Twice a Day for Ten Days

I'm writing this column wearing latex gloves covered in hand sanitizer because I'm a first-time mom and nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.    

Twice a Day for Ten Days:

I'd love to tell you those were doctors' orders for something far more exciting, but no. 

In our house if it ends in "cillin" or has both an "x" and a "y" in the name, is liquid and isn't part of the alphabet song, you can bet we've been prescribed it in the last three weeks. 

Symptoms:
(Two) Double ear infections. 
5 teeth. 
Respiratory virus. 
Eyes matted so badly that we ran Caroline's tiny hands along the cows so that she knew she was home without seeing proof. 
Life in general. 

BUT WE ARE OF RESILIENT STOCK!!

When I was 13 my Dad broke his arm after a suspense lever came loose on a loading chute. He went about his business for two days with his arm resting on a 2 x 4 board and took two aspirin. When his hand began to turn green he decided to get it checked out. I just wasn't raised in a home that over-medicates. 

So drugs in this house are like the gluten in a Seattle condo: they don't belong and we aren't sure how to use them.

I keep telling myself that by the time Caroline is school age, she'll get the award for 12 years of perfect attendance because she has been exposed to every germ on both sides of the Mississippi. More times than once. 
Indiana to Kansas. 
Kansas to Indiana. 
Indiana to Kansas.  
Does perfect attendance merit scholarships? 
Asking for a friend. 

During our last Pediatric center visit (Caroline thinks this is our vacation home) Caroline waved good-bye to everyone in the joint as though she knew she'd see them next week. Our daughter may be both intuitive and super social, and I link that to genetics. She is double bred. 

Our health insurance is getting a full run for its money because on Monday I had a dentist appointment over my lunch hour. 

Between the initial cleaning and the consultation with the dentist I fell asleep in the chair. 
Like....really asleep. 
As in chin to chest, drool, asleep. 
I woke to the young dentist (re)(re)reintroducing herself and trying to shake my limp hand. 
All while I was still trying to figure out where I was and how I got there. 

I wiped the drool from my chin and explained that I had fallen asleep. She laughed awkwardly and explained that - for the first time in 13 years - I have cavity that needs filled. 
Why does everyone want my money?

Last night - in an effort to clean out the deep freezer - I thawed steaks that had been stored too long. I was embarrassed, in fact, that cuts such as those as fallen to the back of the freezer and weren't grilled during the greatest opportunity. I thawed and seasoned them anyway. 

While praying over our supper Cody held my hand and Caroline's and closed with "And we pray that the grey meat Lindsay prepared doesn't hurt any of us."

Amen, buddy. 

A-M-E-N. 

But I have peace of mind knowing that anything that he and I consumed last night can be addressed with something taken "twice a day for ten days."

Two serious questions:

1. Does this count? 
2. Does our health insurance cover it?

Honesty in the Doctor's Office

I had a routine wellness check nearly a month ago. 
You know, the kind where they ask for your blood, urine, time, patience, insurance card and father's grandfather's uncle's health history. 

I told the doctor that I thought he was healthy but passed at age 30. 
World War I really took a toll on the young, healthy guys. 

I was asked to sit alone in a quiet, cold room and proofread five pages of contact information followed by eight pages of health history. 
How many times should I need to write my last name, middle initial and first name for one appointment, do you think?
Six. 

How many times did I write "Bowman" rather than "Sankey"? 
Twice. 
Perhaps year five is the ticket.

Then I moved into the health history questionnaire. 
Every year prior, I've breezed through this bad boy like a college student who knew they were going to pass the class without regard to how they did on the final.
All answers were - proudly - marked NO.

This time was different. 

This was the first time in a while that I was 
1. Alone
2. Not in my car
3. Not in the shower
4. Completely focused on me. 

This time I took the wellness survey quite seriously. 

Do you have an existing and/or recent problem with:
Please explain all answers marked YES.

Insomnia: YES
I haven't slept in 9 months

Daytime drowsiness: YES
I think not sleeping in 9 months may have something to do with this. 

Recent weight gain/loss in the last 6 months: YES
I've teetered between the same 30 lbs. for the last nine months. 
I eat a slab of rocky road nightly in hopes to bounce back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. They're my favorites and GAP stopped making them. 

