Sorry about yesterday’s blog. I am going to use the Fergie defense… it’s just where I’m at (used when asked about her inspiration for her London Bridge song).
Anyways, poop is a major subject in my life right now. Alisha is attempting to relearn how to do it again for the first time in a LONG time. It isn’t an easy process by any means. Fortunately today went a little better than yesterday, and everyday should show increased progress.
This morning, her surgeon stopped by to check on her. He changed a few orders and gave Alisha a pep talk- he is a good guy and seems to care for her. As he was about to leave I stopped him to ask him a question about what he is going to look for in order to send her home.
Me: Doctor, are you going to put her on solid foods and wait for a solid… (hesitation for a quick internal thought- what is the right word to use when talking to a butt surgeon? Poop? Poo? Poopies? Crap? Cosby kids? Log? Deficade? Dung? Waste? etc.)… what do I choose? Dookie. I said dookie.
Doctor: What did you say?
Me: I said the word dookie.
Doctor: What is that? Where did you get that from?
Me: It’s a word for poop… I don’t know why I said it, I should have said Bowel Movement or something. I think it was the title of a Green Day album.
Doctor: I’ve never heard of that before. I’m going to google it.
And he left. Of course, Alisha was not impressed. 5 minutes later he came back in the room and said, “2 things. One, Dookie is not a real word. It is slang. I couldn’t find it in the Webster’s Dictionary. I was able to find it in the Urban Dictionary.”
Before he got to his second point, I insisted that he must be looking at an outdated dictionary and that regardless if it is slang or not… he should know this word being in the industry and all.
I am not sure if he finished his second point or not. But I feel good being able to teach people new things everyday. The thing I feel the best about is that Alisha has gotten used to this stuff from me and she is around. Thanks for putting up with my dookie.
In an effort to keep light subjects serious and the serious ones light…
I like being good at things. I have a severe desire to be the best at everything I do. Granted I am not the best at ALL things, but I would like to think that I am at least above average at everything (even if I am not).
One thing that I am the reigning king of is poopball. It is a sport that I invented. People get jealous of my poopball-abilities, and that is hard for them to deal with. But there is one thing that I want to make clear… there is no crying in poopball. It is a recreation to be enjoyed at a relaxed pace. There is no major leagues, world champion, or gold medal winner of poopball. My desire is that all who participate have fun and come away refreshed/relaxed.
This might be utopian of me to desire. It might be the equivalent of desiring world peace. The problem may never be solved, but I can try. And try, I will.
A wise man once said that “a stink can be made when a stink is not made, but it doesn’t stink to make a stink.” Thank you wise man, God bless you.
So our favorite ’personal care assistant’ from our thanksgiving trip to the hospital is back. Her name is Ty and she is one of the nicest people- possibly ever. Alisha and I have talked about Ty several times since that trip and multiple times over the weekend at the hospital. We ran into her in the hallway during of one Alisha’s multiple laps around the floor, and of course she remembered us and wanted to know how we are doing, because she is so nice.
She got me thinking about a few things this morning. First and most importantly, about how much I enjoyed the cartoon Shirt-Tales when I was a kid. The character I identified with the most was Tyg the Tiger (I thought it was Ty, but fortunately my prior research on the topic corrected me). They were a bunch of crime-fighting animals that lived in a tree in Oak Tree Park who spent their time hiding their true identity to the park ranger Mr. Dinkle. The neat thing about the Shirt Tales gang was that they all wore shirts which flashed various brightly lit messages reflecting the characters’ thoughts. Clearly this was a great Saturday morning television show and would make an even better movie (don’t steal my idea, hollywood).
The other thing I spent time thinking about was how I wished I had a shirt that told my thoughts. When Alisha and I would debate what to have for dinner (like we do every night), she would know that I really don’t want white turkey spaghetti but what I really want is a juicy bacon cheeseburger.
*Gift Idea Alert*… a T-shirt that says juicy bacon cheeseburger on it.
Then I started thinking about what my T-shirt really would say if I was one of the Shirt Tales. Well, I think don’t like this idea anymore. Sometimes my truth is easy to hide.
My wife Alisha has been sick for, well, just about the entire time she has been my wife. That sounds worse than it really has been. She is wonderful, strong, passionate, sweet, and loving (most of that even applies outside of the bedroom).
Before I make this entry all about her or my love for her, let me tell you why her illness hasn’t really been all that tough.
God has made both of us stronger.
We have learned a crapton about ourselves and each other.
Our family has walked through this with us each each step of the way (in case I haven’t said it- thanks).
Friday marked the latest surgery conquest for Alisha (double digits in five years!). And in regular fashion, family has rallied around to make sure that we are watched over and cared for. We went out to dinner with them the night before and everyone, except for Alisha, enjoyed a delicious noodle-riffic meal. Throughout the meal, everyone was mentioning things that everyone else understood except for me. For a person that prides himself on the inside joke/story… that sucks.
Come to find out, everyone knows what is going on with everyone else because they all blog.
Well, check it out… I’m going to take advantage of this time off and the hospital wi-fi to get myself back on the inside track. Who knows how long I can last once the reality of a 13 hour day returns. But I want to give it a shot.
Speaking of giving it a shot… Alisha, can I get you a carton of chocolate milk?
