Young Adult

Arthur the almost-20-year-old performed a miracle today.

Without being asked or instructed, he cleaned the house.

He put things away, straightened things up, cleaned a bathroom . . . .

He even called to request that I bring home more laundry detergent.

"Arthur, are you planning to have friends over on the weekend while we're down in Galena?" I suspiciously inquired. "No," he replied, "I think we're going to dungeon at Shane's."

Oh. "So what's with the clean-up routine?"

"Well remember how you were cleaning before you had surgery so you wouldn't be tempted to clean while you were stuck at home after surgery? The house looked so nice and now it's all trashed again. So I cleaned it up."

Me thinks me boy is growing up. He's turning into a fine young man.

Makes a mom proud.

I'm thankful for my sons, both of them, this Thanksgiving holiday. How about you?

Mystery

So this is the view I came home to tonight. Joren and I couldn't identify what the container had recently contained. Clearly the cats managed to knock it from a counter and in the brief minutes that elapsed from when we got home and let the dog in, the canine had commandeered the Tupperware and was busily licking it out. Hmmmm. What could it have been.

As I contemplated whether or not it was time to kill the cat that gets up on the counters and eats things (chews through plastic and paper to eat bread, licks things out of the sink, etc. etc. etc.), it occurred to me that there was a note on our marker board on the kitchen door that did not match a family member's hand writing.

AHA! The Truaxes had been here and left cake. Bummer. It looks like it had frosting, and in spite of my snot-filled sinuses I could smell that it had been delicious cake; perhaps carrot or applesauce or spice cake? Then I realized there was also a check somewhere in the kitchen. If the stupid cat had eaten that, too, then there would be hell to pay.

This particular cat is a favorite of my husband's and our godson, Luke's. He arrived one weekend in October many years ago while I was out of town. He had already spent two nights in Arthur's bed, my family not worried about his worm-distended belly, or whether or not he had ear mites (he did) or fleas (they had bathed him). Fortunately his eyes were clear and I took him to the vet to get him wormed and get shots. Those are my rules about animals that live in the house. So Pumpkin, aka Little Kitty, wormed his way into our household, befriending animals and humans alike.

My gripe is that this cat, unlike any other I have ever had (and we've had cats as long as I can remember) is THE worst offender of being up on things and getting into things that he shouldn't. I have become more and more of a dog person as life goes on. I was warned that Jack Russel Terriers were known to kill cats. Unfortunately my JR Terrorist simply harasses the cats without harm. But she is vigilant when they get into mischief and gives a good chase, unless they're in and she's out, which was the case tonight.

I think sometimes they plot to bribe her by sharing their ill gotten gains. The thing that really pisses me off is that I've got a mouse problem UP ON THE COUNTERS and Kitty doesn't seem to be doing a damn thing about it. So I'm at war with the fluffy orange kitty. Dale and Arthur are off hunting, so I could make it disappear and claim I have no idea where he ended up. But I know I couldn't keep a straight face.

We found the check and called the Truaxes to thank them for the thought and the payment for the Costume Shop Advent Retreat. Mary had tried to secure the cake with a make-shift cover that would prevent squishing the frosting. The stupid cat was even more determined than Mary. Oh well.

I just hope I outlive the damn Kitty!

Getting Antsy

I'm completing Day Three, post-surgery. I feel better and better every day, but still not normal. Sitting upright in a desk chair and climbing stairs are still uncomfortable obstacles to my normal lifestyle. But I am confident that all will be well.

The food has been great! THANK YOU to all of my friends who have dropped in with goodies for my family and me to eat. It's true, Dale is really not much of a cook. We've been treated to beef stew, two kinds of chili, chicken noodle soup, homemade apple doughnuts, a Mediterranean chicken wrap, and a mini Jello mold. I even waved off a generous offer of spaghetti and meatballs; the refrigerator is full! I am so blessed with such compassionate and generous friends. I hope I can return the favor. This is a picture of my goddaughter Maria and her brother Domingo who delivered my own personal layered Jello dessert. They promised me that it's not a salad and contains no obstacles. YAY!

