Little Dog

Yesterday afternoon I sat outdoors at my pretty filigree bistro set with my blue surgical gloves on examining a pile of dog crap. I know. I can't believe this is what my life has come to either.

While at work yesterday morning I stumbled into a sticky situation. Seems Little Dog ate someones gold grill and was not faring well due to the offense. When I heard the angry owner yelling he was going to "get rid" of the Little Dog I struck a deal with him. I walk out of here now with Little Dog and I promise I'll get your gold back.

Apparently I'm trusted in d' hood. How fortunate for Little Dog.

Wisdom dictated that I probably should obtain proof that Little Dog had really scarfed the grill. I wasn't convinced. Someone could have lifted it and sold it at one of the hundreds of "We Buy Gold" establishments that pepper our city. And I sure as shooting wouldn't want to be accused of stealing a gold tooth that wasn't there in the first place. Enter the Genius who arranged an appointment with the no-kill animal rescue/shelter veterinarian for x-rays.

The gold tooth was retrieved today and The Genius picked up the tab. Turns out to be a good thing I took Little Dog in as anatomically she could not have given up the gold. They had to induce vomiting. Thankfully the x-rays showed no old or healing fractures which would have been indicative of past abuses. Had there been signs of past abuse I would have made them an offer they couldn't refuse in return for Little Dog but she was in "good condition" over all. She was up to date on her shots as the owner gave me her records.

Little Dog got a much needed bath killing fleas and I slipped her a Comfortis on the q.t. I had her toenails clipped. She slept in bed with me and followed me everywhere I went. I snuck her tiny treats of ham and cheese. She took the kids to school with me and sat in The Baby's car seat on the way home.

I'll be delivering the tooth in the morning. Since there has been a cooling down period I will have to deliver the dog as well. They want her back.

I know not everyone dresses up their Little Dog in frilly neck scarves and paints their toenails pink. Where I work this just doesn't happen. Ever.

I know people get angry.

I know I was at the right place at the right time for Little Dog's sake.

And I know The Genius has a heart of gold.

The Wheels On The Bus

I was on my way to work today after dropping off The Boy and The Baby at school. Iris phones me stating she had intercepted a phone call at my house. It went like this:

Madam X: Hello? May I speak to The Baby (uses The Baby's first name)
Iris: Who?
Madame X: The Baby (first name)
Iris: She's 3 years old. Who is this?
Madame X: Oh, I'm sorry. May I speak to The Baby? (uses The Baby's middle name)
Iris: WHO IS THIS?
Madame X: Oh...tee hee...whoops....um...May I speak to The Secret Pepper Person?
Iris: WHO. IS. THIS.
Madame X: Oh we are just calling to tell you that the bus will be late this morning.
Iris: WHAT BUS?
Madame X: huh?
Iris: Are you talking about the handicapped bus we've been waiting for since 8/24?
Madame X: Oh, I don't know anything about that. You'll have to call transportation.

Ah, yes. Seventeen painful years of torment over and over with each child and each foster child until I am a drooling imbecile. Iris asks me if I'm going to call transportation?

I would rather bite the head off a family pet on stage at a packed PETA convention than call these people.

No. I will not be calling them.

The geneticist and I were talking about employment for the teenager yesterday. She was lamenting that The Teenager would be wonderful with a little job and that generally kids like her are happier when employed but her ataxia would probably hinder her more than her IQ.

Now where could she find a job with limited physical and cognitive skills?

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

Wait I've got it! I'm going on line right now to see if the school district transportation department is hiring!

She'll be in supervision before she turns 20.

A Good Chuckle and Morgan, Too

Up at 6:00 am to get the three hoodlums children fed, watered, medicated and dressed. The Teenager's neurologist finally conned convinced me to get her evaluated in Genetics since testing was "much more sophisticated than it was 17 years ago" and he is convinced that "she has a syndrome." Only problem is that I am still taking The Baby to school. Yes. No. Bus. Yet.

