Sunday, June 26, 2016


The One Thing I was (internally/majorly)whining about when I was in the hospital in September was this: I should be on my bike. Yesterday after work? 

Not far, not fast, completely inelegant but back. 


Something Weird with the Blood Lady. 

The hematologist. We get in there with my list of only two questions because we can't remember why we have to be there at all. We're starting to get really jammed up with all these requirements and appointments. I've seen 14 different doctors since August of last year. Maybe even more. 

I wasn't even sick. 

Get there, get handed my list of medications. No Xarelto. The -we think she's an LPN maybe? We had a fine chat about soul food with her. McArthurs-she said. I've never been. Priscillas. She'd never been. Anyway, she didn't know how to spell Xarelto to add it to then list so I went on my phone to find this photo because I wasn't sure about the spelling either. 

This is a goofing around picture I took so I could make golfing jokes. Not as part of my permanent record. So now she wants to know how many milligrams and I'm like...aren't you guys supposed to know that? This is what's happened at every single appointment. They hand you a list of your medications. 

Doctor comes in. Blah blah blah. Goes to look at my files on the computer and must have realized that this All Important Life or Death Blood Thinner info was Never Entered. She asks me what day I started taking it. I was clue. Nobody knew the dosage. And she said something about me bringing the bottle in with me. Like that I should have. Or something. 

This is the medicine that I get frowned at for skipping. And nobody knows anything.

Then I remember. 

She had told me-we were talking about the question of me needing some of that fine medic alert jewelry-the thinking is, if I fall and bonk my head-it's game over, right? But she told me to simply write down all my prescriptions and put that list in my wallet. 

So I had that. Imagine. 

And if you learn nothing from this blogodochio of foolishness. It would fill me with happiness if you did that too. 


So I get a box. It could not have come on a crappier day. Via our friends at Amazon. You know, I tried to be a part of that yearly subscription thing but it just freaks me out to have to pay to be able to pay. Like cable. Like costco. No can do. 

Not at this time, anyway.

So, in the box is a gift. Wrapped even. It's an ice cream cookbook. Yay! 

But what you don't know is that we had a stern discussion on this topic-it was me being stern-which is such a bummer when you have to do that to yourself. But it was like, ya know what? It would be CRAZY to spend money on an ice cream machine right now. We have so many things that need to get done.

But I HAD gone to the Goodwill and I HAD scored a-what I would call a brownie pan because that's what P really wanted for his birthday(actually he kept saying he wanted a 'water cake'. A cake made of water. Uh-huh.) and I HAD found a recipe for strawberry granita. Never heard of it. Never made it. Sounded interesting and not a lotta ingredients. Way up my alley. 

And then Amazon again. The next day. Delivering an ice cream scoop. And I'm thinking....Yayugghhhhhhhhh. 

Couple hours later. The downstairs bell rings. (Hey did you know I don't answer my door? True story.) I look out from the sun porch thing to see who it is and there's a green shirted guy racing away and a BIG BOX sitting on the stoop. 



So honored by everyone's kindnesses no matter what shape or form they arrived in-I smiled all day. 

So, make this.(Or have your kids make it.) And cut the sugar down to 1/3. 

You're welcome. 

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