Monday, October 17, 2011

Nursemaid Kerry

So, as you know from yesterday's blog, my dad may or may not have a concussion. I was on the phone with my mother last night who reminded me that there is nothing that can be done for a concussion. She asked me if I remembered that Lance, my brother, has had several concussions. Do I remember????? I was the one that went running to the ER when he had his first one!!!!!!!!! My parents could not be contacted and I, at the age of 17, had to go running!

I had been sitting in the M hallway at Niles North one day, in between classes. I accidentally tripped the football coach, whose name escapes me right now, but he was kind of a scary guy with a super loud voice. I did not know he was also the boys basketball coach. That afternoon, the phone rang. I answered it and I immediately knew his voice. He asked for my parents. I told him they were at work. I was freaking that he called to report that I had tripped him earlier in the day. I was wrong. He called to inform me that Lance had gotten smashed in the head with volleyball poles, had been knocked to the ground and was on his way to the hospital. Oh. Cool. I'll be right over.

My grandparents were at the house to keep an eye on us. I told them I was going. They, of course, came running behind me in their car. I checked in at the front desk of the ER with the guy who was working his first day as receptionist. I explained who I was. He wouldn't let me back to see Lance until I answered 8 million questions. Here come Bub and Papa.  The dude at the desk asked if we had a doctor on staff at the hospital. The answer was no. Bub interjected and said yes. She and I got into a yelling match....she felt that a family friend (who was nothing but a pill pusher and not our doctor) was close enough. After the guy behind the counter calmed down from his panic attack after watching us scream, he finally entered into the computer that we did not have a doctor on staff. I begged them to go home and let me handle it. While we stood fighting (and still hadn't seen Lance), in come my parents, holding their giant brick cell phone, which didn't get reception where they had been working that day. I then went home.  A few days later, while Lance laid on the couch, I smacked him in the head for saying something stupid, forgetting he had a concussion, momentarily. He survived.  But DO I REMEMBER??????

Here's a SAMPLING of events that I have received the phone call for and have had to go running to hospitals: (But do I remember?)

Jordan having an ERCP procedure done and needing a ride home because he drove himself and couldn't get released to drive. I went to get him.

My dad, having seen the doctor at the hospital post kidney stones and needing a ride home. I went to get him.

Lance calling that he thinks his appendix is no good. Sees the dr. Forgets his ID at the dr. I go running with the ID to Lincoln Park Hospital to bring it back to him.

Jordan calling from DePaul, stating he again, had no feeling in his legs. I ran down to Northwestern Memorial. Oh this was after Steve thought he was having gallbladder problems and I had been up the entire night before with him.

Jordan calling from Old Orchard saying he was buying pants but his legs went numb...I met him at Rush North Shore.

Tessi calling from Indiana University to say she's vomiting non stop and in pain. I tell her she's having a gallbladder attack. Who heads to Indiana to pack her up before finals?  Who drives straight back to get her admitted to Rush North Shore? Who stays the night until they will admit her? Who stayed the night with her after the gallbladder removal, after she threw everyone else out?

Oh...and on that hospital stay, Jordan calls me to say again, he's in horrific pain. I tell him to head to the ER at Rush, since we're there anyway, and that I can meet him downstairs, but again, this is all a giant secret, can't tell anyone.

Tessi calling from Spain...very ill...says she's going to the ER...don't tell anyone. I was on the phone all night with her.

Tessi calling AGAIN from Spain very sick. Again she heads to the ER.

Steve calling after he took someone to the ER and was feeling ill as he can't cope with people in the hospital, so I ran to Glenbrook.

Lance calling from New York to say he really thinks it's his appendix and he went to the hospital. (Thank goodness for Roya!) But who convinced my mom to get on a plane to go be with them??

Jordan calling from an old girlfriends house that he literally collapsed on the floor and what should he do. 911 was called. I went running to Northwest Community.
They refused to help him. I insisted on a transfer to Rush North Shore. Off he went.

Who took Jordan in for 5 weeks after his spinal fusion to take care of him????? I would make PBJ sandwiches on Wonder Bread (learned my lesson after using real bread). I'd make mac and cheese and leave it in a thermos before I went to work so he could have a hot lunch. Who bought a brand new TV so he could have one in his room so he'd be comfortable?

But do I remember?

Is she fucking serious?

