Category: #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp

I just wanted a proof copy of Harrisburg, Did You Know? Book 2

This should have been a very short blog post. Two or three paragraphs should have covered the story. Actually, if that had been the case, I would have chosen a different topic for the post. I hadn’t planned to blog about this today.

When I started writing my blog more than 10 years ago, I set out to chronicle my journey as a reader and a writer. It’s been a bumpy ride and there have been detours, successes, and obstacles. I’ve tried to share my ups and downs.

Just three weeks ago in my February 6 blog post, What does a month in the life of a would-be author look like?, I described a particularly trying month I’d experienced. The things I ranted about in that post eventually all worked out.

Today’s post is about last week’s stress. Last week’s stress has lapped right over into this week. I’d like to think there’s light at the end of this tunnel, but after what I’ve been through, it’s hard to be optimistic.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Today’s post falls in the category of “you can’t make this stuff up.”

Here’s the timeline as tracked on Amazon.com:

February 19

Having submitted the formatted copy of Harrisburg, Did You Know? Cabarrus History, Book 2 to Amazon for publication, I ordered a proof copy. After having some technical difficulties with several photographs in the book, I especially wanted to be sure they were going to be oriented correctly in the printed book.

I also ordered two paperback copies of Slip Sliding Away: A Southern Historical Short Story, but those two books had to be purchased as a separate order.

Amazon chose to combine the orders and deliver (or attempt to deliver) the three books to me via the United States Postal System, otherwise known as “carrier facility.”

February 21

9:11 pm      Order left carrier facility, Concord, NC.

This is when I had a feeling that things had gone awry. Since Amazon does not print books at its facility in Concord, NC, which is about 12 miles from my house, I wondered why Concord was the first point of transit. The first point of transit should have been Amazon – not the US Postal Service. My books are usually printed either of Columbia, South Carolina or Indianapolis, Indiana.

February 22

Unspecified time   Carrier picked up package in Columbia, SC (about 90 miles south of me.)

8:18 a.m.     Package arrived at Amazon facility, Concord, NC (about 15 miles north of me.) [This is great! Maybe my proof copy and the short stories will arrive today or tomorrow at the latest! Life is good!]

February 23

6:18 a.m.     Package arrived at carrier facility, Walkertown, NC (about 80 miles north of me.) [What?]

6:32 p.m.    Package arrived at carrier facility, Harrisburg, NC (Post office is five miles from me. I live on a Harrisburg mail route.) [I’m not sure how it traveled 75 miles in 14 minutes, but okay. Whatever.]

7:47 p.m.    Package arrived at carrier facility, Greensboro, NC (about 85 miles northeast of me.) [Wait a minute! Something’s not right.]

But I don’t want a refund. I want my books!

You know you’re in trouble when Amazon tells you on Thursday that you can request a refund if your package doesn’t arrive by Tuesday.

A refund won’t do me any good. I need to receive the proof copy before I can give Amazon the go ahead to start selling it. More importantly, I can’t order author copies to supply Second Look Books in Harrisburg until the book “goes live” on Amazon. Then, it takes about four weeks for me to receive the author copies, and my “Meet & Greet” at Second Look Books is scheduled for April 15.

February 24

5:19 a.m.     Package left Amazon facility, Concord, NC (about 15 miles northeast of me.)

9:21 a.m.     Package arrived at USPS distribution center, Charlotte, NC (about 18 miles west of me.)

February 25

3:15 a.m.     After spending 18 hours at the USPS distribution center in Charlotte, the package left.

3:20 a.m.     Five minutes later, it left again. (I’m not making any of this up!)

7:07 a.m.     After traveling about 15 miles, package arrived nearly four hours later at the USPS in Harrisburg, NC.

7:18 a.m.     Package is out for delivery “by 8 p.m. tonight.”

3:20 p.m.    Package arrives at my house! According to the back page, the books were printed in Columbia, SC on February 20, 2023. There was only one 2×4-inch gaping hole in the package right over the cover of the Harrisburg book. These books have seen parts of North Carolina I’ve never seen. As far as I know, I’ve never been to Walkertown. I looked it up. It’s between Winston-Salem and Virginia.

Alas, I had the books in my hands.

I quickly turned to page 465 in the Harrisburg book to make sure Carl Higgins’ B-26 bomber was shown correctly; but, no! In the image, the plane is heading straight up instead of to the left.

Various subheadings in the book appear at the bottom of one page instead of at the top of the next page, although I painstakingly made sure that none of the subheadings were at the bottom of a page when I submitted the formatted manuscript to Amazon. Likewise, all images were oriented in the correct manner when they left my computer.

