Being waited on is coming to an end

It is with much hesitation that I start getting back to work, after injuring my leg more than 10 days ago.

Don’t get me wrong, I am MORE THAN ready to get back on the wagon. Before my big four-wheeler snafu, I was averaging 6 miles of walking per day. To spend all day, every day has been very overwhelming for me.

I assure you, I have not been all that pleasant every single day.

In fact, this past Sunday I was in tears and bitching about every little thing. All Steve, Joe and Russ could do was look at me and NOT say a word.

The have learned.

I take that back. Joe brought my bottle of prescription pain killers over to me.

Before I was sentenced to laziness, I was walking an average of 6 miles per day, which came from my seasonal employment at Minnesota Valley Testing Labs. I was working in the soil lab preparing soil and running a few tests. They promise me I can return. Some of the summer interns said they “appreciated the quiet when I was gone.”

Smart asses.

That’s probably what I miss the  most – my job. I really miss being around people.

Playing in dirt.

I mean soil.

The reason I hesitate to get back into the daily grind is this: Steve has been so great at keeping up with the house work and making me feel like a super princess.

For the past week he has done laundry, swept the floor, washed dishes and so much other things.

He has patiently brought me lemonade, gone to the grocery store, visited the drug store to purchase more bandages.

He has taken several days off to haul me to the doctor. I must not forget that he took me to the doc at 4:30 in the morning the day after I smashed my right lower leg.

Joe has been the perfect gentleman. When we go somewhere in the car, he opens doors for me.

Russell asks if I need anything before I go to bed. He did complain today about hearing me “groan when you got into bed,” but that just led to a whole heap of laughter from all of us.

Neither one of our sons has whined or thrown a fit when I ask for something as soon as I sit on the couch and realize I forgot an item upstairs.

Slowly, I have been getting to use one crutch to get around the house. Who knew a bruise could be so dang painful. I cannot stand on my feet for more than one hour without the pain returning.

Joey does yell at me to “Take your pain meds!”

Those things scare me. I consider them little white devils. I would rather deal with a little bit of sharp, throbbing pain, than have to worry about becoming addicted to pain-relieving narcotics. I mean…I do have an addictive personality and with my alcoholism in control for almost 25 years, I just don’t want to go there.

That scares the shit out of me.

Anyway, the more I do around the house for daily maintenance, the less Steve and the boys will be doing.

And I am kind of liking being waited on hand-and-foot!

Every girl wants to feel like a princess once in a while.

I’m not a youngster any more; injuries happen

Ouch!
Ouch!
Chubby!
Chubby!

I’m not one to dish out life lessons in a matter-for-fact statement.

Because Steve and I are the parents of two adult sons, I would say something like, “Not wearing a helmet is a bit selfish. Think of the people who love you.”

Then, I let the adult children make their own decision.

Today, I am going to digress from my usual life-lessons strategy and get directly to the point.

Do not ever try to spin cookies on a large four wheeler, if you are not a professional.

I thought I was at least a semi-pro rider, but after the events of the other evening (at this point, I am not sure what day it is) I no longer consider myself a seasoned ATV driver. Yes, I’m seasoned when it comes to my age.

I have driven four wheelers for many, many years. I have done jumping, drifting and spun cookies (I call them donuts.) for as long as I can remember.

I think I forgot that I am 46-years-old.

(Oh, it’s Thursday today.)

Here’s my advice to all kids-at-heart that drive four wheelers. 

Do not spin cookies!

Here’s my story.

So Tuesday evening I was driving four wheeler to give my dog exercise. He loves to run full sp

Upon our return home, I drove to the middle of our gravel yard and started to spin a donut. I was going a bit too fast and before I knew it, my right side was slamming into the ground and the four wheeler was laying on the lower portion of my right leg.

It hurt like a son-of-bitch.

I could walk on my leg and take deep breathes. I figured I would be sore, but I knew I could manage. It takes a lot of pain to keep this chick down.

I managed to make it into the house with out even a whimper of pain. I started concocting supper of ringwurst and fried morel mushrooms. A meal for champions and I figure that’s why I  figure I COULDN’T finish it.

I’m no champion.

In a matter of minutes, my leg hurt so bad I had to sit down and call my mommy. She assured me that I should get it checked at the emergency room. Steve took forever to get ready to haul me to town. I was ready to poke his eyes out but I managed to maintain my composure.

The big “incident” happened around 5 p.m.

By 7 p.m., I was in the emergency room having my leg x-rayed.

Thankfully, there are no broken bones, but the bruising is horrendous. We were back home before 9 p.m.

I didn’t sleep a wink. The pain was worse than childbirth, as far as I was concerned. For those of you that haven’t experienced childbirth…the pain was worse than smashing the tip of your finger.

Finding no bones in need of repair, I was sent home.

By 4:30 in the morning, I was in tears and ready to return to the emergency room. Joe and Russell carried me to the car, while Steve wandered around the house looking for just-the-right outfit. (It sure would help if our boys were about six inches shorter.)

The visit at the hospital was quite entertaining for bystanders.

Between the screaming in pain (Yes, I did yell out at one point.) poking and prodding and four-inch needle being shoved into my leg, it was decided I had to stay in the hospital for observation. I think beating on the bed rail at one point convinced the docs that it REALLY HURT!

