We've coined a new term in the Garner family... Floppy Joh! Sounds fun, but its no good, still too fresh to be funny even.
Last night I had planned an escape from the zoo. After feeding time and bathing of the monkeys, I put real clothes on and headed out the door with dreams of a movie theater, Starbucks, and singing really loudly in the car... All sans children.
I should have known better. No one cried, whined or contested when I left. This should have been my first indication, but it wasn't I got on the freeway already belting out notes one should not attempt while recovering from a cold.
RIIIIIIINNNNNG!! Like the sounds of a prison door closing! I answer, and my worst nightmare is realized. One of my monkeys, my littlest monkeys is hurt.
It seems my little Joh fell and bit his tongue, so badly grandma wanted me to return to the zoo and inspect the injuries myself. Taking the nearest off ramp, I sped off in the direction of my house, only half looking out for the po po.
I pulled into the drive way and ran in, my Joh had fallen asleep in the arms of his grandma. I washed my hands so I could triage the patient. On first inspection I saw nothing to warrant extreme concern, but instantly I realized that my sleeping Joh hadn't even flinched when I opened his mouth.
I called his name ... nothing. My mom shook him, nothing. He was dead weight,just flopping about and even paler than usual. After we attempted to wake him again, and he still didn't respond I called 9-1-1. I haven't had to do that yet...call 9-1-1 in an emergency for one of my babies.
As I gave the operator our address Joh came to, cried and reached out to me. It was then I knew he was ok, and told the operator to cancel the Ambulance, police escort, helocopter, and three fire trucks just for show.
So, no more Floppy Johs! We don't like Floppy Joh's regardless how fun it is to say it!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I have a serious problem...
And just because I'm ready to admit it, doesn't mean I'm ready to change it.
To explain...
I'm having some serious lower back pain. It hurts to the point that I'll take an OTC med and even a prescribed muscle relaxer...but only a 1/4 of a tablet because I can't be incapacitated. If I do anything physical, walk, bend over, pick up a kid, scratch my butt... I'm in for some 10.0 pain scale pain... throw in some unpredictable muscle spasms and I'm a real piece of work. Ever since my childhood I have considered medicine as the last possible option, avoided at all costs, so if I pop a OTC pain med you can be assured that I'm in some serious, tear worthy pain.
So whats the problem you ask?
Well, I'm woman and a mother, and the later makes my wants, needs, and aliments, dog treats in the real world.
I recently underwent 6 weeks, three days each, of physical therapy for my neck and shoulder; in a nursing home I might add.
When I finally made an appointment to have it evaluated the doctor was astonished to learn I have been dealing with this issue for at least six years ago. Just about the time I had my first child, and my right arm started the work of six. She kindly berated me for waiting so long to have it looked at, ordered x-rays and prescribed muscle relaxers that would have CPS agents tripping over themselves.
After six weeks of physical therapy I learned I've been picking up, pulling, twisting, and breathing wrong. I was again lectured by my therapist for waiting so long, she took it out on me as she applied 3 tons of pressure on a knot the size of the titanic in my shoulder. At the end of my alloted visits my therapist aka torture director informed me that a. I was doing great! My range of motion had doubled. b. I could continue with Physical Therapy if I wanted to... but she suggested c. I follow up with my doctor and request (read: beg) for additional diagnostics.
So here I am, again, at the threshold, at the mercy of doctors and medical personnel who cannot fathom why I've waited so long for something that I swear hurts as much as childbirth. I need an appointment for my right lower back. It hurts, it hurts everyday sometimes all day. It pinches, it twitches it goes into full spasm mode which feels like hell within my short-less-than 5 foot frame.
Why didn't I call when it first started? Please read through the reasons below, and some how understand its because of all of them. There is no set order of relevance, complete random- reason-vomit if you will.
1. Making a phone call with three children is harder than putting together a full sized desk that comes in a box the size of a toaster. Inevitably someone will get hurt, spill a gallon of a sticky substance, start bleeding, vomiting or freaking out because Dora the Explorer is over.
2. Scheduling an appointment concurrent with school, traffic, and naps is less difficult than reassembling a bicycle blindfolded, but with just as much stress and apprehension. Its difficult to convince a health provider you're in sincere pain, when you're holding one child on your lap, pulling another off the exam table, and giving the "We're almost done!" eyes to another. Securing a babysitter is the Holy Grail, great idea, but never found.
3. I know, without a doubt I wont be taken serious.
After being being pregnant three times, suffering more pain and discomfort than you would wish upon your worst enemy, I am told by my doctor and then midwife, "Yes, pregnancy is hard".