At 7:46 am I take off to The Boy's school to drop him off and then double back to The Baby's school which doesn't open it's doors until 8:30 am. The Teenager's appointment is at 8:30 am on the other side of town. If anyone needs to learn how to astral project it's me.

Iris saves the day as always, picks up The Teenager and heads off to the other end of the city. Just as I am leaving The Baby's school Iris phones. "The clinic is empty." Uh-Oh. Wrong clinic. I confirm by phone that this appointment will be held at the "other "clinic sight. Iris beats me there even though she has no idea how to get there nor is she familiar with any of the city landmarks I try to describe. I'm suspicious. Has Virus learned how to astral project?

The geneticist from the Big City University is a lovely woman who I liked very much. She loved The Teenager and said to me, "I've got to tell you. She looks a lot better in person than she does on paper." That pretty much sums up all three of my special kids who have no clue that they are limited because the physical limitations have not been our focus. When the geneticist asked if The Teenager had any birth marks she replies before I can. "No, but I have this really weird toe." She shows the geneticist her pinkie. The geneticist smiles. "Everyone has weird pinky toes. We're entitled."

While at the clinic I catch up with an old friend who I've worked with on and off since the 80's. She is a terrific red-headed nurse with a mischievous twinkle in her eye 90% of the time. In the 90's we did a satellite cardiac clinic together in ya-hooty-ville. The highlight was eating lunch out. One day in our favorite steak house the waitress asks me if I wanted, "the senior special." I was in my 40's at the time. I'm not sure which made twinkle laugh more. The look of horror on my face or 15 minutes later our waitress delivering my lunch with a flourish yelling, "SENIOR TIPS!"

Twinkle has gotten a lot of mileage out of that story over the years.

As she's checking us out of genetics I can tell by the gleam in her eye that it's about to get worse. She hands me the lab slip and points to the clinical indications box which reads: "Mild Mental Retardation, Cerebellum Hypoplasia, Microcephaly, Short Stature, Mom Is Slow Also." We both know the doctor is referring to the birth mom who has a low IQ but my friend asks, "would you like me to put bio mom or should I just leave it?" We both burst out laughing.

Iris takes The Teenager out to lunch as a reward and I am off to the grocery store, The Boys school, home to put the frozen food away and then to The Baby's school. We are now off to the Big City for The Boy's appointment with the behavior specialist. I am patting myself on the back for making it at 2:04 pm to our 2:00 pm appointment. That is until the receptionist informs me our appointment is at 3:00 pm. "You have a loooooong wait," she apologizes.

On the way home I'm fading. I haven't had time to eat breakfast or lunch but The Boy talks me into stopping at the Big City thrift shop we like. Of course we find something. We always find something. The cashier waves me over but it takes me so long to get through the racks with the wheel chair stroller I am cut off by a slim. elderly black man. He graciously allows me to go in front of him. As I'm thanking him I get a good look at him.

I do a double take. A triple take. He looks so much like Morgan Freeman he could be his twin. By now I'm gawking like an idiot. His brilliant smile is blinding. I finally tear my gaze from his to check out.

"You know God is going to bless you for what you are doing."

I turn and stare at him. What?

"I said God is going to bless you for what you are doing. " He is still smiling at me.

Like a deer in headlights or in this situation a deer in a blinding smile I am stunned. I'm thinking to myself, what am I doing? As if he can read my mind he continues. "You know what I mean."

Morgan keeps his gaze steady. "Yes," he continues. " God is going to bless you for what you are doing. He told me to tell you that just now."

As I'm telling Iris this later she says, "You know Morgan Freeman played God in the movie Bruce Almighty."

I did not know that.

But I do know this:
Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, for as much as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord. 1Co 15:58

Thank you Morgan for the reminder today.

It's Only A Little Snake

You're joking...

Right?

