DawnPapuga.com — Reality 101

(L to R:  ChachiAKA8Bit, DjLunchbox, DocRemedy, and FatherSpoon)

As previously noted, I’m laid up with a nasty Kidney infection which means I couldn’t even make it to the YinzTeam game last night to cheer my friends on from the sidelines.  In short, that sucks.  Yeah, we’re all connected through the social media outlets and we’re able to keep tabs on one another throughout the day, but part of what makes the Pittsburgh New/Social media crowd so unique (at least in my eyes) is that we use those platforms to actually get together and have fun.  I’ve met some amazing people over the past year or two, and I’m thankful for all of them.

While balled up in what feels like a permanent question mark position, I got a text from @DjLunchbox to check my email.  The pictures I found waiting for me made me smile for the first time since I’ve been in the fetal position with this illness.  The one above is my favorite, and it means a lot to me.  And Father Spoon (aka Doogle) posted a run down of the madness that was the last regular season YinzGame–I understand there were planks to walk…

Thanks, yinz guys, for making me feel better and missed!  You really made my day.

I’ve been MIA for the past few days.

Well, not exactly MIA–I’ve been in and out of the hospital.  Again.

Saturday I traveled with my family to Ohio to visit my brother and sister-in-law.  It was my brother’s birthday last week and we were having an impromptu cook out and cake gathering.  I have pictures and a post already written in my head, and I fully intended on posting it on Sunday (The post is still coming.  I’ll just have to back date it, so look for that.  It’ll be great!  Wisdom of an 8 year old and delicious Almond Tortes require a good, healthy post).  I went to bed early on Saturday because I wasn’t feeling very well, but had every intention of posting Sunday.  Yeah.  That didn’t happen.

Sunday, at about 6 AM, I woke up with incredible pains in my back and stomach.  It felt as though my actual stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.  The contractions came in waves of incredible, blinding pain.  It was similar to the pain I imagine you feel when you are stabbed with a hunting knife repeatedly in the stomach.  Of course there was also the throwing up every hour and a half which contributed to the bruising of my ribs.  I assumed that this was the source of the intense back pain I was feeling, but it turned out that I had it backwards. 

Monday I tried to go to work and soldier through, figuring that I could muscle through the waves of pain.  I got there, lasted about an hour and a half, and was in so much pain that I had to go to the hospital.  I think I scared my boss to death (thank goodness he was so helpful.  I don’t know what I would have done had he not been there to rush me to the ER).  Once in the ER they asked the typical questions and ran the usual tests, and everything looked wonderful except that I had severe pyelonephritis  (A.K.A.  Kidney Infection). 

I’ve had kidney infections in the past and I mentioned to a family member on Sunday that I was worried that my symptoms were similar to my previous experiences.  The problem with a Kidney infection is that you usually don’t know you have one until it’s serious (that’s when the recognizable symptoms rear their ugly heads).  In the ER they decided that I needed fluids, high doses of Cipro, pain meds, and nausea medicine immediately.  That meant an IV.  If there’s one thing that approaches my fear of clowns, it’s needles.  I was in so much pain, though, that all the fight I could muster was a little hyperventilation and a constant stream of tears.  I just wanted the pain to stop.  After a few hours on the IV, the back pain subsided for a while, but the GI spasms and pain didn’t.  They had to double the pain medicine.  Needless to say, I was a zombie.

So I’m laid up until the stomach spasms stop (that means the infection is under control and getting better), and full of medicines that would knock a baby elephant on his rear.  I can’t drink caffeine (this is leading to caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else), Cranberry juice and chicken soup are my new best friends, and I’ve developed an affinity for Life Saver flavored Popsicles.   If I’m coherent I’ll try and play catch up with my posting, but it might have to wait until the weekend.  Or until I can sit up for longer than an hour without pain.  Or never.  We’ll see.

 Growing up, I was forced to watch episode after episode of M*A*S*H in the evenings, and I can’t remember hating anything more (Well, I hated Willie Nelson too, but as with most things I grew up loathing, I’ve grown particularly fond of Willie too).  I don’t know when the switch occurred, but somewhere I became enamoured with M*A*S*H and the hi-jinks of the cast of characters of the 4077.  Maybe it was the writing, the predictable format of the show, the comedic timing, or the topical nature of many of the episodes.  All I know is that at some point, I grew to adore M*A*S*H, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my opinion changed once Henry Morgan, A.K.A. Colonel Sherman Potter joined the cast.

I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing either of my grandfathers while growing up–both had died before I could bat my eyelashes at them and drag them to story time.  My uncle’s parents lived across the street from me once we moved back to Pittsburgh, and somewhere along the way my brothers and I took to calling my uncle’s father “PapPap.”  He makes the most mouth watering meatballs (the size of tennis balls if we pleaded long enough), and sauce that tomatoes fight each other to be a part of.  Pap is old school in more ways than one, and even when he joined forces with my father to scare the life out of my dates, I knew it was because he cared.  He’s always had kind words and a kind laugh or joke for us, and I’ll always be grateful for having that as a part of my life. 

And while I have one surrogate Grandfather, I think it only right to fill the missing position on the other side of my family line.  I’ve been watching the entire run of M*A*S*H, and once Col. Potter uttered his first “HORSE HOCKEY!” I knew just the man for the job.  If we had the ability to choose, Col. Potter would be at the top of my list.  In fact, he might well be the only name on my list.  Yeah, yeah, he’s a fictional character, but so what?  If I can’t have the real thing, I might as well aim high, right?  He had a sense of humor, order, and understood when to let things work themselves before he stepped in.  He fought for the little guy and loved the family around him, all while overseeing the organized chaos of life in a battle zone (and sometimes that is exactly  what life feels like, doesn’t it?).  He could take a joke with as much panache as he could play one, and while he wasn’t always a stickler for discipline and the rules, he respected them and what they stood for.  At the same time, he did respect breaking the rules for the right reasons.  When it comes right down to it, you trusted that when Col. Potter was around everything would turn out well no matter what the difficulty.  Having him yell at you showed as much care as when he listened to your troubles and offered down home advice.  He was intelligent, experienced, and there was nothing that could get by him. 

So I’m officially adopting Col. Sherman Potter as my surrogate, fictional grandfather.  And now, under the wise advice of Grandpa Potter, I’m going to “get a belt.”