And did I mention that the cover is dark brown instead of red?

Photo by Taylor Deas-Melesh on Unsplash

I discovered, though, that the errors (except for the color of the cover) were my fault due to my lack of technical knowledge. If I’d been more in tune with general computer technology, I would have realized that I had created a problem… all the problems in the way the book was printed… except for the brown cover on the red book.

I still hold Amazon and the USPS responsible for shipping my book all over North and South Carolina for nearly a week. The best I can figure, the USPS transported it around 425 miles to get it 90 miles from Columbia, SC to Harrisburg, NC. If I could have received it five days ago, I’d probably have all the problems worked out in the formatting by now and would still be on schedule for publication.

Instead of giving Amazon the go ahead on March 1 to publish my book, I’m now working to correct errors. Then, I’ll submit the revised version. Then, with a great sense of foreboding, I’ll pay to get ANOTHER proof copy of the Harrisburg book. And I’ll wait who know how long for it to arrive. Then, if it is in good order, I’ll order author copies. Then, I’ll wait four weeks for them to arrive. Will they arrive in time for the “Meet & Greet” at Second Look Books on April 15th?

If I were a betting person, I wouldn’t bet on it.

Since my last blog post

Besides following the day-to-day saga of the trip the proof copy of my book has been on, I did some yard work. It’s been unseasonably warm here in North Carolina. I was surprised to see two black snakes on Wednesday. I’ve never seen a snake in February (or March!) before. It’s unusual to see one in April.

My email provider is a company called Windstream. There are many things I’d like to say about Windstream, but I won’t. Suffice it to say that on Saturday night, just five hours after I received the awful proof copy of my Harrisburg Book 2, Windstream downloaded into my inbox the last 4,449 emails I had already received. As we say in the South, “Bless their hearts!” Again, you can’t make this stuff up.

Until my next blog post

I hope you have a good book to read. I plan to write about the books I read in February.

If you’re looking for a good historical short story, just visit https://www.janetmorrisonbooks.com and subscribe to my newsletter. You’ll be rewarded with a free e-copy of a short story I had fun writing, “Slip Sliding Away: A Southern Historical Short Story.”

Also, hurry and subscribe before March 1, in order to receive my first newsletter!

I hope to have a corrected copy of Harrisburg, Book 2 completed, submitted to Amazon, and have a new proof copy of it in my hands by the time I blog again on March 6. I can only hope.

Thank you for reading my blog!

Don’t forget the brave people of Ukraine who have been under unwarranted attack by Putin for a year.

Janet

My Brush with Fame

After blogging about a heavy and complicated topic last week – the Wilmot Proviso – I decided to give my readers and myself a break this week. Let’s have some fun today with my brush with fame.

Do you remember a suspenseful television series from a decade ago that was filled with political intrigue? The name of the show was “Homeland.”

Before it was named. I had my brush of fame in it as an “extra.”

Most of the show’s early seasons were filmed in Charlotte. A segment was to be filmed at Avondale Presbyterian Church on Park Road because it resembled a New England church sanctuary.

Photo from Avondale Presbyterian Church website.

The production people wanted a full sanctuary for the filming of a funeral scene. An email went out to the churches in the Presbytery of Charlotte, part of the Presbyterian Church USA. The secretary at Rocky River Presbyterian Church sent out a notice to inform members of the congregation that extras were needed for the filming on August 12, 2011.

My sister and I had never considered doing anything like that, but it sounded interesting and exciting. We were advised to wear appropriate clothes for a funeral. We weren’t going to be paid, but lunch would be available.

We had nothing better to do that day, so off we went. It turned out to be a learning experience and one of those incidents that people who know me would probably be surprised to know.

Upon arrival, we were herded into the church’s fellowship hall. We sat with strangers around round tables. It was immediately time to “hurry up and wait.”

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

After several hours, we were led into the sanctuary. Sound and lighting were tested. I can’t remember now if the stars of that episode of the show, Claire Danes and Damian Lewis, were involved in our first visit to the sanctuary.

We were told in no uncertain terms to memorize where we were sitting because later in the day we’d have to arrange ourselves exactly in the same place and in the same order. That was a bit stressful when you’re sitting on a church pew in a sanctuary you’ve never been in before and all the walls are covered in plastic to control the lighting.

It must have been at that point that we were served lunch. I can’t remember what it was, but I never turn down a free meal.

After that, we were left to just hang out in the fellowship hall. I’ve never had good timing. I took a minute to take a bathroom break. When I came back to the fellowship hall, my sister and a man we’d only met that morning were gone. The remaining extras at our table told me that someone came and asked them to go outside for the shooting of another scene.

