The Catch-All Post

You know that receptacle on the kitchen counter or desk or wherever? It could be a basket or bowl or something, but its sole purpose it to be a place for random crap that people drop. Ours is a large ceramic bowl on the kitchen table. The Catch-All. Ink pens, keys, restaurant coupons, junk mail, my badge and stethoscope from work....You can find anything in there, and I'm sure we aren't the only family with one of those.
Well, this is the catch-all post. Because I don't wanna post a bunch because, well, I'll get to that first.

First of all, I am working like a slave. And it has caught up with me. And I feel like garbage in more ways than one. For starters, my job is getting to me. Last night, I had to withdraw care on a 45-year-old father of 3 who suffered a spontaneous aneurysm that created a massive bleed in his brain. He was gone. Brain dead. And after listening to the wails of his wife and children echo off of the walls of the ICU unit for about 6 hours, the family decided it was time to let him go. I hate doing that. The suffering. The sadness. And aside from that, my face will be in their memories of his death. They won't associate it with pathology. They will see the woman who came in and extubated him on command, knowing he would not breathe once off of the ventilator. And that is seriously some depressing crap. And furthermore, I am sick. Physically sick. I've caught it either from my children, who have both been ill, or from my nasty patients. Because apparently my position in healthcare denies me my basic rights to health and wellness and common courtesy. By this, I mean that multiple times a day, I lean over to listen to breath sounds and a patient coughs directly into my face. With their staph/ enterobacter/ pseodomonas/ tuberculosis/ strep/ gram-negative/ gram-positive shit. Yep, right into the air I am breathing. Nice. Thank You. So now I have it. The dry, hacking cough. The hot cold hot cold hell of a temporarily dysfunctioning internal thermostat. The aches. The stuffy nose. I hate being sick and haven't been since I caught H1N1 from--you guessed it-- one of my patients during my first trimester of Zachy's pregnancy. Being sick makes me a crabby bitch. So enough about that.

Evan is a celebrity around my hospital and his school. Last week, the Cincinnati paper had community event photos and since all of the catholic schools were having special events for Catholic Schools Week, Evan's school was no exception. They had a sock hop and there was a 5x7 photo of Evan on the second page of the paper, cutting a rug like it was nobody's bidness. As a result, people have been saving the clipping for us and I swear we have about 50 copies right about now.

Zachy had his hearing test today with the audiologist. They put these little things in his ears that looked like ear buds, which emitted sounds and measured the vibrations produced by his ear to ensure all was working. They use this in babies because it requires no cooperation at all. It's just measurment. But little Zach kept whipping his head around, looking for the source of the sound, which of course he could not see since it was in his ear. It was entirely too cute. And all is well. No hearing impairment detected. No collection of fluid behind his ear drums. Now we just wait and see what the doctor is going to do. I've checked my insurance benefits, since I doubt we meet the financial guidelines for a state-sponsored early intervention program. I only have to pay 10% and he gets 30 therapy sessions per year. The bad part is that this is 30, total. So if they do OT and speech, for example, they cannot combine to more than 30. We haven't gotten there yet. I really don't think it's all that bad.

John's dad is apparently engaged. We found out tonight over Facebook. They've been dating for awhile and we like her, so it is great news.

I hate my nasty neighbors and their nasty dogs. Really, I know hate is a very strong word. And I mean every bit of it at this point. It was bad enough that when they open their front door to the common vestibule we share in our duplex, my living room smells like dirty dog for about 15 minutes. And then we had the issue this past spring where their dogs were shitting in little piles on the concrete driveway by the doors of my car. So I have to be hyper-vigilant about where I step when I get out. Pretty tricky if you come home after dark. Or before dawn. And let me remind you that I work nights.Well, now they are doing it again. And for extra fun, they are hiking their legs and peeing on John's Harley as well. John's Harley that is valued higher than my only-2-year-old car. And on the weather cover, which was also expensive and which John touches with bare hands ot get it on and off the motorcycle. Now before you think I am an evil dog-hater, let me tell you I like dogs. I would like to have a dog but seem to be allergic to anything that is green or has fur. But there is such a thing as courtesy. And the lack of it these people have appalls me. Seriously.

So that's all. I told ya. Completely random. But I feel like dirt. See ya on the flip side.

Finally

So it only took 10 years. I followed him in the car as he drove it home, and realized that I am as fiercely protective of John as I am of my children. It's strange to realize this a decade into a marriage, but it's true. With every car he passed, with every twitch of his foot as he shifted gears, I worried for his safety as much as I do my young, vulnerable kids. Even though he is older than me. Evan though he can take care of himself. Even though the same hands he has used to diaper our children are also the ones that were tough enough to defend our country. This man is my world.

