cindy's world

I had 2 sets of plans in place for yesterday. The first was lunch with my childhood friend Lily and her hubbie Arnold, both of whom I hadn’t seen since their wedding in ’05. It just seemed like every time we tried to make plans for the past year they’ve been in Southern California, either my dad was in the hospital, or we were in San Simeon, or my dad was in the hospital again. So I was not about to cancel that. The second was dinner with my parents and maternal grandma for grandma’s birthday. It was already postponed from last week from my dad being in the hospital. I also was not going to postpone that again. So I didn’t tell any of them I was sick. Since I’d lost my voice yesterday, I text-messaged Lily to tell her we were on the way.

I broke the news to Lily and Arnold when they tried to hug me with “I wouldn’t hug me! I don’t know what I have!” The two doctors paused and shrank away from me. I felt like a leper, but they were so good about it the rest of the time through dim sum. I requested a spare pair of chopsticks to use as “community chopsticks” so I wouldn’t infect the food with the pair that I was using to feed myself, and Lily and Arnold shared a second pair of “community chopsticks.” After dim sum the four of us went back to Lily’s parents’ house in the affluent gated area of Diamond Bar, and Arnold set up the billiard table in the living room. “Do you shoot pool?” I asked Mr. W. He said, “A little. We played sometimes in the Marine Corps.” Arnold and Lily were apparently really good. Mr. W accepted the invitation to play against Arnold for a round, as Lily and I flipped through her professionally created wedding and engagement photo albums. It wasn’t long before we heard Arnold say, “I think [Mr. W] is hustling me.” We soon theorized through a brief period of observation that instead of protecting the country, Mr. W’s battalion had invested much time in goofing off.

After leaving Lily & Arnold, Mr. W and I met up with my parents at their house nearby. I was exhausted from being up most of the night before due to the tremendous throat pains. My hopes of sneaking a few z’s at my parents’ were quickly shattered as the construction activity of massive home remodeling going on indoors and outdoors of their house drove me and Mr. W back to my own house. There, Mr. W caught the pregame reports of the Superbowl on TV as I knocked out upstairs in bed. My mom called to check up on us, and then we were off to meet them for dinner.

Dinner was in a Chinese hot pot restaurant, but my grandma being the picky eater, wanted to order separate cooked dishes in lieu of hot pot (but insisted on doing so at a hot pot restaurant, which she chose). Oh well, it’s her birthday, what she says goes. The food was delicious, except when it came to the last dish, which is a delicacy — a cross-section of tender white fish simmering over tofu, with stir-fried ground soy beans covering the top of the plate. The fish is served on a metal tray set over contained flames so that it’s still cooking as it sits on your table. I took one bite and it felt like someone shoved sandpaper down my already-raw throat, rubbed it up and down my throat, and then sprayed chili-oil covered asbestos on the offended area. I gagged and choked and hacked so hard my inner ears stung, and sucked down 2 cups of tea to soothe my pissed off throat. I think it was largely due to that episode that my parents tried to take the bill from me when it came, cuz they felt bad I didn’t eat much (I ate till I was full). I was so offended, however, that they ended up giving the bill back to me. I have no idea what I looked like as I was surprised at my parents’ reaction. I just know that when they took the bill, I said hoarsely in the little voice I had that they shouldn’t do that because we’d already agreed that I was paying and they already gave my grandma a bday present and this was supposed to be MY bday present to her, and suddenly, they froze looking at me, said quietly to each other, “Daughter’s really mad!” and gave the bill tray back. It was under $100, anyway, not bad for 5 people.

I got my voice back this morning (altho a bit weak), but I am coughing more. The throat pain is more bearable, and the fever and body pains are pretty much gone. So my body, not to be outdone by a virus, saw to it that I got my period today. “She’s sick and in pain and hasn’t slept well in days, so let’s make her bleed, too!” *sigh*

My coworker Andy once told me that “vent” is the actual term for a parakeet’s butthole. Which is where I’ve been the last few days.