This man had irritated us all morning, and now Marie was stuck being with him for filming outside. He was a loud know-it-all and we’d wished we could move to another table. Even so, I was a little envious because Marie was at least getting to do something, but I mostly pitied her for having to spend more time with this obnoxious man.

Marie and her new “husband” eventually returned to the fellowship hall. They’d had to walk together up the sidewalk leading to the church entrance over and over and over and over as if arriving for the funeral. Marie looked shell shocked and feared people would think they were an actual couple.

A little while later, we were instructed to return to the sanctuary. (All this time I’d been playing over in my head the clues I’d tried to detect that would help me sit exactly where I had earlier.)

As soon as everyone seated themselves where they’d sat that morning, members of the production crew started pointing and saying, “You. You, go sit over there. And you. You go sit over there.” This drill went on for a while until I’d completely lost sight of Marie and I was nowhere near where I’d started. I hoped she wasn’t being paired off with “obnoxious man.”

I liked where I ended up. I was near the aisle, and Claire Danes stood just feet away from me while she waited for her cue to walk forward. We even made eye contact while we waited. It was probably because I looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Photo by Avel Chuklanov on Unsplash

Filming finally started. Damian Lewis eulogized his deceased best friend from the Army. Over and over and over and over again. Claire Danes eventually got to walk up the aisle (over and over again) to her appointed seat.

In the middle of Damian Lewis’ eulogy, an actor portraying another of their Army buddies as noisily as possible dropped his crutches. The sound was quite startling to those of us in the audience who didn’t have a clue what was happening. That quite loud segment was filmed over and over again.

At one point, they were filming as if we were all sad and talking among ourselves about how sad it was that this Army veteran had died. It was hard to keep from laughing as we turned to the complete strangers sitting next to us and were instructed to quietly make specific comments about how tragic the whole thing was. By then it was late in the day and most of us were a bit sorry we’d volunteered for this unknown television show that probably would never even air.

“Homeland” did air. It was a successful series that lasted eight seasons. Marie and I watched almost every episode. It was fun to pick out local sights in the various episodes during the first several years when it was filmed in the Charlotte area. There was the staged explosion at Marshall Park in downtown Charlotte and even a scene at a small mom and pop motel in Mt. Pleasant here in Cabarrus County. And, of course, there was the episode that included the funeral at Avondale Presbyterian Church.

When the episode aired, we learned that Damian Lewis’ character had in fact murdered the man we heard him eulogizing.

It turned out that Marie and I were both seated so near the back of the sanctuary that we couldn’t even pick out ourselves in the crowd when the episode aired. Much to Marie’s relief, the entire segment of her and “obnoxious man” walking arm-in-arm to the church ended up on the cutting room floor.

Photo by GR Stocks on Unsplash

Nevertheless, we know we were in Season 1 Episode 6 (“Good Soldier”) of “Homeland” and in the process we learned that it can take eight hours to film a two-minute segment of a television show. I don’t know how actors stand it.

We came to like the part Mandy Patinkin played in the series and regretted that we didn’t get to see him during our day of hurry up and wait.

It was more than a bit out of character for Marie and me, but we were glad we did it. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, but parts of it were fun and it gave us a whole new appreciation for the tedium actors must endure.

Since my last blog post

I continue to work on the family cookbook, The Aunts in the Kitchen. It’s time to figure out the cover and write the bios for each of the aunts.

I also continue to work on my genealogy.

I hope you have a good book to read. I’m reading The Librarian Spy: A Novel of World War II, by Madeline Martin.

Until my next blog post

Find time for family, friends, and a hobby.

Don’t forget the people of Ukraine, Uvalde, and Highland Park, etc. and the people in Kentucky whose lives have been turned upside down by flooding.

Janet

Who said the world would end today?

Once in a while, someone proclaims that the world is going to come to an end on a certain date. It turns out that today is one of those days.

School attendance and the Miranda Rights

I was on a jury in the early 1970s for a public school truancy case. The case ended up being thrown out of court because it came to light that the county school system’s truant officer (probably called something like “attendance facilitator” today) failed to read the children’s mother her Miranda rights. (Bear with me. This story directly relates to today’s blog topic.)

For those of you in countries other than the United States, in 1966 the US Supreme Court ruled in Miranda v Arizona that a police officer must tell a suspect they’re about to question that they have the right to remain silent, anything they say can and will be held against them in a court of law, they have the right to a lawyer and for that lawyer to be present while they’re being questioned, and the government will provide a lawyer for them if they can’t afford one.

