TITLE: I'M NOT CRAZY, JUST MEDICATED By Pamela Nastase 03/09/08 |
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Hi Bill and Ligia,
How are you? Thanks for the prayers--I’m doing better. Sorry about sending the birthday e-card multiple times (and in the wrong month). My defense is that I am medicated. Too bad I couldn't use that excuse when I was healthy ;oD
They put me on an anti-seizure medication for pain and it is the <I>worst</I> thing for giving me brain fog. My doctor warned me that it might take a while for my body (and brain) to adjust to it, so I might act a bit strange for a month or two. Of course, with me, how can one tell? It's been helping with the pain, but the side effects are dizziness (Whee!), drowsiness (Yawn…) and brain fog (Who am I and who's that cute man ambling through my house in boxers?). The side effects will go away in a few weeks, but until then…well, here's how my week went…
Tuesday morning I tried to take my medication and at some point lost consciousness. I didn't <I>pass</I> out, I just <I>checked</I> out. When I snapped back to reality, I found I was leaning on my elbow holding my medicine bottle. It was filled to the brim with water. No memory of doing that. I do not recommend it. Something seemed wrong, and after a second, I figured out I had to get the water off the pills without delay. Instead of pouring the water into the cup conveniently located on my nightstand, I started pouring the water directly <I>on</I> the nightstand. Then stalwart thought surfaced in the egg drop soup in my brain and bellowed that this also was not a good idea, so I dumped the rest of the water on the bed. I reiterate, I am drugged. At that point, I woke up Jay--I figured I was incapable of rationally dealing with the situation further. He patiently took over, spread the pills out to dry and cleaned up the nightstand mess. He left the soggy bedding alone--he figured it would dry on its own and, after all, it was on my side of the bed, not his. Then I went back to sleep.
Now that Jay has had time to process, he's been able to put a nice spin on the whole situation. More for his peace of mind than mine--he is stuck with me, after all. He said pragmatically, "You came up with viable solutions. They <I>were</I> options--not <I>normal</I> options, but options, nonetheless. You were thinking outside the box," (something he has trouble doing so it impressed him). To this I replied, "What box?" I wasn't about to think inside a box in my condition. Well, I'd think inside a box if it held a new pair of shoes. Hmm... Jay's comment must mean he wants me to buy more shoes. Yippee!
Then Jay's brother called and Jay tried to get me to sing Happy Birthday to him. I refused, since I've been blessed with my father's ability to carry a tune, but agreed to do a Birthday Rap, with me providing the background. Here's what I came up with in 45 seconds: "Today is your birthday, and we can't sing, but we'd rather rap, than buy you anything." For the background "music," I blew raspberries (covering Jay's face and the phone receiver with morning breath spit) while he rapped like a white boy. Jay cracked up at my raspberry sounds, but it's so easy to make him laugh after I've made him giddy on my morning breath fumes.
Sigh, this is the worst part of my day...I was doing quite well in the afternoon (after a four-hour nap) when I heard sirens in the distance. Why is that important you ask? Let's back up a bit. Caleb is (surprisingly for a dog) vocally challenged. The nice thing about Jindos is that they only bark when a human comes on their territory. But for some reason, Caleb's barking is limited to the outside--he never barks when he's inside. We want him to bark when someone comes to the door (especially when Jay works a 24-hour shift at the fire station). He looks like a white wolf, but it isn’t very effective when he's silently peeking around the corner. Our vet said we've done an amazing job with Caleb's rehab so far, but we need to continue to build his confidence until he acts like a normal dog. Then he should feel secure enough to bark at a stranger when he's in the house. The vet is an older man with a heavy European accent, so we listened to him. What is it about heavy European accents that convince us the person knows what he's talking about?
Being an attentive parent, I noticed that when Caleb hears sirens, he likes to howl with them. The other night he and I were in bed and they went off in the distance. Bemused by the sagacious vet's advice, when I heard the sirens, I cleverly said, "Howl!" and howled to see if I could get him to respond. He looked at me oddly and eventually made some strange noises. I praised him profusely with "Good Howl!" When Jay came home from work the next morning, we heard sirens again (no, we don't have an arsonist on our street, we just live a couple of miles from the fire station). I commanded, "Howl!" and we both howled for Caleb. After a few minutes of our idiotic howling, he finally gave us a vocal response, which sounded like a dying moose. We took it as an attempt to howl, but he was probably laughing at us. We, however, were optimistically pleased and felt sure the heavily accented vet would be proud of our progress.
