Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The Truth About Angels

Dave had his check-up with the gall bladder surgeon today and it was all good. The surgeon said that there had been one stone and that it was about the size of a dime. Ka-ching. Definitely good that we got it out before inflation turned it into a quarter. Dave, for reasons I do not understand, really wanted to keep his dime-sized gall stone but I think the surgeon must've pocketed it (you know how people nickel and dime these days) and thankfully, there was no show-and-tell tonight at the dinner table. I'm just going to warn everyone that Dave will probably go around telling war stories about being nearly literally dimed to death, but let's all just be glad he wasn't nickeled, too. And we all have to bear with one another on things. This will be one of those things. I have been bearing with a joke he cracked himself up with when we were first married, for 21 years now: "Can you hand me the SHAM poo, since we don't have any REAL poo?" Another one, is, "You're stuffed? And all this time I thought you were real." Twenty-one years, and he still thinks they are funny.

Anyway, Dave seems to be recovering from his surgery pretty well; although he is a little sore when he coughs or laughs, so we have trying to not be very funny around our house out of consideration for him. He is back to work, and already pushing the limits on his Jack Sprat diet. He practically begged me for a cookie the other day while we were out with some friends so I thought I was being gracious to cut one in half for him. While I was blinking, he scarfed the other half down as well. And then he bragged about it tonight to the redheads. They kind of got on him about it, and I kind of thought it was funny. But I did not laugh out loud since I didn't want to start anything and bust open the fresh steri-strips the doc put on the four holes in his belly. Speaking of which, he is pretty pshyched that he has lost about 10-15 pounds since his gall bladder attacked over Thanksgiving, giving him a jump-start on his New Year's Resolution for us to regain our health and fitness in 2009.

The timing of the surgery ended up being an extra boost in that direction, since once I bounce back from my next chemo cocktail on the 21st, we can both begin regaining our health and fitness. That will be the last shot of the T-word in my chemo cocktail, which I still don't know (or want to know) how to spell, but have decided to spell TaxALL from here on out. It has been taxing my coping skills to the max. And, unfortunately, the SECOND this "angel" walked in the door from bringing Dave home from the hospital I sat down and had a meltdown at our kitchen table. I have not really had a "crying in my beer" moment before, but I do apparently cry in wine. (And I do try to not wine ;)) I knew at the hospital while we were getting Dave discharged that I was spent and needed to "not pass go, not collect $200" but go directly to bed. But I was starving so I thought I would sit down with the fam and grab a quick bite. Instead it was a quick cry that didn't turn out to be so quick. I kind of melted down and went splat. It was a quiet and lazy, but cozy, few days around our house, with the convalescing Jack Sprat and Mrs. Splat.

So, thank God it's not an emergency gall bladder surgery week NOR a chemo week (TGINAEGBSWNACW) is what I've been going around singing today. Actually, it's kind of hard to sing, so you have to just hum this one, if we want to get all technical about it. But let's not, because that can sometimes rain on a parade.

Speaking of parades, I hit a real live tennis ball today. I went over to the club to watch my team practice, and took my racket with me because I had had enough of the sad looks it kept shooting me from the sweet perch I had arranged for it, next to my brand new tennis shoes I got for Christmas, (orange ADIDAS barricades that happen to match my orange Head racket, which one would think would make said racket happy) and near my bed, where it's practically the first thing I see when I wake up and stumble out of bed. Anyway, so after the practice, I was talking to our tennis pro, and next thing we knew she had fed me a whole basket of tennis balls. Now, I'm not saying it was pretty, but I hit 'em. My racket was so happy it could barely stand it. I do feel a bit bad, though, because I didn't bring my new shoes. I don't wear my tennis shoes except on the court, and I didn't take them with me to change into because my feet are having some issues with the TaxALL (It makes my fingers, face and especially my feet, numb. Like when you get a Novacaine shot at the dentist and it makes your lip feel fat. My feet feel fat like that 24/7. It sort of drives me crazy sometimes. They fit in my shoes but they don't feel like it. I haven't been wearing shoes, as much as possible, let alone change shoes once I put them on.) Still, I'm sure I'm going to deal with some attitude from my tennis shoes, since I KNOW my racket will not be able to contain itself.

Cheers, and thanks for keeping us in your prayers. We know we have a great debt of love out there, and so we thank God, we thank you, and we thank God for you.