(There was concern over the immense amount of swelling and the damage it could cause to my foot. I was losing feeling in portions surrounding my ankle.)

A decision was made to ship me to the second floor med/surg area for observation.

Many people complain about care they receive in hospitals, but I can honestly say, “The care I received yesterday was phenomenal!”

Warm blankets. Diet Coke. A pitcher of water that did make “everyone jealous,” just like Nurse Jen said it would. Great food.

Smiles.

Smiles are good when things hurt.

So, I’m now back home. I have a brand new pair of crutches and one really sore rump from sitting all day. The pain medicines do an amazing job of negating my leg pain.

I still have to make sure I don’t lose feeling in any part of my foot and try to take it easy.

That’s hard for me to do, but I will manage. Steve cleaned the kitchen AND folded laundry for me. He’s a GREAT man.

Before long, I will be back on the ATV taking my dog for a run. I promise I WONT think myself an expert and try to spin cookies. I’ll save that trick for when I’m in my Jeep.

Mastering attitudes and lawn mowers

mastering the mower

If there is one thing I learned today, it’s to appreciate the positives in little things.

Earlier today, Steve mentioned that our cell count was 170,000, which is amazing. (We still haven’t gotten a good grasp on what is causing our high cell count.)

“Whoop, whoop,” I said. “Tomorrow it will be 280,000.”

“You should just appreciate that it’s down today,” Steve commented.

So, as I spent the afternoon with him, I couldn’t help but remember how I need to relish the accomplishments of the day.

The one accomplishment I really, really relished today was my lawn mower. I pretty much take care of the lawn mower around here. It’s the least I could do. Steve checks the oil once in a while and helps change the blades, but it’s up to me to keep it clean and figure out what is causing hiccups when they do happen.

For the past two mowing seasons, this lawn mower has been nothing but a long blade of grass in my side.

One minute the mower would have immense power and could cut the grass as fast as a Ninja mixer makes a cleansing smoothie.

The next minute the mower would have as much power as Steve’s electric razor on it’s last spark of energy.

I had the local dealer of green and yellow take a look at it in the 2014 lawn-mowing season.

“Uh, I can’t find nuttin wrong with it,” he said.

I felt like reaching through the phone and poking his eye out. I felt like he wasn’t believing me when I was explaining my lawn mower’s affliction.

Well, this year it was the same thing – mow like crazy, putz like mad, mow like crazy, putz like mad!

I had experienced enough and chose to do an internet search in an effort to find others that had the same sort of troubles with their similar lawn mowers.

Jack pot! A man had the same problem and he fixed it by replacing the coils. The internet is such an amazing thing! A man had the exact same mower and the exact same problems. After replacing his spark plugs and checking his gas cap, some other soul suggested changing the coils.

That fixed the problem for him.

Cool! I could hardly wait to call the dealer and request they order two coils for me. Actually, I only ordered one, but was told, “You actually need two.”

Mr. Fix It was a bit reluctant to order the infamous coils for me. He gave me several suggestions of other options when I made the phone call to the shop.

Yes, the gas cap was on.

Yes, the spark plug has been checked.

Yes, I took the gas cap off and covered it with a sock and then when the machine farted again, I put the gas cap back on.

I explained to him that I believed it was the coils and I wanted to replace them. Mr. Technician tried to talk me out of it. “There are so many other things it could be,” I was told.

“Yes, I know that and I know I also tried fixing all those other things last year,” I said. “I want the coils! Order the coils for me. I will replace them myself!”

Under his unbelieving breath, he ordered the coils. Then he said it would be Tuesday before he received them. I could live with that.

Now, I had no idea what a coil was or how hard it was going to be to replace – oh, I mean coils that where going to be hard to replace. Plural coils; not singular.

According to the online discussion, if I was the owner of rather large hands, I could expect skinned knuckles. Well, I have large hands for a woman, but are they then considered small when compared to a man’s hands.

I’m going to go with medium.

On the day of the arrival of said coils, I couldn’t stand the challenge of fixing my lawn mower, on my own, one second more. I drove to the dealer and picked up my coils. I opened the boxes before I even walked out the glass exit door. I had to see what I had gotten myself into.

I recognized the rubber piece on the coil. It was the end that fits on the end of a spark plug.

I felt somewhat confident. I knew I could find the spark plugs and follow the wiring to a coil.

As soon as I returned home and before I even was out of my good clothes, I started ripping the lawn mower apart. There I was in my bedazzled shirt, light blue denim jeans and Sperry shoes, working with wrenches, sockets and torque bits.

At one point, I did ask for help from Steve, but he started to take over the project, so I sent him away with harsh words. I wanted to do this on my own. I had never asked for 100 percent effort from him.

In just about an hour, I had the new coils in place and all the parts back on the engine of the mower. Hey guys…I didn’t even have any left over screws or bolts!

I immediately started mowing my rather thick lawn. For more than an hour and a half, my lawn mower cut that grass without so much as a burp or any other loss of gas power!

I was so proud of myself.

Now, I am not saying I have permanently fixed said problem with the lawn mower that I both loathe and love.

But like Steve said earlier today, I am going to enjoy the positive in this moment.

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