I have found myself sitting at too many hospital bedsides recently. During Christmas week alone, both of my beautiful daughters had urgent medical problems.  They both spent time in the hospital and so, therefore, did I .   My brother was hospitalized shortly thereafter in agonizing pain following knee surgery, and I sat beside his bed, again feeling small and afraid hoping my presence offered some comfort.

All of these loved ones of mine are healthy for the moment. 

How many roller-coaster rides can a heart stand when someone near and dear to you experiences health problems?  Who knows? You slide into your seat, secure the harness and ride—and you know YOU are not driving this train. You have signed up for a lifetime season ticket and you ride, wondering if the bend up ahead is going to be followed by a drop-off that takes you straight down without you knowing what’s waiting at the bottom.

Let me say right now that we all get a little crazy when we’re scared, some more than others.  Let me also say I have discovered during the few times a medical condition has resulted in a visit to the hospital for Cecilia, she shows off her talent to incite panic in those around her which I freely admit she inherited from me. When it happens, it’s “STAT.”

She is so well-spoken and credible that it’s extremely difficult to tell whether what she is saying is accurate or FULL-BLOWN PANIC disguised as normal.  Unnerving doesn’t begin to describe what you feel when they give her an injection to calm  her down and the second that door closes behind them, she seems to go “boing!” from reclining to sitting and says, “SOMETHING….IS…..NOT…..RIGHT.”  “COME HERE…….FEEL MY HEART…IT’S NOT BEATING RIGHT….CAN YOU FEEL IT?”   Neither is mine at this point.  Then, she becomes so pale I get up to seek immediate help because she is the one in 2 million who is now facing imminent death due to an allergic reaction to the drug given to relax her , and I must find the person who can save her. I also want to find that nurse and ask for something to knock me out.  All the while I speak to her in a tone that is quite obviously a fake calm.  Both daughters say they become MORE frightened when I do it because they recognize I am scared out of my mind when they hear me speaking…..very…..slowly….and…..enunciating….carefully while doing a really bad acting job of pretending to be calm.

Do not think for one minute that these Florence Nightingale moments stop at the humans in our family.  The daughter I have just described has a four-legged, furry “child” named Sophie.  Sophie DeAngelis, Yorkie-Poo, weighs in at a hefty 8 lbs., but do not be deceived. She has teeth like a Barracuda and the drive to finish off her inanimate prey.  She loved her chew toy, Dru Barkymore, so much that when she was found, Dru Barkymore looked more like E.T., and I feel sure she wanted to phone home. 

This precious puppy has obviously inherited a flair for drama and scaring us to death as this string of texts from Cecilia shows: 

From: CC cell

Feb. 22, 7:45 a.m.

Sophie is throwing up, and she hasn’t eaten anything for 2 days.  I’m really worried.  She ate a tennis ball.  I thought she was just chewing on it and then I couldn’t find the part that was missing.

Exhibit A (think Jaws....Da-dum....Da-dum.....dum dum dum dum dum dum dum)

From: CC cell

Feb 22, 3:31 pm

We’re at the doctor’s office.  They r giving her an xray now. she has been throwing up since 9 last nite, not eating or drinking.

From:  CC cell

Feb 22, 3:37 pm

she ate a full branch yesterday on the beach. they said it felt like something was obstructing her abdomen.

(Ed. Note:  a full branch?  Okaaaay, then maybe she is not just a cross between Yorkshire Terrier and Poodle, but has a little Boa Constrictor mixed in that we didn’t know about.)

From:  CC cell

Feb 22,  3:49 pm

big foreign object. they said it looks like full sock or big chunks of tennis ball. surgery in the morning.

[Ed. note: see Exhibit A.]

From:  CC cell

Feb 23, 10:18 am

GREAT NEWS NO SURGERY I WILL CALL U IN A LITTLE WHILE. THEY SAID SHE IS ONE TOUGH DOGGIE. I AM GETTING THEM TO GIVE ME THE XRAYS SO U CAN SEE 4 YOURSELF. MUFFIN HER GUARDIAN ANGEL WAS WATCHING OVER HER

Ferocious Sophie, Yorkie-BOA-Poo (with handlers Cecilia & Matthew)

Sophie survived and promptly began living her best doggie life again:

Sophie Livin La Vida Loca. All that's missing is a Boa--the hot pink one that should be flapping outside the car window.....

Little did I know at the crack of dawn last Thursday that by midnight Valerie, Brittain, and I would be arriving in Jacksonville Beach to see Aunt CC.  Valerie called me at work 30 minutes before quitting time. She said she and Brittain—on the spur-of-the-moment–wanted to go see Cecilia since Uncle Matthew was out of town, and they wanted me to come along.  I know I’m in demand because I am always a barrel of laughs, but I’m also a good backseat helper with Great Brittain.  Amidst my protests, Valerie uttered, “Make it happen,” a scary command if I do say so myself.  So I did.  Make it happen. We arrived at Cecilia’s Jax Beach condo at the stroke of midnight before our carriage turned into a pumpkin.

Twenty good blog topics later, it was Sunday morning and time to return to Georgia.  We had spent the weekend living life to the fullest in our tame sort of way.  Although I had not wanted to be dragged out of my routine, once I was out, I wanted to milk it to the bitter end.  And that’s where the problems began.