I feel completely healthy but still have some physical discomfort and a ban on lifting anything greater than 10 pounds. This is making for a bad mix of being bored at home and wanting to tend to household projects. Hopefully I can get back to work tomorrow or Wednesday so the household projects can't tempt me any more. It's frustrating to be unable to carry a laundry basket from point a to point b. I also can't exert enough strength to open a fresh bottle of V8 Fusion. I had to stop myself the other night as I began to lift one of the kitchen chairs that had lost one of its pads and was scratching up the hardwood floor.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm deeply thankful for your thoughts, prayers, and food. Please let me know if I can ever return the favor.

The Day After

Here's the building where Dale and I spent almost eight hours yesterday. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

It wasn't a horrible day. We arrived at 5:45 a.m. on the nose to begin the check-in procedure for outpatient surgery. I had my indestructible blue and white hospital wristband on before 6 a.m. I was in a backless gown that always cuts across your neck and in the bathroom to donate a urine sample before 7 a.m.

My gynecologist visited with us around 7:10 a.m. and informed us that my urologist was on the other side of a freight train out by Flint Hills Refinery. Apparently he lives in Eagan and was hopeful about getting to Hastings in time for the 7:30 a.m. procedure. If he didn't make it Dr. T-T said she could do my bladder sling for me. Fine. Let's get on with it.

They gave me a shot in the left buttock around 7:20 a.m. - it was a megadose of ibuprofin in liquid form. My IV was inserted by 7:25 and they walked me in to surgery and introduced me to the staff. At 7:35 I was aware that I was in a cold, bright room with Mim, Dr. Hart, Miranda, and Linda. I knew that two surgeons and a scruffy med school student would join us after the lights were out on my consciousness.

I am aware that I was awakened in recovery around 9:15 a.m. and was told everything went well. General anesthesia is so bizarre. I saw Dr. Farber, my urologist, floating around back there. I couldn't tell you if we talked or not. I was back to my cozy personal room in the surgery center with Dale by 9:35 am. I think I only repeated myself with him once or twice.

He was my advocate and succeeded in preventing them from prescribing Vicodin, Perecoset, or other drugs of that class. I only get the side effects; irritability and restlessness without much pain relief. We took home Tylenol #3 and some antibiotic.

I wasn't allowed to leave until I had peed. And I had to really pee, not a "little stream of dribble like a little old man." That's what the doctor said! So I held it as long as I could, taking full advantage of the hospital big mug of water, two cans of apple juice, and the water the nurse added to my bladder from the wrong direction through my catheter. Yuck.

I peed and we went home. Thanks be to God.

Yesterday seems kind of dreamy and slow.

Today is a little woozy and slow. Stairs and bending over are bad. But I have to keep moving to prevent blood clots. So it's time for another walk toward my bottle of super-Tylenol and the apple cider. Good thing they didn't wait for me to poop. I'd still be at the hospital!

A New Season

** WARNING** MEDICAL SOB STORY AHEAD

Could be TMI for some . . . . Consider yourself warned!
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

I share this with you because I finally felt emboldened and encouraged by women in my life who have been there and done that before me, and because too many of us put up with too much crap in the department of female health for too long. It's hard on your body, your spirit, and your family. So this is what happened that leads to my hopefully getting fixed, if not at least healthier. I hope it gives you heart to take care of whatever you've been putting off in your department of personal health. I pray for my healing and for yours.

When I went in for my bi-annual pap/pelvic/physical exam in August I confessed to all kinds of concerns and voiced many complaints to my beloved family practitioner of twenty years, Julie. She's a girl, too, so I feel safe whining to her about my various disgusting complaints. It's wonderful having one compassionate doctor over time who knows all your quirks and is smart and is good at re-assuring you when you feel inadequate or worried. She is the best.

So we did blood work and I floated just under the radar for everything. My bad cholesterol is 5 points below a high rating. My good cholesterol is 3 points above a low rating. My blood sugar is a fraction below what would constitute a worrisome level. My weight would be the fat category if I were 5'7" - but I'm 5'6" and therefore considered obese. Etc. etc. etc. I can (and did) fool a computer model into thinking I'm healthy and normal for my age. But a human sees the trends and recognizes idiosyncrasies.

It was kind of a depressing report, but Julie, in her helpful and optimistic way, encouraged me to make some not-so-difficult changes and referred me to a gynecologist and a urologist for my other complaints. She also noted that my blood pressure was a bit high and said, "Let's keep an eye on that."

