Well, what
with the holidays and all, I haven't been traveling much at all lately. Before that, I had made a few trips, but all
in boy mode for an assortment of reasons. I had intended to make a trip to Fishkill
New York pretty, but I found out on my drive home from the office the night
before I left, that my manager was gonna be on one of the same flights that I
would be traveling on. Talk about a
close call! Could you just imagine
sitting there as your manager walks past, and hoping like hell that doesn’t
recognize you?!
Well, as anyone
who has been reading my blog for a while probably knows, I have this nasty
little skin condition called Erythema Nodosum. Nasty little problem that one!
Usually it results in large and swollen bruises that cover my lower legs for
two or three months, but this time it decided to ramp things up to the next
level or two. I was sitting on the couch
watching TV with my family when I realized that I was having trouble breathing
- it literally hurt to inhale. I've had
asthma my whole life so I pretty much figured that it would probably go away on
its own if I didn't pay it too much attention. I was wrong, because in about 45
minutes it went from discomfort to "Oh shit, that HURTS and I can't
freaking breath!"
Yeah, you
can play tough all you want, but when it hurts so bad to breath that the
question "heart attack?" keeps flitting through your mind, those
around you do tend to notice. I hadn't even finished telling her what was
wrong when she started insisting that it was time to take a little trip to the emergency
room to spend a little quality time with the staff there. The hospital is only
about a mile away from our home and so I insisted over my wife's objections on
going alone. No, it wasn't altruism on my part - it was the dread of what it
was going to be like trying to ride herd on a bored 3 year old and 9 year old
in a hospital for a few hours.
So in short
order, I was signing in at the front desk of the ER. By the way, if you wanna
be seen QUICKLY in an ER, just tell ‘em that you are having chest pain and
trouble breathing. That moves you right to the top of their "Awe shit! Get
that bastard a doctor and into a bed before he dies on us" list. Despite
the fact that it had hurt bad enough to motivate me to go to the hospital, by
the time I actually got there I wasn't feeling too bad at all, and this sort of
embarrassed me. I mean here I was, hurting a bit, don't get me wrong, but not
too bad, and here all of these folks were jumping through hoops. Before I knew
it, there were at least four folks surrounding me, attaching things to my
chest, setting up recording equipment, and getting needles together.
"Okay,
we need to take some blood, so you're gonna feel a small pain as I insert the
needle." One young lady said to me.
"Whoa,
hold it!” I said loudly enough that everyone stopped and looked at me. “No one
said anything about needles being part of this little adventure. If I'd have
known that, I would have just stayed at home!"
I told her this
with a wink to let her know that I was only kidding. Now that everyone knew I
was just an idiot trying to get a laugh, they all went back to work on me
"Well,
I'm pretty good at this and I promise to be gentle." She told me with a
grin and a wink of her own.
"All
right, I guess I can trust you. You
know, before anyone gets too excited,
I should mention that I have had pleurisy before and it felt quite a bit like
this. I don't think I 'm having heart
attack or anything, I just thought it was best not to take the chance.”
One young
nurse who was busy gathering supplies paused long enough to give me a shit
eating grin.
"Honey,
we aren't at all excited. You should SEE us when we are excited! I’m pretty
sure that your problem is not with your heart, because people having heart
attacks don't enter the ER with a smile on their face and joking with the
staff."
"We'll
all right then! I'm gonna take a little nap so y'all go on about your business
and let me know when you’re done would ya?" I said with a laugh.
The funny
thing was, with all of the excitement and adrenalin, the pain had actually
receded, but as things got calmed down and I relaxed, it was coming back in a
big way. That was a good news and bad news kind of thing, because on the one
hand, no one wants to be in pain, but on the other hand I was feeling like a
damned fool for being in an ER when I was no longer really hurting much.
OK, so long
story short, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my heart and it was in
fact pleurisy again. Of course it took hours, blood tests, and x-rays to prove
it, so it was a long night.
A few days
later I decided that I couldn't put it off any more, and I needed to get a
"touch up" laser treatment on my face. If anyone tells you that laser
does not hurt, I'm gonna tell you that they are fibbing through their teeth.
That shit HURTS, and so I have been putting it off. This time I had a different laser tech, and I
really liked this young lady, though you might think I'm a nutter for my
reason. I liked her because she was absolutely brutal with the laser. The lady
that had done over a year of treatments for me was a kind woman, and she tended
to kind of take her time. Not THIS woman though, nope. She went to town with
that laser and though it was painful, she got it over with in less than half of
the time.
Zap, zap,
zap. . .
"Ouch! Damn that hurts!"
"Okay,
you are all done!"
On the route
back from getting my face burnt, was a DSW shoe store, and I figured I would
take a look, thus giving my face time for the redness to go away before going
back to the office. In just a few minutes I found an awesome pair of brown Mary
Janes that just begged to go home with me, and being a soft heart that could
not bear to hear their pleading, I obliged them. The joke was on me though,
because when I got them home and tried them on, I almost fell flat on my face.
Along with the bruises on my legs, and the pleurisy in my lungs, my wrists and
ankles are ALSO swollen and painful, and when I stood up in the high heels, my
left ankle hurt so bad that I yelled out in pain. I figure at this point that
so much shit is wrong with me, that if I was horse, a decent owner or vet would
shoot me to put me outta my misery. It turns out that the swelling and
inflammation in this ankle is just perfect so that the angle of wearing heels
causes extreme pain. No heels for Kimberly
. . Damn it. . .
A doctor I
am not, but I am pretty good at
troubleshooting, and I think that it is a stretch to think that all of this
inflammation is not in some way related – swollen bruises on my legs, joints
swollen and painful, and also the pleurisy which is also inflammation. You would think that a good doctor could put all
of those symptoms together and come up with some ideas wouldn’t ya?
It's been
quite a while since I last got to be pretty and so I was getting just a bit
desperate. One of many problems with the concept at this point is that every
single pair of shoes that I own are high heels. I do not own a single pair of
flats or even low heels for that matter. At first I figured this meant that I
couldn't fly pretty, but then it struck me that all I had to do was go buy a
pair of flats. I sort of hated the idea to be honest, but I hated the idea of
not flying pretty even more. I was complaining about this to my wife, and told
her of my plans to go and buy a pair of shoes and I invited her to join me.
Before she could reply, my nine year old daughter spoke up.
"If
you're going shoe shopping, you aren't going without me! Right?!" she
demanded.
I didn't
know if I should laugh at her precocious statement or be appalled at her somewhat
rude way of inviting herself, but when she started batting her eyes at me in a
seriously exaggerated fashion I couldn't help busting out laughing.
"Yes
critter, you can go with me." I told her, and then looked at my wife for her response.
"You
know, I could use a few minutes of peace and quiet . . . " she told me
with a smile, all the while looking at my three year old, back at me, then the
boy, then me. . .
"Yes
dear, I'll take him with me too." I laughed. She had kind of an odd smile
on her face after this, and I figured that it was probably two things
conflicting with each other - on the one hand, daddy was taking both critters
for the afternoon. On the other hand, he was taking them while he went to buy
women's shoes. Talk about a mixed blessing for her!
Well, I did find a couple of pairs that I kind
of like, but I'd have to be honest that I am never gonna be terribly excited
about flat shoes - they just don't float my boat.
Much to my
surprise, DSW does not carry children's shoes, and so my little fashionista was
mad as hell at me.
"You
told me that I could get a pair of shoes too, but they don't have any for little girls! You fibbed to
me!" She accused me, with a hurt and angry look on her face.
"No
ma'am, I didn't lie to you. I've never
lied to you and I never will. I didn't know
that DSW doesn't carry critter shoes, and that is not lying." I replied, with my feelings more than a little
hurt.
"I told
you that you could get something too, and I meant it. We'll find someplace that
sells critters shoes, okay?"
"Okay!"
She said quite a bit more cheerfully. "Can we go to the outlet mall?"
And so off
to the outlet mall the three of us headed. . .
My big
critter got a cute little dress that she liked, along with a pair of calf high
boots that she had to talk me into because I was afraid that they might not
really be appropriate for a little girl and I feared that her momma might hate
them. Turned out that momma loved 'em so it's all good.
My younger
critter got only a little stuffed five dollar alligator that just delighted the
heck out of him, and I found myself wishing that my daughter was so easily
pleased.
Just to top
the day off, we all went for a train ride!
I did indeed
make my trip to Denver pretty, but I was a bit disappointed that I couldn't
wear my heels. Flats are okay, but just not as much fun.
As is just
about typical these days, I was parking at the airport when I received an
automated call from Delta airlines telling me that my flight had been delayed
by 45 minutes. Since I'd only had a bit over an hour to catch my connection in
Atlanta, this was more than a little bit concerning because it seemed unlikely
that I would now be able to catch my connecting flight. At the Delta counter,
Mona, my favorite customer service representative there, told me to go ahead
and keep my original connection, and she would back me up on the next flight
from Atlanta to Denver just in case I couldn't make it. That sounded like a good
plan to me, so off I went to the gate area.
As I sat
there waiting for my flight to board, a woman about my own age glanced at me
and then spoke.
"I like
your outfit," she said quietly. "It's very pretty."
"Thank
you. I know it is a bit over the top, but I figured what the hell!" I
replied with a grin while holding my arm up and waving my huge lace sleeves
about in the air.
"Oh no,
I don't agree! I think it's a great outfit and not over the top at all!"
She reaffirmed kindly.
Well, I got
to Atlanta with about 25 minutes to make it to my next gate, so I was kind of
stepping it out as I exited the plane. Delta has a great system for showing
travelers where their next connecting flight is. They have a monitor right
there as you exit the plane, and they show the connecting flights and gates for
everyone that is on the arriving flight. I looked down the list until I saw
"Denver" and then headed out for the gate it specified. It turns out
that it was clear at the other end the same concourse I had arrived in, so it
could have been better and it could have been worse. When I arrived at the
gate, I confirmed that Denver was indeed the next flight scheduled to leave
from it, but was stunned to note the time of departure - 5:45PM! Apparently their
system had already decided that I couldn't make my scheduled flight and so had
shown me the gate for the next flight
to Denver. Madder than hell that they had done that to me, and that I had
failed to catch it before making the long walk, I made my way to the bank of
monitors that display all flights and
gates, and had to laugh when I found that my scheduled flight was right next to
where I had landed. Needless to say, I was not amused while I hiked all of the
way back up the concourse! I managed to make it there in time and was pleased
to discover that my seat was still valid, and
much to my surprise, my bags also managed to make the flight.
The next
morning, I was awoken a bit before six by a phone call from my sister to tell
me that my step father had died a couple of hours earlier. I had mixed feelings
about this for a lot of reasons that would be hard to explain without writing
an entire book on the subject. When we had first met him over half a century
ago, he had seemed like a kind of fun person, and he clearly liked my mother.
My mother was not getting any younger and having chosen to live way to hell and
gone out in the Mojave desert, she didn't exactly have men standing in line to
date her, so we were all fairly happy for her when they were married. That
optimism was quickly called into question when it soon became abundantly clear
that he had a major alcohol and drug addiction problem. He was a decorated
Vietnam vet with two bronze stars and a Purple Heart to his credit, but like so
many others who shared his experience, he came away from it with deep scars
that are not visible to the eye. . .
I see no
point to sharing all of the frightening or sad moments that come with being
family with someone addicted to the hardest and nastiest of drugs. There were
fun moments, there were terrifying moments, and there were moments filled with
despair. . .
After many
years of this, my mother at last had enough, and told him to choose - it was
either the drugs or her, but he could not have both of them. After a great deal
of time and effort, and the help of AA and a few fine friends that he met
there, he managed to kick it all and
went completely clean and straight for more than fifteen years.
My sister
and her children lived only an hour or so away from him, and he became not only
a decent grandfather to her children, but an exceptionally good one who made it
to every single little league game and always made time to visit them and be
part of their lives. He never became a man that I liked, but he did manage to earn my respect, and all
of this was possible because he loved my mother enough to kick the drugs. Then came the day a few years ago when my
mother died, leaving him alone in an empty home, twenty miles from a small
town, and about a mile from the nearest neighbor.
The
grandchildren that he had tried to be a good grandfather to were all grown now
and moved far away raising their own families.
His friends
from AA had both died of old age several years back.
There was no
reason now for him to stay sober.
In six
months he was drinking again, telling everyone not to worry, that it was just a
beer or two. I told him several times that he was making a huge mistake, but as
you would expect from an addict; he would not or could not listen. In a year or
less he was back on hard drugs, and I again told him that he was making a
horrible mistake but you cannot argue with the addiction. It does not reason
and it feels no compassion or remorse for those that it chews up and spits out
in its wake. I couldn't stand to watch the destruction of the man that had once
made me laugh, then allowed drugs to turn that laughter to hate and fear, and
then fought long and hard to become someone that I respected and so I only
called him rarely, perhaps once every six months or so.
I hated to
hear his speech slurred and slow.
I hated to
think of how my mother would feel if she knew.
I find
myself wondering even as I type this if my mother is in heaven looking down and
angry that I didn't try harder to stop him?
Apparently
he had had enough himself, and he told my sister a few weeks ago that he was
going to eat his own gun soon. My sister had not shared this with me until
after he had died, but I can't say that I was surprised to hear of it. Well, it
seems that God or the universe got the last laugh on him, because he died of
natural causes before he could make good on his threat.
So, did I
mention that my feelings about his passing were seriously mixed? At the very
least, I salute the man who served his country at great cost to his soul. I
respect the man who kicked heroin and coke long enough to be a decent husband
and a good grandfather, and I mourn the failure of a mere mortal to escape his
demons.
As if this
week had not brought enough emotional turmoil, this very evening I was to meet
much of my estranged family from my father’s side. If you have been reading my
blog for a while, you are probably aware that my own father was a raging
alcoholic who often beat his wives, and more than once slapped his children
around as well. After my mother left him, he went on to multiple other
marriages and had two more children - my "half" brother
"Sonny" and my "half" sister Tracy. When she was only five
or six years old, in an apparent moment of clarity, my father realized that he
had no business raising a daughter. In one of the few admirable things he had
ever done, he allowed a couple from Georgia to adopt her. With any luck, she would
have a shot at a decent life. This was nowhere near as simple and as clean as
the words make it sound though, but that's another story. Suffice it to say
that I never saw my little sister again, and after my father’s death, no one
had any idea at all where she was or how to reach her. Using the Internet, I
had been looking for her for the better part of fifteen years and had finally
met with success a year or so ago. After I found her, we had spoken to each
other several times by phone, but since she lived in Washington state, there
was no way to meet in person, at least not until she and her daughter recently
moved to Colorado! Since my half-brother had been living in Colorado for years,
this gave us the first opportunity in forty years for all of us to see each
other - myself, my little brother and his fiancé, his daughter and her fiancé,
and my little sister and her daughter.
God I hope
like hell that this next generation doesn't screw things up as badly as the
last one did . . .
Kim -
ReplyDeleteI think the next generation will be OK.... He did do the right thing.
With that being said, I'm glad you didn't have a heart attack....
And I think it might be time for you and your family to take a Colorado vacation soon.
Good luck in the New Year....
Marian
What a well written story. Mahalo, Jackie
ReplyDeletejust a quick thought on the shoes.... if you have access to a really good shoe maker... i have found that sometimes if the heal is lowered even a half inch it can change a pair of boots i have from the 3 hour hour "oh the ball of my foot hurts even with a pad added to to the shoe" to the "it's comfortable all day". a good shoe maker will be able to determine if it can be done with a particular shoe in question.
ReplyDeletealso pumps are not bad in looks...
also if you have a dots store locally they have expanded their boots line and have some great deals on them also they can be returned at any time for any reason.
i am sorry for the loss of your step dad as well as the battle he lost along with price he paid in serving his county.
our thoughts are with you.
OH Wow The Life & Time,s of Kimberly, Such a wounder full Blog, & Story,s of your Living Life,as well as the Dead & New family,s too, Yes we all have Trial,s & Tribulation,s to be sad & Proud of too, & Your a Good writer too so it just Flow,s, i Loved Reading it all too hug,s Kiss,s & You Do Look Gorgeous in that Photo & Outfit too hug,s Kiss,s a Feminine friend Roberta
ReplyDeleteWhat a tremendously heart filling blog this is. I understand hoping for a better generation for the future, but, alas, I was the only "son" and I had no boys to carry on the name. I am the last Flettshock, unless there is one in Germany I don't know about. I find this both sad and because of a passed down alcohol, and with me drug problem, along with the trans direction that I've taken, grateful that the name stops with me. Yrs. ago I found out purely by accident that I have 3 step-brothers that I have no idea their name is and there is no one left to ask. Maybe a search could be done but I'm of the lazy persuasion! lol ....I thank your step-father for his service, I think your "critters" are adorable, and you are just as pretty in low shoes as you are in your higher ones. In fact, those in the pic are very fitting. Wishes of good things for you and yours are always being sent your way.
ReplyDeleteDefinitely cute "critters"! You can be proud of them. And though I understand your reason for flying drab when your boss was going to be around (I'd do the same thing) there really isn't much chance he'd recognize you, as pretty as you look! (Not that you'd want to take that chance, though!)
ReplyDelete