The Saga Ended Somewhere in Mexico

The whole Fam Damily survived the curse of Strep. Everyone had it including Joe and I, but Joe’s the only one that got to fly in a plane and expose hundreds of people. The disease lives on.

Friday while going to the podiatrist for a re-check on my keloided Achilles scar I started getting the sniffles. By morning I was miserable; I spent pretty much the whole day in bed. We had a babysitter scheduled for that evening and holy moly after the week I had, I was definitely going out. In hindsight it was stupid, but at the time I was happy not to be putting anyone to bed. Joe started sneezing halfway dinner and spent all of Sunday in bed. There’s nothing quite as miserable as a sick Joe so I hid out on the Petoskey’s deck. The plan worked much better than expected. Griffin was so wiped out after playing he put himself to bed at 5pm. I was able to get ready to teach without interruption. At 7pm he woke up and played in his room until 9:30, but stayed out of Joe’s way.

Meanwhile, Monday morning came and we, the kids and I, were headed Up North and Joe was off to Mexico on business. Of course I hadn’t packed a thing. I did a week’s worth of packing in about two hours and we hit the road at 11:20. Joe took off for the airport feeling very sick, but soldiering on.

My mom and I watched the temperature drop as we headed to the hinterland. When we arrived at the house it was 38 and windy and pretty much stayed that way. We did the normal hanging out doing nothing stuff. On Tuesday, we walked down the “Deadly Stairs” to the beach. I think I’ll whittle “Deadly Stairs” on a plaque for that retched staircase from hell.

I’ve watch both my parents wipe out on it and my friend and now it’s taken me as a victim. I made it to the very last step, stepped off onto a firm pack of sand that wasn’t firm at all. Hidden underneath was quicksand. My right leg slid out from under me at lightning fast speed, my repaired Achilles tendon leg went under me and my back hit the last step. As my life passed before my eyes all I could think was, “How in the hell are they going to haul my sorry ass up these @$&% stairs?” I remember a beloved friend making the same comment to me not so long ago. Thanks to my deep belief in the Church of Quinky Dink, I was spared great injury and walked the entire mile down the beach to the other set of Deadly Stairs that claimed Gus’ elbow. Honestly, these people need to figure out an elevator system. Oddly enough, but not surprising, I awoke with whiplash, Gus not much worse for the wear just needed a band-aid.

Meanwhile, now in Mexico Joe had become even sicker and has had to be taken to the doctor by one of his vendors. A double ear infection and several shots of antibiotics later, he’s feeling great, except for residual pressure in his ears. He was really touch and go there for a few days. He sounded like C-R-A-P. He couldn’t even enjoy the 90 degree weather. I would have felt like C-R-A-P because it was 90, but that’s just me.

That’s all our crud and now here’s the really horrible crap-ity crap happening. My dad was diagnosed with oral cancer about two weeks ago. He’ll be having surgery next week and the surgery is pretty horrible. With a PET scan the doctors found that the cancer has definitely invaded his jawbone. Therefore, the oral surgeon will remove the cancerous bone, the three molars residing in that bone and the lymph nodes on either side of his neck. He and my mother have been told the surgery will basically be a cure. Point blank the doctor said he will not die from this. Meanwhile down in the gut, something else popped up as curious tissue in the PET scan and he will have a biopsy. Timing on that is not decided yet, however the surgeon they saw today said they needed to do something soon. He’s going to pull a Scarlet O’Hara on that one and worry about it tomorrow. I’m betting tomorrow is going to come sooner than he wants.

The fear of death is definitely hovering around both my parents. They have had excellent health until last year when my mom was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, which was scary as all get out. So, I’m in the “we’ll have to see what happens after the surgery phase” but also knowing that my dad is going to look really different and that’s going to be weird. I’m very nervous about how it’s going to affect him. My dad has had a beard for the majority of my life. It completely freaked me out when he shaved off his beard when I was 12 and again 14 years ago, so I can’t even imagine what this will be like. We’ll find out soon won’t we?

Maybe I have an unhealthy reliance on my parents, but they are such a great source of guidance and information I couldn’t imagine my world if they were drastically different. I remember how angry I became with both of my grandmother’s when they become “old.” When they were no longer able to do the great grandmotherly things they had done before. Frustrated is probably a better word than angry. You want that person to stay the same; you want them to keep their facilities. But time takes it payments and grandma doesn’t do fun things like dive into the pool with her clothes on, gardening hat and all just because she’s hot and knows you’ll get a kick out of it. In fact, after a certain point if she does that you’ll lock her up. So, here’s the deal. I don’t want my parents to get old and do old people things. I also don’t want myself or Joe to follow that path. But at the same time I don’t want to stop the aging process, because you know what that means . . . no more birthdays.