Exhausted

 

          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!