Refund

I made a post on Facebook last night in which I asked if anyone knew the Customer Service number for 2021. I imagine there were a couple of people thinking, "Oh, that Katrina, she's a funny one. She's always got some king of joke!" While this is certainly true (you'd agree if you'd been eavesdropping while my sister was here visiting me) it really wasn't fully in jest. I think that the last couple of years have been a challenge for people of every size, shape, and description. And while I've never really been the type to ask why me? I'm not Wonder Woman. I have my moments of sadness and worry, and then I try to figure out what to do about it.

Of course, the hardest thing I've dealt with this year is my Trent dying. I hope this won't make my sister sad when she reads it, but having her here made me think of him even more every day. Almost every day, when we returned to the hotel from our adventures, me sitting with my feet up in the air-conditioned room and Liz sitting outside taking in the evening air, my mind and heart automatically reverted to the times Liz and I have taken trips together in the past. As I shed my overloaded purse, kicked off my tie-dyed Crocs, and sat on the bed, I would automatically think about calling Trent to tell him about the fun we'd had that day. I'd think about things I should remember to tell him so that he could share in our laughter. I wasn't depressed or anything by these moments. I know they're just a manifestation of love and a reminder of how I'd share the day's happenings with him if we weren't together. And for every time I remembered that I couldn't call and tell him any stories, I must have had at least five or ten memories that were happy or positive. It wasn't a time for tears, but for wistfulness.

My time with Liz was not without its own pain and worries, though. The day before she arrived, I was thinking of all of the things I wanted to do and get and pack. I knew that I wanted to get some dried fruit and some nuts (insert comments here about eating nuts making me a cannibal, I know that's what you're thinking) because, you know, Road Snacks. So I pulled on some clothes and went to Sam's Club where I ran my sweet little Fiat 500 into a great big pickup truck in the parking lot. I am relieved to say that the driver and passenger of the truck were in the store, so I was the only human that sustained any damage.

I'm really not accustomed to going to the hospital as a patient, but that's what I ended up doing. Apparently I scared my caregivers because I take anticoagulants due to a personal and familial history of clotting problems. The bruises on my knees were incredible and gloriously colorful. The seatbelt abraded my neck and caused bruising on my chest and an incredible and huge bruise on my lower abdomen. (My poor right dirty pillow was entirely covered on one side with dark purple bruising and has threatened to go on strike after being injured by the car so soon after the shingles.) I was given CAT scans and X rays because the contusions were so severe the care team was afraid that I had internal injuries.

Two and a half weeks later, I still have pain in my chest wall from being jerked by the impact. My bruises are mostly faded to yellow, but I still have patches of purple and the hard knots you get with really bad bruises. I am so glad that no one else was injured, and always glad to be alive. As my friend Julie says, I'm still upright and taking nourishment, and that's a good sign. Unfortunately, Sofia the Fiat is not able to be repaired and will no longer be a part of my life.

So I find myself with no car just as the time approaches for me to find another place to live. Yesterday, as I rode in an Uber to the DMV to get a title copy for my insurance company, I realized that I wasn't making any attempt at conversation with my driver. I was depressed, nervous, and worried. Frankly, it was one of those boy am I an idiot, and boy do I suck, and boy, I'm such a failure, moments. Later, I regained some balance and positivity. Somehow, things will work out. My body will finish its healing process, and my life will continue with its own healing and rebuilding. This chapter of my life will meld into the next one, and I'll try to remember it's always a good day to be alive. But I still want at least a partial refund.

BONUS: Liz originally planned for eight days here and we ended up switching to a different hotel when she extended her stay because the original lodging would have been pretty expensive. We're talking more money for five days (before tax) than we paid for eight days including sales tax and fees. So we moved to another hotel, no big deal. But the room was filthy. I mean dirty walls, floors, carpets, it was just horrible. To make a long story a bit less long, I called Corporate to complain and they said they couldn't really do anything, so we went down to the lobby to seek a manager for lodging elsewhere. The front desk staff were busy, and a woman working on a computer near the lobby asked if she could help. We found out later that she was a Corporate-level employee, but I told her calmly and politely that the room was horrible and we couldn't stay in a room that looked like it would be used by a twenty-dollar hooker. Yes, ladies and gents, that came out of my mouth, and in a tone as gentle as a soft breeze.

