Big, Giant Leaps for Andrew-kind...

Yesterday was a big momentous day for my rehabilitation.  I drove myself to get my injection and didn't need any help.  Normally, Tim, my father's employee, would pick me up and take me.   Tim would wait in the waiting room and then make sure I got another appointment. 

"Come here," my father asked me as I was standing in his pharmacy.

Dad brought me over to Tim's little cubicle.

"He did it himself," dad told Tim excitedly.  "He got his shot without help."

I started to grow embarrassed and dad caught on to this.

"Attaboy!" Tim said with a kind smile on his face.  "I actually like getting out of this store to take you."

*****

Mom started the "he's out of gas" bullshit last night.  My mother can be so obsessive compulsive. 

"She's afraid she is going to have to do it," dad told me as we met at Fat Albert's to fill of my car.

"She called me five freaking times on the phone tonight," I told dad.

"That's your mother," dad said laughing.

"Mom sure can make life complicated, but we would do without if it wasn't for her help."

Where were you?

I was sitting over at mom's and dad's last night when a special on Walter Kronkite and the death of President Kennedy came on the television. 

"Where were you when that happened?" I asked mom and dad.

"High School," mom said. "We were changing classes."

"I was walking out to my car in the High School parking lot," dad replied. "This kid named Richard walked by me and said, 'Glad that nigger lovin' son of a bitch is dead.'"

That last statement got us on the subject of segregation.

"The black lady that worked for us back then," dad replied.  "Said it would be about as north as Kentucky before you would start seeing integrated bathrooms while traveling."

It is hard for me to fathom all this.  Schools were integrated when I went through.  For mom and dad, they were segregated.  It is hard to believe that we would separate people due to the melanin content of their skin.

*****

I'm cleaning house today.  Not my most favorite chore.  I've cleaned my bathroom and mopped my kitchen floor.  I just turned on the air conditioning so the floors will dry quicker.  Maggie freaks out with all of this going on and is sitting outside in the heat of the afternoon.  Bless her.  Someone must have abused her before I got her as a puppy. 

What's that smell?

"What's that smell?" I asked Helen walking into the kitchen yesterday. 

"Deep fried chicken livers," Helen replied. "Your mother requested them."

"Well, that's really going to help with the diet," I thought.

Chicken livers are an acquired taste.   I used to love them, but have lost the taste for them over the years.  Maggie goes nuts for them.

I didn't say anything to mom about this diet anomaly as I quietly ate my baked chicken.  She happily ate her supper even bragging on Helen.     

Over Hill and Dale...

I occasionally have these fits of depression.  "Tell your psychiatrist," dad keeps telling me.  "You have struggled with this for years - ever since you were a small child."  By the time an appointment rolls around, I feel better so mums the word.  I personally don't want to be put on any more medications.  I equally hate experiencing these depressive fits so it's a Catch-22. 

My dear little darling dog is playing hooky today.  She's stretched out on the bed watching The Weather Channel.  Normally, she would be spending her time watching and guarding for the countless pedestrians that walk the road in front of my house.  I wish I was like her and could just sleep on a whim. I will occasionally walk into the room, sit down, pet Maggie, and see what the weather is doing.  She can really put on a lackadaisical show as she stretches her body fully and looks content.

Helen's been over here cooking today.  We are still trying to help mom with her diet.  It is going to be another baked chicken day, but Helen is going to spice them up with some barbecue sauce.  The smells coming from kitchen are currently heavenly. 

I am super relieved I don't have to have surgery.  I will still have to go twice a week for rehabilitation, though.  Mom went today to buy me a watch so I will know what time to be at the hospital.  "She did that so she won't have to take you," dad said, laughing.    

Exit Stage Left...

I almost decided not to write anymore.  It is not as if I've been writing nothing but mental fluff for months now anyway.

I went to see the neurosurgeon one last time yesterday.  Dad and and I drove down to Columbus, Georgia.

"I've decided you don't need surgery," the surgeon said. "You need rehabilitation." 

Dad and I both looked at each other and grinned.  The exercises the surgeon gave me a few weeks ago were working.   I've regained some movement in my once lead-like foot. 

*******

Helen cooked her best ever meal last Friday.  I have been bragging on her ever since.  Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, English peas, biscuits, and fruit salad.  I thought I was in culinary heaven. 

This morning Helen was changing all the linens in mom's and dad's house.  Mom and the cats had been relegated to dad's room temporarily. Mom was snoring softly so I just quietly got my diet cokes and left.    

In Da 'Hood...

"Jesus Christ," I heard my father mumble when my psychiatrist prescribed me 75 Klonopin for one month today.  Klonopin is very similar to Valium.

"He used to wouldn't prescribe you 20 a month and now this," Dad continued as we walked out to his car.  "I don't get the man."

Of course, I was perfectly happy to have more of the only pills that seem to stop an anxiety attack when they start.

"At least we won't run out," I said taking a positive turn on events. 

Tomorrow, Dad and I head for Columbus, Georgia to talk to the neurosurgeon and finalize any details for my surgery.  Dad is worried all of this doctor shit and appointment crap is going to send me over the edge. 

"If you let her," my father said on the drive home. "Your mother can got your life appointed and anointed."

Hold Your Horses...

Nothing is more fun than taking Maggie's leash and harness out of the closet.  She just about can't contain her self she gets so excited.

I stopped and talked my elderly neighbor Ed who lives down the street.  He has a little Boston Terrier named Dixie.  Ed is suffering from bouts of dementia.  He has to go in the hospital for a few days and asked if I would keep Dixie.  I was elated to be chosen to do that. Maggie is going to have a field day.  She will probably drive poor Dixie nuts.