Sensitive ears: YES
There was a time in my life when I lived one block from railroad tracks and I never once heard the (4) night trains. 
Today I can hear Mike Craig's (neighbor) cows bawl and I can also hear Caroline's toes wiggle. I can hear clouds move. Make it stop. 

Shortness of breath when walking with other people at an ordinary pace on level ground: YES
Have you ever tried to push a stroller through mud while carrying a 5-gallon bucket of feed?
I didn't think so. 

Wheezing that interferes with your job: YES
See above. 

Heartburn that is not related to eating: YES
11 months of the 2016 Election

Pain in abdomen: YES
26 hours of labor. 
Thought I was tough. 
She's healthy and strong and it all worked out. 

Pain in neck: YES
My brother

Numbness in limbs: YES
Sometimes when CJ (thats my daughter, not my husband) falls asleep in the recliner with me I wake up and can't feel or move my arms. 

Wondering if life is worth it: YES
In the last week I have stubbed the same ingrown toenail on the same coffee table in the 5:15 AM darkness. Twice. 

I submitted my clipboard to the nurse and took a cat nap on the paper table lining while she and her team analyzed my honesty. 

The doctor came in the room six short minutes (I was counting on a 30-minute snooze) later. 
She held on to her stethoscope like it was a necklace and crossed her legs like a friend leaning in for a really raw chat. 
"How are you, Lindsay?"
"I'm well," I responded without thought. 
She leaned in like a sister that knew too much. 
"I have a seven-month-old at home and it's bull sale season.....Travel season for my husband," I responded without prompt. "And we're calving."
She smiled. 
"You need to get that baby to bed earlier. Take daily walks. And shut off your phone after 9:00 every night."

Three instructions. 
No drugs. 

I walked out of the doctor's office wondering if I was a hypochondriac.


Then I quietly assured myself:

Not a hypochondriac, I'm a mother.

A Rhetorical Question

I don't remember most of the day, but I remember the moments leading up to the impact like it was yesterday. 

It had been a particularly rough morning. 
I had screwed up a major detail of an event, only to learn about it during the final run through. 
I left my cell phone at said final run through, across the county from my office. 
I had forgotten, again, to pick up new eye glasses in another small town 15 miles away and my head was feeling it. 
That afternoon I decided to pick up my eyeglasses and go back to the event site and find my phone....in an Answer Plot field. Feeling immense stress and frustration, I called out to God while driving down a state highway:

"God! What else could possibly go wrong today?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I guess maybe God felt obligated to answer to prove a point.

It was only seconds later that I saw the black Jeep come up over the perpendicular hill - quickly. 
The driver never hit the brakes, only me. 
Fannie the Focus, rest her soul, did two full spins, went over on two wheels, nearly flipping, and landed in a ditch within someone's yard. 
I was taken to the hospital because I didn't feel so hot after the ordeal, but walked away completely fine. Not a scratch. 
But with a lesson wrapped around my wrist:
Full name
Age
Date in which I arrived in the ER: 08/08/2012
A reminder I've never forgotten:

When you ask God a question, be prepared for an answer.  

I swore I'd never ask him that question again. 
Sometimes my memory slips.

I have a friend from college that I've kept in touch with since our Purdue days. 
One of those people that deserves the very best and is living boldly in order to find it. 
Every time I meet someone eligible, I size them up by his standards, wondering if I could introduce the two. I have yet succeed. 

Anyhow, he sent me an email a while back saying he'd finally met someone (I heard angels sing at my desk) worth talking about. His words were brief and only somewhat descriptive, using far fewer adjectives than I prefer. I mean....he didn't even mention her color hair. But I do know a bigger detail about her: she is ill. Weekly-treatments, ill. This detail doesn't change his feelings towards her or the anticipation of their future together. This relationship, as it turns out, is an affair of the heart, not the worrying mind. 

Over dinner one night I told Cody about my friend's exciting news and now difficult situation. "Can you believe it? He finally finds someone to capture his attention and now this? Why him? Why her illness, now? How much can one guy take?" 

