cindy's world

I didn’t go to work yesterday. I thought if I slept in (which I did), and relaxed all day (which I did), my body would somehow heal itself (which it didn’t). I didn’t even blog yesterday, and the only blogger I was in contact with was Jordan, who’d called and left a voice mail message of a baby showing off its very healthy lungs. That’s the entire voice mail. I listened to it while sitting on the toilet after getting out of bed, and wondered whether Jordan was trying to entice me with babies, or annoy me with babies, or simply tell me she was at work playing with babies. All it really did was make me feel sorry for myself as my lungs were nowhere near the capacity the baby’s lungs were belting out. Jordan did call back that evening, and her nursy powers diagnosed me as having bronchitis now. Great.

I didn’t blog yesterday so as to give the spotlight to a very special birthday girl. And she didn’t blog, either! In fact, she hadn’t blogged since February 2, 2007. Can you guess who it is? Here are some more clues. She’s smart yet doofus-y, blonde yet witty, secure/stable yet entertaining/dramatic, young yet mom, petite yet bigger-than-life, cute yet don’t-piss-her-off-or-she’ll-yell-at-you-and-throw-your-tickets-right-out-the-window-of-a-moving-vehicle. Happy birthday, big sister! We love you!

P.S. I lied earlier. I didn’t blog cuz I was lazy.

I feel bad that the last 6 consecutive entries were about me whining over how sick I am, so I thought I’d put something that may be of more interest out there. An early lesson about walking in someone’s shoes. Or something like that.

In 5th grade, our school put on a Christmas production that involved a choir, some acting, some instrument playing. I think it was a musical or a play about a poor musician who, through divine inspiration, wrote some great Christmas music and made the king or Bishop or someone happy, thereby saving himself from starvation. All our chorus music was in Latin. Since I was sort of the student pianist prodigy (I’m not saying I deserved the reputation), I was pulled out of Honors Chorus for the play to do the keyboarding part of the production. My 5th grade teacher, Mrs. C, was doing much of the direction and musical arrangement.

The pieces were difficult, I just remember something about playing the part of a donkey on the keyboard which was put on an “oboe” setting. I struggled through many rehearsals, but I attended them all.

The day of the concert came. In class, we were working on some assignment quietly when I noticed a gnawing discomfort in my stomach. I ignored it for awhile, but finally decided to ask to see the nurse. I walked up to Mrs. C, who was sitting at a desk at the front of the class, writing something. I waited to be acknowledged. She didn’t look up. Finally, I said in a small voice, “Mrs. C?” She ignored me. I waited again. “Mrs. C?” Nothing. I just started talking. “I don’t feel too good. My stomach hurts. Can I go see the nurse?” She didn’t look up. “Mrs. C?”

Finally, she looked up at me angrily. I don’t remember what she started off saying because I didn’t understand her, and was only aware that the sharpness of her voice caused other students close to the front of the room to look up in surprise. I finally caught on when she was saying, “…and all of us have been practicing our parts for all of these weeks, and now you’re telling us you can’t do the part! Now that’s not very fair to me or to any of the other kids, now, is it?!” I took a step back. “It’s NOT fair, is it?” she insisted. I obediently shook my head and whispered, “No.” Mrs. C gave a huff of frustration and looked back down at her work on her desk, signaling me that this conversation was now over. I went back to my desk, bewildered.

I went home after school and told my mom my confusion. She didn’t know what I was talking about, and made me attend the concert that night anyway. I saw that Mrs. C was doing the keyboarding part, looking angry and tense. I took my place with the choir and sang the part I’d always sung before I was assigned the keyboarding part. I wondered if Mrs. C was wondering why I was there since she believed I’d said I wouldn’t be attending, but she never met my eyes.

Some time later, my mother told me a secret she’d either heard on the news or through her work with a County child abuse agency. “Remember when your teacher snapped at you and you didn’t know why? Don’t tell anyone in school because no one is supposed to know this, but her husband is a coach at the high school, and he was caught in his car doing things with a male student of his. It happened around the time she yelled at you. So she’s going through some problems at home, just don’t let it bother you and understand that people sometimes have their own difficulties that you may not be aware of.”

I still don’t like her.

I know it hasn’t even been a week since I stopped working out due to ailment, but I looked thicker and mushier in the mirror this morning! 🙁 Stupid virus.

