It’s been an exhausting few days here
in the Luby household.
“What’s going on?” I know you wanna
know.
Saturday, a week ago now, Mike noticed
the vision in his right eye was blurry and he couldn’t see very well. He
noticed a shadow and thought his retina was detaching again. He paid attention
to it all day but didn’t think it was getting worse. The next day and by late
afternoon, Mike was pretty sure it was getting worse. He called up to the
hospital and they connected him with the eye doctor on call.
“If you want to come to Corning (New
York) I can look at it,” a female with a heavy accent said.
We didn’t want to go to Corning. It
would be dark coming home and we live in deer country. You can’t go anywhere
without seeing dead deer littering the sides of the roads.
Mike called the hospital Monday and
they got us in that day.
Long story short, Mike’s eye formed
scar tissue which pushed the retina away.
“I’ll operate tomorrow,” Dr. McClintic
said.
I guess it wasn’t an emergency after
all. That made us feel better about not going to Corning.
I took a few pictures on our way to
the hospital the next day.
Pigs in the field next to where I’ve
seen goats.
We got stopped at the Veterans Bridge
so this big boy could come across.
He had a guy helping to steer on the
back of the trailer and there was also a truck hooked up as a pusher. He’ll help
push the oversized load up and over the mountains.
“Stay
off the road!” I told the chickens. I don’t think they heard me.
Mike was able to slow a little as
we went past the eagles nest. The eagle was feeding the babies. That’s a full-time job when they’re growing so fast.
Speaking of eagles...
I was going to Sunday night movie
night at the church and crossing the bridge by the Kipps’ house, I spot an
eagle fishing in our creek. I stopped right in the middle of the bridge and got
out. The eagle didn’t mind until I started to walk to the side of the bridge,
then he took off.
It’s a shot, a moment in time I would’ve
missed — if Mike had gone to movie night with me. His philosophy is if you’re
not half an hour early, you’re late. When I go by myself I don’t leave as
early. Who knows if the eagle would’ve been there then.
“How did you see it,” my handsome
neighbor asked.
“Lamar, I always look at the creek
when we go over the bridge. At first glance I thought I was seeing a duck. When
I looked again I saw it was an eagle.”
And checking out the creek on the way
home from movie night allowed me to spot my first Kingfisher of the year.
Turning onto the street between the
hospital and the school I see geese with their goslings.
“STOP!”
Mike is a good husband and stopped, after first checking to see there was
no one behind us.
The pond is on the grounds of the
hospital but these guys had crossed the street to look for bugs in the grass at
the school.
We checked in around two thirty for
our three o’clock appointment. They took Mike back to pre-op about fifteen
minutes later. I sat and read on my phone.
Around four a nurse came to get me.
“He’s going to be so late getting out of surgery that we’re going to move you
to the night surgical waiting room. We’ll take him down there for recovery when
he’s out,” she told me.
I gathered my things and followed her.
In the new waiting room I found a seat
and read for a while. Then I got up to check the board to see where Mike was in
the system. His number wasn’t on the board and the ladies at the desk had gone
home a while ago.
“If anyone needs anything, there’s a
phone on the desk with instructions beside it,” Last Girl Out announced.
I decided to wait.
People came, and people went.
My coffee was gone. Had been gone for
quite a while. I ran out of the snacks I’d taken with me. And I ran out of
purse mints. I finally got up and went into the refreshment room and made
myself a cup of tea.
When I came back I saw a guy who had
been there at least as long as I had. He had no drink in front of him. “You
know you can get a cup of coffee or tea or hot chocolate if you want,” I told
him.
He perked right up. “No! I didn’t
know!”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
He got coffee and we started talking.
He’d been there since noon and his wife was there for a breast lump biopsy. He
told me where he lived and how far they traveled (not as far as Mike and I did,
though) and about twenty minutes into our conversation, they came to get him.
Then I was alone.
Everyone else had left.
At some point I began to wonder. Why didn’t I bring watercolors and my
practice book? I could’ve, you know. And that would’ve been something to
help pass the time. I read more but ended up doom scrolling through Facebook.
Miss Rosie, doom scrolling is when you keep scrolling from one story or
video to the next on your phone and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been
doing it. You don’t mean to keep going — it just pulls you in.
Then I got a data warning on my phone. I stopped watching video reels and
exited out of all the apps and put my phone away. I got up and walked around. I
was tired of sitting. They had three TVs in the waiting room, all playing a
different channel. House flipping on one, the news on another, and crime drama
on the third. I could see one from where I was sitting so I took a turn and
stood in front of each of the other two for a while. I did some heel-toe raises—and almost fell over.
Aye-yi-yi. Getting old is a challenge.
I finally went to the phone and called the number posted next to it.
No answer.
If no answer, call this number, the
sign read.
So’kay. I called the second number.
“How can I help you?” the nice man said when he answered.
“I was wondering if you could tell me where my husband is at in the system.
His number isn’t on the board.”
“Certainly. What’s his name?”
I told him and he looked him up. “Oh. He’s an eye patient. He’s in
surgery. They use a different number system over there and that’s why his
number’s not on the board.”