I saw my new urologist first and confessed the leaking pee syndrome when coughing or sneezing or laughing too hard. "How long has this been going on?" he asks. "Years," I say. "But it's only been really bad for the last 18 months." "What's the difference between leaking and really bad? Isn't wet wet?" he pointed out. True. Wet is wet. And I'm tired of it. He asked me why women wait so long to have this reversed. He pointed out that if a guy were leaking he'd be in to see the doctor yesterday insisting that the offending appendage be cured immediately. Why do women put up with that stuff? I hypothesized that we're simply used to being messy in the lower unit due to our monthly moon flow, so a little bit of pee doesn't seem like a big deal. Especially for those of us who are in denial and refuse to acknowledge that we are experiencing incontinence! "Okay, we can fix this with a pretty simple bladder sling. I need to do some tests first to make sure that's what is going on. I think it's a gravity issue with the neck of your bladder and we should be able to lift it up." The testing involved catheters and public pissing, but it wasn't too traumatic and I was on the way to dryness. YES!

Next was the gynecologist. She was great. She, too, said I didn't have to put up with excessive body fluids escaping my nether regions at inappropriate times and in high volumes. She diagnosed me with a condition known as menorrhagia. This condition occurs in 1 out of every five women. There are several ways to treat it. I have decided to undergo an endometrial ablation. She, too, prescribed some pre-procedure tests that included an ultrasound. I had had ultrasounds with pregnancies so I wasn't too worried. The day of the procedure, when the technician was finished scanning my lower abdomen, he invited me to void my bladder in the bathroom and return for the internal portion of the screening. WHAT!?! I followed instructions and resumed the position as we inserted a huge "wand" into my . . . .okay - you get the picture. The rest of that procedure felt more like he was probing my kidneys rather than my ovaries! But my results came back clean - no abnormalities and no tumors detected. Last stop, an endometrial biopsy. That was uncomfortable for a moment, but tolerable.

All systems were go for a double out-patient procedure. They will knock me out and take care of the bothersome parts. Yay doctors.

But wait. There's that pesky pre-op physical that is required the week of surgery. Back to Julie I went on Monday. I had to pee in a cup and get my finger pricked. She listened to my heart, lungs and questions. I inquired about what seems to have been a consistently elevated blood pressure over the course of all these tests and procedures. Julie looked at my trends over the past 20 years and said, "Huh! You're right. Looks like you have high blood pressure." She did some more cruising through my chart and we talked about the high blood pressure in my father's family including my health nut dad, Mr. Granola and Bean Sprouts. I've weighed more than him since after my youngest son was born!

She determined that even though my blood pressure isn't alarmingly high, it's high enough to warrant treatment to help avoid typical symptoms and deteriorating health. She chose a specific medication taking into consideration that diabetes also runs in my family (mother's side) and that my blood sugar has been creeping up, too.

So here I am, 46 and on maintenance meds looking at surgery on Friday.

Who would have thunk!

What do I have to look forward to?

You guessed it! Mammogram in December (breast cancer runs in my family) and Colonoscopy in January (colon cancer runs in my family, too).

Makes a girl wonder . . . why didn't I take up smoking?

Dome Excess

I worked at the Gopher's game at the HHH Metrodome today. The Hastings Choirs have used this concession stand fund-raising technique for spring choir trips for years. I used to volunteer to work with families of my youth group kids now and then. It was a fun way to avoid writing a check for some cutsie things I didn't really need but could still help contribute to their efforts.

Dale and Joren have been working all fall at metrodome events. Today Joren's work life caved in on him. A bunch of kids cancelled on the Dome so that Joren was needed. Then a family emergency came up with a co-worker at the gas station in Miesville and Joren had to work there, too. Bummer. We Skovs still haven't solved the how-to-be-in-two-places-at-once dilemma.

We called our Dome coordinator and asked if I could take his shift.

"Is she trained?"

"Well, not technically," we replied, "but she has worked there before . . . "

I was in; on the Gate List! So I reported with Dale at 7:20 a.m. to the HHS parking lot wearing my black pants and white shirt prepared to schlep hotdogs and popcorn and candy.

It turned out that we were sent to the "Brat & Brew" stand that features Dave's Famous BBQ. None of the Hastings gang had worked this one before. We had a money and inventory manager we didn't know - both were slow. We also had a grumpy stand manager (we think he didn't appreciate the aforementioned managers) and three folks from other organizations.