We’ve finally, after 3 days of trying, picked our jury panel yesterday: 12 jurors and 3 alternates. While in the selection process, they actually excused another juror because she was coughing and so they asked her whether she had medical attention yet and whether she’s able to concentrate through the trial given her symptoms. She actually burst out in tears and sobbed something about how she’s sick and her throat’s sore and she’s coughing so she hadn’t slept more than 3 hours a night in the past two nights. So they let her go.

After the jurors were all out of the courtroom on a break, the defense attorney said, “Your honor, I didn’t sleep much last nite, either, may I be excused?” and the judge laughed. My sentiments exactly! I hadn’t slept well since Wednesday night, I doubt I even got 3 hours of collective sleep a night, my throat hurts like a mother (which is much of what keeps me up), I’m at work with fever, skin aches and muscle pains, my joints hurt, the jurors can actually hear me and my voice deteriorate through the day as I call out juror IDs to seat them in the jury box for interview, and I literally left the courtroom every 5 minutes to cough in the back hallway or blow my nose (so as not to disrupt the court reporter), so every time I came back in and they did something out of my presence, I gotta play catch-up. And my bailiff still won’t pick up the phone and he makes me get the phone and walk out into the hall to talk to the jurors (like excuse a particular juror or two when the judge/attys agree) when all other normal bailiffs do all of that.

Okay, I think I’m done bitching. No wait, here’s comes another one. MY THROAT KILLS!!! AARRRGGHHH!!!

At Grace’s funeral, her husband Justin showed me a notebook she’d kept at her bedside toward the end of her life. The first few pages lists things she’d still like to do, places she’d still like to see. I have a feeling she had an even bigger list before with a ton of stuff crossed off, like the Roman Baths and Stonehenge (photos of those vacations were everywhere at her funeral, in her scrapbooks that her parents laid out for the guests to peruse). Then, a few more pages into the little notebook, she had a section called “To My Girlfriends.” Writing with the great wisdom of one who has walked through fire and hell barefoot to arrive on enlightenment, she had a list of quotes and things she wanted us to remember. Things like “No man is worth your tears. And the one who is, won’t make you cry.”

I have some girlfriends going through relationship hell right now. To them, I offer what I have learned from my personal walk through hell…

When a man breaks up with you or makes the relationship so unbearable that you have to end it, no matter how much you hurt, realize that if he wavers that easily (regarding where he stands in your relationship or how important you are in his life), you’d be in a very insecure relationship and in the long term it’s better for you to find someone more emotionally stable, and ready to be with you. I know it hurts, but honestly, every man who leaves you is a blessing in disguise. Every time a man walks, he resolves the problem of a bad relationship. I swear to you, even tho it may not feel like it now, that an empty house is better than a house with bad tenants. If he stayed, the problems and heartaches will continue to tear at you. When he goes, it’ll take a little bit of time to feel okay again, but after that your life will be 1000 times better because a big problem has resolved itself in your life, a poisonous relationship or person (I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but a person can be a good friend, a good person with a good heart, but that doesn’t mean a generally “good” person isn’t toxic to YOU) has left and will soon stop contaminating your wellness.

And you still have your girlfriends. 🙂

I went to Mr. W’s yesterday after work to be pampered. He fed me (yes, literally, like I were a small child) a tablespoon of Robitussin DM, and handed me 2 Tylenols for the fever with some water. The first Tylenol stung like hell on the way down. I was going to make some chicken broth rice, but he heated me up some Campbell’s chicken soup. Before bed, he pointed to a bottle of Nyquil and suddenly, I was taken back to age 6…
~
My mom was sick and someone had recommended Nyquil to her. She took the recommended adult dosage (I should note here that she was 105 lbs), and my parents and I sat in the living room that evening, watching TV. My mom kept complaining about how her stomach was burning from the Nyquil, then finally, she said, “I feel horrible! It’s like someone has lit a fire underneath my stomach! I’m going to go lie down.” She got up, walked around us toward their bedroom. Suddenly from behind me, I heard a thump. I looked over the back of the sofa to see that my mom had collapsed, unconscious. I panicked. “Mama died! Waaaah!!!” I cried. My dad hurried to her side, picked her up and put her to bed. I never touched Nyquil for that reason.
~
Last nite, as I eyed the bottle, the promise of a drug-induced sleep was too tempting. I pulled the measuring cup off the top of the Nyquil cap, read the back of the bottle which advised me to take 2 tablespoons of the stuff, looked at the lines drawn on the side of the measuring cup, and poured to the line that said “2”. The flavor wasn’t too lethal — it tasted of cherries, if cherries committed suicide by jumping into vats of tar. I settled into bed with the book Eragon, waiting for drowsiness to overtake me.