Imagine having the pain, pressure and pain of a watermelon barreling down on your girlie bits with the force of a 14 category hurricane during a 7.9 earthquake...now imagine a MALE physician instructing you to NOT push as if you have a choice. A PhD does not make you an expert, it does not empower one to tell a pregnant woman what she's enduring is just the normal effects of pregnancy, nor does it give one the right to tell a crowning woman to stop pushing.
So, just because I've assumed years of discomfort and moderate pain... doesn't mean the excruciating pain I am now dealing with isn't relevant and worthy of your sincere consideration.
4. Lastly, and most important. I waited because I had better things to do. Homework, laundry, grocery shopping, even yard-work took precedence to my unworthy condition. I put my children, my husband, my responsibilities before all else.
Where did I learn that you ask?
I learnt it from my mother, she her mother, she from her mother.
I learnt it from the health providers that wrote my concerns off... certainly I was over exaggerating. A prescription for Motrin 800mg will certainly cure it ALL.
Its who I am on a biological level...Take care of everything, everyone else...and if you're still awake maybe take care of yourself. But probably not, better get to sleep, it all starts again in just a few short hours.
5. Because when I called for an appointment I was told there were none for today or tomorrow. I can't schedule one for the day after next, because acute appointments can only be scheduled 24 hours out. Please call back tomorrow morning. Lather, rinse, repeat...
So, hi my name is Lea. My 29 year old body is falling apart and its nearly impossible for me to do anything about it.
Whats worse is, it is my greatest responsibility to take care of myself, but I don't see it that way, and so I fail. That is why I wait until the pain is unbearable, this is why I ignore what starts as discomfort and grows into something I can no longer ignore.
I am a Mother before I am a person...and that is probably my biggest downfall.
To explain...
I'm having some serious lower back pain. It hurts to the point that I'll take an OTC med and even a prescribed muscle relaxer...but only a 1/4 of a tablet because I can't be incapacitated. If I do anything physical, walk, bend over, pick up a kid, scratch my butt... I'm in for some 10.0 pain scale pain... throw in some unpredictable muscle spasms and I'm a real piece of work. Ever since my childhood I have considered medicine as the last possible option, avoided at all costs, so if I pop a OTC pain med you can be assured that I'm in some serious, tear worthy pain.
So whats the problem you ask?
Well, I'm woman and a mother, and the later makes my wants, needs, and aliments, dog treats in the real world.
I recently underwent 6 weeks, three days each, of physical therapy for my neck and shoulder; in a nursing home I might add.
When I finally made an appointment to have it evaluated the doctor was astonished to learn I have been dealing with this issue for at least six years ago. Just about the time I had my first child, and my right arm started the work of six. She kindly berated me for waiting so long to have it looked at, ordered x-rays and prescribed muscle relaxers that would have CPS agents tripping over themselves.
After six weeks of physical therapy I learned I've been picking up, pulling, twisting, and breathing wrong. I was again lectured by my therapist for waiting so long, she took it out on me as she applied 3 tons of pressure on a knot the size of the titanic in my shoulder. At the end of my alloted visits my therapist aka torture director informed me that a. I was doing great! My range of motion had doubled. b. I could continue with Physical Therapy if I wanted to... but she suggested c. I follow up with my doctor and request (read: beg) for additional diagnostics.
So here I am, again, at the threshold, at the mercy of doctors and medical personnel who cannot fathom why I've waited so long for something that I swear hurts as much as childbirth. I need an appointment for my right lower back. It hurts, it hurts everyday sometimes all day. It pinches, it twitches it goes into full spasm mode which feels like hell within my short-less-than 5 foot frame.
Why didn't I call when it first started? Please read through the reasons below, and some how understand its because of all of them. There is no set order of relevance, complete random- reason-vomit if you will.
1. Making a phone call with three children is harder than putting together a full sized desk that comes in a box the size of a toaster. Inevitably someone will get hurt, spill a gallon of a sticky substance, start bleeding, vomiting or freaking out because Dora the Explorer is over.
2. Scheduling an appointment concurrent with school, traffic, and naps is less difficult than reassembling a bicycle blindfolded, but with just as much stress and apprehension. Its difficult to convince a health provider you're in sincere pain, when you're holding one child on your lap, pulling another off the exam table, and giving the "We're almost done!" eyes to another. Securing a babysitter is the Holy Grail, great idea, but never found.
3. I know, without a doubt I wont be taken serious.
After being being pregnant three times, suffering more pain and discomfort than you would wish upon your worst enemy, I am told by my doctor and then midwife, "Yes, pregnancy is hard".
Imagine having the pain, pressure and pain of a watermelon barreling down on your girlie bits with the force of a 14 category hurricane during a 7.9 earthquake...now imagine a MALE physician instructing you to NOT push as if you have a choice. A PhD does not make you an expert, it does not empower one to tell a pregnant woman what she's enduring is just the normal effects of pregnancy, nor does it give one the right to tell a crowning woman to stop pushing.
So, just because I've assumed years of discomfort and moderate pain... doesn't mean the excruciating pain I am now dealing with isn't relevant and worthy of your sincere consideration.
4. Lastly, and most important. I waited because I had better things to do. Homework, laundry, grocery shopping, even yard-work took precedence to my unworthy condition. I put my children, my husband, my responsibilities before all else.
Where did I learn that you ask?
I learnt it from my mother, she her mother, she from her mother.
I learnt it from the health providers that wrote my concerns off... certainly I was over exaggerating. A prescription for Motrin 800mg will certainly cure it ALL.
Its who I am on a biological level...Take care of everything, everyone else...and if you're still awake maybe take care of yourself. But probably not, better get to sleep, it all starts again in just a few short hours.
5. Because when I called for an appointment I was told there were none for today or tomorrow. I can't schedule one for the day after next, because acute appointments can only be scheduled 24 hours out. Please call back tomorrow morning. Lather, rinse, repeat...
So, hi my name is Lea. My 29 year old body is falling apart and its nearly impossible for me to do anything about it.
Whats worse is, it is my greatest responsibility to take care of myself, but I don't see it that way, and so I fail. That is why I wait until the pain is unbearable, this is why I ignore what starts as discomfort and grows into something I can no longer ignore.
I am a Mother before I am a person...and that is probably my biggest downfall.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Sometimes the best ideas are STOLEN.
Months ago I decided I'd steal my bestie's Deployment Countdown craft idea... She stole it from NoTimeForFlashCards although it seems the original post is gone. Of course I think mine is by far the cutest rendition, but I'm sure you could have guessed that!
Daddy is underway for deployment. To help the girls understand the length of time I adapted Kelsey's version and made it all our own.
This is now hung on our sliding glass door.
Daddy is underway for deployment. To help the girls understand the length of time I adapted Kelsey's version and made it all our own.
This is now hung on our sliding glass door.
Here Gogo holds our sea creatures awaiting placement (from Wallyworld). Please note her amazing sense of style.
Every night the girls will place a certain amount of sea creatures onto our ocean scene. When the container is empty daddy will be home!
For OPSEC reasons my complicated formula for daily placed sea creatures will not be revealed, and can not be understood simply by looking at the picture. Certain sea creatures amount for different day amounts, color also plays a part. The very placement of the sea creatures makes breaking the code extremely hard :D
PRIDE RUNS DEEP!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Story of The Ring
It was late 1996, or early 1997... My mom had recently divorced my step dad, and we moved into the condos with Bright Blue Doors. I remember when we toured the model home, I crossed my fingers that we wouldn't get the place... The blue doors could be seen for miles and miles, and it didn't help that these condos were atop a hill overlooking the newly expanding city of Corona.
I remember embarrassingly explaining to friends where we now lived... "Yea, we moved into a Condo, the ones on the hill...you know the ones with blue doors..."
"Oh, those ones!"
In my teenage mind I hated the Condominium manager, I imagined that he had a budget to paint the doors... found a huge surplus of clearance paint at Home Depot, and used the remaining monies at Angels on the OTHER side of the railroad track. Thanks buddy, for making my teenagehood all that more miserable!
So one bored night, one of many I must say... My brother, Ryan and I ventured down to the lower half of our Blue Door community to use the work out room. I'm pretty sure my intent wasn't about working out, but rather I hoped I'd meet some kids my age. I went to school 20 miles away, so I didn't have any friends around.
After a few minutes of attempting to use the machinery, disappointed that it wasn't swarmed with cute boys, I looked down and just happened to find a ring on the floor. There was no one else there, and I knew I couldn't trust the next person to return it.
When we got home I told my mom what I had found, she immediately told me to take it to the management office.
Yeah riiiiiiiight...
Obviously my mom didn't know how the world works... Why would I take this ring to the office...so the stupid clearance blue paint guy could take it home? He'd probably pawn it for $25 and spend it at aforementioned Angels, on the WRONG side of the tracks.
So, I did what I thought was best... I made a sign, something like... "Have you lost a piece of jewelry? Call 909-555-5555 to identify" A few days later, I remember distinctly my mom asking if I had in fact given the ring to the management office, I lied and told her I had.
