It Really Was Just Twenty Minutes

I really love my Dad, and somewhat more importantly, I really like my Dad, so I was very happy to be able to head out west to help him before and after his knee replacement surgery.

That said, I did go all Seinfeld with Carlos about how long I’d be gone ...

“Look, subtract the travel time to and from, the sleeping time, the time he’s in the hospital, the driving time around Toledo, Oregon, and I’ll be gone, what, about twenty minutes or so.”

I don’t like being away from home—I’m a nester—for too long and I really don’t like being without Carlos because I’m a very needy queen or, and this is more likely, I truly love that man and need to see him every day, always.

Still, I left; usually we fly into Portland and then drive the three-plus hours south and to the west to my Dad’s house, but this time I checked into flying into Eugene, which cuts the drive time to Dad’s to about ninety minutes. The price seemed comparable so I thought I’d go the Eugene route, except ...

Columbia is not a major airport—there are literally twelve gates—and Eugene is even smaller, so any kind of direct flight is out. I flew from Columbia to DC, and then from DC to San Francisco, and from San Francisco to Eugene. It would be a long travel day—about twelve hours with plane changes and such—but it still seemed like less of a hassle than heading to Portland until ...

The flight to DC was smooth; I had a row to myself so I didn’t have that stupid airplane chatter—Where you going—to contend with; then came DC. The airport there, we landed at Dulles, is a nightmare. I headed up two escalators to a third level and then down an escalator to a second level, across a bridge into a tunnel onto a train just to get to my gate; that seemed longer than the flight ... I am that impatient.

At the gate there was a huge crowd and I thought, “Crowded Plane.” I hate crowded planes ... airplane chatter. God! And then the pilot appeared and introduced himself and told us we would have  a smooth ride cross country ... why did he say that?

Onboard the plane we sat and sat and sat until Friendly Pilot announced that we couldn’t leave because one of the Non Smoking lights was on and they needed to figure out why; that took an hour. No, I understand you don’t want mechanical problems when you’re 35,000 feet up but, because we stayed in DC an extra hour, you guessed it, I missed my flight from San Francisco to Eugene.

I was calm, but ready to rage at the United official I spoke to, but she was so nice and so calming, telling me that the next flight to Eugene would be at 7:30 ... AM ... the next day! But they put me up in a hotel and gave me meal vouchers to use to get something to eat, gave me a seat upgrade and told me I would forever and ever be Pre-Approved at the TSA; yup, no more shoes off, or toiletries out, or removing rings and wallets and belts and such for me.

So it was kind of a win. Plus, since we left in the morning, and it was one of those rare San Francisco fog-free mornings, I had the most spectacularly views of my old stomping grounds ... The City. The wide swath of green that is Golden Gate Park, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Presidio, the Bay Bridge, Giant’s stadium ... if only I’d taken my phone or camera from my bag ...

We arrived safely in Eugene and then it was short drive to Toledo and my Dad’s house. He was ready for surgery, had everything planned and all my instructions and we chatted and joked and then went to sleep because we had to be at the hospital at 6:30 AM where we were told his surgery would be about 2-3 hours and an hour in recovery. That seemed short to me; I mean, cutting open the leg, snapping out the old knee, putting in the Belgian upgrade and attaching it and then closing everything up in two or three hours?

Nope; it was about eight hours and me, with my overactive imagination instantly began fearing the worst. At the three hour mark I checked the board in the waiting room—patients are assigned numbers and you can track their progress by their number on the board—and Dad was still in surgery. Four hours, still in surgery; six hours ... seven hours .... eight hours.

My Dad was dead and they were afraid to come tell me; yes, that’s where my mind went. Luckily, the man at the desk in the waiting room was a calming influence, or else that slap he gave me settled me down, but finally my Dad was out of surgery and in recovery and then into his room.

At a little after 5 PM I was able to go in and see him and he was woozy, of course, but awake and alert and seemingly fine. Then he threw up; luckily a nurse’s assistant was in the room with a handy barf bag and I was able to suppress my own urge to vomit ... I am a Sympathy Puker.

Dad seemed to get better and then he started vomiting again but this time I was in the room alone ...

Side story: years back I had moved into a new apartment ... I was probably twenty ... and had a Housewarming Party. One of my friends had too much to drink and was very clearly about to hurl. Someone said, “Bob, Stacie’s going to hurl, you better do something,” so I did. I took her to the front door and put her outside. I cannot be near the vomit.

... so I went to the nurse’s station and told them my Dad was getting sick again and they all looked at me like I was a loon and one said she’d be right in ... except she sat there. So, I went all Shirley MacLaine Term’s of Endearment Debra Winger is dying on their asses ... or at least a more subdued version ... and said, again, “My Dad’s throwing up, can someone please come help him.”

And they did, and he was fine, and he was doing very very well. That same night he was able to bend the New Knee and the next day he was able to take fifteen steps with it, using a walker; his doctor was very impressed, his physical therapist, too.

Still, he stayed in the hospital for  four days and was released on Saturday. He came home and his German Shepherd, Foxy, was thrilled to see him—she’d been giving me the Who-Are-You-Stink-Eye for four days—and that was my Dad’s best medicine.

He saw a physical therapist for a home visit on Monday and was again doing much better than people expected, and we planned out all his trips to the doctor’s and therapy and things he needed for the next couple of weeks.

My brother arrived Monday night to take over as Home Health Aide and the next day my twenty minute stay at my Dad’s was over and I was back in Eugene and ready to head home.

Eugene to San Francisco; short flight, row to myself, no airplane chatter. San Francesco to DC, long flight, row to myself, sleeping to avoid any airplane chatter. Then came Dulles ...