Back to Tuesday... I was doing quite well in the afternoon (after a four-hour nap) when I heard sirens in the distance. Caleb was outside and I knew he'd howl when they came closer. Jay was studying in the kitchen and I asked him to go outside to howl with Caleb. That way when we howled indoors, he'd be more inclined to follow our example. When he became used to imitating us, we could transition to indoor barking. Jay obligingly went out the side door.
After a few moments, I went out on the back deck from our bedroom. I couldn't hear Jay howling and couldn't see him around the corner. The sirens were lessening, so I decided to help out and howl, too. Caleb came running from the side of the house barking, so I figured he was interested in my vocalization. I threw back my head and howled again. Nice and long and loud. I'm rather good at howling, I must say. Then I noticed he was actually barking at our backyard neighbor, who was next to our fence concealed by the bush she was clipping. She put her head down and scuttled away. I don't blame her. What do you do when your backyard neighbor comes out on the deck in her cute blue snowflake pajamas and howls at the, oh wait, the moon isn't even out 4 PM. We hardly know her at all, so I wanted to yell to her rapidly retreating back, "I'M MEDICATED. HEAVILY!"
Sigh. How do I get into these situations? I thought eccentrics were celebrated in the South. I guess I’m not old enough to qualify as an eccentric.
But wait, there's more...
On Friday, I was lounging on my bed, the pets fed and the work for the day done, flipping through channels, when I thought I saw something skim past the door. I'm drugged, so I didn't take it seriously. I thought maybe it was Louie Belle--at night that cat runs like a racecar fueled with caffeine. I got up to be sure. I found her zonked on a chair in the office. With nothing amiss, I clambered back in bed. Just as I finished cocooning myself in my blankets (it couldn't happen while I was standing?), I saw her streak past the door in hot pursuit of something small and dark. I leaped after her, yelling for Caleb, the Jindo small-game hunter. He, however, ignored my frantic cries and continued napping. I keep insisting I'm the Alpha dog, so it's my job to deal with crises. Yes, I finally found a flaw in the Alpha dog thing you keep pushing, Mr. Dog Whisperer. (OK, I'm still a Dog Whisperer fan--National Geographic Channel, don't miss it!)
Louie Belle was in pursuit of a really, really rotund brown rodent. It had a short, stubby tail, unlike a mouse, and a rounder, cuter face. It was about 5-6" long with a stocky body, not tapered like a mouse. Like a double-stuffed Twinkie with little feet. Later I found out he was a well- fed Meadow Vole (which is basically a Southern lemming).
Louie Belle chased Mr. Chubby behind our ridiculously heavy couch in the den. I huffed, and I puffed, and I finally raised it enough for our fearless kitty to crawl under. Chubby was long gone, but after she sniffed where he'd been, she settled down to wait for his return. She's not the brightest crayon in the box. I had to balance the cumbersome sofa, arms trembling, and drag her out by her plush tail. An undignified way to treat a cat, I know, but in another 32 seconds she would have been flattened fur. I scoured the kitchen and den, but Chubby had escaped. Louie Belle was no help—she had parked her butt by the couch, staring at it intently. She switches gears like a man (don't get offended, that's Jay's saying) and was single-mindedly convinced Chubby would materialize the last place he was seen.
I left her nose glued to the couch and continued hunting. As I rummaged through the toy basket in the den, I accidentally hit a stuffed animal that had a recorder in it. The message I taped for Caleb (to listen to when we went away for the weekend) blurted out. When he heard my recorded voice gushing, "Oh, you're my Shmoopy Shmoo, I love you sooo much ..." he raced in to see me, all happy. He won't leave the bed when my life is in danger (don’t mock me—lemmings have teeth) but he'll come when he hears me fawning over him. I ignored him for his rudeness and continued my search for Chubby, hoping to find him before he settled in a warm cubbyhole somewhere.
Then I heard dog tags madly jingling and scrambled toward the sound. Caleb, repentant for abandoning me, had Mr. Chubby cornered in the front room. When they saw me, Caleb stepped back and considerately let Chubby run behind the bookcase. Thanks, kid. I know, I know, I’m the Alpha Dog, so he was letting me take over. Whose side are you on?
