Just another manic Monday. . . .

May 9, 2011


Today has been one-of-those-days.

Not even yoga and a large brandy and ginger ale could make today any better.

Nope.

This is the kind of day where ending it is your best bet.






Em had blood tests and a lactose intolerance test this morning.

Starting with the removal of three vials of blood, and then moving to the consumption of a weird, white, chalky looking substance with some lemon juice added for flavour.

Which then lead to another two vials drawn over the course of the 90 minutes.

I was just hoping Em kept it all down.

And like a trooper she did.

At 17 years of age, this was Em's first ever blood test.

Naturally, she was nervous.

And I was reassuring.

I had no choice.

One, what else would I do, and two, it was my attempt to right several wrongs from my own childhood.

For reasons I cannot comprehend, I was always at the hospital (or that's what it felt like) for one blood test or another.

As soon as I walked into the lab, the technicians were ready for Hurricane Dawne.

I was beyond terrified and into whatever realm exists in the minds of small children who would rather eat their own arms than have blood drawn.

My mother and two other nurses would have to hold me down while a fourth person actually drew the blood.

Keeping in mind that my mother worked at this hospital, it must have been horribly embarrassing for her to have to take me in there, kicking and screaming, crying and pleading.

I had quite the reputation for being an over-the-top drama queen.

Imagine.

So unlike me now.






Em, however, was as calm as could be.

There was, however, one little hiccup.

Because it was Monday and it was me and Em together for her first blood test.

In all the nerves and anxiousness, it never occurred to me to ask my SEVENTEEN year old daughter whether or not she had her medicare card.

At least it didn't occur to me until we actually arrived at the hospital, got our parking lot ticket and even found a spot that wasn't ten kilometers away from the actual hospital entrance.

As we were getting out of the car, I said, "You have your medicare card, right?"

"No. I didn't know I needed it."

"Well, you have you're wallet with you, right?"

"NO! Why would I take my wallet if I don't have any money?"

I was gobsmacked, stunned, speechless.

"ID?" I asked.

"But I don't have a picture ID" she replied.

By this time we were sitting in the waiting area, our little paper number clutched in our hands.

121.

104 was being served.

I turned to Em and said that I would rush home to get her medicare card, I just needed to know where it was.

"In my purse, in my wallet."

Yes, I know.

We covered that.

WHERE in the house is your purse with your wallet.

"My room" she replied.

I paused.

Her room.

Excavating Pompeii would be easier than trying to find anything in Em's room.

But, I was determined to get it.

Because I was not going to back to the hospital at another day and time.

Stephen had taken my class.

Em actually had the day off school and therefore wasn't missing any classes.

No way.

It would be done.

Off I went.

After making an illegal U-turn to get onto the highway, I drove like a madwoman.

Until, upon getting off the highway and into our little suburb,a police car flashed it's lights at me, turning in the middle of the road and blocking my way.

Oh s**t!

I don't have time for this!

Quickly, I started running through a list of viable sob stories that may perhaps sway the emotions of Mr. Policeman.

And then he did a three point turn and went after another car.

I almost. . .almost because I was in a hurry, stopped the car in the middle of the road to get on my knees and thank God Mr. Policeman wasn't interested in me.

And rather had focused his attentions on the guy who sped through a school zone.

Thank you kind sir for making your illegal actions more visible than mine.

Home.

Upstairs, quickly greeting the curious and excited canines who thought Mummy had come home to relieve their boredom, or even better, take them for a walk.

For the first time in the history of mankind, I actually found what I needed immediately upon entering Em's room.

There may be two more cats than I thought we had in the house buried under the piles on her bed, but I could have imagined it.

Back outside to the car, and another dash back to the hospital arriving in the waiting room JUST as they were serving. . . .

120.

Relief flooded Em's face.

It took 30 minutes for my heart to stop racing.

Why, why, why, why can't things just be simple???????

Because.






To add insult to injury, my little laptop was assaulted by the same virus as last weekend.

Meaning another trip to the computer fixing place after the hospital removed half of Em's entire blood supply.

I walked in.

The guy who worked on it last week said, "Weren't you just here?"

Indeed I was.

"Same virus as last week" I replied.

No charge to fix it.

I never thought there would be.






And then, this afternoon, 30 minutes in to watching the 1988 classic Heathers, the sounds stops working.

Leaving me to dash upstairs to my office to get another film, Se7en, hoping the issue was the film and not the sound system.

Meaning there was no time for a discussion after the film.

I am certain my students were devastated that they were not forced to sit and listen to me yammer on for an hour about how slasher films aren't crime films.






No computer at home.

No time to even turn on the computer today, so here I am trying to get everything I need to do, done, before Stephen arrives from the grocery store to whisk Em and me home after a long, cold, trying day.

The kind of day where you just want to crawl into bed as soon as possible so as to end the day.

Because tomorrow has to be better.

Right?




Title Lyric: Manic Monday by The Bangles