I honestly believed I needed to get it back to its owner myself, I didn't trust anyone else. Besides, looking back... I probably was hoping that this girl would call, be so thankful I had found her ring and returned it and we'd end up best friends.
I had searched a million times, Myspace.com, Classmates.com, Zabasearch.com, Facebook.com, Yahoo.com, etc. etc. etc. I made a faux profile on Classmates, one for a school I hadn't gone to. I was desperate to return the ring. I joined the Myspace group for her school, I even tracked down people that had known her... I considered contacting the school but I never got very far, until today.
It took more than ten years, but today I found the ring's owner.
I found her on Facebook...but only after getting an alert that she had joined Classmates.com. I couldn't contact her via Classmates without joining and paying some crazy fee to do so. But I did have a new piece of the puzzle...her married name. Instantly I punched it in Facebook, no luck... I tried Myspace... No luck... Then I did a general search on Google. HIT. She hyphenated her name... I found her AND a link to her Facebook. I immediately sent her a message, to make sure she was the right "Stacie S."
Stacie responded, she did in fact attend Centennial High in Corona, California... Class of 1997...
I've probably spent a collective 20 hours searching for her in the past ten years. The ring went with me when I moved to Los Angeles, and then here to Hawaii.
Its got one more move to make...back to its owner, after so many years...
P.S. Mom, are you mad?
UPDATE: The Ring is enroute to Nebraska as of 10/27/09. Too cool...
I remember embarrassingly explaining to friends where we now lived... "Yea, we moved into a Condo, the ones on the hill...you know the ones with blue doors..."
"Oh, those ones!"
In my teenage mind I hated the Condominium manager, I imagined that he had a budget to paint the doors... found a huge surplus of clearance paint at Home Depot, and used the remaining monies at Angels on the OTHER side of the railroad track. Thanks buddy, for making my teenagehood all that more miserable!
The Ring.
So one bored night, one of many I must say... My brother, Ryan and I ventured down to the lower half of our Blue Door community to use the work out room. I'm pretty sure my intent wasn't about working out, but rather I hoped I'd meet some kids my age. I went to school 20 miles away, so I didn't have any friends around.
After a few minutes of attempting to use the machinery, disappointed that it wasn't swarmed with cute boys, I looked down and just happened to find a ring on the floor. There was no one else there, and I knew I couldn't trust the next person to return it.
When we got home I told my mom what I had found, she immediately told me to take it to the management office.
Yeah riiiiiiiight...
Obviously my mom didn't know how the world works... Why would I take this ring to the office...so the stupid clearance blue paint guy could take it home? He'd probably pawn it for $25 and spend it at aforementioned Angels, on the WRONG side of the tracks.
So, I did what I thought was best... I made a sign, something like... "Have you lost a piece of jewelry? Call 909-555-5555 to identify" A few days later, I remember distinctly my mom asking if I had in fact given the ring to the management office, I lied and told her I had.
I honestly believed I needed to get it back to its owner myself, I didn't trust anyone else. Besides, looking back... I probably was hoping that this girl would call, be so thankful I had found her ring and returned it and we'd end up best friends.
No one ever called.
This ring HAD to get back to its owner, it wasn't just a ring, it was a CLASS RING. 10 kt Gold, light blue gem, six small diamonds... 1997, Centennial High, engraved with "Stacie Sxxxxxx. My search began...
I had searched a million times, Myspace.com, Classmates.com, Zabasearch.com, Facebook.com, Yahoo.com, etc. etc. etc. I made a faux profile on Classmates, one for a school I hadn't gone to. I was desperate to return the ring. I joined the Myspace group for her school, I even tracked down people that had known her... I considered contacting the school but I never got very far, until today.
It took more than ten years, but today I found the ring's owner.
I found her on Facebook...but only after getting an alert that she had joined Classmates.com. I couldn't contact her via Classmates without joining and paying some crazy fee to do so. But I did have a new piece of the puzzle...her married name. Instantly I punched it in Facebook, no luck... I tried Myspace... No luck... Then I did a general search on Google. HIT. She hyphenated her name... I found her AND a link to her Facebook. I immediately sent her a message, to make sure she was the right "Stacie S."
Stacie responded, she did in fact attend Centennial High in Corona, California... Class of 1997...
I've probably spent a collective 20 hours searching for her in the past ten years. The ring went with me when I moved to Los Angeles, and then here to Hawaii.
Its got one more move to make...back to its owner, after so many years...
P.S. Mom, are you mad?
UPDATE: The Ring is enroute to Nebraska as of 10/27/09. Too cool...
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