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|Loupgarou (profile) wrote, |
on 7-29-2005 at 4:17pm
|Current mood: anxious
Music: Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz
Subject: I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down.
|I don't like the rap part of this song, but I like 2D's voice for some reason, even though it's weird. And so I listen to it. Silly Gorillaz.
Now that I've actually started reading Wuthering Heights and gotten a fair ways into it, it really isn't that bad, once you get used to the old-fashioned writing style. It can be kind of confusing sometimes, because The narrator, Mr. Lockwood, uses so many adjectives that you wouldn't expect could be used for his purposes that you sometimes lose the meaning of what he was saying in the first place. But I've gotten used to it quickly enough, so I'm alrighty. It's kind of an interesting cute story.
Well, Wednesday was a busy day. Woke up nice and too early for my taste. Then we headed over to the orthodontist for my sister's appointment. I also had to go sit in the nice little reclining ortho chair because my retainer wire had broken a couple weeks back. Unfortunately, it couldn't be fixed, and now we have to buy another one. The pain is in Mom's wallet.
But we got the cheaper one. It's one of those invisiline ones. I guess it's better than my old one because there is no wire to break.
After that, yes indeed, the dreaded doctors office for a much-not-looked-forward-to physical. My pediatrician lady is pretty interesting. She's Hungarian and wears these one-pieced suits for some reason. Jump suits or something. Whenever she talks, she also hums.
"How have you been feelings lately, hmm?"
"-nod- Mmhm. Good, good. Been eating right? Drinking lots of milk?"
"Yeah, I think we get enough."
"Hm mmhm. At least three dairy products a day?"
"Oh okay, then yeah."
"Mmhm. -nod smile- very good.."
etc. It's not the type of 'thinking "hmm"' either. It's just a casual thing for her that she tosses into her sentences every few words.
So anyway, she so courteously chose me to go first and my sister second. Examinations happened, etc etc. Then it was over and I joined my sister in one of the other rooms. Soon though the large assistant nurse woman informed me that I needed shots. Not a big surprise to me, really, even though I still grumbled and complained under my breath. At least the TB test wasn't. So she stuck me in the forearm. I hate shots. I took this one much better though than I used to. Well, considering that I would run away when the time came for a shot. Keep in mind, when I say run away, I mean break free from my mother's and the nurse's grasp, sobbing and afraid, jump to reach the doorknob (which was specifically high to keep kids like me from running out), run out of the little check up room, down the hallway, grab another high doorknob, scamper through the waiting room, out the main door, down another hallway and out the building into the fresh bright evil morning, far away from such things as sharp objects that nurses like to deliberately stab you with.
Once I had gotten outside of the building, however, guilt had taken me over because one: I knew I had thouroughly embarrassed my mother, and two: it's not like I could run away forever and instead of take the shot and go home, get kidnapped in the wilderness of the somewhat suburbian city.
All this happened many years ago. So instead of run away again all the next times I had to get shots done, I could just settle for sobbing uncontrollably while the nurse and mother held me down.
This time though I was a big girl and needed neither nurse restraint nor mother restraint. The TB test was over. I rejoiced in my head, and the nurse lady gave me a "good girl" of praise, knowing how I used to be. 'Huzzah!' thought I! 'It's over except for the evil blood test!'
Nurse lady read the papers and then muttered something about a Tetnis shot.
"Tetnis shot?" Mommy, who is also a nurse, asked.
Mom made a face of 'ick this won't be fun'.
"Don't make faces! It's not helping!" I pleaded. I wanted an answer to what it was and where she was going to stab me.
Nurse lady held in her had another syringe. "Let's see, which arm? Are you right handed or left-handed, sweetie?"
"Kay, so we should do it in your left arm."
Me: O_o. Inner thoughts: Is this going to completely disable me or something?! Why does it matter?
Hesitantly I turned to the side so she could aim for my upper arm. I remembered these types of shots when I was a kid. These were the big ones and they weren't pretty.
But I did it! Yay! I survived! .. And now my left upper arm muscle has been sore for three days and I can do nothing with it. This afternoon I rammed into the pantry door with my sore arm. Twas muy painful.
Anyway, then was the blood test. The lady doesn't do the ones in the arm yet. Only the finger ones. They always seemed to hurt the most though. So, I whined lots about this one too, because I thought they were going to use the one where they almost literally stab your finger. Luckily thought they used the one that they use on babies. It just feels like a really hard snap of a rubber band. Actually it hurts a lot more after it happens than when it does. So that was over with, and I watched the lady squeeze my finger so the blood came out and went into a little tube. Twas cool.