Cody didn't really answer the question, he only agreed. 

It was a rhetorical question, but I guess maybe God felt obligated to answer to prove a point.

That same friend texted me last week to let me know he was heading west - homebound - last minute. His dad found a lump and they learned that it might not be the "no big deal" as previously thought. I got the text while outside with Cody and read the text aloud. I knew better than to ask God any questions. I didn't care to learn anymore punch-in-the-gut answers.

This friend, however, is handling it all with grace and patience; both things he doesn't seem to have when McDonald's gets his drive-thru order wrong. He has never asked what more God could throw his way, not because he doesn't want to know, but rather because he already knows things could be worse and today he's climbing life's mountains one at a time. 

God sure as an interesting way of answering questions. Sometimes with Yes, sometimes with No, often Not yet or maybe even I have something different in mind. I think He continues to answer this friend with: You're not going to believe this...

This story is not told to discourage you from asking God questions in fear of what He will reveal. I think God loves it when we have those conversations with Him. My thought is that part of living an enriched life is accepting those answers - no matter how pleasant or tough - as part of the journey. Part of your life's story. 

Personally, I wish I was better at this. Sometimes when I ask God if He can show me where I need to be in my life, I have a real concern that He is going to physically move me to where I'm going to do my best work for Him. Without a chance to pack. Or do the dishes in the sink I've put off for two days. So I never ask the question out loud; I whisper it in my head. As I type this, I realize: I'm a real mess. 

Of course, asking, "What more can God possibly throw my way?" may just sound like a challenge and expedite the process...

Have faith in this. 

I'll close with a few words from my strong, optimistic friend, hoping that his experience will encourage you today, no matter how your life's story is unfolding minute by minute, day by day, year by year:

Life is full of uncertainties 

but what we can do is 

focus on living the best life 

that we can today.

Inspiring more than he knows, that friend. 

In Sickness And In Health

Well, we're there. 

This week I've been in bed with the flu that seems to be sweeping the area. It's been so bad that I asked Cody to find other things to do because I didn't want him around the house with me. 
I didn't want him to see me in that state? 
Nope.
Rather, I'm more like a sick dog when I don't feel good: I don't want to be seen, talked to, bothered, acknowledged, etc. I mostly want to hide under a tree in the woods and die. 
Or, under a blanket on the couch. 

In the three years we've known one another, neither have been in this state of sickness. 
He nor I. 
It was time. 

Cody tried to both 1) respect my requests to leave and never come back (unless wielding a gun) and 2) be a caring husband. 
I woke up Monday morning with he looking over me. 
I wasn't startled; I could barely open my eyes. 

"Linds, Linds are you alive?" he whispered, kneeing the edge of the mattress, obviously smart enough to not touch me. "I went to the Dollar General and bought some things to get you better."
I rolled over to see his arms full. 

Two bottles of Pepto-Bismol, 

a box of saltines, 

a block of cheese, 

one loaf of Wonderbread and 

a 64-ounce orange Gatorade. 

Poor guy. He'd been listening to me from outside the bathroom for 24 hours and no idea which end the problem was coming from. 

I rolled over and tried not to throw up into my pillow just imagining all of that combined. The next thing I knew it was 11:00 pm and CS was climbing the stairs for bed. I had lost 36 hours of my life. 

Yesterday, Cody put things in perspective as I was somewhat on the mend.
As I refilled my water jug Tuesday evening, from the kitchen window I watched Cody walk halfway to the barn - throw up twice in the driveway - then do the feeding. Watching with a dropped jaw, I didn't know if I should throw up to prove my allegiance to our team or give him a round of applause for his stamina. 

It ain't pretty around the Sankey homestead right now, but at this rate we both should be well by Christmas. Or, at least not grocery shopping at the Dollar General. I wish I had something more - or even funny - to say about the situation but frankly I think I saw my sense of humor go out in the last trash bag. 

Wash your hands, friends.

Paper Placemat Gown

Two months after my thirtieth birthday I was reminded why I only travel outside of North America every thirty years. 

It isn't a fear of flying

or the thought of becoming homesick 

or even the staggering guilt from being away from the farm and out of the office for eight days. 

It's the paper placemat gown.

