Lawson, a bloggess priestess, composes a memoir of the good, awkward and the horrible in her life in a way that provokes her readers to honk jellyfish onto the page in fits of laughter. If you've never laughed so hard that you've cried, you certainly will when you read this book. Lawson takes even the most sensitive of topics and spins them into hilarity. Bursts of laughter will be synonymous with blushing embarrassment for thinking something so awful is so goddamn funny.
I seek to channel Lawson for this blog.
Oh the creativity of deployment doldrums. Since Nick left, I've had to kill big bugs, catch two geckos in my house, replace light bulbs and fire alarms, and both cars have died. The litany of bullshit is creative. Each time (after I've panicked or been grossed out or cried in frustrated) I just smirk at my independence. Fuck you, deployment doldrums.
Ah but the curve ball. Two and half months in and I was arrogant. Whatever else could go wrong, I was ready. Eleven days ago, scrambling to organize papers to grade and Writers' Guild meetings, I remember the moment wherein my gland pulsed with the threat of a sore throat. A small ache, but my arrogance wrote it off since it was the weekend. I could sleep in. I could watch movies. I didn't have anywhere to be. A sore throat is do-able. Maybe I'd even acquire a sexy, raspy voice for a week.
But it wasn't a sore throat. The ache melted into a throb. And in less than 36 hours, the bulbous growth of my gland immobilized my neck. Last week turned into one of the most painful weeks of my entire life. The swelling protruded and the ache stretched its fingers beyond my left gland, into my ear, the back of my neck and my throat. I couldn't move. I couldn't sleep. I could barely swallow. To lay down or move my head, I had to use both my hands.
Rosalie hunkered next to me in bed. Occasionally, she looked at me in wonderment. I'm sure, poised on her tongue, if she could only ask me why I had seemed to quit my job, she would have. But thank god she didn't. It would have only reminded me that I had 400 fucking papers to grade, classes to teach and students to email.
By Wednesday, however, the antibiotics started working. I had a little more energy. I took Rosalie for a walk. I was still uncomfortable and couldn't sleep for long, but I knew I was getting better. A month ago, Dad bought a ticket to Hawaii thinking warm beaches, breezy palm trees and cool waters would consume his Spring Break. Last year on his first full day on the island, Dad conquered the Koko Head hike. My follow appointment, however, resulted in my doctor sending me to the ER. So this year, in stead of Koko Head, Dad drove me to Tripler Army hospital and we sat in the ER. Both are on the top of a mountain, so I suppose that's a similarity?
Nick says that I now get to share this fun fact as an introduction:
Hi, I Mia and I was a Dr. House case for a week back in '13.
Within thirty minutes, I had a team working on my bulb, which I lovingly named Richard Parker. What? It needed a name, a full name (this thing was huge! It should have had it's own list of degrees and probably title of Ph.D.!), and I watched Life of Pi earlier in the week. For a girl who sees a needle and suddenly transforms into a twenty pound cat in a bathtub, I've become uncomfortably comfortable with drawing blood. The ER assigned me two nurses, one of whom was my primary nurse. Nurse Mark was my blood drawer. Then, he checked on me frequently with updates on the blood cultures. But my favorite moment in all of this was two hours into the ER purgatory when Nurse Mark came into the room.
"I have good news, ma'am..." He said convincingly. Finally! An answer! Or an explanation! Perhaps they've isolated the thing, which surely, given his tone, was simple and easily fixed! Richard Parker would go into the woods tonight!
Nurse Mark flashed a typed piece of paper at me written in code.
"...you're not pregnant." My hope collectively organized in the furrow of my brow. Suddenly, the appreciative-patient filter broke like South Fork dam in Johnstown.
"Well that's good, because I wouldn't know how to explain this neck baby to my deployed husband."
Nick's uncle is a nurse, and I've been warned not to be rude to nurses or they practice with the biggest needles.
In that moment, I solidified all future anythings would be done with the biggest needles available.
Nurse Mark didn't laugh. I wasn't following the patient script. I was improvising, and so I wasn't hitting my cues for his next line. He stopped checking on me so frequently after that.
As a footnote, for those of you wondering what the hell happened as a result of Richard Parker. He's still around, though he isn't as big. I'm still waiting for the goddamn army hospital or my doctor or anyone to return my phone calls, tell me my test results or let me know if Richard Parker will be extending his stay or if he's a threat to my livelihood. I'll paraphrase Lawson in saying that at least I've documented this partially on my blog as primary evidence if this turns into a court case and Richard Parker turns me into a vegetable. Somebody bring this blog to my lawyer if that happens.
I suppose I'll give them another week to fix their incompetence. Then, I will go to some journalist with the story, quit my job, move back in with my parents and use civilian health care for my answers while I stand on my soapbox from New York. But surely it can't get to that point.
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