Monthly Archives: October 2011

Oct10

I saved 5 lives today, and maybe another

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It’s a red-letter day here in Culchieland! I left the house! I know, what on earth could possibly have happened to make me leave? On foot? In the rain? Hell, it’s Ireland, it’s nearly always raining…

Well, I had to make the trek down to the post office to get my dole. That’s welfare, for my Yank friends. On the way, I:

Met BD who is a manager at the post office, and my sometime Harley-Davidson biking buddy. He was making deliveries, which is not his normal job. We had a short chat and blamed the shortage of staff on the presidential election flyers tying up all the postal workers. He handed me my post – a presidential election flyer.

So, mail in pocket, I continue my walk to the post office… is that ironic? It had rained a LOT overnight so there were little earthworms drying up and dying in the church driveway. I picked up three and tossed them into the grass.

Continuing on my way, I saw a small tortoise-shell coloured kitten running around under the parked cars in front of the grocery store that we don’t patronise. I don’t know why not, we just don’t. I tried to coax her to me, but she was scared and probably feral. I wouldn’t let a young fella in a hurry leave until she moved from under his car to another.

Up to the PO, chat with the clerk – turns out two people are on holiday and one other had a funeral for his mother in law. Aren’t small towns fun? Can you imagine getting to have a chat at the post office instead of a surly government worker? Wheee! And my dole went up €20, why? no clue. I’ll take it, 70 is better than 50 any day. It still is a drop in the debt bucket.

Back out, down to the Paper Shop where my mother in law works. She’s usually only there in the afternoon, but she’s in, and so are the other three ladies that work there. They aren’t all working; mam and B are, and the other two are chatting and bringing coffee and sammiches to the others. Aw. Mam has a cold and can barely talk. They all ask me about my back, and my job hunt. A fella delivering magazines hears me talking about my back, and I get advice and the name of a physio who fixed him ‘in one go.’ A physio is someone who isn’t a doctor, or a chiropractor, but does stuff to people who are hurt, like a sports/physical therapist. This one apparently is the physio for a GAA team in B… okay, I don’t recall the name of the town, but it started with a B and I’d never heard of it. Apparently if I go to B… and ask anyone on the street for so-and-so, they will know him and give me directions. Yes, that is the way things work over here!

Back out for the walk home. Dammit, kitten is still under the cars along the main street. Very dangerous for the wee thing. So I try, and try, to get it to come to me. She talks to me, but runs. I gave up, walked away…then turned back and into the grocery. I went to the deli counter and asked if they had a tiny bit of ham or turkey or chicken, as I was trying to catch a cat. I would have paid for it, but she handed me a bit of ham off the slicer. Thanks, deli lady!

Back outside, the kitten finally gets sick of my attentions and runs off down the alley, past the back road behind the houses & shops on the main street, and into someone’s overgrown garden. I tore up the ham and left it in the grass. At least she was safe from cars, now.

On the way home, I find and save two more worms. I feel like an Annelida hero! Yes, I Googled that. I’m a geek, but not that much of a geek!

In case you were wondering, here’s why worms surface when it rains.

Oct9

Socks, part deux

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***Some of my readers might know who Socks is, from other social media outlets. Please keep any comments about the content of this post ON this blog, and not elsewhere. I have her permission for this post, but we all know this is an anonymous blog for the moment, right? Thanks, y’all!

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So, I’ve been putting this post off since I started the blog. I feel I have to get this out before I can forge ahead and talk about stupid things again.

I think I made it clear that Socks is damn important to me. She’s my inspiration, not only for writing, but for anything creative. She and I had great plans for a mutual project, and I never even started. See, I was journaling, but stopped, and that was part of the project. My blog is my new journal, in a way that seems to work better for me. Therefore, I need to hold up my end of our joint writing enterprise, and talk about babies.

Travel back to January with me. Socks and I are having our weekly blab-a-thon, and the topic of kids comes up. She’s been thinking about them, about actually having one! Well, this is new. We’d decided ages ago that they are too much work. They make a lot of noise. They cost a lot of money and time.

But most of all, they…leak.

Fluids.

And solids.

All the time.

Now, I’m not bothered by this aspect of children. You just deal with it, and hope like hell you have a good washing machine, cuz that sucker will be running daily for years. But Socks? Not so much.

Ever seen one of those funny video shows where someone is lying on the floor (usually dad because men rarely think ahead), holding a baby over their head, bouncing it up and down, and laughing? And then junior pukes rancid, lumpy, half-digested hot milk DIRECTLY into daddy’s mouth?

Right now, somewhere in the world, my BFF barfed up her last meal just from reading that. There is very little chance of her dealing well with this happening in front of her. Even clear baby drool makes her go totally phobic.

So, of course, when she starts talking babies I remind her about the fact that they leak. Because I’m not having kids, for my own non-fluid related but equally valid and well-thought-out reasons, and I sort of don’t want her to turn into Just Another Mom. I’m a selfish bitch, and I don’t want her to change. Because I’m an honest selfish bitch, I tell her this. She agrees, whew! Barf, and the chance of her turning into someone different, someone …. well I hate to say boring, that’s not the best word. Someone that is no longer ‘Socks’ and is just ‘Mom.’

Yes, I KNOW how that sounds. Bear with me. Anyway, crisis averted.

Except… it isn’t. Despite my attempts to hog her whole life, she talks to her hubby about why they decided not to have kids.

Turns out, he thought she didn’t want them, and she thought he didn’t want them. And they both DO want them. Well, now, don’t I feel like a jerk. Game on!

So, not to go into too much detail, plan Team Building was instigated. How cute! Awww, I love these guys.

I was the only other person who knew they were trying to get pregnant. Loads of reasons, mainly due to her wanting to surprise a certain family member with the good news. Because I was the only person not actively involved in Team Building, Socks and I wanted to come up with a creative way to record how we felt during the journey.

As I said earlier, I totally let down the Team. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was in denial, maybe I was too stuck in my own head with my own issues. Maybe from 3,000 miles away, it didn’t feel real. But, I never wrote one word. See ‘selfish bitch’ above.

We still had our weekly teleconference. I heard about each disappointment when Aunt Flo showed up, that dirty old hag. I couldn’t help, but I mentally changed from being a spectator in the stands into someone that wanted to buy pom-poms and lead the cheers from the field. Figuratively. I doubt her hubby would have welcomed me in the bedroom, even if I was in a cheerleader skirt.

Go, Team, Go!!!

Finally, there was a touchdown, a goal, a try, a slam-dunk. They have a positive result! I got a phone call in the early afternoon. Yay! Now, we can make plans! And great plans they were. The timing was perfect for Socks and Co to tell her family in person, which is exactly what she wanted all along. Just a few weeks to wait. So hard to keep the secret!

It didn’t happen that way. They lost the baby. She had to tell her family the sad news, over the phone. Oh, sweetie.

I cannot talk any more about her loss.

I can say that I now am able to talk about the journey I had the privilege to be a part of. And now, I can talk about it here. Because this is not a tale of sadness, this is one of joy, no matter what else happens.

My best girl is pregnant again!

This time, she doesn’t have to wait until Thursdays to talk about it. She’s got a much bigger support network, and I’m happy about that!

My selfish self is happy to finally want, and need, to record my thoughts about my future niece or nephew. Because if I don’t get called Auntie E, I’ll be grumpy.

Hint, hint 🙂

Oct9

New Beer!

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I got to try new beer this weekend! This is a bit of a rarity. You’d think the home of Guinness would be awash in beer, and it is…but only a few types. Diageo, owners of the black stuff, have the market tied up and held for ransom in the pubs. Heineken, Bud, Coors, Carlsberg, Guinness and Smithwick’s are about it, in the shebeen.

But we shop in the cheapo places, Lidl and Aldi, and sometimes they have new and interesting beverages! Here’s two we found, both by Shepherd Neame out of Kent, England.

Autumn Blaze Ale:

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Tasty! Really easy to drink, a nice flavour of hops but not overpowering. Says it is bitter, but I sure didn’t think so.

Up and Under Ale

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Also tasty. Nearly identical to the Autumn Blaze. Perhaps a bit more of a hoppy aftertaste. Completely a gimmick ale, as it is rugby-based in name and label.

Both well worth a try, even if they are only 4%.

Oct8

Please meet… Socks!

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Hiiii! I have to talk about a very important subject. Very!

My best friend, Socks! Here she is, as illustrated by yours truly:

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Isn’t she gorgeous on the outside? Well, the inside is so stunning you’ll lose all interest in plastic TV people and shallow fictional characters. I will never be able to do her justice using mere words, or a Brushes finger painting.

But, fuck it, I like a challenge. Here’s the smallest glimpse into why I have the best best friend in the world.

She fell in love with her next door neighbour when they were both kids. She never wanted anyone else, and she never would, or had to, settle for less. They’ve been married over a decade now. He is soooooo lucky.

She’s a fab artist in a bunch of different medium. Mediums? Shit, I thought I knew how to write. Different artistic materials that you use to make artistic stuff with. She’s so good my English fails me 😀 She’s so good she could teach, and has.

She sends REAL MAIL. Not a big deal? When’s the last time you got a real letter or postcard or package? How about one that is an original painting, and tells you how fantastic you are and how much fun the sender had in the act of creating and sending it? Yeah, it’s a big deal.

So far I’ve not gotten personal, but this is: she sends me things all the bloody way over here! It costs a fortune to send silly things like Peeps, or giant candy canes, or Kraft mac n cheese to another damn country, but she does. Things I can’t get here, and I mention without thinking about it… show up on my doorstep. I live 3,000 miles away from anything I ever knew, and everyone that I’ve known longer than seven years. She sends me bits of ‘home’ so I don’t get too sad and lonely. She’s the one who realised that I might need such things in the first place.

She puts up with Oirish Tirsday; our weekly phone call, that goes on for hours. Yes, we’re both married. But some things you can only talk about to a best friend. And she listens, sooooo much better than I do. Hence her sending me prezzies from ‘home’ that I bring up in passing, and immediately forget about.

She’s funny. I get to snort laughter more on an Oirish Tirsday than I do all week.

She’s a genuinely nice person, but not a doormat. She recently had to meet someone that did horrible things to her and her family. I never, ever, would have met with this jerk. Her hubby didn’t understand why she would, either. But because she was incapable of being even the tiniest bit of an asshole, they met…and it was fine. Even, perhaps, good. Wow, babe. You are way stronger than me.

She takes care of everyone, and I mean everyone, in her life. I worry about that, that it is too much for one person to handle. But I’m one of the ones she takes care of, and I don’t want her to ever stop.

There are some, just some, of the reasons why this gal rocks my world.

We talk, obviously, a LOT. About anything. Sex? well, duh. Self-analysis? yup. Art, writing, music, food, pets, our respective menfolk, family, the occult, cannibalism, murder, and poop. Actually, I think we talk about poop more than any other single topic. Hey, it’s a never-ending source of humour!

Back in January, a new topic came up. Children, babies, having them, why and why not. Well, it wasn’t a new topic. But it hadn’t been talked about in ages, because we’d agreed that kids are oooky.

And I think I’ll leave you hanging, here, as there is sooo much more to say still.

Oct8

I’m officially a rugby fanatic

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Morning! It’s half time, so here I am. Half time of what could get me out of bed at 6 am? The Rugby World Cup, of course! Ireland v Wales. Right now Wales is winning, but the scores are low so plenty of time to recover.

It’s on because the Cup is in New Zealand.

Oo, it’s back on, bye!

Oct7

I’m not spineless, even if I wish I was

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Hi!

I’m here pretty late, for me. It’s about 8:45 as I start. I’m sleepy, and sore, and stiff, and my nose is half stuffy (not normal for me).

Had an early start today, as I had an appointment with the chiropractor. I’m paying for this out of pocket, as I don’t have insurance and the NHS probably wouldn’t pay for it. If I could get them to have a look, that is.

So, a bit of history is in order methinks!

June or thereabouts, 2010. I went to my GP for something or other and also asked about the super annoying sensations on the outside of my left thigh. It burns, itches, tingles, goes numb, and just in general fells really freaking weird when touched. So, doc says he’ll request an x-ray for me at the hospital.

Now, keep in mind I’ve only lived in Ireland five years at this point, but I’ve already learned that the NHS is slow as fuck, and that my request is in no way urgent and therefore at the bottom of the probably massive stack of letters. No worries.

I sort of forgot about it. I’d remember, but didn’t get sick again so had no need to visit the doc. Also, getting thru to them on the phone is hellish. His office is literally right around the corner from my house, but I hate to be a dick and walk in just to ask a question because the phone is always busy. Busy is busy, and I’m not more important than the people who have been waiting, right?

So, a year goes by without an x-ray appointment. I’m steadily getting worse. Not really in pain as such, but I can’t stand still for long without getting sore. I growl at iDJ when he accidentally touches my leg. I finally ring the doc in May. They get me an x-ray appointment at the hospital in just a couple weeks.

Of course, the x-rays show nothing. It’s probably a pinched nerve, that’s not gonna show. So, doc says he’ll send a letter and ask for an urgent MRI, and it should be about two weeks.

A month goes by. I ring the doc, no, they have nothing. They send another letter, again urgent, again, should be getting an appointment in about two weeks. Gina (I’m now on a first name basis, I’m the only Yank and my name is a pain in the ass, so she knows it’s me the minute I say hello) tells me that she’s going to say it’s the third request, because the hospital lost my x-ray request letter in the first place. I know Gina is busy, and, I suspect, she’s so overworked that things don’t get done in a timely fashion. So I ask if I can ring the hospital and annoy them about the appointment myself.

Why yes, yes I can. I leave it three weeks and ring the radiology department. They are only available for phone calls between 10 and 12:30 every day, WTF???

They have no record of me needing an appointment for an MRI.

I call Gina back. She says she’ll ring them. Nope, no letter. She sends another one. Have to wait another two weeks.

By now, I’m keeping dates and not letting shit get one day older than it should before I start chasing my appointment. Gina tells me two weeks later that I’ll be seeing a Miss H in orthopaedics. So I start ringing orthopaedics. They say they have the letter (cue happy bluebirds circling over my head in joyous celebration)! They also say that Miss H has such a backlog of letters waiting for appointments, she needs time to read them and prioritise each one. They also say that I am NOT in any queue for an MRI, I am waiting only for a consultation, and the wait for that will be two months! Cue my bluebirds dropping, stone dead, to the ground in little puffs of feathers.

By now, I think, it is late August. I’m shitty at tracking time, sorry. Back to the doc, in person, and righteously pissed off. Because in my real life, I have gotten WAY worse. I’m in actual lower back pain now, and it is constant. I can’t vacuum the house without having to spend the rest of the day on the couch with a hot pad on my back. I’m super fucking grumpy and hate my stupid loser life where I can no longer even apply for shit retail jobs because I know I can’t stand up for 10 minutes in a row or lift anything. I’ve also broken my left pinkie toe because that side has gone weak and I’m even clumsier than usual. Oh, and the middle toe on my left foot has now gone numb! Oh, and I’d found a really fun martial art that I was good at and it made me happy because I am a clumsy git and I’d turned 40 but even though I’m feeling old, I was learning how to kill, using a sword, in elegant ways. With friends, which is so bloody rare that alone was enough to make me happy.

But, no more swordplay, no little bit of sunshine, and now I’m really pissed off at the system.

Doc is great, is upset on my behalf, and says he’ll send a letter to a different hospital in the next county, to see if they will take me seriously. Two weeks, again.

I ring the doc after exactly two weeks. Gina says she’ll ring the ‘new’ hospital. This is Tuesday. I give her Wed to ring them. Thurs the doc’s office is always closed. I call again on Friday. I get a voice mail saying the office is closed. Sheeeeit.

I call on Monday. Gina is off for the next week, and the fill in hasn’t a clue. I do get the name of the ‘new’ hospital, so I try to ring them. No answer at either number in the phone book. I find a place that only does MRI’s and call them, apologising for not have a clue what the hell I’m talking about. They don’t have any record of a letter about me. But, I might have the wrong place, or my bizarre name might be the issue. So, I wait out the week and ring Gina on Monday. Hey, we’re up to this week! Woot! Still with me? Bored yet? I am, a bit. Think I’ll take a pee break.

Ah, that’s better. Needed more booze anyhow.

Oh yes, over the week that Gina was out, I got a letter from the first hospital giving me my consult appointment on November 2. Bastards! I get from Gina the actual number of the new place and I ring them. Same story: one doc, pile of paperwork, hasn’t read any of it. Fuck YOU, sir. Ring Gina again, ask if I can have my x-rays because I’ve given up and am now going to a chiropractor.

You read the earlier fun post about picking up the films? Good.

So, chiropractor’s office. Lots of questions, the history of all the pains, etc. His diagnosis is that my sacrum is sitting crooked between my hips, due to my squealing when he squeezed my hipbones toward each other, and then another look at the x-ray where even I can see that shit is crooked. So, problem number one.

Problem number two is unconfirmed. Ya know why? Because you’d need a fucking MRI to see if I have a herniated disc or not! Isn’t that funny? But he says it’s pretty likely, as the very last vertebrae has a smaller gap than all the others. If so, it explains the screwy leg nerves as it they are either being pinched out the side of the disc, or as it runs down past my pelvic bone and sacrum.

So, an adjustment, an exercise, ice and heat, and do not bend over, twist and bend, or sit crooked. No lifting, and try to sleep on my back with pillows under my knees. Wish me luck with that last one. Back on Tuesday, 2 appointments a week for a bit, then one, then one a month, then one every few months.

I’m stiff in my upper back, but that’s all muscle because I am and have been holding myself very stiff to avoid movement and pain. My lower back feels better already!

Wish our bank account did.