Anchors A-Weigh

Earlier today I received a phone call from my travel agent. Apparently, the cruise line I'm taking is requesting my weight in the wheelchair, for any excursion I might take. I keep asking myself why this would even be necessary - I'm assuming it's for the lift. Wouldn't it be a kinder and gentler way to ask if a person's anatomical mass is larger than say, 350 pds, you can not take the lift?

Listen, even if I weighed 115 pds (which I haven't seen on a scale since I was 18) I wouldn't want to disclose my weight. It's hard enough to hop on one of those little monsters when I'm alone, now I have to tell my travel agent, who will then record it on a document to be faxed to a complete stranger in a HUGE company - and then what? Where does it go from there? Am I going to have people pointing at me and whisper as they turn away in disgust, "There she is - there's the beast!!" I know I'm exaggerating but what can I do?

Ummm, I sent an email to my travel agent. Here's what I wrote:

Hey Mary -

Sorry I didn't get back with you earlier. I started taking a new medication and it knocked me out today; plus gave me some icky bathroom side effects which I won't go into but guess what? When you're woozy, in a wheelchair and have to potty? Sometimes you DO wish for a diaper - but only for a second. On the positive side, I'm hoping that I might weigh a few pounds lighter after today's escapades. I doubt it but a girl can hope.



I'll get to the weigh in tomorrow. Sooooo looking forward to yet another reminder about how much weight I've gained since this all happened to me. It's not enough that I'm looking at a possible future of elastic waistbands and oversized t-shirts; now I have to record my weight for a company of strangers to look at for "their records". Sigh. At least I get to travel - fat but I'm travelling.



Anyhooo, I'm going back to business. Apparently the meds have not finished wringing every last drop of food and water left in my body. Betcha once they're finished the meds will then cause me to retain water. It always happens. A brief shining moment of "ooh, my pants are loose" to "oof, I can't get my foot in my shoe. What the hell!!" Such is my life. Gotta love it.



Talk to you in the morning. If I sound echo-y, you'll know that I'm near a big, porcelain receptacle. Do not be alarmed.



Jess



p.s. This msg was brought to you by a very tired, very woozy Scooter Girl - me. Hope I didn't offend but I'm owning it.



p.s.s. Just who are the buzzkills that want to know a person's weight? Don't they realize that asking a woman this question could lead to justifiable assault with a Twinkie? Or a big messy sandwich? Phhht to those nosy Europeans.

Hospital Revisited

It seems that my body has decided that our "rest period" is over. The last few weeks has been an array of doctor visits. Who knew there were so many "ologists" in the medical field? Nephrologist, Endocrinologist, Urologist, Neurologist...I've been back to the hospital so many times that I've reestablished my first name basis with a lot of the hospital staff. Kinda sad/funny when the parking valet, security guard and Artie, the custodial guy in Radiology remembers me. I'd like to believe it's because I'm so unforgettable but it's more likely because I'm the girl in the wheelchair making "vroom vroom" noises as I race across the parking lot or slide over the hospital floors. Been caught a few times dancing in my wheelchair by other staff members. What can I say? I'm easily amused.

Unfortunately, these visits to the hospital also means blood draws. Lots and LOTS of blood draws. Every day this week and some last week. Not one or two vials, more like eight, nine or ten - and the big vials (gold tops, in lab lingo) followed by other personal fluids. Yuck. I have very small veins that like to duck and roll. Some of the lab techs have figured out that sneaking up on the side of the vein instead of the normal "missionary" style works best. But with all the blood draws, my veins have given out. I started giggling when the lab tech stuck my left arm, had a blood flash return, then nothing. Stopped giggling when he had to stick me a second time. I was passed off to three techs before the final one got lucky and hit the top of my forearm. By the way, not my favorite place for a needle. Stings. I officially have no more places to stick on either arm. It's break time for a few days. My vein agreed when it trickled and then stopped giving blood at the 8th vial. It simply stopped; no amount of pushing in the needle and spinning it around (always so much fun for me!)would make it give out more. I had to tell the tech that I'd had enough and it was time to stop.

But the best part? I'm getting ready to go back to Europe with my Niece. We'll only be away for a few weeks (thanks to Missy R for taking care of my house) and I'm so excited. Springtime in Paris. Seeing the tulips of Amsterdam in full bloom. Having a warm beer in Brugges. Floating along the fjords of Norway. The mountains of Switzerland. Cheeses, wonderful cheeses from all these places. Can't wait.

Later this summer, off for an Alaskan cruise with my clan. THAT should be a whole lot of fun...

So instead of a lollipop or a colorful bandaid, I'm getting a trip to Europe as my prize for being a good girl and not crying. Seems like a fair trade to me. More later before I leave. Happy Easter!!