Tag Archives: Laugh

Sometimes, I should just namaste home……

Humor, , , , , , , , , ,

I know we are all trying to get a bit of Zen in our lives, and I’m all for it. I just recently returned to the practice of yoga. About four years ago my neck decided it didn’t want to turn left or right. I don’t know why but I had to stop yoga. My therapist thinks I’ve been holding onto a lot of bad karma, and she’s my physical therapist. I’m not saying another therapist couldn’t help, but the return to yoga certainly has. Perhaps because I take classes where all the teachers are over 80 years old.

Yesterday, I went to class, really yearning for some ‘centering.’  I had a conference call in the afternoon and some intense conversations ahead of me, so I thought a nice gentle yoga class would put my mind and body in the right place.

When I entered the soft-lit, quiet studio, the teacher was talking to another student about her upcoming family vacation at a sizable house she rented in the Poconos.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to handle it,” whined the yoga teacher, “I mean they are coming from Oregon and from Sweden and I have to do everything.”

“Well,” her friend replied, trying to console her, “you could just ask them to help.”

“I can’t do that. They’re coming from so far. So I’ve bought all the groceries and our car is full to the brim. My husband is asking how two 80-year-olds are going to get all this stuff into the house! And I’m telling him we can’t say, “Hi, Welcome to Pennsylvania and go get your own food out of the car!”

I’m thinking during this interchange, well this isn’t very namaste, now is it? This yoga teacher needs some yoga.

So she gathers her wits about her and we begin class, about 15 minutes in she instructs us to do the butterfly pose. She then relates this comforting tale.  “You know there’s a beautiful abundance of butterflies this year!” she exclaims. “My cat just loves them! But then she eats them, so I tell her no, no,  that’s not good.”

Now, I’m wishing I went to kickboxing.

She decides to water a plant half-way through the class. “All the rest of these plants are plastic, but this one is real and no one waters it!” I think I heard the plant crying, “Just let me die already.”

What I really look like doing yoga.

 

We ultimately get to ‘final relaxation.’ This is a critical part of every yoga class. Truthfully, every person who takes yoga, only comes for final relaxation. It’s like your glass of wine after going to the dentist. What? That’s not a thing? I’m pretty sure it is a thing.

We are authentically relaxing for three or four minutes. I’m feeling very serene, centered, able to take on my day when HER PHONE RINGS. Yep. The yoga teacher didn’t turn her phone off.

Okay, I thought, as I squeezed my eyelids trying to maintain tanquility, she’ll just turn it right off.

Nope. She picks up the phone and says, “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? You have to call this number.” And she proceeds to give the person a phone number.

WELL, NOW I’M NOT RELAXED.

She returns to the class with, “I’m soooooo sorry but my husband’s car broke down.”

And then she says, and I’m not kidding, “Some days, you just have to laugh……”

©2017 Cathy Sikorski

Is your Plug Male or Female……..

Caregivers, Humor, Multiple Sclerosis, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Today’s tale is a bit vulgar….but I find honesty to be the best policy.

As my faithful readers know, I, with no training or inherent skills, have become a wheelchair repair expert over the last few years. I was able to get a different BIL (code for brother-in-law) to transport the humungous wheelchair to the rehab center, so disabled BIL would be able to get out of bed every day. By the way, there is no service, or transport that will take an empty wheelchair…well….anywhere….you have to find your own way to get it there.

One day, I’m walking down the hall of the rehab center and the physical therapist is manually pushing the electric behemoth with my BIL in the chair.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here. No one can figure out how to get this operational.”

Because it had been a month since my BIL was even in the chair, and memory issues are a part of his disease, he was of no help either. In 2 minutes, I had everyone  operational and instructed for the forseeable future.

Then we went home.

I stayed with my BIL for about 6 hours that day. As happy as he was to be back in his apartment, he was feeling insecure and squeamish and not ready to be alone. I arrived home in time for an 8:00 PM conference call.

