Rehab

Unlike Amy Winehouse or Britney Spears, nobody's trying to make me go to rehab. I guess the absence of drug use and the lack of alcohol abuse is keeping me out. But I would like to go. I have no idea what I would work on, but Eric Clapton's Crossroads at Antigua looks beautiful. I could talk about how I had to cut back on my C-section medicine gradually after taking it a bit too long, and how I know there are exactly two pills left. But I am thinking that is not what they mean by needing to go to rehab.

I am the sort of person who feels that it is a moral failing to complain. No one is sick, no one is dying, we don't have storm damage, but things are hard. Here's some snippets of what I remember from the week.

Last week started out O.K. enough, at church with CRB in the nursery. Due to all the sickness, ages 1-3 were together in one room. Yikes! And they were using the room that faces the playground, showcased through the large picture windows, but they won't actually go to the playground. CRB will end up screaming. Prediction: met.

Later that night I took CRB to the grocery so ToolMan could clean the carpets without CRB's assistance. Driving by the front of the store I did not see any carts with cars. As my whole plan was to entertain him but not actually shop, I circled the lot to find said kind of cart, 10+ deep in the cart return. Parking as I do uphill and far away from the cart return and other vehicles, I toted CRB with me and somehow managed to move the almost dozen carts away, freeing the car cart for our use. Ouch, is that my shoulder? Yes. Is this going to be a problem? You betcha.

I don't remember Monday. Will that count as a blackout for enrollment purposes?

Tuesday was a long day but it was made longer by an impromptu dinner engagement for ToolMan. He brought Newks home for me as a peace offering, since I actually had a dinner plan that got wacked. I think this is the evening where I began to use the heating pad with the 40 foot extension cord so that I could still move around but try to keep heat on my shoulder to loosen it up. Flashback to law school and exam prep and the inception of the heating pad with 40 foot cord.

Wednesday escapes me too. Somewhere in there I did some grading and I got ready for class Thursday. Still not great for me, but probably too productive for rehab eligibility.

Thursday was a low point. ToolMan was headed out of town for a meeting, and I had a day full of class. In my 8 a.m. class, I started feeling light-headed but I pressed on. After class, while answering student project questions, I began to notice I was gasping. Flashback to the doctor's a few weeks ago when the result of my test indicated that my asthma was not well controlled, and I say to the learned Dr. D. "but I haven't needed my inhaler in months, I do not even know where it is" and "did you see how high my pulmonary test indicated my lung function was? I am fine!" I tried to call ToolMan but I did not get him, so facing those 60 college faces still checking out Facebook on their laptops and/or playing Sudoku on their iPhones, I announced "talk to your neighbor" and "I will be back shortly" and I left the room. I headed to my co-worker's office to look for her purse to see if she had her son's inhaler in it. No joy. I tried to relax, spending a few minutes talking to our student worker receptionist, hoping that relaxing would be enough. Back in class, I decided to tell them my problem, you know in case I fell out on the floor, like I was a guest star on House. In retrospect, my triggers were 1) high amounts of stress 2) taking the diesel Excursion so my beautiful hand-chamoised car would stay clean and 3) low temperatures. Thankfully, I made it through the day, feeling better around 2 p.m., but part of me wished I had to go home sick.

Friday ToolMan worked from home so as to help me with CRB. In the afternoon, I wrote an exam from scratch for my Legal and Ethical Issues in Computing class. That evening I slept through Ocean's Thirteen once it seemed to be the same as Eleven.

Saturday, again no idea what happened for the most part. I went to Target to try to buy food, baby gifts, clothes for CRB, and some sort of toy organizer for the playroom a.k.a. The Room that Was Once the Dog's. The result? CRB thinks it is great fun to dump out the bins and then climb the organizer, but his new 12 month sized outfit fits my skinny boy perfectly with room to grown. The person behind me in line got most of my food, as it was not in my car or on my receipt. Mission: Mostly Unaccomplished.

Saturday night I decided no more flexeril or whatever it is called. I'd rather hurt than feel this out of the loop, plus my breathing is still the pits.

So here I am Sunday night, heating pad and all. I am not sure what it is that I want or need to be different. This stage with CRB is just hard.