Photo credit: Scott Umstattd on unsplash.com

The mother had kept her children out of school for several months, but now the county had to start over in its effort to get those children back into the classroom. The reason the mother was not letting her children go to school was because she belonged to a religious group that believed the world was going to come to an end on a specific date in the near future and, therefore, her children didn’t need an education.

And then, there was 12:00:01 a.m. on January 1, 2000

Photo credit: Claudio Schwarz on unsplash.com

Those of us of a certain age remember all the hoopla over January 1, 2000. Computers were predicted to crash. Life as we knew it would end because the computers invented in the 1900s weren’t capable of anticipating the year 2000. There would be no electricity. Our phones wouldn’t work. Our clocks would stop. Well, January 1, 2000 arrived with the usual New Year’s fireworks, etc. and life continued.

Photo credit: Sid Ramirez on unsplash.com

Predictions based on Natural Disasters and Wars

The current Covid-19 pandemic has prompted some people to predict the imminent end of the world. They might be right and the joke might be on me, but I’m reminded that there have been pandemics, earthquakes, floods, wars, and hurricanes all throughout world history. Why would anyone think the Covid-19 pandemic is the event that will knock Earth off its axis?

Photo credit: Michael Marais on unsplash.com

In the spirit of full transparency, I’ll start by saying I don’t believe a human being can know the date that the world will come to an end. I believe that only God knows. It’s not something I have to worry about. I don’t want to know the day or the hour. It would make me live my life differently and, probably, not for the good. But I digress.

That brings us to December 21, 2020

It came to my attention early this month that on December 21, 2020, Saturn and Jupiter would be the closest to each other that they’ve been in some 800 years. Cool! I wish I had a telescope to view this with. I’ve been watching those two planets with the naked eye for a couple of weeks, and it’s been interesting to see two such bright objects near each other in the sky.

Planet Jupiter.
Photo credit: Michael Sambycwkpo on unsplash.com

It wasn’t until December 10 that I became aware that some people were predicting that this interesting and rare astronomical event was a sure sign that the world would end today. I chuckled about it. If you’re reading this, I was apparently right to chuckle. If I was wrong, …. Poof! It’s been nice knowing you. Thank you for reading my blog all these years. It’s been fun. I wasted my time planning future blog post topics. On the bright side, I’m glad I made that dental appointment for December 23 instead of early December. I saved myself a bunch of money.

If you and I are still here

If you and I are still here, whew! We’re safe until the lunatic fringe chooses the next date for the world’s demise.

I hope you have a good book to read or write.

I hope you have rewarding creative time this week.

Keep wearing your mask.

The Nativity

Merry Christmas to my fellow Christians on December 25th.

Janet

#YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 5 of 5

Today’s blog post wraps up my recent tale of woe. We pick up the story when the nurse was checking on the status of my shower chair/portable toilet and the woman at the other end of the phone call responds, “I’m on it.”

In case you missed Part 4 yesterday, here’s a link to it: #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 4 of 5. ­­­­

Home at last

I’m finally presented with my “throne” and Marie and I leave the hospital. We stop on the way home for some lunch at a fast-food restaurant’s drive-through window since we are now getting very hungry. (My breakfast had been interrupted no less than eight times by various hospital personnel, so I don’t remember what or when I ate it.)

My sister, Marie, is a very resourceful person. Not able to find a bridge threshold ramp that will work with our particular threshold, she goes to the basement and comes back with two wooden planks, a piece of 2-inch wide crown molding, and a piece of slick-backed insulation. She’s a genius!

Her plan works great! When I need to go for a follow-up appointment with my doctor, we won’t have to call the fire department to carry me out of the house! We are proud of ourselves, but mainly I’m proud of Marie. She figured this out!

An outing to see the physician’s assistant

I make an appointment to follow up with my primary care physician. When I explain to the lab technician how I broke my leg, she says, “You’re kidding, aren’t you? How did it really happen?” After I assure her that I’ve told her the real story, she says, “You can’t make this stuff up!”

I agree. I write some fiction, but I lack the imagination to make up the story you’ve read since Monday.

What next?

The other day I texted my friend, Kay, about the latest part of my tale of woe. Kay texted back, “LOL! What’s next?”

Less than an hour later, Marie is pushing me down the hall in my rollator. Suddenly, it becomes difficult to push. I can’t believe it when Marie says, “You have a flat tire!”

Who knew a rollator could have a flat tire?

I texted Kay. She responded, “I’ve used a rollator for years, but I’ve never had a blowout!”

My rollator is old. Marie bought it at a yard sale. It’s so old, replacement tires are not made for it. I could order one on E-Bay that might work, but for an additional $50.00 I could purchase a new rollator.