Joules

P.S. to my Daddy-O...Happy Birthday! This is the year of good crap shoots of birthdays: You are now 66, which is a hard twelve; Dave and I will be 44, which is two hard eights. Not to mention, it was our 21 anniversary, which makes it our 22 year, which is a hard four. I think Vegas is calling. Destiny. Love ya.

13 comments:

Stacey said...

Hahaha! I'm with Dave on this one ... Those jokes are pretty funny.

I liked this post. It was full of strength, weakness (not saying you're weak because nothing could be further from the truth, but we all need to give in, cry, be weak, in order to be strong, right?). It was happy, sad, and it was real life.

I love you guys! You're in my prayers!

Anonymous said...

The size of a dime?!? Ouch.

A good meltdown can be very cathartic sometimes...you've earned it, and then some! Glad you got some fun tennis time in after so long.

Hey, I kind of think those jokes are still funny too. Must be a family-thing. :)
Chris

Anonymous said...

Ditto on the jokes, but then it's the first time I've heard them - 21 years straight - whew! - I might feel differently!
Loved your blog as always. I read them all!
Angela

debbie p said...

Very sweet and funny post. I love the Jack Sprat and Mrs. Splat part. I think you are very strong and that melt down was long over due. Hope you are feeling no ill effects from the tennis court. So glad you were able to hit some balls. Love you, Debbie

Anonymous said...

As FDR might have said, "Yesterday, January the thirteenth a day that will live in perpetuity, I received two singing phone calls and a post on a blog. The Simon Cowell in me made me think about the two singing phone calls. Matt and Mike did a great job and little Brodie remembering the words and singing on key was unexpected. Brodie even seemed to have rhythm, seemed like a four four beat. I will not rule at this time but will invite all participants to come back next year.
I know that there are only 1,440 minutes in a day and as busy as Amanda is, it's no wonder she could not free up a couple of those 1,440 minutes to call or email.
Now for the posting on this very blog.
Julie, I remember when you were listed in the scholastic who's who of high school seniors. I also remember your name in the Indiana University School of Journalism's dean list and when you were considering an honors program.
Then I see you believe 22 equals a hard 2?
This is one of those cases that you need to consult with Dave. I believe Dave would come up with a hard 4.
Dad

Julie Evans said...

Dad-Um...oops. Not sure what happened there with the obvious hard 4. Not that I went to school for MATH or anything, but I can usually add single digits. (Also I can generally figure out a good tip to leave.) See, I get letters, but the numbers get me sometimes. I usually just think numbers are chicken scratches that wish they were letters and could be read and enjoyed. Sometimes I even feel sorry for numbers. A little. About a 2.5 on a scale of 1-10. So anyway, I think it was 1/3 the fact that I was blogging at 3 a.m.; 1/3 the fact that I need to hire an editor; 1/3 the fact that by the time I was wrapping up I was impatient to get some sleep before everyone else woke up; and 1/3 the fact of a simple typo. Add them all up, and you'll get more than an adequate excuse! ;)

Anonymous said...

Your description on numbers is my sentiment exactly...chicken scratches at best!
Chris

amanda said...

amazing blog, mum

to a particular grandfather of mine;
i do believe that your birthday is now on july 4th, is it not? ;)
so come july 4th, we can both call each other and say our happy birthdays, and i will sing to you then (and hopefully become the next american idol)

Anonymous said...

Diddo on the 4th of July B'days.
Ours is different every year and not sure when we are celebrating.
Carol

Mrs.Naz@BecomingMe said...

Dave seems to have a sense of humor similar to my husband. Wow---I'm so glad that he had the surgery when he did

Tor Hershman said...

Did Dave ever try a liver flush.

I did those for years and got out MANY stones.

Of course, the joke ended-up on me.....though I had stones the pain was from blocked blood vessels hence my quintuple bypass.

Anonymous said...

Yay! for smackin' tennis balls!
Yay! for one extracted gallstone!
Yay! for only one more Bad T!
Yay! for Julie's clever writing!

and, last, but not least:

Yay! for Davey's corn-pone jokes!

Mom-Becky

Anonymous said...

Today is the day for your last "T" chemo forever!

Wooohoo!!

Goodbye TaxAll! Hello, tennis racquet and new tennis shoes!!

See you out on the court.

Yer pal,

Lisa R.