Several times I’d kicked myself for
not having thought of bringing along my paints and practice book, and so I did
it one more time.
“Well Peg!” Me says to Myself. “You
can’t do anything about it now! You might just as well get over it!”
Me is very practical.
Mike’s first surgery back in February
was only an hour. This one took a little over three hours. It was almost eight
o’clock when they finally came and got me. Sara, the night nurse, went over all
his instructions with us as Dr. McClintic had been called away.
And I drove home. In the dark.
“Lord, please keep all the deer and
little critters off the road for me,” I prayed.
We saw deer beside the road and even
had some cross in front of me, but I could see them far enough in advance that
I was able to slow down and let them pass.
Shiny little eyes came from the left side of the road and when we passed,
Ol’ Mr. Possum turned and went back into the weeds.
I drove slower than Mike would’ve but I
got us home without hitting anything. God is good.
“Why didn’t you stay in a hotel like
you did last time?” you wonder.
I did NOT want to. It was a miserable
night the last time and I’d rather drive home in the dark than have a repeat of
that night! We’d be more comfortable in our own home and I’d drive back up the
next day. “Just make the appointment for later,” I told Mike.
It’s a little over an hour to the
hospital. We always leave ourselves at least an hour and a half because of
Mike’s rule. We left at eight thirty for a ten twenty appointment.
Plenty of time, right?
Wrong!
We were late.
“How could you be late?” you ask.
The little town of Wysox was doing
some work on the street. They had one drive lane and the center lane blocked off
so it was down to one lane of travel.
We were stopped before the railroad
tracks on 187 and waited about ten minutes before we got on The Golden Mile, as
they call it. Then we were almost an hour getting through that mile. Fifty
minutes, actually.
“Who can we call to complain?” I
asked.
“What good is that going to do?” Mike
asked.
“I don’t know but they’re not doing a
very good job of directing traffic.” We had spits and sputters and even some
long lines of opposing traffic but we didn’t seem to be moving at all.
“Let’s go back to Tractor Supply and
take the road over the mountain,” Mike said.
I made a U-ey.
We get back to the other road and
there’s a ROAD CLOSED BRIDGE OUT TWO MILES AHEAD sign.
“Will we turn before that?” I asked.
“No. We’ll be on that road for a long
way.”
“Should we follow the detour?” I
wondered.
“I don’t know where it goes,” Mike
said. “Let’s get back in line.”
Mike called the hospital and told them
we were going to be late.
“That’s okay. I’ll let them know. Just
get here when you can get here and be safe,” the receptionist said.
We were only about fifteen minutes
late for our appointment.
Dustin, Dr. McClintic’s nurse, did all
the things he’s supposed to do before Dr. McClintic comes in. He checked Mike’s
eye pressure and administered an eye test. While chatting with Dustin we found
out that Mike had a scleral buckle placed on his eye and that they used oil instead
of gas to press the retina back in place.
We got an education, that’s for sure.
I took a photo of Mike’s eye when
Dustin took the guard off.
And this is the next day.
“It’ll be tomato red,” Dr. McClintic
warned and he was right! It makes my knees hurt just to look at it. Like a
little electrical zap. That’s my empathy chiming in. It happens when I see or
think about anyone getting hurt.
Mike has more vision in his eye than Dr.
McClintic expected.
“It’s because all of our church peeps
are praying for me.” Mike gave the glory to God.
“Hey, I’ll take all the help that I
can get,” he responded.
Mike has two prescription eye drops we
have to put in four times a day and an ointment before bed. He’ll wear his eye
guard at night, too. He’s to stay face down as much as he can over the weekend
then at least fifty percent of the time for the next few days until we go back
for his one-week check.
With Mike’s
eye, the traffic in Wysox, and me having to drive all put together, it’s been
physically and emotionally exhausting.
On our first trip up to the hospital,
we left early enough that I could stop at the thrift store. I found this set of
three framed photographs and it was signed.
When I got it home I opened the back
thinking there might be more information there. There’s not. They’re printed on
one long 17x8 sheet of Epson photo paper.
I
couldn’t find out anything about the photographer. I asked Copilot to search
for a photographer who signs his work Tom Tom but he didn’t find anything. When
I showed Copilot the signature, he thinks it’s Tom Yan. Regardless, he couldn’t
find anything under that name either.
I took a picture of it and asked
Copilot to check for these exact images on the web. He didn’t find these exact images but says a single red umbrella against a winter scene is very popular
among photographers.
Famous or not, worth a million bucks or not, I just love the photos.
“You didn’t buy junk — you bought a real person’s creative work,” Copilot
said.
Speaking of creative work, I finished
Almond, a dog portrait I was commissioned to paint by my best old friend in
West Virginia.
I went into the wayback and found a
box to hold Almond as well as a few other things I wanted to send Trish. I left
the box on the table and went to gather those things. When I came back, guess
who had claimed the box?
Yep.
Tiger.
I wasn’t in a hurry to pack the box so I let him stay in it as long as he
liked. Once he vacated, I packed the box and printed the shipping label. Almond
is on his way to his new home. I really hope she likes it. If she doesn’t, she
doesn’t have to buy it. I have a sister that will take any and all artwork I
want to send her. Phyllis loves me, even though I wasn’t always the best sister
to her.