We were moved to another room that was in far better condition and much, much cleaner. When looking at my bank accounts the next day, I saw a pending refund for most of the cost of the lodging. I believe that all we paid for were taxes and fees. Looking at the amount charged a few days later, I said to Liz, "Well, the amount we spent ends up being xx dollars a night. Does that mean they see us as less-than-twenty-dollar hookers?" I swear, my mouth...

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A Special Beauty

Yes, I realize that it's been a little while. I forgot to tell you that my sister was coming to visit me here in Florida. And that she extended her trip by several days. Oh, did I mention the accident that I had the day before she arrived? That's a story for another day.

Seeing Florida through the eyes of a first-time visitor has been wonderful. Each place we visit or inhabit has its own uniqueness, its own special beauty. The amazing Rocky Mountains of Colorado that are so rugged and beautiful, and which help so many high plains residents find their way (okay, the mountains are on my left, so I'm heading North) are no longer there as a guide. Instead, there are vast areas of trees and undergrowth. Pines and oak and palms of numerous varieties are mixed together and draped with Spanish Moss. Just looking at the dense growth can be frightening - it's easy to imagine how quickly a person could get lost (or eaten?) if they take several steps into the jungle-like tangle of trunks and undergrowth. 

We are also surrounded by water here. Sometimes you can step onto a beach and discover that the sand is as soft and finely-textured as talcum powder. There are shells everywhere that come in as many colors as the people swimming and sunning and breathing in the salty seaside air. The ocean moves and breathes like a living thing, sending warm waves over your feet and ankles. It deposits shells and kelp and seaweed, and then rushes back, trying to reclaim them. As you stand on the firm, wet sand, the receding water pulls the sand out from under your feet, stealing your sense of equilibrium. It is a moment of pure poetry, a living and vibrant thing of indescribable beauty.

The boardwalks are filled with tables of tchotchkes of all sizes and descriptions. You're in the mood for a cutout in the shape of Florida, made out of license plates? They have that. A bracelet with your name woven into it? Your unusual name is no problem, they can make one for you while you wriggle your toes in the sand or have a delicious cold drink.

When you trudge back through the sand, the walk seems longer than it was when you were headed toward the water. Your last, almost ritualistic stop appears in front of you, the cold, fresh water to wash the sand off your feet or body. It's a physical act that symbolizes that your time at the beach is done. Like Mr. Rogers changing out of his sweater, you are leaving this last bit of your visit behind. You wash the sand and sweat from your body, but the ocean and everything it has given you stays in your heart. You're tired but relaxed as you climb into your car, ready to find your next adventure. 

Hiding

Another before-I-begin moment. I had my second COVID vaccination today. So far, in the immortal words of Lizzo, I'm feeling good as h*ll. This is not bragging, so the Fates can just calm down right now. I'm just doing my little part to encourage anyone who might be needle-phobic.

Just a few minutes ago, I was thinking of my favorite scene by the amazing Fanny Brice. Ms. Brice was the inspiration for the Funny Girl films starring another gifted performer, Barbara Streisand. Fanny Brice was not known for her beauty, but was a natural comic with an ability to deliver a song with an emotional power that could break your heart in pieces and put it back together again. Part of her shtick was her Yiddish-accented humor. The scene I remember so fondly is one I've seen only one or two times. I've searched for it all over the web but haven't found it. If you should by any chance know where I can find it, please let me know! If need be, I'd be willing to buy a movie just for this scene.

The scene, to the best of my memory, unfolds thus: A new bride is waiting for her beloved to return from his day at work. She decides to play a sweet little game with him and hides in the closet when she hears his footsteps on the stairs.