Sunday, October 16, 2011

A Hammer to the Head

So, last night, while at dinner, I got a text from my father. Here's what it said:
"Did I tel u about th hammer that hit me in head" (That is exactly as he typed it. My dad has his own abbreviations when it comes to texting.)
My response was "Do you have a concussion?"
He said, "No stl hav hedake @ lighthed. Not severe vry mild".
I told him he needed to get to the ER. I asked him if he was tired.
This was the answer. "No mor thn usual. Im good dont wory. Jus wantd som1 2kno. Lov u"

The last time he said something similar to me was in 2004 when he was in Vegas for a wedding and called me from Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville to inform me he felt really sick and, if he were to die, at least he got to speak to me before it happened.

Does this sound normal to you? ( He was hospitalized while there and had to stay in Vegas longer, but eventually made it home. It was kidney stones.)

I, being of sound mind and body, proceeded to call my uncle to see if he could go get my father and take him to the ER. He wasn't home. I texted my brother, Jordan, to see if he knew of my uncle's whereabouts. He did not but did ask me why I wanted to know.  I proceeded to tell him about the text I had received. He asked me how it happened. I told him what my dad told me. He replied with: "Oh that's from like 3 days ago." THREE DAYS AGO?????
 I called my mother, who is out of town for work, to let her know what was going on. She told me she was out of town and what did I want her to do.

Again, does this sound normal to you?

For some reason, my family always seems to call me when someone is hurt, ill, on the way to the ER, already in the hospital or needs to get to one. Why? I don't know. Some listen to me when I suggest we head to the ER; some choose to think they know better, my father being a prime example.

In 2001, we were at my parents house for Rosh Hashanna. My mom had washed the potatoes and asked my dad to cook them. (he always makes the mashed potatoes.) He decided a cutting board wasn't necessary. He chose to cut potatoes in his bare hand. This led to him missing the potato and slicing his hand open. My mother was concerned about him bleeding all over her potatoes. My husband took him to the ER for stitches, even though my dad thought he didn't really need them.

The next month, I had a funeral to attend. My dad came to my house to watch Andrew and Issac while I went. He got to my house and told me not to "dilly dally" as he wasn't feeling well. I rushed home to find him sitting outside my house on one of my brand new dining room chairs. I had just gotten the dining room set so I was rather unhappy about my new chair being outside. He told me he was having chest pains and was "thinking" about going to the hospital. While I was gone, he called my mom, at work, to ask her to call 911. (The fire department was literally across the street from my house) She told him to call himself.  He eventually got to the hospital and it wasn't a heart attack.

My sister has called me from Spain to say she was sick and to ask if she should go to the hospital. I've had both brothers ask me as to whether or not their symptoms required medical attention. My question is this: why tell me 3 days after you got your head smashed to tell me you aren't feeling well? (oh and leave out the fact that it was 3 days earlier?!?!?!?!?!) And, if other people were aware of the injury, why did no one else think to maybe get him checked out?

My dad texted me this morning to apologize for getting me all upset and worried and wanted to know if he was still allowed to come over to watch the Bears game tonight. So he'll be here soon.

I'm not sure this blog makes any sense today. I feel like I am just rambling. I'll stop now.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Puppies, C-sections and Bub

I took my puppy, Bailey, to the vet this morning to drop her off for her surgery. She's being spayed today, 4 days shy of turning 6 months old. I am sure she will be fine when I pick her up tomorrow. But, it is surgery, and she is being put to sleep, so I worry. We made sure to not feed her breakfast today so that all would be ok. I had flashbacks to two different occasions on the way to the vet: the first, when I took my cocker spaniel, Zoey, to her spaying surgery and when I found out I was being induced with Andrew.

I had never had a dog and my late husband, Allan, grew up with them. He wanted one in the worst way. So, the day after we returned from our honeymoon, we bought Zoey.  She was almost 3 months old when we got her and I had no idea what to do with her. She cried the ENTIRE first night we had her home. It was awful. But, that dog was house broken rather quickly. We had a doggie door. Allan stood outside and I stood inside and we just kept throwing her in and out until she got it.  But, she had her shtick.  The dog wouldn't run across the grass. She would only walk the border of the yard. Never figured out why she was so weird. She wasn't a fan of the snow. She died before she turned 4 years old. There are some theories surrounding her death--ones I will not go into here--but she was a good girl and I am sorry her life was cut short.