Since I won’t need the rollator forever, and I have a very resourceful sister, I don’t need to buy a new one. Marie repaired the tire with duct tape! It brought back memories of our father having tires recapped back in the day before the invention of radial tires.

Where things stand today

I can get in and out of the house in my rollator with Marie’s assistance. Of course, now we’re under a “Stay at Home” order in my county due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

I can’t put any weight on my right foot for another three-and-a-half weeks, and it remains to be seen what happens to the physical therapy I’ll need in the coming months. I can’t imagine any physical therapists will be seeing patients in the coming months.

I expect to be on a blood thinner for the next three months, since the pulmonary embolism was the result of an accident and not due to an underlying medical condition. My lung continues to hurt if I lie down flat, so I’m sleeping nearly sitting up. I still run a fever most evenings. I’m trying to learn patience.

The phone still rings and it frustrates me when the caller ID box says, “SPAM” or “Fraudulent Caller” and I wonder why the phone company isn’t filtering such calls.

One caller left a voicemail. She claimed her name was “Sunshine” and that she knew I was an author. She said she represents “a hybrid company that also invests in French National Book Rights.” She asked that I call her at 302-770-____, Ext. 87, but I didn’t. I’m only an author because I wrote a vintage postcard book, The Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina and I doubt that anyone wants to translate it into French.

By the way, the burial insurance agent called again yesterday. That recorded caller doesn’t give up easily.

Until my next blog post

Take care of yourself. Stay home, if you possibly can. Listen to the medical experts and other scientists.

Write a note of caring and thanks to someone you know – maybe to the pharmacist, the nurse at your doctor’s office, or the cashier at the grocery store.

Be resourseful! Be like Marie!

Today concludes my tale of woe since fracturing my leg on January 27.. At least, I hope the “woe” part of the tale is over. On Monday I plan to resume my usual weekly blog post.

Janet

A thank-you note
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

#YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 4 of 5

Part 4 of this week’s blog series, #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp, picks up after the construction of our handicap ramp. What happens next has nothing to do with the ramp; that’s just where I ended Part 3 yesterday.

In case you missed Part 3, here’s a link to it: ­­­­#YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 3 of 5.

I start noticing a slight pain under my left shoulder blade. I figure it comes from using muscles I haven’t been using until I started having to hop on my left foot and get around with a walker. I quickly develop a new appreciation and awe for people who are permanently physically handicapped.

A few days later

I wake up on February 26 with stabbing pains throughout my left rib cage and in my back – under that shoulder blade. I can’t get comfortable. It hurts to breathe. It really hurts to take a deep breath. Marie and I decide this time I need an ambulance.

There’s a whole other story regarding the ambulance, but I’ll spare you the details. It’s my first ride in an ambulance as a patient.

Keep in mind that it’s the middle of flu season and there’s talk that COVID-19 is coming to America. The waiting room at the emergency room is overflowing with sick people. Some of them are very sick. I try to remain calm, not touch anything, and not take a deep breath.

Diagnosis:  Pulmonary Embolism

It’s finally my turn to be seen. I’m sent for a lung x-ray. I’m told I might have pneumonia in my left lung, but a CT scan is needed for a diagnosis.

The diagnosis is pretty quickly made. I have a blood clot in my left lung! A blood thinner is injected into my stomach and I’m monitored. The hospital is full. The hospitalist says I might have to spend the night in the ER.

Much to my surprise, a room becomes available and I’m admitted for observation.

Photo by Martha Dominguez de Gouveia on Unsplash

The next day I start taking a blood thinner in pill form, and will continue to for three or four months.

No, I can’t do that

Physical and occupational therapists come to my room to assess my mobility capabilities. I cannot be discharged before they see me. Hospital rules. We have a ramp at our house now. The only remaining barrier is the threshold in the doorway from the porch into the house. I never should have mentioned it.

One of the therapists demonstrates how I should be able to hop up steps and hop backwards over our door’s threshold. Since the industrial strength leg brace weighs a ton (that’s the only exaggeration in my story) and I’m not a healthy 67-year-old – I have my doubts that I can hop up steps or over the threshold forwards – much less backwards. I can barely get my left foot an inch off the floor when I hop.

When I put all my weight on the handles of my walker in order to hop, it feels like electricity is running through my hands. I’m not having fun with my walker if on a flat surface while going forward. I decline the therapist’s offer to take me to “the gym” where I can learn how to hop up stairs on one foot. (Call me a chicken if you so desire.)