As I said yesterday, I got off the plane Wednesday morning and was hoping to see Madam President signs everywhere and instead saw President-elect_____. I was sickened ... see that post HERE.

I went up three escalators and down two, across a bridge and through a tunnel and onto a train and up three escalators and down four until I came to my gate where I could hear _____ speaking on TV. I fled to a cafe for some yogurt and granola and orange juice and then boarded my last flight ....

It was one of those tiny planes; the ones where a person over five-feet-eleven cannot stand up in the aisle, so being six-foot-two, I was a stoop-shouldered ogre headed to my seat in a full to the rafters flight. Narrow aisles, narrow seats, no leg room and then ... the pilot tells us the navigation system isn’t working so they shut off all the power to the plane for a few moments and see if they can reboot it; they did use an outside power source to keep the cabin lights on but it as a full plane, small plane, no air ... I had my very first, and hope, very last, panic attack. It was hot and crowed and there was no air and I couldn’t breathe and ____ was elected president; I was about ten seconds from getting out of my seat and running to the front of the plane and screaming to be let off and then the plane backed up ... oh, not to leave, mind you, but to see if maybe the navigational system issues could be fixed away from the gate .. so we sat on the tarmac with no air and me screaming on the inside until I heard my Dad’s voice saying Count it down.

So I counted  1...2...3...4...5...4...3...2...1.. and so on.

Seriously, that calmed me down because it kept my mind from racing toward the front of the cabin, throwing open the door and hurling myself out of the plane.

Then we moved back to the gate and were told to go inside and wait until, they could get another plane, which they did, and it was fine, though still small and crowded. But this one worked and we flew home, albeit it three hours later than scheduled.

Like I Seinfeld’d it at the beginning, it really was just a twenty minute trip out to Oregon and back, though the flights seemed to drag on for twelve days.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it ... thanks for listening.

A Mixed Bag

I am the King, or perhaps the Queen, of the Dirty look in our house, but lately Carlos has been giving me a run for the money.

When we were in Greenville last week to see Audra McDonald, we'd taken our seats and the theater began to fill up.

A rather robust woman came down the aisle and plunked down next to Carlos and immediately took possession of the armrest. I turned to see him look her in the face, then look down at her arm, and then look her up and down.

I almost had to step in before a fight ensued.

I was afraid Robust would have taken Carlos in two out of three falls.

We had a nice mellow anniversary day. Just the two of us doing things we wanted to do, and then with a nice late lunch after.

Of course, there was a bit of drama, because the restaurant we first chose sat us at a table where the server was nowhere to be found; we sat ... and sat ... and then I suggested we move along somewhere else.

At the door, I handed the menus back to the hostess and said we'd waited almost ten minutes and no one came near us, and, still sitting down because her job is so taxing, she said, "Yeah, I went back and told the guy you were there."

I replied, "Maybe someone could have walked to our table and told us that 'the guy' was coming. But we're still leaving, and can I get one of the managers business cards please ... Adrienne?"

I feel a gift card coming soon ... to be used for take-out only.

And, down the street was another restaurant where, after about thirty seconds, I had my beer ordered. so, yeah, there's that, too.

I realized this week, as the nighttime temperatures have dipped into the 30s and 40s that I have a mild form of claustrophobia.

Like the "stuck in a coffin" kind, not the "trapped in an elevator" variety. I can take elevators and small rooms, but coffins ... and, No, I've never actually been inside one, at least in this lifetime ... are too confining.

But I get the gist at night when Tuxedo curls up between Carlos and I while we sleep, and then MaxGoldberg settles in on the other side of me. And with Consuelo sometimes taking up residence on my feet, I tend to feel like I can't move and that's when my 'panic' sets in and suddenly I am kicking at the sheets and blankets and Consuelo is sailing off the end of the bed and MaxGoldberg is being sent to the floor. Only Tuxedo takes it all in stride, stands up, and turns around to go back to sleep.

I catch my breath and follow suit.

A week earlier we were out to dinner with the Round-The-Way Gays, David and Neal, to belatedly celebrate Neal's birthday.

I'd had my pre-meal cocktail, as I like to do, and then as dinner was served, I asked our waiter, a cute little thing with adorable blue eyes, for a glass of Albariño, to go with my meal, and off he went.

A minute or so later he walked by and said he hadn't forgotten the wine; it was coming. A few minutes later he assured me he'd be right back. 

A few minutes later he appeared with a very full glass of wine and said, as he set it down, "I asked for a generous pour since you had to wait."

As he skipped away ... okay, maybe he was just skipping in my head ... I turned to David and said, "I imagine he's been generously poured on more than one occasion."

On our anniversary, we also hit up a bookstore. Carlos was looking for a book on Nikola Tesla and I am always looking for a new book.

But as I perused the shelves, I saw Carlos wandering down an aisle with one of the store clerks leading the way. I heard her say, "Tesla ... should be right here."

And as I looked up from the next aisle, I saw a book on Tesla right in front of me, so I held it up above the shelves and looked at Carlos, and said, "Is this what you're looking for, sir?"

The clerk thanked me profusely, seemingly unaware that Carlos and I were together. Apparently she thought I was just wandering the stacks and eavesdropping on conversations.

Yeah, I was doing that ... too. Until i found a book on Zelda Fitzgerald and a book on cocktails. The Roaring Twenties and Booze? I'm in!

We're off to Pride this weekend in Columbia. South Carolina doesn't celebrate Pride during pride month possibly due to the high heat, the unbearable stupidity humidity, and the chance for showers. So, it's this weekend, which will be sunny and glorious, and about eighty degrees.

Last year we were working Pride with our marriage equality group, The Will of the People Fund, so this year it'll be nice to be there now that equality has come to South Carolina and America.