Him, entering abode: Darrrrling, your Lover Bunch is home, where arrrre you?

Her, peeking out of the closet: I'm hiiiiiiding!

Him: Darrrrling, I have a surprise for you, where arrrre you?

Her: I'm hiiiiiding!

Him: Darling, I got that gold bracelet you wanted, where are you?

Her: I'm hiiiiding...in the front closet!

I know, it's all kinds of silly, but it amuses me. When I was unable to find it on video to show Trent, I acted out the skit with different voices, and it amused him too. It became part of our special language, with one of us, from time to time, saying, "I'm hiiiiding...in the front closet!" Yeah, we were corny like that.

So what made me think of this? Well, sometimes I think Trent's essence, or spirit, or energy, or whatever term works for you, likes to play little tricks on me. We always did love to hear each other laugh, why should anything be different now? And today, like on another recent occasion, I was convinced that he hid something from me. A couple of months ago, I was looking for an unopened bottle of an important prescription medication that I had ordered before it was needed. Naturally, I put it away in a safe place, which is perhaps a code for that stuff having gone right into the Twilight Zone. I really wish I had a dollar (okay, maybe five or ten) for every time I've put something in a safe place and had it either disappear forever or prompt a frenzied search for what I considered a safe place six weeks ago. 

When I was searching for my medicine, and trying not to freak out since I was entirely out and the prescription had no more refills, I remembered a time or two when I had done similar searches for medications for Trent. He was always so calm about it as I was breaking a sweat tearing everything apart. He'd tell me that he wasn't worried because he knew I'd find it eventually. At that point I'd either take a break from my search or just calm myself down a bit, and then go straight to the pills that had been invisible mere moments before. When I was searching for my pills a couple of months ago, I imagined him sitting with his feet up and telling me that he knew I'd find them soon. I chuckled and felt really calm, and decided to take a break. A few minutes later, I decided to look in place x, a place where I had already searched three times. There they were, sitting plainly on top of everything in the place they were located. I really just had to laugh and tell him thanks for playing tricks on me.

I had another moment this evening. I was looking for a zipper pouch that Trent used to carry a couple of gift cards and some pocket money. Since my sister is coming to visit in two days, I decided that I should put the little pouch in my purse so that Trent's money could perhaps get me a little something while she's here. That pouch was nowhere. I tore the joint apart. I removed lots of stuff to see if it was in my purse. Nowhere. I was really sad about it, too. It wasn't because I was afraid that I may have accidentally picked it up with something else and thrown money in the trash (which I took to the dumpster before I went for my vaccination), although the idea of throwing away money bothers me immensely. It's the fact that this zipper pouch, which says Heart of Gold, was something he really liked. The cards and cash were put in by his hands, the individual bills folded the way he liked. That's what upset me the most.

At some point, once again picturing him in his chair, I told him that I really wanted to find his little pouch. I took a break and reached for my purse, my thoroughly searched purse, and there it was. Yes, Trent's got jokes. even now. After the relief of finding this little pouch full of sentimental value, and other value as well, I could hear Fanny Brice saying, "I'm hiiiiding...in the front closet!" And I could hear Trent saying it as well.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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Jabbed

As we spend this weekend celebrating the anniversary of our nation's independence, my thoughts turn to some of the things that make this country what it is. One of the things that causes both happiness and strife is our freedom of choice. We have the choice to do or say so many different things, and some choices are restricted. I'm not here to discuss that in depth here today, but to talk about some choices of my own.

Two weeks ago today, I received my first COVID-19 immunization, and my next jab is scheduled for a week from today. I know that people have varying degrees of trust, or lack thereof, in the vaccines, and vaccinations in general. There are various reasons why the family unit of Collins and Szatmari, and now just Szatmari, have made the personal choice to to partake of vaccines as available, appropriate, and necessary.

First and foremost, Trent was a transplant patient and was on daily doses of immuno-suppressing medications. This is a necessary treatment with the majority of transplants to prevent the recipient's immune system attacking the transplanted organ since the body will see it as something foreign to itself, unless perhaps it comes from an identical twin. This is a normal and expected response built into bodies, and generally encouraged, unless it will unwittingly kill us.

