Dilaudid Dreams-Part One

Okay, I know everyone is waiting with baited breath for the whole rundown on the surgery and my recovery so far but while in the hospital I was on a Dilaudid drip which actually caused hallucinations.  I saw scampering little kitties everywhere, big jovial, multi-colored rats and happy polar bears made of bed linens.  That hospital had a regular infestation of capering, playful animals!  So while the hallucinations weren’t actually threatening in any way I was a little worried about taking Dilaudid in pill form when I came home and wanted to relate to my children in some semblance of normality.  The pain finally got to me and no hallucinations but I have the most delightful (and some not so delightful) dreams to relate.  Just some cute stuff to help brighten my otherwise rather dim days wrapped in what is often unbearable pain.

So, dream number One:  The Chicken Ghost Whisperer.

Mrs. Alvin’s only son, Dean, has just died in a horrific tractor accident.  There’s some question as to whether it was truly an accident or if the newly found deposits of GOLD under the Alvin family farm may have had something to do with this tragedy.  Surely a case for Scooby Doo? 

A day or so later I’m feeding and watering my chickens.  As always, I talk to them and they murmur their various woes and worries of the day (chickens are very burdened by the pressures of everyday life).  The queen of my flock is a brightly plumed Easter Egg chicken named Lillianne and she is particularly upset this day.  She seems reluctant to impart any information about the cause for her distress and it finally comes to light that she thinks I’m going to think she’s crazy if she tells me the truth.  Reminding her that we are communicating at all is enough to be considered crazy opens the spout and she relates the whole story.  It seems that young Dean Alvin has paid her a visit.  He is melancholy about his precipitous demise and wants to talk to his mother just one more time.  

Why surely this can only be a mission of mercy for this poor family?  We must depart forthwith to bring this grieving mother some closure and send this sad, young man onto his heavenly reward.  We jump into the old farm truck.  I assume Dean is in the back seat as Lillianne is going on about her bout of egg bound and I’ve already heard this story.

When we arrive at Mrs. Dean’s house we quickly find that the woman does not share the rapture with which most people greet the idea of having a chicken in the house so we reserve our conversation to the patio table.  Mrs. Dean is less than accepting of our tale at first as we begin to see little clues like a meat cleaver and stew pot but finally Dean relays through Lillianne, who relays through me that Dean was once caught by his mother in a compromising position involving a magazine called Cupcake Lovers and an actual cupcake.  The mother is stricken that she’s given us such a hard time and hands back the feathers she’s already plucked from Lillianne.  Dean goes on to say through his relay system that if they search the accident scene they will find buried under the detritus that same magazine and the remains of another cupcake.  Yet again, a young life wasted by an inappropriate desire for dessert.

Dean’s now unburdened soul begins to ascend and his mother, who suddenly realizes that life without Dean will be somewhat simpler sheds a final tear.  I look over to find that Lillianne is also moved by the help she has given these humans and that in turn, makes me shed a tear.  Chickens are after all, very burdened creatures.  It’s nice to appreciate their talents once in awhile.

I had a dream last night

I dreamed last night that I found myself at the edge of an open field of gently blowing grasses. I don’t know how I got there. Was I handed down from an elegant coach and four by a footman or maybe deposited unceremoniously by a dark ferryman who rowed my across a still, black stream? I don’t know. I sense sorrow behind me but I’m eager to step into the meadow and I know that those who call my name will join me soon.

The field is circled by a thick forest of trees and the smell of the heavy fruit is sensual. I can discern the light touch of pears on the breeze from the cloyingly sweet peaches and figs and the scent of apples overwhelm me.

I do not look behind me but bound into the grass with a lightness of foot that I’ve not known for sometimes. I can feel the blood singing in my veins and my muscles flexing with vigor and I move forward quickly.

Now I see a small cabin and is that a lake ahead? Yes, the smell of fish and water greet me and now the scene is suddenly familiar but before I can go any further I hear a snort off to one side. The big bay mare with the dish face and quiet eyes stands next to the round little gray spotted pony. The come to me eagerly knowing I have treats and hugs for them. They’re my old friends from my youth and sure enough, there are apples in my pockets just for them. Suddenly an excited bark and there’s Ollie dog jumping above the grass. I hear other dogs as well but cannot see them yet. I run to Ollie and she jumps into my arms. Is anything as welcome as a kiss from a favorite dog? There’s a biscuit in my pocket just for my beloved girl and she performs trick after trick for that little treat.

I know now where I am and who waits for me at the cabin so we all run toward the little lake. There are steps leading up to the side of the small, old log cabin and a roughly hewn porch is perfect for propping up tired feet at the end of a day. I see a couple of rockers on that cozy porch with a table that bears a dewy pitcher of lemonade made with sliced lemons and ice. Two glasses are ready for the beverage and I know it will taste just as I remembered from long ago. I look into a window and see a warm, inviting kitchen. The inside of the house looks very small but somehow I know that the cabin is big enough for everyone I’ve ever loved. I sit down in one of the rockers and cast my line with the conveniently placed fishing pole. I’ll sit here a little bit and wait for her before I pour the lemonade.