Unloading all those books and moving the bookcase was not an option. Caleb and Louie Belle sat there like schoolchildren, heads cocked, watching to see what I’d do. After banging on the bookcase for a bit, I shook it, trying to scare our little intruder out. Instead, a hefty silk plant toppled off the top of the bookcase. Caleb and Louie bolted. I tried unsuccessfully to coax them back into the room, but only succeeded in boring Mr. Chubby. He finally came out, just to get me to shut up. He sprinted towards Caleb, who was cowering in the foyer away from the "scary flying plant." Did my dog catch the rodent fleeing straight toward his waiting, canine jaws? Of course not. He was too busy gawking at me shrieking after it. Some small-game hunter. He'll catch a squirrel, but won't touch a lemming. What's up with that?
I chased Chubby’s ample behind down the hall and cornered it in the bathroom behind the toilet. I pointed him out to Caleb (who'd followed me curiously), sternly told them both "Stay!" and shut the door, hoping the dog would discourage the lemming from leaving the bathroom. I found Louie Belle hiding under the guestroom bed (from the airborne plant), and hauled her into the bathroom. I had to poke Mr. Chubby to get him to amble from behind the toilet to behind the scrubber before she figured out he was even there. With her IQ, I can't figure out how in the world she catches these things in the first place. Since there are no cliffs to dive off of <I>en masse</I> in Charlotte, the lemmings must be trying to commit suicide by climbing into her mouth. Unfortunately (for them and me), she brings them in, unscathed, through the cat door and sets them free in the dining room.
I frenetically found an empty Zappos shoebox (Yay, shoes!) and raced back. I entered the bathroom and found Caleb and Louie Belle, instead of focusing on their prey, sitting with their backs to him, transfixed by the door. Some hunters! Without help from either of them, I prodded poor, winded Mr. Chubby into the shoebox--he needs to lose some weight if he's going to continue this triathlon business. I knew neither of my bloodthirsty predators would kill him, so I set him free on the front porch. He waddled off and belly flopped off the top step. Eat a salad, kiddo. You're just lucky Jay wasn't home or you'd be in rodent paradise by now. Jay's lived in the "huntin' South" too long to have compassion on wild critters (though I keep telling him it says in Proverbs that a righteous man regards the life of animals).
I was exhausted from the chase and my arms were sore for holding the couch like an awning in the sun for Louie Belle. And, I was a little disgusted with my "fearless killers" and their 17-second attention span. I mean, there was <I>live prey</I> awaiting their slavering jaws. What did I have to do, put ketchup on him? OK, he was kind-of cute so I'm glad they didn't kill him, but I still expected them to at least <I>catch</I> him for me. He ran like a walrus so how hard could it be? From now on, they'd better call me Mom, Triumphant Hunter.
On Sunday, after church, Jay's parents came over. They've been in NJ for six months so his dad could coach. Louie Belle, who is unusually friendly for a cat, was thrilled to see them. She loves company. They were less thrilled to see her (they're not cat fans). After receiving a cold reception to her enthusiastic greeting, she decided a gift would be just the thing to soften their hearts. So, she went outside and got one. In the form of a Mr. Chubby, Junior. He was quite about smaller than Chubby, Senior, and seemed a bit stunned to suddenly find himself in a house. My in-laws were not appreciative of the gift and hurriedly left without saying goodbye to Louie Belle, let alone thanking her. Some people lack proper etiquette. Emily Post says no matter the gift, one should always be thanked.
Jay threw his leather work gloves at me just before I scooped up Chubby, Junior. Jay lives in fear that I'll get rabies from grabbing a critter without adequate fortification. I held Junior, covered in my hands, as I stuck my head out the door to holler goodbye to my in-laws’ rapidly retreating backs. Then the odor of the gloves gagged me. They smelled as if Jay soaked them in gasoline and brine. After being attacked by a cat, hauled through the yard, dragged into a house, hoisted in the air by a human and asphyxiated on gas fumes, the poor thing turned up his tiny toes and exhaled his ghost. All that was left was for me to bury him (in the garbage) and soothe little Lu Lu's hurt feelings. I was explaining that Ephesians 4 says to make allowances for the faults of others, when Jay opened the refrigerator and she promptly forgot everything else.
That was my week. What are you up to? Kiss the boys for me. If they need a pet, we have lemmings to spare. God bless you guys (I mean, y'all--I'm still adjusting to the lingo down here). Come visit!
Love you,
Pamela
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