My sister only had the TB test and blood test done. Afterward we were done and standing in the hallway, Denise pushed past me rather rudely, so I instinctively "Dude!'-ed at her. Then she sat down and all the color drained out of her face and she was feeling dizzy. We had to take her to one of the check up rooms where she lied.. laid.. lay.. whatever down on the table thing for a while. Mom said her pulse was all racey and scattered as well. She had been very nervous about the check up I guess, and for some reason after the blood test it got to her and she felt like she was going to pass out. Eventually she was alright though and the doctor got her up and we all left and went to the little in-building pharmacy to buy some candy.
After that we all went to my grandma's for our weekly lunch outing. We ate at the restaurant in Nordstom's called 'The Bistro' and then walked around the mall a bit. Denise had been wanting to get her ears pierced for a while, but she was hesitant, so after much persuasion to do it, she got it done, and watching Mema's face was kind of funny. She was so excited. In the end, Mema paid for denise's piercings and for a pair or earrings that I wanted. I wanted to get second holes in my ears, but I'm broke and Mom says I'd have to pay for the second ones, so it didn't happen.
I love my Mema. She makes me sad, though. She really does. I wish that she would try harder to get better. I know that if she didn't want to, she wouldn't have to depend so much on that wheel chair. It makes me so unbelievably happy when I see her walking around confidently enough that she doesn't need the help of her walker.
If it was the case that I knew she couldn't get better, it wouldn't make me so sad, but knowing that it can happen and she's just not trying hard enough I think is sadder than if she couldn't walk frequently anymore at all. Any time someone tries to encourage her or nag her to walk more often though, she won't hear of it. She doesn't like talking about it because it will make her upset, and she won't.
Later that night I was talking to Mom about it. She had put a fire in the little fire pit thing outside in our backyard and we were sitting out there. I told her how Mema makes me sad, and was surprised to find that when I thought about it I actually started getting tears in my eyes, but I didn't want her to see, so I just kept staring into the fire.
Mom said that Mema for some reason was depressed a bit. I know that's she's gone through a lot in life. She lost a son when he was just a baby, her husband to cancer as they were supposed to grow old together, her grandson suddenly in an accident, had to have heart surgery and had at least three strokes (luckily none of them too serious) and other things like that, but she loves her family dearly, and knows how much we love her. Whenever she talks about her newest grandkids' (David and Anna) visits, she gets this light in her eye as she tells the stories of how cute they are, and you know how happy she is to see her family come by and visit so frequently.
But when her family isn't visiting, she sits in front of the television and watches old movies or something on lifetime and that's most of what she does all day when she's not out doing errands with her caretaker. She just swallows herself up in old black and white's and romance movies.
And I know how cheerful of a person she is when she's with people. She has the greatest sense of humor, and I love spending time with her when I can. But it hurts so much to think that she might be gone in a little while, and that she could have tried harder to stay healthier and walk more, or at least show some more determination. Because one of the things I've wanted since I was a child was to have her, along with my parents, live long enough to see me get married, and even have kids, because I know how happy thinking of that makes her. And I want everyone to meet her. My friends, my family, my children, and to know how wonderful of a person she really is. I love her so much, and I want people to know why.
Whenever she talks about me getting married, she seems so happy and so sad at the same time. It's as if my romance life is one of the most exciting things she likes to hear about, as long as I'm smart with it. I think I've written this before, but I remember a while back, we were watching a movie together, and there was this wonderful scene of a wedding. I told her I wanted to get married in Ireland, when the hills were greenest, and it was raining lightly outside. It would be in an old castle. She smiled, and her eyes smiled too. She said: 'That will be beautiful. And you have to promise to invite me to come. And if I can't go, I'll promise to be there anyway, watching you.' And I knew what she meant. She looked so sad as she said the last part of it that I could have cried right there, but I turned away, smile flickering away, and just said, in as happy a voice as I could manage: "Okay."
Wednesday night was actually the first time I had cried hard in a long time. Is that stupid, crying before she's even gone away? I don't know why I cried as hard as I did, but I did.
I want her to know how much I want her to stay around. I want her to know that sometimes she makes me sad, seeing her like this, but I can't very well tell her. I'm afraid she'll just get frusterated if I tell her she makes me sad. What if she just waves it away and says: "I don't wanna talk about it."