At 9:00 PM my phone rang.

“Hello, Cathy, this is the caregiver.”

“Hey, what’s up? Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine, no problems. But we can’t plug in his wheelchair. It seems like a piece of the plug is missing that connects to the battery. So we can’t charge the chair.”

UGH. He needs that chair. He needs to be out of bed and as upright and mobile as possible to have a life where he goes to meals, talks to friends, plays SODUKU on his computer.

“Okay, I’ll come in the morning and look at it.” I must’ve been very tired. I’m still not a wheelchair repair person, what was I going to do?

Before I left the house, I called the wheelchair repair people, who told me the only thing they can do is order an entire new charger which would take 3 weeks.  When I asked what he’s supposed to do in the meantime, wheelchair repair guy thought for a minute or two (really??? no one has ever asked you THAT before?) And told me he could look around and see if they had a loaner charger, but that would take a day or two.

As I set my hair on fire in protest (only in my mind) I went over to my BIL’s apt. examined the plug and set off for the rehab center. I checked his room, as they had just cleaned it, we called down to housekeeping, I went to the nurses’ station, therapy rooms, front desk and had the social worker call the ambulance transport to look for it. No dice.

I went to my book club and my French Class. Mai oui…..I do some things for my self!

Then I returned to his apartment, there was the charger plugged in. But as my engineer BIL told me, truthfully, it was smoke and mirrors. It wasn’t charging at all. I showed the plug to him and hoped he had some brilliant insight. Nope. So I said to him:

“Well, you know what Nana would say?” She had a fine adage for problems when something would just not fit into a hole.

“Yep,” he nodded, “put a little hair around it.”  Yep, that’s what she always said.

Luckily BIL is a fiscal conservative and only used 3% of his power that day.

We then had the brilliant idea to call some local durable medical equipment providers and one dear soul sent me to Interstate Battery. As I was leaving with high hopes and the battery, my BIL said:

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but as an old man would say, I think you’re pissing up a rope!”

So with those axioms under my belt and a big huge 24 Volt battery in my arms like a newborn. I went to a big, ol’ manly grease monkey, full-of-testosterone battery warehouse.

And this is where the Good Samaritan works when he is not out on the road rescuing.

Keith worked for thirty or forty minutes to rig this battery charger so I could use it. The first thing he asked me is if it’s a male or female plug. I considered my Nana’s advice, but that didn’t lead me to any conclusion. I suppose I should have been able to deduct the answer, but I panicked and just looked as cute as I could. In that environment, I was a shoe-in.

By the way, there was never a missing part. It had been so abused over time by pulling it out by the cord that it basically pulled the charging plugs too far down into the casing.

Keith told me he has a few friends in wheelchairs and he sees this all the time, where they can’t get timely repairs and no one seems to care. He told me to just ‘Pay it Forward.’ I told him I try to do that, and he said, “well then, now it’s coming back to you!”

Sometimes…..”You just have to SMILE….and laughing never hurts, either.”

© Cathy Sikorski 2015

“

One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters… Charles Baudelaire

Uncategorized, , , , , , , , ,

Saturday was my birthday. I wanted wine and song. My daughter called from Ireland to wish me a grand year, and suggested I check the internet machine for our local beloved troubadour to see where he was playing. Miraculously, he was playing at a WINERY from 2:00 to 5:00 in the afternoon. In twenty minutes, my husband and I were at a wine tasting bar listening to great music. Serendipity rocks.

For 10 bucks we could taste all 17 wines on the menu. A designated driver was named (not me) and I, the birthday girl went for it.  Now, Pennsylvania wines are usually quite awful, especially if you love wine. So we were pleasantly surprised when we enjoyed the flavor of some of these wines. The vintner was very proud. The chatter continued on in a  lively and humorous fashion. We were all having fun. It turns out that my husband and the vitner graduated from the same high school in the same year. They actually know each other, but the intervening 2 score years (nice way of preserving their dignity) changed their remembrance of one another.