Mr. W forbade me to come to work this morning. He said being up all night coughing means I’m not well enough to work and I should rest up at home. But I already missed one day this week, and I came to work yesterday, so missing another day just looks bad. Our present criminal trial only goes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as the defendant has to be at dialysis three times a week, and it looks deliberate if I only miss Monday and Wednesday. Plus, I missed a lunchtime meeting/training last Thursday when I was so sick I just laid in the jury room all lunch burning up with fever and forgot about the meeting, and it was a mandatory training so my supervisor has arranged for a makeup meeting/training at lunchtime today. I can’t miss the makeup! 🙁 Stupid virus.

I can’t wait till Mr. W figures out that I’m not at home recuping. I’m gonna get yelled at, on top of not getting a break all day cuz I have to go to a meeting through lunch. 🙁 Stupid virus.

After coughing through a phone conversation with Mr. W today at work, he said that I probably have tuberculosis, which is such a “romantic” ailment because all the great romance novels have the heroine dying of consumption. So earlier I IMed him:

me: I just want you to know…* cough cough *
…that if I don’t make it through this consumption… * hack choke *
…that I’m eternally grateful * hack hack *
…to have been loved by you * puking blood *
Mr. W: u need more jaeger
me: how…unromantic.
I’m gonna blog this.
Mr. W: now here is the romantic part
I am secretly a Vampire and I offer you eternal life and love with me….with just one bite
me: hmm.
I’ll get back to you on that.
but thanks!

I hadn’t been at work for 10 minutes when 3 people I passed through observed how bad I looked. In the elevator on the way up, a court reporter who didn’t know I’ve been sick asked me if I was okay. She said my eyes look glassy. When the elevator doors opened, my gym trainee took one look at me from the hallway and said, “Ooh. You’re not going to the gym today, are you?” I told her, “I don’t think I could take it. My lungs would explode.” “You should’ve stayed home another day,” she remarked. Then after I got to my desk, the relief clerk who was in my courtroom in my place yesterday came by to catch me up on what happened in trial yesterday. She said, “Oh. Are you okay? You sound horrible.” And just as I was writing this, the bailiff next door walked through and said, “What’s up, Cindy? You don’t look yourself.” Well, if it’s THAT obvious, maybe I should go home early.

I’m being slightly taken advantage of at work, I think. This girl came by my courtroom and said that she wanted to start going to the gym, and that my gym trainee told her we go at lunchtime and invited her along. That’s fine, since we all invite everyone along that wants to go and try to encourage people to help themselves. The problem is, this girl continued to ask me to train her. She kind of put it on the footing that implied that my gym trainee had made her the offer, but I don’t know if she really did or just simply told her she should come with. Cuz I don’t want to take on a trainee who doesn’t know what she’s doing at the gym. For one, she’s not a friend of mine, I don’t owe her a thing. Second, it’s a liability if she hurts herself or doesn’t listen to me and does something wrong. Third, to train someone from scratch means that I’m not going to be able to work out myself. That sucks. I was willing to do that for my gym trainee way back then because she helped me out a lot (and still does) with family law crap, and she was motivated beyond belief (and still is) to change her lifestyle as she had a real health issue with her weight. And she’s someone cool I hang out with, too. This girl is just going to be purely me sacrificing my own workouts when I need to help myself to stay in shape.

Do I sound selfish? Oh well, I’m not going to the gym for another few days, anyway. I’m too sick today and I have a lunchtime meeting tomorrow.

Today… I am a trooper no more. Today… I had more fun than you as I called in sick to work, then slept in till 11a. After my shower, I walked to the living room and realized that Mr. W had left his lunch behind. So I took it to him at work, then bought a few things at the store, and I’ve been home since. I vacuumed, cleaned up the cat area, have laundry going, sucked up some apple cider flavored Theraflu. I have taken more drugs this past week than I have collectively in my life. Nyquil, Robitussin DM, Theraflu, Tylenol, cough drops. I’m still coughing and my lungs feel week, but I’m in high spirits from the day’s productivity and other little things. I think I’ll curl up with Eragon the rest of the night, and I’m even tempted to order a pizza. If only sickness-induced weight loss were more permanent, I’d have less than 10 lbs to go till I reach my goal weight.

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.