"Douglas Makes Me Droopy"

Frederick Douglas

The teenager has a third grade reading level. For years every night before she goes to bed she can be found reading the same book which is titled, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglas, An American Slave, Written By Himself. On the few occasions when she brings a purse with her she generally tucks this book in to her purse as well.

Tonight I go to tuck her in and put in her glaucoma drops and she is already asleep with the book on her chest. I wake her up.

"I don't know what it is about Douglas but he makes me droopy," she yawns. I had to laugh.

There is a special place in heaven for people like The Teenager. I'm sure her angel was laughing, too.

The Baby Slept Through The Night

I am singing this tune this morning.
I am doing this dance.

Pharmacy Ponderings

Yesterday I dropped the new RX off at the children's hospital outpatient pharmacy after seeing the ENT specialist who will be diagnosing "the cough" by "exclusion." "The cough" had already subsided before we got in to said ENT replaced by a nice rattly, loose cough. "Is this the cough you are talking about?" asks the way-too-handsome-student-nurse-heart-throb resident. Doogie, Doogie, Doogie. sigh. If this was "the cough" I wouldn't be sitting here wasting my time on something obviously within normal limits. I do have a life or at least I do long for a life outside of this hospital.

I dropped the RX the ENT prescribed off at the hospitals' outpatient pharmacy which will only accept scripts from physicians on the hospital staff. This means The Teenager's glaucoma drops, The Boy's ADHD medication, and every script written by our pediatrician would not be accepted here thus our 2 additional pharmacies.

I will go on record today stating that if one more person suggests i go to their pharmacy where they never have issues or asks why i use 3 pharmacies when I am not a pill lady pharmacy hopping for Oxycontin i will throw myself on the floor. Don't get me wrong I am happy Walbrown's and Grinn Dixie pharmacies work for you. It simply isn't that easy in our house hold. And remember? I did try your Walbrown's where you never have any problems proving that I am open to suggestions and also proving my claim that it isn't that easy in our household.

Last night I wake up to the baby choking and after it subsides an hour later I'm lying there pondering the pharmacy curse and our options:

Children's Hospital Outpatient Pharmacy:
The Pros: This pharmacy is a hop, skip and jump away on the interstate. They can be trusted with teeny-tiny pediatric doses, complicated compounds and rx's like yesterdays which is not likely stocked by your neighborhood pharmacy. The teeny-tiny four foot nothing pharmacist is a wiz who has bailed us out more times than i have digits to count. When I had The teenagers Diastat rx i was informed by neurology that insurance would not pay for this emergency seizure drug because The Teenager was not yet on a daily seizure medication having had just one seizure at that point. Cost for this Valium rectal rocket? $250.00. Teeny-tiny pharmacist yanked it out of my hand and said, "I'll just override the insurance."

The Cons: When you arrive you park in a parking garage whose handicap spots are often filled,walk about one block through an overhead walkway to the outpatient office building to another overhead walk way where you are stopped by the visitor gestapo lady who makes a name tag you must wear to your destination. You then enter the main hospital and take an elevator down to the hospital lobby where the pharmacy is located and pick up or drop off your rx's. The glitch with the overhead walkway is that is is filled with colorful sit-on sculptures and awesome, projected liquid-looking patterns on the floor that jiggle when you dance on them which is what the teenager was doing. Sitting and dancing. Dancing and sitting. What takes me 2 minutes to accomplish when I am alone took 20 minutes one way with The Teenager in tow.

The walkway is also slanted downward which makes an excellent Evel Knievel ramp for the boy's racing wheel chair. He always uses his wheel chair because the distance from car to pharmacy is too hard on his femurs. He revs up at the garage exit and peels out down this ramp where he skids to a stop in front of the registration desk and security guard who generally applaud and high five him while I am running behind him screeeeeing. It takes all the will power I have not to backhand him right out of said wheel chair for not listening thus endangering not only himself but others with his reckless driving. Yesterday, he nearly plowed into a nurse who again, thought it was adorable. I wanted to smack her down as well. What part of inappropriate behavior don't you nincompoop enablers understand? I don't care if he's cute and in a wheel chair. If he was butt-ugly and ambulatory you would be reprimanding him not high-fiving him!