Her next suggestion was that I could sit down on the floor and scoot myself backwards up steps or over the threshold. When I inquired of her how I might get up from the floor, she said I should just scoot over to a chair and pull myself up. She sat on the floor of my hospital room (not to worry… it had been mopped that morning — GAG!) scooted over to a chair and pulled herself up to a standing position.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Before I could protest, the other therapist in the room pointed out that with a broken leg it was going to be impossible for me to pull myself up using a chair. Neither of them had explained how I was supposed to sit on the floor in the first place. The only way I can see myself sitting on the floor is if I fall backwards while using my walker. That seems a little drastic to me, just so I can scoot over an exterior door threshold.

Not to be defeated, the first therapist said I needed to go home with a shower chair that doubles as a bedside toilet. Not wanting to come across as totally uncooperative, I decided to accept. The chair is ordered. My lunch is cancelled because I’m being released at 10:30 a.m. Trust me, it’s already been a long day.

Marie stops shopping for a threshold bridge ramp and comes to pick me up at 10:30 even though we know this probably isn’t happening. Lunchtime comes and goes. 10:30 release turns into 2:00 p.m. release because the shower chair has to be delivered to the hospital and I, of course, can’t go home without it.

An hour or so before the shower chair is brought to my room, the nurse whips out her cell phone, calls someone else in the building and asks, “What’s the status of Ms. Morrison’s shower chair/portable toilet?” The response on the other end of the line was, “I’m on it.”

Let that settle in for a minute. Marie, the nurse, and I all simultaneously realize how ironic, “I’m on it” sounds and we all have a good laugh.

To be continued . . .

Since my last blog post

Sadly, the first two deaths attributed to coronavirus-19 in North Carolina, have been reported in Cabarrus County.

You’ll be glad to know that we’ve had no calamities at our house in the last 24 hours.

I’ve been listening to The Litigators, by John Grisham and almost finished listening to Long Road to Mercy, by David Baldacci.       

I’ve worked on a historical short story. If I’m ever to have a collection of short stories to publish, I need to start spending more time writing and less time thinking about writing.

Until my next blog post

Take care of yourself and those important people in your life. Seek out someone who might be alone and scared. Contact them in a safe way. Listen to their concerns and try to reassure them. We’re all in this together.

Tune in tomorrow for #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 5 of 5.

Janet

#YouCan'tMakeThisStuffUp Part 3 of 5

In case you missed #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 2, here’s a link to it: https://janetswritingblog.com/2020/03/24/youcantmakethisstuffup-part-2-of-5/.

Something I forgot to include in Part 2 was when the triage nurse asked me, “Do you feel safe in your home?” (this being right after my sister has crashed into me in our kitchen and fractured my tibial plateau) and I responded, “I did until a few minutes ago!”

I know that was a very serious question, and I’m glad ER triage nurses are required to ask it, but I just couldn’t resist having a little fun with it.

Today we pick up my tale of woe just as our friend, Carol, arrives after 1:30 a.m. with a key to our house.

We thought we’d hear from you again tonight

Once she’s in the house, Marie calls the fire department and requests lift assistance. The same crew is still on duty. One of the firemen says, “We thought we’d hear from you again tonight.”

The firemen marvel that I have a fractured leg. They carry me up the porch steps and into the house in the handy-dandy rollator.

Marie and I eat I don’t remember what, but it tasted good, and we went to bed. I’m armed with a bell to ring if I need her during the night – and my cell phone so I can call her if she doesn’t hear the bell in her bedroom.

Do you need burial insurance?

The next morning we start getting daily robocalls offering us burial insurance. I don’t know if the hospital gave them my phone number or if someone told them the next day was my birthday. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for that. In fact, the calls continue. I’m still not in the mood.

Happy Birthday to me!

Happy Birthday!
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

The next day was my birthday. Marie and I usually take each other out for dinner on our birthdays. Like many such celebrations in 2020, that celebratory meal will have to be postponed for a few months or longer.

We need a handicap ramp

When I had my follow-up appointment with an orthopedic doctor, I learned that my fracture “isn’t quite bad enough to require surgery due to your age.” He could have talked all day without referring to my age! I’m fitted with an industrial strength thigh-to-ankle leg brace that has big dials on either side of my knee and four Velcro straps that have a tendency to stick to everything except where I need them. I’m told not to put any weight on my leg for a total of 12 weeks from the date of the accident.

In light of what we learned at the orthopedist’s office, we go home and start looking for someone to build a handicap ramp at our porch. A neighbor up the road has a landscaping business. He makes time in his busy schedule to construct and install a permanent treated-wood handicap ramp for us, finishing the job literally in the red mud while sleet was falling. (I don’t know if Billy wants to go into the ramp-building business or not but, if you live in the Charlotte area and need some landscaping done or a retaining wall built – or possibly, a handicap ramp – I can vouch for Reedy Creek Lawn and Landscape in Harrisburg, NC.)

