Thursday, August 25, 2011

Baseball season is upon us ~ and the pitcher ain't nice

    Life's curve balls rarely come with a warning.  In fact, I guess that's why they're called curve balls.  They are tricky and unpredictable.  Their unexpected path can knock you down and keep you unbalanced.  Some may shrug and assume it's just a part of life.....the hand they're dealt.  They have a way of making lemonade out of lemons.  My recent favorite is to remember that when Plan A fails we know we have 25 letters to work with.

    I have friend whose daughter has been blessed with the talent of throwing a softball at a tremendous speed with accuracy.  She has been doing this since she was little.  She is also good enough to be sought after by big name colleges.  She has been away for a couple of weeks this summer, pitching her heart out.  Showing her skills to all the agents who came to watch.  This could land her a full ride to a prestigious school.  But when she returned from her pitching road show, she was in pain.  Not the kind of pain that goes away with two Motrin, but they kind that gets an MRI.  The anomaly that no one knew was there.  A malformation that has reared its ugly head and declared that it is not going to throw one more ball without pain.  All of  sudden and without warning, this girl and her family have been thrown a curve ball (pun intended) and they must decide what to do. 

    When the curve ball is delivered across our own home plate, we can choose to dig in our heels and figure out how to deal with this new set of circumstances or wallow a bit in that feeling of discombobulation and try to straighten the rug that has been pulled out from underneath us.

    My curve ball came last Thursday when I woke up so dizzy and strange that I struggled to call all my clients to tell them I could not cut their hair that day.  Well, unless they wanted something pretty unique.  Being the overachiever that I am, I also knew this felt bad enough to keep me from the house for a couple of days.  So I loaded the dishwasher and got that going.  Held onto the counter for support and then got a load of laundry started.  I mean, hello, who the hell is gonna do it while I'm gone.  I bounced down the hallway like a pinball and found my bathroom in disarray and gave it a quick wipe down.  I packed a small get a way bag and met my 7 year old granddaughter in the door way of my bedroom.  She was totally unaware that my head was spinning like a top and that it felt as though there was a fish flopping around in my chest, so her request seemed reasonable....well to her.  I needed to comb down the fuzzies in her hair so she could go up the street to the sitter.  This usually entails several squirts with a water bottle and careful brushing to get the fuzzies to go away.  It usually requires many tries.  I turned and reached for the brush and bottle and passed out right in front of her.  Apparently, she got the non panic genes.  She did not run for a phone to call 911, but stood there and waited for me to make a sound.  She later told me I looked rather funny trying to grab the things around me in an effort not to go down like a ton of bricks.  When I came to, I suggested she sit with me on the ground and we would attempt to get rid of her fuzzies.  Not completely without feeling, she was satisfied with the first try and then promptly ran to the front door and waited for her Papa to show up.  Good girl!  No panicking!

    Showing up at the doctor's office I again showed my unrehearsed ability to fall with grace into the lap of the doctor.  He was so impressed he ordered an ambulance to send me to the hospital where I could perform my fainting performance for a much bigger audience.  They were equally impressed and decided to keep me for 5 days.  Yup 5 full days.  I did not give them a repeat performance, but they were impressed with the irregular rhythm that my heart kept dancing and decided to see what they could do to get it to stop.

    I was so glad I had the forethought to pack my iPad.  Every book I had been wanting to read was there.  And since this hospital had wireless.....I was never away from my favorite links or people.  I was smarter than the average bear though and did not post that I was in the hospital.  I mean, seriously, who the hell wants the masses to see you with hair only Bob Marley would be proud of and a gown that needs to be refashioned.  I mean seriously...they can look into my heart without every cutting me but can design something that doesn't look like a potatoe sack? 

    The diagnosis is not quite forthcoming yet, but there are some serious drugs that I'm on.   Beta Blockers and Anti-Arrhythmic Drugs.  The second one concerned me a bit.  I've always considered myself a decent dancer....with a decent beat....rhythm, if you will.  Hopefully these anti-arrhythmic drugs won't cost me that the spring in my dancing shoes.  That remains to be seen.

For now, I am home.  My discharge papers read...
No over exertion. 
Rest often throughout the day.  
No driving for 1 week.
No Sex for 1 week. (Really, I mean what do they think a 53 year old will do?)
No work for 1 week. (Which I promptly did the day after I left the hospital.  I learned why they don't want you right back to work.)

   So now, I must learn how to work around this curve ball.  I must learn what I have and how to deal with it.  But for right now, I'm gonna turn on some tunes and see if my rhythm has been affected.

1 comment:

  1. Those cotton pickin' curve balls... they are sure disapppointing. But you are right, straighten that rug up a bit and see what ya got and where you are and how you can move forward in this new place. ;-) You have a lot of people who love ya and are gonna walk w/you!