Observations 28 FEB 2011

When I was an early teen, I discovered the wonder of the Flair pen. I though, then that if I documented and cartooned everything, I would have a reference log, a dead reckoning plot for the blur of time.

You can guess how well I kept that promise.

Certain days do seem to be markers. Three weeks ago Saturday, the first birds began arriving, just after the ice storm. This Sunday morning, the first lawnmowers were heard. We had our first truly "spring" tornado outbreak Sunday night.

And, this week, I pretty much confirmed I'm my Mom's son. I got sick Thursday night, so I took time off Friday, rested and pushed fluids. Height of the fever was late Friday/early Saturday. The cough wouldn't quit though. So I called an RN friend, and asked for advice.

It took her all of ten seconds to say, get thee hence to a doctor.

I was feeling great, compared to Friday. It was only a cough. Reluctantly, I went to the nurse practitioner clinic at Walgreen's. Grumble.

Oh, yes. My temperature was *down* to 102.7 F. And we can't X-Ray your right lung here for pneumonia. Go to the ER. Now.

An IV push (too many things to mention), and nebulizer, and many pills later, I was sent home. Severe bronchitis, influenza, and a suspicious right lung. Do not go back to work for two more days.

Mom never thought she was a better doctor than the doctors, right? And, her self-treatments never just masked more serious problems, right? Do not be a malingerer, Sergeant. You're a soldier. Stop whinging.

It did keep Mom out of the healthcare system until her last week.

If I had not been whacked over the head by Alice, I would be far worse off, now.

Last year, my health took a permanent blow. Being a tough guy, it was hard to face being over fifty now counted. The circumstances following Mom's death, both physical and psychological, took a much heavier toll than I was willing to admit. My sister accused me of having my tail between my legs, and at least one of my co-workers resented my being ill, and conserving my health. The ex-Marine thought I was an incompetent goldbrick. I did not bother replying that I had held the fort, by myself, for nearly a decade before he came along. It's small comfort that with the re-org, we will be at separate locations, with doubled workloads.

There is no way I can leave my job to recover, as I could have thirty years ago. Those days are gone. I must now acknowledge my limits. Boxed in. Humbling.

I've missed my church meetings, as well. No need to make them sick.

The outside world is mad. It's amusing to wonder if I would rather be Ghadaafi or Charlie Sheen... :) Another reason to bid good riddance to the political board.

I will have to go grocery shopping soon. It's amazing how fast you can go through chicken soup and toilet paper.