To be continue . . .

Since my last blog post (24 hours ago)

I was scheduled for knee x-rays yesterday. I wasn’t too keen on going into a doctor’s office during this coronavirus-19 pandemic, but the nurse assured me all necessary precautions were being taken.

My sister and I continued our “Lucy and Ethel” ways. While I brushed my teeth, I thought about my leg brace. I didn’t think about it again until I was sitting in the passenger seat of my 1991 pick-up truck (because it’s easier to get in and out of than Marie’s car.) She had to go back in the house to retrieve my brace. Do you know how difficult it is to put on a full-leg brace while sitting sideways in a pick-up truck? If not, I can tell you on a need-to-know basis.

When we arrived at the orthopedic doctor’s office, I called the nurse from the truck. I hopped to the door with my walker and the nurse met me there. She grabbed a wheelchair and whisked me through the deserted waiting room and straight to x-ray.

Do you know how difficult it is to stand on one foot and hold your own lead x-ray apron long enough to have two x-rays made? I can tell you, if you really want to know.

The x-rays showed that my tibial plateau fracture is healing just fine. Calcium is starting to fill in the fracture, which is a good thing. Everything looked great! Just four more weeks of not putting any weight on my right leg. I can do this! I don’t have to leave the house again until my next doctor’s appointment in April.

The day’s fun wasn’t over yet, though. At 5:00 p.m. I went on my tablet to see and hear my pastor’s devotional on Facebook Live. Facebook Live is a new thing for me. A very new thing for me.

I learned something today at 5:00 p.m. If you go to the church’s Facebook Live broadcast and hit a red button (it either said, “Video” or “Live” or something else)… anyway… I hit the red button and instead of tuning into Neal’s devotional, I recorded an 11-second video that broadcast live on my Facebook page. Fortunately, most of the 11 seconds only showed the inside cover of my tablet. That flash at the end was my lap covered by a blanket. The moral of the story is:  Never hit the red button. (My apologies to Staples and their Easy Button.)

Until my next blog post

Take care of yourself and those you care about. Check on your neighbors and people who live alone. Support local small businesses like Reedy Creek Lawn and Landscape as you can.

Tune in tomorrow for #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 4 of 5.

Janet

#YouCan'tMakeThisStuffUp Part 2 of 5

In case you missed #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 1 of 5 yesterday, here’s a link to that blog post: https://janetswritingblog.com/2020/03/23/youcantmakethisstuffup-part-1-of-5/.

Today we pick up my tale of woe as my sister, Marie, dials 9-1-1 after falling into me and fracturing my tibia. Of course, we don’t know exactly what my injury is at this point.

It is determined that she can take me to the hospital if the fire department will send out a crew to provide “lift assistance.”

Fire truck
Photo by mauro arrue on Unsplash

The firemen are great! They help me sit down in the rollator we had for Marie’s knee surgery recovery. The three firemen pick me and the rollator up, take me out the door, and down the steps to the car. Off Marie and I go!

What happened to you?

While signing in at the emergency room and being triaged, everyone wants to know how I got hurt. I’m trying to make light of the situation because I have no idea I have a fractured leg. (I’m in pain, but I haven’t considered that the accident could have fractured a bone.)

Everyone at the hospital thinks I’m kidding when I tell them what happened. Imagine my surprise when the x-rays show a closed fracture of my right tibial plateau. I didn’t know my tibia had a plateau. Since the bone hadn’t come through the skin, I have no idea how life-changing this injury will be.

Meanwhile, Marie is getting tired of my including her in the story of how I got hurt. I tell her, “That’s too bad. If I leave you out of the story all that’s left is, ‘I was stirring soup and broke my leg.’ That makes no sense. The truth – the whole truth – is a much more interesting story.”

What do you mean you don’t have a key?

They put my leg in an immobilizer and give me a pain killer that makes me so dizzy I can’t stand up to be discharged. When that passes, I’m wheeled out to the car and we set off for home.

We’re really hungry. It’s after 1:00 a.m. on January 28, and it’s been a long time since lunch. We’re glad to get home and can’t wait to call the fire department for lift assistance again, get something to eat, and go to bed.

key
Photo by Allie Smith on Unsplash

Marie gets out of the car, goes to the porch, comes back to my car window and says, “I can’t find the house key!” I try to calmly ask, “What do you mean you don’t have your house key? I don’t have mine because all we took of mine was my wallet.”