Getting Ready

Just for you Dani-this one’s in Comic Sans.

So the preparations have begun for me to be gone for my surgery.  I’ve cooked a couple of turkeys and some extra stuffing to put in the freezer for meals.  Today I went to the store and stocked up on JUNK food to feed my children while I’m indisposed.  I was actually embarrassed to check out with a whole cart full of TV dinners, cardboard pizzas, and Hamburger Helper.  I felt compelled to tell the checker that it was all for my husband to feed the kids while I was in the hospital.  Of course I got immediate sympathy for my plight and promises to pray for the poor Mommy of eight who will be in the hospital for Christmas. 

I think next week I’ll bake up a few cookies and candies for Christmas.  I’ve got to be cooking to put stuff in the freezer anyway so I may as well bake too.  Baking always makes me feel creative in ways that a big stockpot of spaghetti sauce just can’t.  We’re prepping for me to be out of commission for three weeks and hoping that it’ll only be two but I’ll actually have enough put away that should last everyone for four weeks with liberal use of eggs and sandwiches for supper.

I’m going to do a special little ritual this week to give me strength and help with my healing.  I need to send out a little ripple of energy to calm my nerves as I find myself getting very jumpy and snappy.  Greg as always, is my rock and makes me smile even when I want to wallow in this ……whatever it is.

Scarlett made me smile this morning.  I watched her pick on both the mares trying to get them to play.  She was jumping on them and running around in circles nipping at them.  Finally Fiona took off at an easy canter.  Scarlett, overjoyed at this response slipped into a simply elegant lope punctuated by delirious jumps and bucks.  Even with Fiona’s longer stride Scarlett could run circles around her and then Dixie got into the act with a full out gallop and twisting bucks that would have made a rodeo horse proud.  Such beauty I live with everyday.

The first surgery blog

Let's just start at the beginning shall we? Back in 1993 I had the old stomach stapling procedure for weight loss. As we know now, many years later that surgery had some big problems and as time goes by my stomach and entire digestive system has really gone to hell so I consulted a couple of doctors who said the only real solution was to revise the original surgery with the newer one.
So, here we are scheduled for surgery on December 21st. Since it's a revision and I have some pretty dramatic issues to resolve inside the surgery is going to be a little tricky and my recovery may be lengthy. They're not sure if I'll be home by Christmas or not so we're having our little Yule celebration on the 20th.
I find myself a little depressed over the whole thing. I'm worried about the many complications as it's unlikely that I won't experience at least one. I'm worried about the pain afterwards as I hate taking pain medication. I worry about the aftermath when I lose weight and start carrying around little flaps of skin and my wrinkles become more evident. I worry about paragraphs where every sentence begins with "I".
So, as this thing progresses I will try to update my progress through the surgery, the weight loss and how it applies to my little farm world.

The "It Needs A Rest" Theory

I am a long time subscriber to the theory that everything and everyone needs a rest at some time or another. This is logical to me. We all tucker out and take a nap or sleep at night. Animals take cat naps regardless of their particular species. Even the Earth rests during the winter or drought. So I know that mechanical objects, being made by man who sometimes tires from materials of the Earth which sometimes hibernates, must also need to take a wee break on occasion.
This theory has seen me through countless mechanical failures. Long ago my car was having some trouble shifting. Ever mindful of the theory I added some transmission fluid, in case she needed a drink of something pink and let her rest over the weekend-forgoing my usual date. Sure enough, on Monday morning there was no trouble at all and the car worked perfectly. Later, the entire rear end of the car actually fell off the car on the busiest street in Cedar Rapids but I'm sure the two incidents are not related.
Any time I'm using a mixer to mix up an octuple batch of cookie dough, if the mixer starts to falter (and it always does) I adhere to the theory and give it a rest. I mix the dough with my hands until they too need a rest and then I decide that the mixer has rested long enough. I do tend to go through a mixer every year but again, I'm sure that has nothing whatsoever to do with me, it's the mixer manufacturers making everything shoddily so that we have to buy again and again, right?
Even relationships sometimes just need a little rest but since my husband is an avid reader of this blog we'll just leave that statement to stand on it's own.
Last week, my beloved floor cleaner decided that it's starter needed a rest. I love my floor cleaner because now each and every swipe across the floor is made with clean, fresh water which is promptly sucked away with the dirt left by my messy spawn. So last week I had to clean the floor while holding the started and the water release at the same time. I'm sure I came down with carpal tunnel syndrome and my hands needed a rest but with the holidays upon us the floor had to get done. So I gave the floor cleaner a much deserved and much needed break. I haven't cleaned my floor in almost two weeks while the machine snored away in the closet. This morning my feet stuck to the floor and pulled my sock off so I decided break time was over even if I had to hold the switch the whole time. But NO, the rest was all my wonderful floor cleaner needed and the switch works perfectly again.
And so you see, the "It Needs A Rest" theory is not just a way to get an extra nap in once a week or so, it's a lifestyle. Whenever you see something not working, give it a break and come back to it later. This is Lor, with the life lesson of the day, signing off.