In any event, my Bubby had come to my house the day before Zoey's spaying. My Bub was PETRIFIED of dogs and so she was in her room during the visit. I told my Bub she was being spayed the next day. She needed an explanation as to what that was.  So, I explained it was essentially a hysterectomy and she wouldn't be able to have puppies. I showed her that they'd cut her stomach vertically. I did this over my own belly. Bub slapped my hand and told me to never do that. I thought it was just some silly superstition she had; that was, until I gave birth to Andrew.

My Andrew was 11 days overcooked. That boy was never coming out. Not that he didn't want to, but it seems that my body doesn't understand the concept of labor (even with pitocin) and I never labored with any of my boys.  I'd contract but never, ever, ever would my cervix soften or dilate. NEVER! I had a scheduled induction date. But, being overdue, I was a the OB every other day just to check on everything.  So, 2 days before that date, the OB decided enough was enough and we needed to induce labor.  I'll save all the details of that for Andrew's birthday blog, LOL, but I ended up with a very scary emergency c-section that night.  And, because it was such an extreme emergency, I have a vertical incision, rather than a bikini cut. It's very rare for a doctor to have to use that cut anymore. (In fact, at a follow up OB/GYNE appointment, I actually had one of the nurses accuse me of not knowing what kind of cut I had. She told me "no one uses that cut anymore unless its a super emergency". I stood up and dropped my pants and pulled down my underwear.  She didn't know what to say.

I look like I have a front tushy. I'm not sure if anyone will understand that without seeing it, but I sure as hell won't let anyone see it. After Andrew, the scar was like a hairline--super thin and faded nicely.For Issac, they went right in thru the same incision. (Allan always said rather than staples, they should've given me a zipper) After Issac, it was more noticeable. After Simon, forget it. My insides had drooped and so they started the incision several inches lower than the original. So it also goes lower than the original. And, it flaps and folds in-ish.

Anyway, I can't help but think that the reason I ended up with the vertical incision was because of what I did when explaining the spaying surgery to my Bub.  (Rational Kerry (she does actually exist, somewhere deep within me) knows better and that it was truly a medical issue.) Maybe this crazy superstition of hers was really not such shtick. Maybe she really knew something.  And, as she always would tell us, she may not always be right, but she was never wrong.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Not Meant For Mom's Eyes

Lingerie.  It kind of baffles me.  It always looks great on the mannequin or the Victoria's Secret model. On any normal woman, it looks kind of silly.  And, from my understanding, a lot of men just find it annoying and in the way.

It's always interesting when the mail arrives and there is a Victoria's Secret catalog. First off, I haven't shopped there in at least 15 years. Why I am still on their mailing list, I have no idea.  Secondly, I was once thrown out of a Victoria's Secret for having boobs too big to fit into one of their strapless bras. It was a humiliating experience. The sales girls were wearing Madonna like headphones as a way of communicating to each other throughout the store. I walked in and one approached me asking if I needed help. I said that I did. I told them I had looked online for a particular bra to go under a specific dress. They said they did have the bra in the store and asked what size I needed. I told the sales girl, expecting to be walked to that section of the store. Instead, she started talking to another sales girl and did so rather loudly on her little headset.  They went back and forth discussing whether they carried that size. Once the entire store knew just exactly what was under my shirt, I was then escorted back towards the door and told I may need to find another store as they did not carry anything for me.  I almost felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Women, except my legs aren't 44 inches long, I didn't have an unlimited credit card and I am not a hooker.

Even though the Angels of Victoria's Secret always look super beautiful in the catalog I receive for no reason, they aren't really human, are they?? They are filled with plastic and are airbrushed. If I was filled with silicone and had all my fat sucked out and tucked away, and was airbrushed, I too would look quite lovely.  It's not normal to have a 32DD on a woman who weighs 82 pounds. Why don't you weigh her boobs? They won't weigh enough. A real woman who has real DD's, her boobs weigh what they should. If you could put them on a scale in a produce store, you would see that.  If you attempted to weigh my boobs on a produce scale, first you would have to lift them off the floor. A crane would be needed and there probably isn't enough room in between the aisles of apples and bananas. So, you will just have to trust me when I tell you they weigh quite a bit.  It's also nice that these women wear matching bras and panties. Real women don't have time in the mornings to worry about it. Be happy we put on a bra that isn't all stretched out and panties that aren't grandma like.

