I can hear the bootcamp guys doing PT

They are a mile away, It is dark and COLD here this morning. Up all night with a headache, but at least it was an amusing evening.
First, I am upstairs in “faint” position, with my little arm flung over my eyes. But I hear cocktail party noises downstairs. Up I get…the partier was our Cocker-Terrier mix, Jack. Snoring with his legs up in the air.

Then I get my pillows all fixed around my head….and I hear someone on the piano. Singing. Up I get…..the musician was our Rott-Chihuahua mix. He was just breathing like a horse. He must have been out on patrol.

I get my blankets all fluffed up and straight and my foot touches some furry little animal. Jack has burrowed up under the blankets! I am poking him with my feet and hissing, “Get out! Get out now!” and he is nimbly hopping around. Finally get him out and the blankets all fixed, the pillows all fixed, my arm back up….

Now I hear someone marching up and down the sidewalk. No dogs barking. Put my good ear down on a pillow, can I still hear the marching out of my deaf ear? (Lisi screamed for months. I am deaf in my left ear.) I can still hear it. Sit up, upsetting both dogs, who race downstairs. It is my husband, wheezing. Poke him. Tell him to stop.

Now I hear a motor running in my head. Wait, no. That’s the fan. No, it’s in my head. It sounds like the stock trailer.

It’s, oh, somewhere around o’dark:14 and my head starts to thump. Fiddle in the dark with my headache thingy. Drop the cap. Fiddle with flashlight. Can’t find it. Turn light on. Husband leaps up. “My eyes!” Turn off lamp. I had spraying stuff up my nose but I do it. It won’t help, it never has helped yet. I have two needle options; well, three.
1) Imitrex. It will take me at least two tries to load it; one will spray up in the air and one will stick in me. I then will immediately incinerate….but my headache stops. My head feels like it is on fire for about 45 minutes but it doesn’t hurt.
2) the stuff that makes me stop breathing for the longest 30 seconds on the planet. Did you know you have about 13 minutes of oxygen in your body? That’s what 30 seconds of no air feels like. Then it stops. So far. It’s sort of like drowning. Or having your heart totally jerk to a sudden stop. So, no. Once was enough.
3) Wait until morning, get a shot or five at the clinic. That involves getting someone to take me there, drop me off, come back and get me OR pick me up with two drivers OR call a cab and leave the car OR lie and say I have a driver (they take my keys so that’s not much of an option). I could walk home. No. I could call Ben at work…no. I could wait until later. I could just call one of the guys and have him come get me, wiat with me and then take me home. Linn would come get me.

The drill with my head:
Chronic cluster headaches. This is not one, but several showing up on my doorstep like stray cats. I go to the clinic with my fist jammed in my eye socket. Sign in. I can’t remember my birthday. It is much like my address. Wait and then lurch down the hallway (balance is off). Take my blood pressure—that’s what decides what kind of cocktail I get. Something like 203/158? Something jammed right into a vein.
190/130? Somethings stuck into a muscle.
130/100? I’m really fine enough to just go home with some little nothing kind of shot. Turidol. Benydryl.

Too much thinking. Back to bed. Maybe I’ll write out my obituary. With optional endings.
Maybe I’ll write out my husband’s obituary. I don’t want to have to call his mother, tell her he is dead and then ask where he went to school. Not that he is going to die, but with the cocktail party and the music and the marching and the transport problems, I can’t think of much of anything else.

Too cold to go out to sit in the hot tub…..so I’ll think about the time David Koontz’s brother, Jimmy and his dad shot the bear in the cotton field. Have I mentioned that one yet? I mention it to whoever is with me every single time I go to Porterville. I delibertly go that way so I can tell that story.

There are no signs when you go the back way to Porterville. You have to know where to turn. The landmarks are usually “the place where the gin used to be” or “remember that red dairy? The road before there.” So we always go past David’s place.


4 thoughts on “I can hear the bootcamp guys doing PT

  1. Ouch, would gladly take some of that pain for you, could send it outside and let Kid chase it around the yard here instead of leaves.
    Here I am looking at a day off, 2 hopefully, the first in about 2 weeks with some insane ‘fill in’ hours tucked in to add to the fun/paycheck/manning problems.
    going to mop the floors, going to get yesterday’s clean wash put away, get those dead canna tops cut down, call #2 son and see Where My Shovel is so I can dig the roots, walk that silly dog, visit that older and very valued friend at the corner…
    send that headache here, I will take care of it for a while so you can rest up and take care of hubby

  2. Here is what you do…pick a genre…The Theatre…or film…I am a snob so it would be The Theatre…and write a play…or the lesser screenplay…cast it…write in all the business…all the props…the marks…wardrobe…hair and makeup…enchilada completa(sp)…copyright it so the bastards can’t steal it…and find a backer/producer if you opt for the play or a studio for the film…I know a writer/director/actress in NYC…she is a Kennedy Center award winner for best student play…it was on Broadway for 4 shows 2 weeks ago…anyoldway…you already know you can turn a phrase…make it pay…and I am ready for my close up Mr. DeMille…lol…also…one day I will tell you about how I was personally blamed for one of Bob Fosse’s heart attacks…

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