He's upstairs, he downstairs, he's all around stairs...Peter stop, it is only 5:30 AM, you had two wisdom teeth removed, one root canal, various tests, a boatload of anesthesia, are you not in pain, no suffering?  Don't you think you need to rest, lay on the couch.  I know I need to lay on the couch.  I have not had my coffee, I see the coffee pot out of the corner of my eye as I whizz by in an effort to keep up.  Peter, I am not short of breath as I am not used to this much exercise this early in the morning, especially with no coffee on board.

Most individuals who had surgery the day before would be on the couch, surrounded with ice bags. Not Peter, he fresh eyed and bushy tailed and now that surgery is done, he is ready to move on to his old tricks.  Why, my little piles have long disappeared, the large one loom, and he is off doing his thing or that would be things.  Outside, inside, up and down there is no stopping this young man.  A shower...why not....games...sure get all of them out.  The car wash....oh yes, that was on the list of bribes that escaped from my mouth yesterday.  Yes, Peter if you go in this room you can wash my car tomorrow...I promise!  Yes, Peter, I am good with my promise,  but is is 530 AM and it is raining with a bit of thunder and lightening.....later Peter...after coffee...Oh if I could just stop to fill that pot....life would be good!
Thinking he must be in pain, he must be uncomfortable I reach for the narcotic analgesic and give him a shot in juice.  Thinking I need him to be in pain, lay on the couch, sit for a minute.  But the pain killers do not work, I think he now has more energy.  Resigning myself that this will be a long day.....a very long day.  I eventually work my way to the coffee pot, make that coffee, gulp and  put on my game face, grab my sneakers and start the race.  I will survive.

A Day I Could Do without.....

Have you ever had one of those days....those moments...those I do not want to be here moments. Or maybe more like....Okay God, I have enough on this plate...wait...life is not fair....c'mon give me a break moment. Oh wait, better yet...how would you like to be doing this moment. Yep...today...this morning...BIG I do not want to be here in my shoes moment.
Peter, had his annual, bi-annual surgery for his teeth cleaning. I do remember now, I skipped  this event last year reconciling that he really did not need to have this done,  which in reality was most likely, I do not need this, I do not  want to do it!
This year, I knew I could not go into denial, the surgery needed to be done.  The plan went into place. Last week the hospital called on a daily basis...the Operating Room head nurse, the Admission's office, anesthesia, security. They all know Pete well, so they had all their eggs in a basket, they had crossed their "T"s and dotted their "I's. No stoned left unturned, all tests in place, all drugs ordered, security on alert, they even were going to shut down part of the floor so Peter would not be intimidated. I gathered comfort in knowing that piece would be handled well.  However, my part, actually getting him there loomed like a huge daunting task.  How would I get him there?  Used the police in the past and that was not option, Wilson...no, I am thinking.  I will come up with a plan, and than the rest is in God's hands. 
The day approached, hush was the word on surgery. I made plans to stay an hour away so I could spend my time driving to the hospital so Peter could be distracted. Early in the morning, off we went for the hospital, pouring rain, and I am thinking good, I can drive really slow, waste more time. Only the unexpected happened, and Peter had major diarrhea. Thank you God for Truck Stops. After a rather large cleaning event, we moved onward, and once I reached the city limits,  I mentioned the "hospital' word, the agitation began, and did not stop. I continued to drive and ignore the loud verbal laments about not going,  and we eventually ended up at the back of the hospital.  The plan was to take Peter in the shortest way, avoiding the lobby, and get right to the dreaded surgical unit.  Meeting us at the  back door were two security guards with idea of swiftly whisking Peter to the floor. Not so swiftly, and with much convincing,  we made it the second floor  only to be met by Curtis  the security guard, who came in on his day off to meet Peter. And than the fun began!  Seeing Curtis must have reminded Peter of past experiences, so at this point, Peter announced his intention that he would not participate and the Mexican standoff began. This standoff  lasted one painfully long hour with 5 security guards, a plethora of nurses and I, of course, trying to convince Peter to at least go into the room. Peter, having nothing to do with that idea, closed down one wing of the hospital. My only prayer...God, do not let him escape! Curtis did a great job by standing in front of the elevator buttons.  It was only when the the anesthesiologist and crew captured him in the hallway, gave a quick sedative via  his arm did he relax...mmmm, I wonder why.  Becoming a bit catatonic, off he went  into the Operating Room.  Relief...the hardest part was over.
Thia is an experience I dread. A why cannot this be easier resounds in my soul. Feeling very sorry for Peter as he must be in dread, but also knowing this must be done. I never really  knowing if he will really make it into the hospital, and now, most grateful when it is done. The hospital staff did a phenomenal job and made an awful experience as good as it could be.  The amount of caring by those individuals was awesome!

It is done...we survived, not without a bit of trauma and drama, but we made it.  The day I have been dreading throughout the summer, arrived and now I can saunter to the cafeteria  for some breakfast. I sit, I eat,  I am thinking maybe  should we go eat at the hospital cafeteria everyday...would that help, maybe Peter would learn to love hospitals ...maybe a group outing....maybe someday he will outgrow this fear...maybe, there is always hope!

Talking to Me

A few days ago, I had a house full of painters, not quite sure why it takes so many painters to spread a coat of paint on an entry way, but they all showed up and made themselves quite at home during their short stay. Their presence was not only in the foyer, as they needed to rinse their plethora of brushes, they would saunter down the hallway, through the kitchen and find their way to the laundry room. It was during these short trips that they would suddenly appear in front of me, catching me unaware of another human being in my space, as after all, I am quite used to living in a quiet environment, and having no one to talk to but myself. As I am silently mouthing words, they would stop, as if I had something to say to them, but.....no, it just me and my own conversation in which I am quite involved. Previous to their visit, I would tell you that I do not talk to myself, that is definitely not something I do. However, by about the third episode of their surprised confrontation, their question of did you want something?, it became quite evident to me that, yes, I do carry on conversations with me...and only me.
Thinking, maybe I should be embarrassed, feel skirmish, consult a psychiatrist, I think of Peter. You know, the man of wisdom. the one who really knows. Not that long ago, I was riding with him in the car and he started to carry on a conversation. I immediately thought this conversation must involved me, so I start probing..."what Peter"....."what did you say"? He looks at me simply, honestly, with a "what is wrong with you look", and informs that he is just talking to himself. HELLO!! What don't you get about this. I am just having a conversation with me and you are not involved! And, I get the subtle message and say, "Oh, right"! Peter, of course, continues on with his own personal conversation until he is quite finished. Speaking that is, speaking and dialoging with himself and feeling quite comfortable about the conversation. I now proceed cautiously when he starts to speak as I do not want to interrupt this conversation, that there are just moments he is talking with himself, and he is just fine with that and if I have a problem with that....get over it!
So, looking at these painters bewildered looks, I decide to put a "lid on it" while they walk through my corridors. I also attempt to make myself aware of these one sided conversations and possibly, carry them on only in the bathroom. But really, who did set the standard on personal one way conversations. There is this part of me that fully believes that Peter has it right. Carrying on one's own conversation can at times be quite fulfilling, stress relieving, funny. So, maybe not when the painters are visiting, but I know, I will speaking again...to myself, and I will have Peter to thank for providing me with the opportunity to speak..without guilt, and know, I am still okay!