I actually had a lot of fun. I worked with a delightful Hastings Youth, Casey, as we prepped BBQ platters and pinch hit on Jumbo Dogs, Brats, and the occasional chicken wrap. Our stand also served Chicago dogs, which I was seriously considering purchasing when my break rolled around. But after three hours of serving up the stuff, I just didn't have an appetite for it any more.

As I prepped buns (a hunk that would constitute a loaf of bread for a family of four in most parts of the world) and loaded up BBQ, I was almost sickened with the waste. I realized that I couldn't possibly eat that much and would end up throwing out a good amount of it if I purchased a "portion." And for those who did polish off the entire "serving," what an unhealthy waste in digestive process and gaining not-so-healthy calories. And the beverage options are weird, too. Well, there's nothing weird about beer. But for those of us working, we can consume all the soft drinks we want for free - or we can drink Minneapolis water from the tap. So that's what I did. I even held Dale's Coke for him without taking a sip. Phew!

It simply struck me that the whole "food" thing at stadiums like this is pretty disgusting. It's wasteful, relatively unhealthy, and astronomically expensive.

Bah Humbug!

I did eat a small hotdog from another stand during my break. I'll get a Chicago Dog some other time.

FINALLY

Yes, that's my oldest, old enough to vote and exercising his right this morning. At 6:45 a.m. I opened his bedroom door and said, "Good morning! It's Election Day. Are you going to vote?"

"Mmmm, yes . . . . will you rub my back?" he muttered in a groggy voice.

As I rubbed his back I said, "You need your Driver's License to register."

"How long will it take?" he asked.

"Depending on the line anywhere from five minutes to an hour. The line shouldn't be long yet. There are only 844 registered voters in our township and we won't all show up at 7 a.m. If you want company we gotta go now. I'll give you a ride if you go with me."

Arthur crawled from bed, dressed himself, poured a glass of juice and climbed in my car. I asked who he was going to vote for and he grinned and told me that was top secret information. We drove the less-than-one-mile to the town hall, parked one set of my wheels in the ditch, and joined the line of approximately 20 people who arrived as the polls opened.

I walked him through the posted sample ballot to make sure he understood that he needed to pay attention to how many people he was allowed to vote for in each category. I also explained that failing to vote either YES or NO on the Constitutional Amendment was equivalent to a no vote and therefore it was wise to make an intentional choice and fill in an oval rather than ignore it and vote no by default. I concluded my tutorial with, "So you need to make your own choices, fill in the ovals, and if you screw it up, come out and tell an election judge that you spoiled your ballot." Others in line smiled and nodded at my careful, non-partisan instructions.

He peeled off to register and I stayed in line to vote. Here's my proof of voting my passion as promised. This was ballot number 22 in Marshan Township of Dakota County in Minnesota. MY VOTE COUNTS! Thanks be to God and George Washington and Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Kady Stanton!

On the ride home I asked Arthur who he voted for. He told me and I laughed and asked if he understood he was bucking the trend in our rural precinct. He grinned and said, "I know. That was fun." It was fun indeed. Gramps will be proud.

Now we get to settle in and receive the results. My fingers are crossed, my hopes are high, and my prayers are passionate.

End In Sight

UNCLE!!!!!

Can I PUH-LEEZE vote already.

I am so sick and tired of political ads and e-mails that I even turned off the Saturday Night Live Presidential Special tonight. I'm so worn out on all of this that I don't even find the humor with the SNL cast any more.

I can't wait for tomorrow to see what We, The People elect to do.

I hope you vote.

My oldest gets to vote in his first presidential election tomorrow. I am so excited for him. I remember casting my first ballot in November of 1980. I voted with my dad in East Galena Township, a block from the train station in Galena, Illinois. I then climbed on Amtrak and road to Rockford to join my mother and other members of N.O.W. canvassing and helping drive people to the polls. That night, as we watched the Reagan landslide unfold and our hopes for ratifying the Equal Rights Amendment dashed, I got drunk WITH my mother for the first time. It was a very disappointing first election. None the less, I haven't missed voting in a presidential election since. I did miss a mid-term opportunity during my college years. I was battling a nasty cold and opted to stay in bed that day. I hadn't registered in Minnesota yet anyway.

Have fun on Tuesday. I hope you VOTE YES for MINNESOTA. I will!

More later.

P.S. Welcome to Blogwyn BC63. I love Blue Skies. I'm saying prayers for your dad and Gudny.