Sorry to wake you up, but…

There’s nothing for us to do but call our friend, Carol, who has a key to our house. (Before you start yelling at me….. We used to have a spare key hidden in the yard in one of those little fake rocks, but a raccoon or some other wildlife moved the “rock” and dumped the key out in the grass. We hadn’t yet worked out a new hiding place.)

By now it’s 1:30 a.m. Carol comes to our rescue and apologizes for being her pajamas. We don’t care what she’s wearing. It’s cold, we’re hungry, and we’re just glad she was at home and able to find that key!

To be continued. . .

Until my next blog post

As the whole world journeys through this Coronavirus-19 pandemic, remember we’re all in this together. Stay safe. Take care of yourself and your loved ones. Eat comfort food.

Tune in tomorrow for #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 3 of 5.

Janet

#YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp Part 1 of 5

In these uncertain days of the Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, it was difficult for me to settle on a topic for today’s blog post. If you’re like me, you’re having trouble concentrating on your task at hand. 

I’m working on several future blog posts about the craft of writing and a number of fiction and nonfiction books I’ve read this month, and I will save those for the upcoming weeks.

My blog post today (and Parts 2-5 which will follow tomorrow through Friday of this week) will test your ability to trust me. It is a true story. Since the end of January, I’ve mentioned in passing that I have a fractured tibial plateau. It was the result of a freak accident.

Since the end of February, I’ve mentioned a time or two that I also have a pulmonary embolism. A fractured leg and the pulmonary embolism which followed it are not on face value anything to laugh about; however, I choose to look for the humor in everyday situations.

We can all use a chuckle during these difficult times, so please accept my series this week in the spirit in which it is intended.

Setting the stage

My sister, Marie, and I had been out and about on January 27. We were on a tight schedule to eat supper and get to book club.

food prep image
Photo by Piotr Miazga on Unsplash

Why isn’t Janet helping me up?

I’m heating soup on the stove. Marie is taking a dish out of the microwave oven. Her knee buckles. She manages to put the hot dish on the kitchen island before sprawling across the floor. What she didn’t know was that as she sailed across the kitchen she slams into the side of my right knee.

Marie is lying on the floor with her back to me because she has the presence of mind to turn herself in a way that she wouldn’t land on her left knee replacement. She can’t see me, but I’m clinging to the kitchen counter in great pain. I’m saying “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!” because I realize I cannot put any weight on my right foot. Marie is still on the floor with her back to me thinking I’m saying, “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!…” because I’m worried about her. (I was worried about her, but more worried about myself at that moment.) She’s wondering why I’m not helping her up!

Marie rolls over and sees that I’m hurt. I tell her I can’t put any weight on my right leg. I continue to cling to the kitchen counter as Marie struggles to get up. She brings me a chair and we pretty quickly agree that I need to go to the emergency room at the hospital three miles from our home. I try to walk to the door on crutches, but I soon feel faint and more or less collapse into a chair.

We decide we need some professional help, so Marie dials 9-1-1.

To be continued. . .

Until my next blog post

I hope you have escaped and continue to escape being infected with COVID-19. I hope you are physically, mentally, spiritually, and financially secure as we all journey through the most uncertain public health time of most of our lifetimes.

I hope you have a good book to read. I’m fortunate to be able to take advantage of some electronic audible books through the public library which closed its doors to the public on March 16 “until further notice.” I’m listening to The Ligitators, by John Grisham and Long Road to Mercy, by David Baldacci — but not at the same time. I just like to have more than one book going all the time.

We’re all learning as we go, and I’m glad I’m retired and not in a major decision-making position. Marie and I make a good team. I’m in the enviable position of living with my sister. She just happens to also be my best friend. She’s taking great care of me. Together, we’ll get through this crisis.

I hope you also have someone to depend on through thick and thin.

If you’re a writer or other artist, I hope you’re able to create during this time. I’m finding it difficult to concentrate most days. If you’re in that same boat, don’t beat yourself up over it. This is not the time to be demanding of yourself or others.

My thanks go out to those in the healthcare profession. Perhaps by the time we come to the end of this pandemic we’ll realize as a society that doctors and nurses are more valuable than – and should be paid more than athletes.

Take care of yourself. Stay safe, and try to stay well. Let the people in your life know how important they are to you. Keep in touch socially via phone, text, Skype, email, and however you safely can to minimize the isolation we all feel during this pandemic.

Tune in tomorrow for #YouCan’tMakeThisStuffUp” Part 2.

And, if you are a fan of humor from everyday life, I recommend the offerings by my fellow-North Carolinian Jeanne Swanner Robertson. Her website is https://jeannerobertson.com/.

Janet