We spent most of last week in Washington DC, riding the Metro and going to the zoo and eating the best tacos and visiting family and looking at rockets and dinosaurs and giant jellyfish. And after that we spent the night in Ohio, where Rockford worked and the kids and I went to the mall. (That was the slightly less exciting part of the week.) And then finally we were home again, and we had nothing at all scheduled for the weekend, and that was just marvelous.
This week will be a good bit less busy than last week was. There will be no tacos, no rockets and no jellyfish, but there will be birthday cake for Rockford and every day with birthday cake is a good day.
I ate a lot of salmon while we were traveling, and I liked it. The last time I made fish at home — probably 10 years ago — the fishy smell nearly drove me to move. (Until the smell went away, and then I was once again at peace with the world.) Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again this time.
Tuesday: Pizza
Rockford is going to do some golfing with his dad, and then we’re going to have pizza.
Wednesday: Birthday dinner
Rockford’s mom is making it. I believe there will be short ribs and noodle salad.
Joel Dinda photo
I don’t think I would’ve believed you on Saturday morning if you told me that Rockford and the kids would be spending five hours that night sometimes-sleeping in the car in the hospital parking lot.
I wasn’t feeling especially terrific on Saturday morning, but I figured it was just because of the monthly lady cramps. Monthly lady cramps aren’t lollipops and kitten tails, but they’re also not hospitalization material. A little Aleve and a heating pad, and I’m mostly at peace with the world.
By the time 5pm rolled around, though, I was starting to think I was dealing with something more than monthly lady cramps. I tried Aleve. I tried a heating pad. I tried an ice pack. And nothing was helping. The pain was all on the lower left part of my abdomen, wrapping from front to back, and at 11pm I was crying on the bathroom floor. Just like every good Saturday night, amIright? (No, that is certainly not right, and — I say this from a place of love and friendship — if that’s the way you spend every Saturday night you might want to reevaluate some of your habits.)
And so it was that I found myself at the ER at 1 o’clock Sunday morning. Five hours; a urine analysis; a couple of blood tests; a CT scan; a bag of IV fluid; some intravenous pain medication; and a mighty bout with nausea later, I was back home with a diagnosis of a “medium-sized” kidney stone (which was what had prompted me to cry in the bathroom floor) and a “rather large” gallstone (which isn’t currently causing any trouble); a few prescriptions; and a list of things I should avoid eating.
You guys, there are so many things on that list of things not to eat. My favorite things. Cheese, chocolate, avocados, coconut. It made me sad, but writhing around in pain makes me sadder. So while the weekly menu plan might not change all that much — although I guess I will be saying farewell to lasagna and coconut curries and other such delicacies — my snacking options are going to have to change.
Monday: Mongolian beef
I’m supposed to have no more than 6 ounces of meat daily. A veggie-loaded stir-fry should make that pretty simple.
I have no idea how long this kidney stone thing is going to take, so I may have Rockford pick something up for dinner.
Thursday: Jerk pork tenderloin
I’m going to put the pineapple relish on this, too.
Friday: Pizza, maybe
We had plans for the weekend, but the kidney stone kind of has things up in the air right now. So I’m not sure about Friday yet.
In conclusion: My husband is a rock star, AND drink lots and lots and lots of water, because this has been a very unpleasant thing and I’d rather you didn’t have to experience it first-hand.
And then after the show we saw a guy laying on the side of the road, barefoot and flanked by EMTs. He was weeping and shouting “Please, thank you, please, thank you.” He grew belligerent when the EMTs tried to strap him to the gurney, insisting that he was not, in fact, drunk. Maybe not, but he was something. He bit one of the EMTs just as the traffic started moving again. This is how the zombie apocalypse begins, if you believe Rockford.
On Saturday I walked around the front of the car and nearly stepped on a little bird in the driveway. I screamed and leapt away. We thought he was injured, so Rockford put on some gloves and put him in a box. But he jumped out of the box and ran under the car and then disappeared. I hope he’s alright.
These weren’t so strange, but they were delicious enough to mention: Last night we had Taco Cups for dinner. They’re a little fussy, but they’re worth the effort. And here’s what we’re having for the rest of the week:
