started racing.  Did I really swallow that quarter when I was five?  Was it an arcade prize?  To my shock and disbelief they informed me that I had scarring on my kidneys from previous kidney stones and ALSO gallstones.

WHAT?!?  My white blood count was also up, so I definitely had a virus of some kind, but the gallstone thing really threw me for a loop.  A bigger loop than I already felt I was on.

Just last week my grandfather actually had his gallbladder removed after months of stomach related agony.  What are the odds!  Maybe it's psychological, but ever since I found out the news my stomach has been burning, and nothing I can eat makes me feel better.  I have a consultation with the surgeon this week.

In the mean time I could be a box of Cracker Jacks for Halloween containing a surprise inside.

"Now for a limited time- includes stones!"

But as usual I don't let anything get me down or stop me from doing the things I love to do.  This past Saturday (after Ryan's Mom went home with- you guessed it - THE VIRUS!) my Mom came while a recovering Ryan took care of Emerson so that we could attend Myers and Emily's beautiful and heartfelt wedding.  I wouldn't have missed it, and the father/daughter dance was to DIE for with footage of her dancing as a little girl.  Unbelievably precious and sweet!

Only one napkin was harmed burned in the process.

We also had a great time at Paisley and Parker's Birthday party the weekend before.

The BuyOneGetOne Barbie special.

Although I'm incredibly thankful that I haven't had a major gallstone attack I know I'm not out of the woods yet; I'm contemplating an identity change when my ER bills start arriving in the mail.

"Sorry, Katharine no live here! Nor speak English!"

In the mean time, we would sincerely appreciate your continued prayers and are most grateful for everyone who has expressed concern for us and gone to Him on our behalf.

And just remember...

"It's better than to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all have had pain in your GALL!"