“We were kids. We were stupid.” She forgave me a long time ago.
I was showing Almond off to one of the
gals at the hospital. Lori and Mike bonded rather quickly and once I met her, I
knew why. She’s a sweet lady and very personable.
“Will you paint Ruger for my
daughter?” she asked.
“I’ll try,” is my standard reply. “If
you don’t like it, you don’t have to buy it.”
“He died about a year ago and this is
our favorite photo of him.”
“Are you sure your daughter would like
a painting of him?” I asked.
I’ve learned that not everyone wants a
visual reminder of the heartache they endured when they lost something they
dearly loved.
“Oh yeah!” Lori said. “We even had his
picture put on a mug and we have his paw prints on a plaque.”
And my next question is also a
standard. “Are you in a hurry for it?”
“No. Take your time,” Lori said.
“Good, because I don’t work very fast
and I’ve got three commissions ahead of yours.” But I think this little guy
will be fun to paint.
I’m pretty sure that all mothers teach
their children to wash their hands after they use the bathroom. Maybe not all
mothers but at least the good ones do.
When you’re in a public restroom, do you
notice when someone walks out without washing?
I do.
Even walking past a restroom door or sitting
in a place like, say, McDonald’s. The door opens and out walks a person (can be
either male or female) and you can hear the toilet still flushing behind them.
Do you think they took the time to wash their hands?
It grosses me out.
Walmart, McDonald’s, your church, or a
hospital, I’ve seen it all. This is just the latest. Tan shoes in the stall
next to mine, a blue coat passes my door and then the outside door opens and
closes. Okay lady, I’m calling you out. If you don’t wash your hands after
using the restroom in public, I bet you don’t wash them at home either.
These people are the reason viruses
and sick bugs get spread, the reason there’s poop germs on all our money.
Wherever we go, Mike and I sanitize
our hands when we get back to our car. A habit we picked up during COVID.
Mike is a good husband and doesn’t
deny me anything. I think you may have heard that before. Recently I asked for
a five-tier artist cart from Phoenix Art Supply. It came up on my Facebook page
and once I looked at the video reel, it came up on every page I’ve looked at since
then.
I really did want this the first time I saw it, but it’s expensive. It’s
on rollers so I could push it out of the way when I wasn’t painting and it
would be handy to have my supplies all in one place rather than having to get
up and get something off the shelf—
But did I really need it?
No.
They wore me down.
Tracking said my box would come when
we were at the hospital.
“Put a note on the door and ask him to
put it on the patio and lock the door,” Mike said.
“Will he do that?” I asked. “I once asked
a delivery driver to set something inside and he said he couldn’t.”
“They’ve done it before when I left a
note,” Mike said.
I left a note.
We came home from the hospital to a
giant box on the patio. I got a hold of a strap and drug it inside.
“Look at the box,” I told Mike. “It’s
really damaged.”
“Take pictures,” Mike said, so I did.
It’s packed really well but one of the
rips in the box extended through the Styrofoam on the inside. One of the
brackets had been torn loose and later I found the missing screw.
There was a
ding on one of the pieces but it wasn’t where there was damage to the box. That
tells me they did it before or during the packing process. For what we paid for
this, I want to ding it up myself!
There were no instructions or parts
list but I looked online. That’s when I discovered they sent me two tops and no
bottom. I laid them out and took pictures.
The next morning I contacted the
seller. They’ve determined that the screw being torn out wouldn’t affect
anything and they would give me twenty dollars for the ding, if I agree. As for
the two tops and no bottom, they agree, it’s wrong. They’ve already arranged to
send me the right bottom, but it’ll take more than a week because it’s being
shipped directly from their overseas factory.
“Are you happy with that?” Mike asked.
“I guess. It sounds reasonable.” I
know if I had not agreed they might’ve given me more money back or a new cart,
but I’m not out to get something I don’t deserve, I just wanted it made right. Although,
if they would’ve offered to send me a new cart, I wouldn’t’ve refused.
I know, right! I’m too easy.
One last thing before we call this one
done.
Mike has to be face down again, just
like his first retina surgery. Last time we rented a massage chair and it was
expensive. This time we didn’t.
“You could sit over the workout
bench,” I suggested.
Then we found two big mirrors and
lined ‘em up so the TV wouldn’t be upside down for him. One of them is propped
against my art cart box.
“I want you to be really dedicated
this time,” Dr. McClintic told Mike. “Face down at least over the weekend
except to eat or go to the bathroom. Sleep on your side or at a forty-five-degree angle. After that, I want you face down at least fifty percent of the
time until I see you again.”
I asked around for someone to rent or loan us a message table, but no luck.
We’ll just have to get through this the best we can.
Mike isn’t very comfortable here and spends
some of his time in the recliner at the forty-five-degree angle or laying on his
side. If it’s good enough at night, he reasons, it’ll be good enough through the
day for napping or watching TV.
Say a prayer for his comfort and healing,
if you would. Please and thank you.
Until next time...
Let’s call this one done.
Done!
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