Ho Ho Ho Hum!
Christmas is over and now I get to show my birth control pill and domperidone induced grinchiness.
It was a low-key Christmas at Chez Teendoc. Seems like I spent the majority of the time cooking. First, Cooking Light’s Baked Pasta with Fontina and Mascarpone followed by my favorite rum balls for tree trimming on Saturday. On Sunday, the overnight marinated Cooking Light Mexican Sausage and Black Bean Chili. AdoringHusband also contributed a huge pot of homemade chicken soup. I also made Emeril’s homemade eggnog, that surprisingly was wonderfully good. I was like, gee, is this what eggnog is supposed to taste like? (Of course it contained lovely amounts of bourbon and brandy.) For Christmas Day there was Roasted Robin Hood Chicken (marinated overnight in a rub of garlic, rosemary, sea salt and parsley), cornbread dressing, garlic and basil steamed broccoli and the most troublesome part of the meal, Gingerbread with Spiced Creme Anglaise.
The reason the dessert was troublesome was that despite my having gone to the grocery store 3 times on Christmas Eve, guess who discovered midway through the Eagles rout of the Cowboys that she had almost no ground ginger?! Emergency substitution for the ginger in gingerbread? I don’t think so. Grocery stores all closed. Convenience stores unlikely to have ground ginger…cinnamon maybe, but not ginger. So what does our heroine do? Wraps herself in her raincoat and trudges soggily through her neighborhood attempting to find someone a) home and b) in possession of ground ginger. Of course my lovely neighbors invite me in while they peruse their spice racks. So here is the dripping wet dreadlocked woman stomping into people’s houses on Christmas at dinnertime and (gasp) during the Eagles game!
Fortunately, like the Eagles, I achieved victory and ran back home clutching my little bottle of McCormick’s ground ginger. Then I had more eggnog and continued with my toaster oven cookfest. (No, the kitchen is still not done, but that is the subject of another post.)
My gifts were, in a word, interesting. My brother went for the frequent traveler angle and got me a cool wheeled carry on toiletry case. My sister gave me a framed New Yorker cartoon about Cat Kung Fu. Auntie M and the girls, a Nike tracksuit, a book and CD from my Amazon wish list, and cash. My dear husband, who I knew didn’t have much money this year, has the honor of having found me a gift at Walgreens. It is useful, but I was tripping about Walgreens. What does Emily Post say about husbands’ giving gifts from Walgreens? (Any guesses of what it might be?)
But the most interesting of my gifts came from my stepfather. Let me preface this by saying that in all the years that he and Mom were married, I don’t think she ever wore/used any gift he ever got her for Christmas. It’s like he has a knack for finding something that makes you say, hmmmm. His gifts were never as bad as Auntie M’s ex-husband who one year got me a thighmaster (yes, you read that correctly) and the next year two teddies, no, not the bears…I’m talking about the things you wear if you were doing something like having sex with him, which I wasn’t, and which made the gift even creepier than the ridiculous thighmaster.
At first blush you may be saying to yourself, why’s she trippin’? It’s just a t-shirt. And the message says something about being a jewel. What’s wrong with that? I would direct you to look at the width of said t-shirt. Note how it takes up almost the entire arm of my sofa? Well that’s because of something you can’t see here: the tag. You see, my dear dad bought me a t-shirt in size 3XL! Not XL, not 1XL (if this is, in fact, something different from XL), and not 2XL. Yes the shirt was a size 3XL, a mere 4 sizes bigger than the L that I wear.
My eating disordered self went into overdrive. Is this how he sees me, I asked myself? Am I that fat in his eyes? The shirt seemed to mock all the hard work (and loose clothing) that I had achieved with Luda. In fact. I was so undone by the shirt that I showed it to both Luda and my shrink. Luda’s words were the most incisive. “What did he get you that size for? Tell him to get you one in your actual size.” Funny, in my tizzy over the shirt, that option never seemed to occur to me. Leave it to Luda to get the ED demon out of my head and move on to the practical. And then she escorted me downstairs and tortured me with one of Mason’s presents from me, the BOSU trainer. Did I mention that I have absolutely no balance?
Sadly, we also experienced a lot of kitty strife these past few days as well. In my last post, I mentioned that we had adopted a kitten in our clearly crack-addled dementia. Holly who was quickly renamed Sarima was a cute little bundle of energy.
The problem, as it became evident after a few days, was that we were out of our natural freaking minds. Sarima, or Peanut as we generally referred to her, was a kitten…an energetic, needy, loony, kitty baby. Here we were preparing to adopt a newborn infant, and we adopt a kitten in addition to our two grown kitty babies? And this in a household where we only remember to do laundry when the sheets are so gross that we have traction trying to get out of the bed? We sadly came to the conclusion that this was not the right time in our lives to adopt a kitten. With heavy heart, and feeling like utter crap, we returned Sarima to the shelter folk at Petsmart on Saturday. The woman promised that she would find her a home and told me not to beat myself up so much. Sometimes we make decisions with our hearts that are not in line with our heads. I still felt so bad.
Then on Sunday, my baby Willow started to retch and look really punky. She refused food and even stopped drinking water. On Monday night I got a syringe and shot 1 cc of water at a time into her throat. She looked utterly miserable. We also noticed that Aurora had disappeared in the house. Disappearing is often a sign of illness in a cat. When she was finally located (since Rory has the unique ability to change her molecular structure so that she can hide within solid objects), she looked better than Willow but she also seemed punky and pukey. What illness had stricken our girls? Then we remembered Sarima’s cute kitten sneezes. Looks like our little spate of bad judgment brought with her some bug of some sort that infected both of our girls.
We got Willow to the vet yesterday and found that she was febrile, dehydrated and had both an upper respiratory process and a GI process. She looked bad enough that they had to keep her overnight for antibiotics and fluids. AdoringHusband and I were wrecks. Today, however, she is doing much better. I brought her home and she is back to her loving self. We just have to continue her 10 days of antibiotics. Rory, I am happy to report, has come out of her hiding and is eating and drinking a little better today as well.
And if all this wasn’t enough, I just found out that I’m being sued for malpractice on an almost 2 year old case. It was a tragedy. An ostensibly healthy 13 year old died within 24 hours of being admitted to the hospital. It was one of those situations that was completely asymptomatic and undiagnosable, short of one’s being psychic. I agonized over this young man’s death for ages afterwards. Yet everyone who reviewed the case, including the coroner, felt that there was nothing missed, and no warning sign overlooked. It was a tragedy, pure and simple, and it devastated his parents. I knew that the lawsuit was inevitable (the parents had secured a lawyer by the time I called them with the autopsy findings) but still it is hard to go back through the armchair quarterbacking and blame game that is part of a malpractice case. To the lawyers it is sport. To the parents, it is about needing to find someone to blame. And to the doctor who did everything she could, it is a raking over the coals.