Okay, so I’m tipsy, singing, meeting new people, drinking some not half-bad wine, and my phone jangles. Well, it’s my birthday, so people have been contacting me all day. I pick it up with a big ass wine smile and say:

“Hello!”

“Hello, is this Cathy?”

“Yep, it sure is…who is this?”

“This is the cardiologist from the hospital. I want to discuss your brother-in-law’s condition.”

Uh-oh.

Can I tell you, that it was the most lucid and coherent conversation I have ever had with a physician.

I answered all his questions, gave him a supremely detailed medical history, discussed current medication, the possibility of new medication, the long term effects of those new meds, and what the physician would require in the future in terms of follow up and testing. All while standing outside in a snowbank because of the music and raucous crowd in the winery.

I asked every freaking question that came to mind, I questioned the doctor’s  thought process concerning my brother-in-law’s medical history and future. I was rocking that conversation like I just graduated from medical school.

Clearly, I need to drink  more wine.

“You just have to Laugh……..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

When UTI does NOT mean Understanding The Infirm……

Brain Injury, Caregivers, Humor, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

I have a dear friend who suffers from a brain injury. We are writing something to share with the world soon, a blog, a play, a memoir, so I don’t put that here (and yes, I have another person in my caregiving queue)but I asked her if I could share this one little tidbit from this week.

So she has to go to the doctor for a UTI (urinary tract infection). When you reach our age, you know when you have a UTI and in the OLD days your doctor trusted you and you could just call and tell them that you have a UTI and they would call in a prescription for an antibiotic. This really doesn’t happen now, so imagine her surprise at this conversation:

“Hello. Dr.’s office? I need an appointment because I have a UTI.”

“Ok,” says the receptionist, “which doctor do you see?”

“I see Dr. S.”

“Ok,” what pharmacy do you use?”

“I use Walgreens on Main Street.”

“Ok, very good.”

And, after getting her name and address and birthdate, the receptionist hangs up. So………………..what would you think? You would think that they talked to your doctor and called in a prescription to Walgreens on Main Street, right?

My friend goes to Walgreens on Main Street. Nope, no prescription. And the pharmacist checks with other Walgreens. Nope, no prescription. So my friend calls the doctor’s office.

“Ummmm, I called earlier because I have a UTI and the receptionist took my name and pharmacy and there is no prescription here.”

“Oh, well, you have to come in and see the doctor, we can’t just send out prescriptions without and appointment.”

“Well,” my friend says, ” since I am disabled, I don’t drive, and I have to walk or take the bus everywhere, it would have been nice if your receptionist would have made an appointment for me rather than sending me to Walgreens on Main Street without that vital information.”

Silence. Dead Silence.

“Can I make an appointment for you?” Says this receptionist. “Can you come in now?”

“Not unless you’re coming in your car to get me,” says my friend. I need to get to the bus and then get to your office. So let’s make that appointment for tomorrow.”

She goes to the doctor ‘on the morrow’ and gets the prescription called in, with an additional prescription, but not before this conversation with the PA (physician’s assistant—and BTW I LOVE PA’s I think they have made the world ever so much better MOST of the time):

My friend says to the PA: “So I have had this for about a week, but I worry whenever I get any kind of infection because my brain surgeon said infection can be very dangerous for me, as I am already compromised.”

“Well,” says the PA, “I highly doubt that a UTI would get to your brain. He was certainly being overly cautious.”

I so wish I had been there. I would have said, “Look, you can be overly cautious with your brain, but I have 40 titanium coils in my head to stop a brain bleed and I have miraculously survived a subdural hematoma that causes permanent problems……so I AND MY BRAIN SURGEON choose not to be overly cautious.”

Next installment…..Walgreens on Main Street….

You just have to laugh…….

Cathy Sikorski