I visited our general practitioner a few weeks ago for my scheduled wellness visit. The nurse didn't laugh when I took off my coat, shoes, watch, FitBit and cardigan before stepping on the scales. She did, however, check her watch - which I've never before noticed her doing without putting a velcro sleeve on my arm? She must have been on a schedule that day or something. 

The gal directed me into a little white room with lights bright enough guide Ronnie Milsap. She proceeded to ask me approximately 82 questions in a matter of three minutes. 

Nurse: Back or neck aches?

Me: ....Yes. 

Nurse: Tell me about those.

Me: Well, I mean, they usually only occur when I've spent more than two hours with my brother, then comes this strange pain in my neck...

Later, I tried for some time to remember if it was gastritis or glaucoma that our family had a history of, but before I could call Momma for the answer the nurse decided to skip that question. 

Ten minutes later, Ms. Can't-Quit-Looking-At-Her-Watch closed her clipboard and left the room, though not before instructing me to put on the dreadful paper placemat gown...open in the front. 

Or was it open in the back?

Oh no. 

Before I could ask for clarification, the nurse was out the door.

I stood there in the bright room, alone and freezing. I threw a stack of National Geographic magazines over the register blowing cold air. If I have to take off my clothes and dress myself in nothing but a paper placemat, there was no room for a draft. 

I looked at the the shoddy pile of tissue paper sitting on the examination table. This moment - this simple decision of direction - could completely change any familiarity and comfort I've acquired with our practitioner.

Open in the front or open in the back?

Either way, ol' boy is going to see more than either of us would like. 

"Deep breath......................................now out. And deep breath again," Doc asked of me. 

By the time I did what he wanted, he was on to the next ask. 

Dude, is this a doctor's appointment or lung strengthening for deep sea diving?, I thought to myself. 

"Looks good. 

Sounds good. 

You get that from your father's side. 

No change there. 
Ideal blood pressure.

Great...great...good...great..."

According to Doc's vocal play-by-play, the check-up was going exactly as we both planned.

Until I spiced things up by surprising him with a list of questions regarding travel to Argentina and a laundry list of vaccinations and medicines I'll need for the voyage. 

Doc is my favorite kind of man: Smart and Patient. 

He asked a few questions, then the nurse got out her pen and highlighter. 

He spoke so quickly and in a language I don't know. Here is my recollection:

She'll need a Photo-Tony-Romo-Benghazi-Stripizoid in the next month. Oral. 

Follow that up with an ingestible Benzoid-Astro-Instagram-Drug-Czar-Typhoid-Anti-Hysti-Shine-Mine-Yours-Ours. 

Taken twice daily following her arrival in Argentina. 
Don't take that with milk - She'll regret it. 

Now, when she gets back...that's a whole other deal. 

Let's look into a Herbo-Phobo-Robo-Cop-Azoid, every other day, also skipping days that contain a "T" in the spelling. 
We'll wrap things up with an Ammo-Camo-Glammo-Trifecta-Othro-Moto-Oxtail. Hold the tail.
Yeah, that's it. 

I looked at the nurse.

Geezo preezo I hope she is getting all of this. I lost him at Tony Romo, I thought to myself. 

Then Doc woke me from my daze.

Doc: Have you been you Africa?

Me: Yes. 

Doc: When?

Me: Two weeks ago, I went there to study the stripes on a zebra. Granted, it was a dream/nightmare  but I did wake up and remember to use the filtered water out of the Brita pitcher to make Cody's coffee. 

Doc shook his head the same way Cody did when I used the Rural King advertisement for kindling last February. 

He then gave me a plethora of great traveling advice, a few medical advisories and even asked about our cattle. There is something peaceful about a physician who closes the visit by asking about our herd, and by also talking about his hay situation moving into winter. Doc gets us.  

He shook my hand and offered one more nugget of advice: Remember: Don't drink the water. (Dually noted)

As I write this, I realize that my appointment with Doc was the easy one as I prepare to cross timezones. 

Next: Vaccinations at an Undisclosed Health Department.

To be continued...

Assuming I follow protocol for the 

Photo-Tony-Romo-Benghazi-Stripizoid.