As far as men go, (this is where my mom should probably stop reading) anyone I have been with, has not been a fan of lingerie. They claim they'd rather have nothing there. I always took that as a good thing. As I've thought about it more, there are two possibilities. A. This was their way of telling me I looked like a clown in the stuff. (Which I already knew and felt weird in. You need fake boobs in order to make the get up look the way it should. And a flat stomach....wish I also do not have...never did. OR. It's B. Men are too lazy to have to take the lingerie off! Men are lazy creatures. They will spend hours figuring out how to avoid doing something that would only have taken five minutes. Lingerie just gets in the way of what they are ultimately trying to do. Maybe it's a combination of the two. They like looking at the "perfect" women wearing the lingerie because they can pretend they aren't airbrushed. (And men still like to do most women.) And, it doesn't require any work on their part. seems like the answer to most of my questions is that men are lazy.  Somehow, I think I already knew this.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011


Not so much a blog entry or a story today...just some random thoughts and rants.

I am not a fan of female doctors for my own healthcare needs. The ones I have encountered tend to be rather cold with rough edges and don't seem to show much compassion or understanding. I'll stick with the men. It seems when I tell them about my period or my hormones or emotional issues, they tend to pretend to listen to my complaints, rather than telling me to suck it up. I enjoy that.

PMS is a REAL PROBLEM. PMDD is a worse problem. It's offensive when men tell women they are flying off the handle because of PMS. That's not why we do it. We do it because you don't listen or do what we ask, when we ask you to do it. The PMS just enhances our frustration with you. The problem is YOU...not our hormones. And, when you suggest that PMS might be the problem, you should run.

Men hate being asked "Do I look fat in this?" or "Do these jeans make me look fat?". Understandable. However, you should understand that we are going to ask, regardless. Do not hesitate when you answer. Just say "NO". Will we believe you? No. But just answer with a quick no. Never, ever hesitate. Also, never use the word "fine" to describe our hair, clothes, makeup or how we look in general.

I believe couples who hold hands often, do so because they are trying to put on a facade. I get it if you are on vacation, away from your kids and you might have a moment. Totally understandable. When you first are dating, go for it. Married couples don't do it. And those that do are hiding something.

I think young single guys who drive sports cars are trying to make up for personality flaws.  I think older men who drive sports cars have small penis' and are trying to compensate.  Either way.....I don't see how a sports car is impressive. Oh. And guys who drive small SUV's----weird. They're meant for women. Men who drive the small ones look silly. Not a fan.

Speaking of cars, Lexus owners tend to not be the best drivers, based on my personal experience.  I'm talking Lexus CARS, not SUV's.  I don't know why. I know it's a generalization. But lately, every time someone is messing up traffic or holding up a parking lot, it's a Lexus driver.

I believe pregnant women should not tell people what they plan to name their baby. You will almost always find someone who hates the name. Why should it matter to them? It's YOUR baby. They are not entitled to an opinion. And, once the baby is named, it's over. And anyone who tells you they don't like the name?--they're an asshole.

Any guy who states he doesn't want to get married means he doesn't want to marry YOU. Go read the book "He's Just Not That Into You" or go see the movie. It is totally true. If a guy wants you, he'll let you know. Period.

Single mothers, raising their children, should receive gifts on Fathers Day as well as Mothers Day; Single fathers, raising their children, should receive gifts on Mothers Day as well as Fathers Day.

Women should receive "push presents". I know 30-40 years ago, it was not common. Today, it is. Keep in mind your wife pushed a watermelon out of her hoo-ha. Or, was sliced and diced so that baby could be born. Show her some appreciation.

People think teachers have it easy; they don't. Show some gratitude. Nurses in the hospital do a big majority of the work. Show some gratitude.

When your wife cooks a meal, thank her. When your husband takes out the garbage, thank him. Or if he cooks and you take out the garbage, thank each other. A simple thank you goes such a long way.

Monday, October 3, 2011

5 years later......

On October 3, 2006, Steve and I had our first date.  It took a little while for us to get there, but we did it.