60 pages later, with a nose stuffed so tightly that I couldn’t even swallow the pools of saliva that form from having to breathe out of my mouth, I gave up and turned off the light. I laid on my side, hoping to relieve some pressure from the nostril on top, which always worked in my childhood. Thankfully, the top nostril cleared up and I was able to drift into a fitful sleep.

This morning, in the light of day, I again took 2 Tylenols and some Robitussin DM, since that had worked more effectively than the Nyquil yesterday. In taking Robitussin, I read the back of the bottle and ascertained that the proper dosage is 2 teaspoons. I looked around, popped the measuring cup off the Nyquil to take the Robitussin, and looked at the cup. Lines 1 and 2 were labeled TSP (teaspoon), not TBSP (tablespoon)! The medicine cup was supposed to be for the Robitussin, NOT the Nyquil, and because it was on the wrong medicine bottle, I ended up taking only one-third of the recommended dosage of Nyquil! No wonder it didn’t do a thing for me!

I’m still at work today. Everyone’s sick and we’re extremely short on employees. I didn’t want to leave in the middle of jury selection in the complicated trial we’re in right now. But I couldn’t hide my disgruntlement (disgruntledness?) when the attorneys agreed to excuse an Asian male juror because he complained that he’s sick and has a painful scratchy throat, a cough, isn’t sure if he could talk, and HAD to go see the doctor immediately. I said I could put that juror’s symptoms to shame. My judge said, “I was going to make a joke about telling you to stop getting so close to our jurors when you go out there to talk to them.”

Wimps.

My mom forwarded me the Psychopath Test this morning, which I already have on the sidebar here. Her personal note on the forward was, “I GOT IT WRONG!” Which is good, cuz it means she doesn’t think like a psychopath. I wrote back to her:

Dear Mom,
I am a psychopath. Sorry you gave birth to someone who will be destructive
to society.
Love, Cindy

I was preparing to write a response placating her and telling her I didn’t really think like a psychopath and that I was kidding because I’d seen the email before, when I got this response from her:

DEAR DAUGHTER- MY DEAR PSYCHOPATH,

SINCE YOU ARE GOING TO TREAT US FOR GRANDMOM’S BIRTHDAY ON SATURDAY, WOULD YOU CALL GRANDMOM UP TO LET HER KNOW? SHE WAS SO HAPPY YOU CALLED HER TO WISH HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAST WEEK!

Hey!! I wrote back:

You seem very unconcerned that I’m a psychopath. It’s kind of you to trust me with your mother. She wants to go to Wu Gee Bistro on Azusa. Saturday night is okay with her, we’ll figure out the time later.

I seem to have somehow snorted mustard gas sometime yesterday. I had a tickle in my throat in the day which led to the occasional cough, then as the evening wore on the coughs increased in frequency and severity, and by night, it felt like my lungs were coated with something that prevented air from filling all the way.

This morning, I woke up with raw throat and sinuses. The intake of air hitting my throat brought on pain with each breath. As I laid there, I realized that any part of my body that had any sensation — of the comforter brushing my ankle and shoulder, the pillow against my cheek, a knot of sheets clasped in my hands, my sleeve against my wrists — was in oversensitivity hell. Then I became aware of deeper aches. My bladder hurt from the pressure of being full, my uterus and boobs hurt from PMS, and my lungs hurt. I made the mistake of inhaling a little too deeply. A torrent of hollow coughs tore through my body. It really feels like I should have a fever with all the body aches and pains, but I don’t seem to. I’d go to the doctor, but I can’t imagine what the doctor would do for me except charge $25 for an aspirin.

So I came to work. And I sound horrible. My skin hurts. *whimper*