I don’t believe the fancy footwork of Irish River Dancers had anything on us that last day.  Our feet moved quickly and in many directions.  When we woke up on Sunday, the weather was gorgeous.  We decided to hit the beach one last time. But! Before we did that, Valerie talked Cecilia into doing her hour-long exercise video with her. Discipline is important.

We then headed to the beach.  After we played in the sand, after we belly-laughed a lot, and after I drew many stares practicing the hula-hoop, we decided to head back.

I have no idea why people stared.  Look at the grace in that hula stance. 

However, the trip doesn’t end here.  Life is not complete without some shopping. And the shopping should have some pain associated with it to balance the giddiness of the moment. Men relive great moments in sports; women relive great moments in shopping.            

Valerie set out to shop for—what else?—some clothes.  And I wanted to go to the great antique shops for—what else?—anything I might need that I didn’t know I needed.  Aunt CC and I took Brittain with us.  I use “us” loosely because Cecilia selflessly found a great bench, used the power of a lollipop to keep Brittain happy, and I started an Olympic-worthy sprint to hit the entire row of shops. 

Wouldn’t you know it? I found something I couldn’t live without.  Something that was right up my alley.  Fake shutters.  Being a frequent watcher of HGTV, I recognized my shutters were just canvas on a frame painted in the style known as  trompe l’oeil where objects look three-dimensional. When pronounced, it sounds roughly something  like Trump Louie. (Since I had two shutters, I suppose that would be Louie Louie?)  I wanted them because this is what I say: why have real shutters when you can have fake?

Like every good shopper, I have war stories to tell.  I have endured arms nearly torn from their sockets from heavy shopping bags and feet with such pain I could  barely shuffle back to my car.  Although no injuries had occurred yet, I experienced brief mental anguish and fear as my eyes quickly scanned the room to make sure the enemy did not make a sudden move toward my fake shutters.  They weren’t actually mine yet, per se, since I didn’t know the price.

I will tell you now that it was meant to be.  I had lost and found the same $20 bill twice during this brief weekend trip, and that twenty was in the found stage at that moment.  One of my Louies had a small damaged spot.   When I asked about the price, I expected to hear something over $100—and that was taking into consideration slight damage to one.  But, instead, I heard, “Twenty bucks”!  Sold to the lady with that crazy look in her eyes!

              Louie           Louie 

Thinking outside the box or rather inside the box in this case came next.  Being an eternal optimist–and anyone who knows me will say I am (not)–I had not been concerned with the logistics of my lovely French purchase being loaded into Valerie’s SUV.  We had loaded our bags, the big basket of toys, computers, the big ball, and the two hula hoops before leaving for our shopping trip.  Since we were traveling with a 2-year-old, there was a car seat anchored on the rear passenger side.

Option #1 would allow us to push the 6-feet tall Trump Louie Louie shutters from the back toward the front middle.  They would perch on the back seat beside Brittain’s car seat and end directly in front of the radio allowing no elbow room, literally, for the driver.  And Mimi and Brittain would be separated in the back seat by the twin Louies.

Option#2 -  Hey, I thought it was a great idea.  With the tall headrests in this vehicle, I proposed we push the works of art straight into the back on the right side with them resting atop Brittain’s headrest and the front passenger headrest.  There were no nails involved, the headrests were way above Brittain’s head, and she would have liked pretending she was under a tent. My great idea was shot down.  Imagine that.

Option #3 was chosen – Valerie let down one-half of the rear seat.  The  fake shutters (which were very real during this process) came in the back left side and stopped on the middle console.  Mimi had to move to the front seat where I unfortunately could see Valerie’s frequent disapproving glares in my direction.  We knew Brittain was back there somewhere. 

Adding to the pain of the distorted positions we were in, we had to make the dreaded bathroom stop.  We tried having ESP as we guessed which fast food place or gas station did NOT have toilets with the electronic flush sensor.  The horrendous noise associated with going to the potty terrifies the child and why wouldn’t it?  If I were that small, I, too, would be afraid of being unable to hold on tight enough to prevent being sucked right down that hole, and I wouldn’t be able to produce a drop of urine either. 

So, Valerie and I concocted A Plan.  We knew it must be carried out with military precision.  We didn’t want to have to stop again as soon as we got back on the road.

My assignment was to cover up the electronic sensor with my hand so all the movement of three people in one stall wouldn’t trigger flushing while Valerie coaxed Brittain onto the toilet against her will.  It wasn’t happening.  It wasn’t happening, that is, until chocolate was promised.  When Valerie then escorted Brittain to the sinks for handwashing, my mission was to keep the toilet quiet until they made their way outside the bathroom.

I also had to use this bathroom opportunity.  As God is my witness (and I pray there were no other witnesses watching via a hidden camera like I saw on 20/20), I managed to keep my hand over the electronic sensor behind me, pull the appropriate clothing down with the other hand, hover in mid-air over the toilet seat, then coax some toilet paper out of one of those holders that shreds, breaks, slices and dices the toilet paper.  Still keeping the potential tsunami toilet water at bay, I was able to use my one free arm and hand once again to pull all clothing back into place. I was quite impressed with this trick although it really isn’t something you can put on your resume. Besides, I am real sure it wouldn’t be a pleasant thing to form a mental image of the entire stall experience.   A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

At 2200 hours, Brittain and Valerie exited the restroom, and I was FINALLY able to move my hand from the electronic toilet sensor so that it could flush.

We made our way out to the Wendy’s counter where I was sure to claim my Senior discount, much deserved.  At this point in the night, I looked like the hula hoop picture (see photo above) without the hoop.