An admirer at the gas station struck up a conversation at the pump, and he beamed when he told the man, "My wife bought this for me."

And right now, I am just happy that he is happy.

Because I Love Him

The craziest thing I have ever done was to marry John.

Let me explain.

John and I met through a mutual friend 10 years ago. I was a cashier at this huge party store, and so was my friend. And she was telling me all about her good guy friend named John. He kept getting involved with the wrong women, and I with the wrong men. I jokingly told her, "Well, if he is such a great guy, introduce us, because all I can find are jerks." But he lived 4 hours away. Apparently she knew him through a friend of hers from Cincinnati who ended up moving to the town he was from. They dated and she ended up being one of the bad seeds, but not before John had made friends with her friends. C'mon. 4 hours away. I forgot all about it. Then about two months later, there he was, up to visit. Riding his motorcycle, fresh from the Marine Corps, wearing Levi's that were faded in all the right places. Of course she introduced us. And we hit it off. As a matter of fact, we hit it off so well that everyone around us at a party thought we had already been a couple. We ended up pretty much spending the weekend together before he had to get back on his motorcycle and head home. I didn't want him to go. We had fit together so well. He said he would call, and in my cynicism, I thought "yeah, riiiiiight". But he did call. Not only did he call when he got home, but called on the way home. Pulled over in the rain, motorcycle perched on the side of the road under a bridge. And he called again when he got home. We pretty much stayed on the phone for a little over a week. Then he cashed his paycheck, quit his job and moved to Cincinnati to be closer to me. After just a couple of weeks. Crazy.
Within a month, I was so over-the-moon in love with this guy that I felt insane. We hadn't been together long enough to feel the way I did. Was I losing my mind? What was even crazier was when he bought me a beautiful princess-cut solitaire. And with that, we were engaged after one month of meeting.
We started looking at the idea of planning a wedding. I do not have cheap taste. I wanted the elegant venue, drenched in crystal and roses and candlelight. The fairytale dress. I always have and still do. But at that point, neither of us were in position to pay for it. My parents had passed, leaving just us. And we decided that if we couldn't afford what we wanted, then we didn't want any of it. With that, we eloped. Well not really eloped. We were married on Christmas Eve in front of a Christmas Tree at John's mom's house. The dating, the engagement, and the wedding altogether took about 3 months. That's it.

Everyone said we were insane. We didn't care. We were insanely in love. He had my very soul. And just a couple of months later, we discovered ourselves to be expecting a little boy--our Evan.
A lot has happened since then. Educations were completed. Children were born after horrendous pregnancies. We've had some pretty big trials, and we have made it through. Together. Just us.

Remember the motorcycle? I made John get rid of it. It scared me. He loved it, too. But he did so because he didn't want me to worry. Throughout our whole marriage, all 10 years we have been together, he has longingly looked at replacing that motorcycle. It was Kawasaki Vulcan, he says, because he couldn't afford a Harley Davidson back then. He wants a Harley so bad I swear he can taste it. And because I love him, I want so much to be able to give it to him. I have literally envisioned me finishing med school, and with a doctor's salary, surprising John in front of all of his family and friends with a new Harley. But it never happened and is never going to now.

I was thinking to myself that I would approach my favorite loan lady at my bank for a loan for John to have a motorcycle for his birthday in November. On the heels of Zach's pregnancy, John is feeling aged, and I wanted to make him happy. After all, I would give him the world if I could. I didn't know if it would happen though...

Well, the other night, as I was doggedly schlepping through the halls of the hospital, I noticed a sign on the door of the in-hospital branch of our credit union. They were selling a 2006 Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe, apparently a reposession. These are pretty common lately, as our hospital recently purchased another area health system, and with that merger, our credit unions merged. Therefore, our credit union inherited some bad accounts. There for awhile, they could have stocked their own used car lot with all of the repossessions. I made a few calls and discovered the asking price was about $3K below what I would pay a dealer, and so I put in a bid for it for the asking price. That was approved. Then I put in for the financing, and it was approved as well.

I just bought John a Harley. The look on his face was worth it. He has dreamed of having one for as long as I have known him, and I made that dream come true. I cannot put into words how I feel. It is so much more to me than a motorcycle. It is a chance to give back to John for the years I have had him by my side, through it all, without fail.