Tomorrow

Tomorrow is a day I've been dreading for awhile. First thing in the morning I head to the hospital for a CT scan of my kidneys to find out if they are normal. The layers of dread are many. For one thing, I have to fast for 3hrs, which doesn't sound that bad to most people, I'm guessing, but I'm a lifelong grazer with a super-high metabolism, and going over an hour w/o eating something tends to make me feel lightheaded. Three hours seems almost insurmountable. I can have clear liquids during those three hours, and I plan to load myself up with apple juice and such to keep my blood sugar from utterly plummeting. Still, that won't be a perfect solution, especially since you're talking about someone with the world's smallest bladder (well, I guess we might find out tomorrow if that's really true!) so the more I drink, the worse my morning will become.

SEcond layer of dread is that I have to get an IV because they'll be injecting me with a contrast dye to better outline my kidneys and such. Besides my icky feeling toward needles, I've been forewarned that the dye itself can make you feel warm and give you a metallic taste in your mouth. If I were a betting person, I would put money on the fact that the combo of those two sensations is gonna make me barf at some point. Anyone care to challenge me? This is one of those times I sincerely hope to be wrong, but I've had weirder reactions to more innocuous drugs and such before, so we shall see.

Third layer: Claustrophobia. I think the CT scan won't be as bad as an MRI (which I've never had, btw, but we've all seen ER and House, thank you very much), but I do have claustrophobia and am not eager to confront this machine. They could give me a sedative for the anxiety, but then I wouldn't be able to drive myself home, and alas, that brings me to layer four....

I'm going alone. Lest you think Ken must be some kind of beast to send me off on such a journey by myself, let me explain: Due to numerous illnesses in the family (some of them mine, some the kids, some his) over the past year, along with my heavy travel schedule and his smaller number of paid days off than what I get per year, Ken has burned through all his time off for 2008 except for a measly half day. Why, a half day, that's perfectly enough time for him to take off work tomorrow morning and come with me, right? Well, I wish. But, you see, I have a day trip to make for work on Thursday, and it's for a meeting I absolutely cannot miss because (a) I'm running it and (b) it involves the executive directors of my organization and the one we're visiting, along with my boss, her boss (our Publisher), and directors of other divisions of both organizations. Crapola, I cannot miss this meeting. And so, I asked Ken to save his half day off just in case one of the boys is sick and needs someone to stay home with him. For the remaining half day that Ken doesn't have left to use for such an occasion, he'd have to throw himself on the mercy of his boss and either take it unpaid or get an advance on next year's vacation (and you can see where the latter option would lead toward the end of 2009).

So we just need to squeak through tomorrow, get me through this stupid test, and move on with our lives. Except that brings me to layer five. What if there is something wrong with my kidneys? I have no symptoms of any such problem--my doctor is merely on a fact-finding mission at this point--but the what ifs keep playing through my head. So the only thing I am truly dreading more than tomorrow's test is the phone ringing the day after when my doctor calls with the results.

Wow, so it's been awhile since I've posted my boring life happenings for you all to see. Sorry 'bout that. I know you've been dying to read more.

Ken and I remain exhausted and usually about a hair's breadth from losing all sanity, but the boys are doing well. Henry is 17 months now and still isn't walking independently. He's planning to hold out as long as humanly possible because he is stubborn as hell. Wonder where he gets that from? Hmmmmmm. (Don't let my mom tell you any stories. She's lying. My sister, too.) His vocabulary is burgeoning, though, so perhaps he's just going to be a wordsmith like me. Poor kid. Padraic is going to be 4-years-old in less than a month so please pinch me. Ken and I are already trying to figure out what we're going to do with our work schedules when Padraic starts kindergarten. In September 2010. Yeah, I like to plan ahead.

What's cool is that this is the first year that Padraic has enough awareness to know well in advance that Christmas is coming. He keeps telling me that when Santa comes, I can pet the reindeer. Sweet kid. I can't wait for Christmas morning, though, because when Padraic comes down the stairs, he is going to see a big red bike in front of it. I think his reaction will be priceless. He's been wanting a bike ever since our neighbor's son started riding his past our house every night toward the end of summer. I find myself wondering if he'll be talking about this Christmas morning when he's a grownup: As in "I still remember the Christmas I was 4. I came downstairs and saw that Santa had brought me my first bike, and I spent the afternoon riding up and down the street with my dad right behind me. My parents are awesome!" :) He'll make his own memories from the holiday, but as his mom I get the right to hope they are amazing and bring him joy whenever he thinks back on them, even when he's 95.

The Christmas memory I wish I had was of Ken's company holiday party last weekend. I couldn't go because we didn't have a babysitter and then Henry came down with a stomach bug anyway. Not wanting to keep Ken from enjoying what really is part of his holiday bonus from work, I elected to stay home alone, wiping Henry's stinky butt at all hours of the day and night, while Ken went to the party (which includes an overnight stay at the hotel) and got some serious drink on. Enough so that he joined his friend Mike in the annual demonstration of that most excellent dance move known as "The Worm." Oh, yeah. Right in front of his boss, who was heard to say, "Stick a fork in Ken. He's done." Priceless memories that I have to have second hand.

If you're not laughing already, I should add that Sunday morning when Ken got home, he noted that his forehead was sore. Around 2pm he suddenly remembered that it was from smacking his head into the dance floor while pulling his super dance move. I almost pee my pants whenever I think of it. Thank God I made sure his good friends would be there to keep an eye on him. For Ken to have been anywhere near a dance floor indicates to me exactly how much whiskey he had in his system. To his credit, last night when we had dinner w/all those friends, he promised that next year he'll bring his better judgment with him. Meaning, of course, me. Mwahahahaha.

But enough chit-chat about Christmas. I have to get off my ass and get shopping and cleaning. I have bought exactly 4 presents so far, and if you've checked your calendar lately you'll have noticed that Christmas is coming in nine days. I've always been a wicked procrastinator, though, so I can do this. (I think.)