This pharmacy is not open on weekends or holidays, and closes at 5:00 pm. Yesterday by the time we danced and burned rubber through the walkway to the pharmacy, the teeny-tiny pharmacist informed me, "We're closed." I have learned never to piss off said teeny-tiny pharmacist as she is not a force to be reckoned with. Last year I sent her a Christmas card. She informs me it was the only one received from a client and had it proudly displayed. Don't think I get any brownie points because of the Christmas card, however. Ain't happening with teeny-tiny.

Before she could hand me back yesterdays ENT rx I spun and ran from the pharmacy like I was on fire looking for a spot to stop-drop-and-roll yelling over my shoulder, "That's ok! I'll be back tomorrow! Bye bye now!" This time it worked.

Today I will make my 4th trip in one week to the hospital to pick up the prescription. This would be fun only if i suffered from Munchhausen's by Proxy.

XYZ Pharmacy # 1:
The Pros: Located near my home with a drive-thru. Open 24 hours. I have left the baby's seizure medication here because they always have it in stock and rarely screw this one up and did I mention they have a drive-thru? They also seem to manage to fill common antibiotics without a huge production. Again, the drive-thru is the enticement.
The Cons: Staffed by The Village Idiot and his first cousins who received their pharmacy degrees online. Average wait, "two hours." When your return in two hours, "give us one more hour." When you return two days later on a Friday night at 5:05 they inform you they "will have to" contact the doctor as there is a question regarding the rx. I inform them it is Friday after 5:00pm and there is no doctor until Monday and that I dropped prescriptions off 4 days ago and why didn't they do this 4 days ago? The racket of crickets chirping in their empty heads forces me to snatch rx out of their hands and drive to:

XYZ Pharmacy #2:
The Pros: Brilliant, friendly, happy, compassionate, efficient pharmacist who I adore. He is so personable and calm I suspect he may be dipping into the goods. When you say you are waiting for the rx they tell you 10 to 15 minutes. This is partially true. By the time I go into the bathroom located at the back of the store they have already called my name which I can't hear from the bathroom so I come out sit down and wait 10 to 15 minutes until they see me and wave me over to pick up the prescription that took them 2 minutes to fill.
The Cons: Not close to home. No drive thru which means I have to drag my children inside with me. I try not to bring my children out in public when they are tired, sick or over-stimulated. This leaves a very narrow margin of opportunity which never coincides with the procuring of prescriptions. If you recall the baby had her first ever tantrum in this pharmacy because i wouldn't put her in a shopping cart.

Some folks long to win the lottery.
I long to not be humiliated in public by my children.

So...two trips to the hospital since I had to leave after The Baby's x-rays (where she fought like a tiger on Meth ) to pick up The Boy at school on the other side of town and then return to the hospital for The Baby's appointment. All of this and a mandatory PTA meeting at The Boy's school at 6:00 pm, too. Normally I love to attend anything associated with this school. Unfortunately, at this point, the PTA meeting was merely the cherry on the crap cake this awful day had become. By 5:00 pm the pharmacy is closed, the kids are melting down and I am finished mentally. I called Iris who agreed to take the Teenager off my hands while i drug The Baby and The Boy to the meeting. I informed her if she didn't the headlines in the morning would read, "Mom strangles kids at PTA meeting."

We survived. Thank God, we always do and as Anne Taintor sez:

I feel compelled to add here that today at 7:30 am there is a knock on my front door and it is Andy the sewer guy. We are now on a first name basis. He asks how it's been going since the sewage explosion. He is back in the neighborhood doing some finishing touches and after small talk he advises me, "Be sure to keep your toilet seats down today." I'm happy to report I now know enough not to ask, can it get any worse?.