He contacted me on and we exchanged several emails back and forth that day. We spoke on the phone later that evening.  I was in Bed Bath & Beyond while we spoke and, as I normally do when at BB&B, I just wandered around the store. It was a very nice conversation. He told me he'd like to take me to dinner once the holidays were over. (Rosh Hashanah had just ended and Yom Kippur was approaching.) Sounded like a plan to me.

The next day, he asks me if I am free to have dinner on Saturday night. (the 30th) I was feeling pretty good about this as he apparently wanted to meet before Yom Kippur. I told him I was, in fact, free that night. He asked me where we could meet that would be in between where we both lived. I suggested Wildfire, thinking the one in The Glen. He said Schaumburg seemed like a good half way point. Um, really?? I was a little confused but figured it was no big deal.  He tells me he'll try to get a reservation and he'll call me back.  He informs me we have an 8pm reservation.

Later that evening, while unloading my car from my Target trip, I get a text from him. It says, "Hey Katie, looking forward to Saturday night!" :o)  Hmmmmm. Interesting.  I text him back and said this is Kerry.  I get a text back that says "oops :o/"  So I write back, and ask if he meant to ask Katie out or just got my name wrong.  His response: "Katie".  Oh. Nice. Knew it all sounded too good to be true. I told him to enjoy his dinner with Katie.

The next afternoon, while driving home from work, he called me. This was perplexing to me, seeing as he openly admitted he asked me out by mistake. He saw nothing wrong with calling me, figuring we'd still go out when we had originally planned.  I asked if he was at all embarrassed about what he had done. He really wasn't.  We texted back and forth the next couple of days. Friday night, we had our first of several super long conversations. Somewhere in those 4 or 5 hours, he shared with me that Katie had blown him off and they weren't going out the next night. I told him I was sorry to hear that. He then said, "I suppose you don't play sloppy seconds?" (In my mind I was thinking, well, I have nothing to do tomorrow and I already have the sitter lined up, but Tammy, my BFF, threatened death upon me if I accepted the invite.) So , I told him that was correct and if he wanted to go out, he'd have to wait until Tuesday, as we had planned.

We spent the entire weekend on the phone with each other or texting back and forth. So, the anticipation had been building. Within these talks, he shared with me that he had set up several first dates with women since his wife had passed, but canceled on all of them. Awesome. That would be just super.  He told me the only way he wouldn't show for our date was if some member of his family ended up in the hospital.

Tuesday arrived. He was out getting a mani/pedi and haircut. I was at work. ( A little mixed up, wouldn't you say?) I got home and took the kids to their after school activities. At 5pm, he calls me. ( We are supposed to meet at 7) He says, you will never believe this. My brother is at Northwestern Hospital. My heart sank. Either this guy really was in the hospital or he was blowing me off.  So, I said ok, I understand. And, he starts laughing. Oookkkkkk. He said it was probably a panic attack, but they want to make sure it's not his heart, so they are keeping him overnight. I questioned whether he was going to the hospital. He said nope.  Again, confusion. I said are you sure? He said absolutely.

I called Tammy. I told her the story and that he was already setting up his "out" for the date. We meet at dinner, he decides he wants to leave and he'll get a "call" that he has to go to the hospital.  So, I begin to freak.  She tells me she'll call me 15 minutes into the date to check in.

I leave for dinner. We were meeting at Wildfire, in The Glen, since that really was a good meeting point.  I was two minutes away when I get a frantic text from Steve going "where are you???????" He was already there waiting and thought I was standing him up.  It was 6:59pm.  I parked and walked in and there he was, sitting on a bar stool, holding an Elvis CD for my kids. I had told him that over the weekend. one of the boys asked if Elvis really died on the toilet. (I have no clue how that came up.) So, he thought they might like to listen to his music. (Hmmm. A guy who pays attention. I was impressed. Little did I know that would be the first and only time Steve would pay attention to details.)

The hostess takes us to our booth, and Steve decides we should sit next to each other. Ew. Only weird ass people do that, but we did it anyway.  People stared. It was awkward.  Tammy did her check in phone call. I let her know all was ok.  And, right there in the booth, he asked if he could kiss me. Ballsy move. I let him. Again, we looked totally weird.  I thought this guy must be big on PDA. HA!!!!!! Couldn't be further from the truth, so I have no idea what was in his drink that night.

And the rest, as they say, is history.  If Tammy hadn't convinced me to give one more shot, or, if Katie hadn't blown Steve off, who knows where we'd all be today.