I have systemic lupus erythematosus, which is an autoimmune disease. The immune system of someone with lupus can and will attack the body's organ systems for no reason. It can attack any and all organs, and can result in permanent damage or death. With the two of us being immune-impaired, I've often said that we can catch a cold from across the street. Seriously, I've always been a bit uncoordinated and very unathletically gifted, and if you toss me something from a few feet away, chances are I will flub the catch while looking far less graceful than the dancing hippos in Fantasia, even if they were replaced by real hippos. But walk someone with some kind of germ through the room, and chances are great that I will catch it, no contact necessary. And the cold or intestinal scourge likes to make itself at home for far longer than normally reasonable and expected. Yep, germs have long considered us the perfect hosts. It's not always nice to be appreciated, however.

Trent never did get around to receiving the COVID vaccines, but would have done so. I delayed for several reasons, most having to do with the desire to avoid huge crowds in general, as well as large groups of possible carriers of everyday germs that would put me out of commission for a while. So, as I said earlier, I have myself on the road to better protection from COVID. And yes, I'll continue to wear masks around others out of respect for everyone's health. There are some other vaccines I plan to get after I've finished with these, and I want to explain why.

Around the third week of this April, I started having some symptoms I've had before with my lupus. I have a tendency to bouts of something known as costochondritis, which is a fancy term for inflammation of the joints where your ribs attach to your breastbone. The first time I experienced this, it hurt so much I thought I had pneumonia. Now I know how to tell the difference, and I do what I can to alleviate the discomfort. Generally it involves getting quality rest/sleep, and taking over the counter pain relief. Frankly, topical rubs aren't always a good choice because of delicate skin in the area.

A couple of nights into this delightful interlude, I woke up in incredible pain in numerous areas of my body, like shoulders, arms, hips, and knees. My first sleepy thought was that I was in an uncomfortable sleep position and it was screwing everything up. Well, that wasn't the case. For various reasons, when we moved into this apartment we got an air mattress. The air mattress was about halfway uninflated, so I had no support. When I tried to get up to use the bathroom, I was struggling like a turtle on its back. I had to use my tushy and feet to move the bed from the wall so that I could re-inflate the bed at 2:30 in the morning to give it enough resistance for me to stand up. Even though I got online and ordered a replacement right away, the situation continued a few days. I'm sorry to whine, but it made everything in my body feel so much worse.

A few evenings later, I was lounging around, content to do whatever I needed to make myself feel better. Suddenly, I started getting an intense, pulsing, repeating pain in what Carrie White was raised to refer to as one of her dirty pillows. I knew it wasn't the joints because it was a bit to the side. It was definitely a concern, and the pain pulsed for quite a while longer. When I woke the next morning, though, I discovered that it was an outbreak of shingles. They went along the side and over to my back, all the way to my spine. And boy, do they hurt. It's like the costochondritis said it was really kicking my butt and the shingles stood up and said, "Hold my beer."

You may not know a couple of things about shingles. They break out along nerve pathways and are lurking in your body if you ever had chicken pox. In addition to being incredibly painful, they can be dangerous. In fact, Trent's father had a shingles outbreak that led to sepsis and caused his death. A couple of months after my shingles outbreak, I have scarring from the breakouts, and another thing you may not be aware of, which is lingering and recurring pain. Just last evening, I had shooting pains in some of the breakout areas that reminded me of how much I'd like to get a shingles vaccination. I know that for many years parents have wanted their kids to get chicken pox and just get over that hurdle. Knowing what I do now, I'm also greatly in favor of vaccinating against chicken pox. I know it's a pain in the arm, but isn't protection from horrible pain or possible death worth getting jabbed? For me, it's a definite yes.

p.s. If you are anti-vaxx, this is not meant as a judgement of your choices. It's just an explanation of mine.


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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

https://www.paypal.me/TheLunatic