Part 144 Building bears and no laugh tracks


I start the next morning with diarrhea and a weight that has plummeted back to 146. The home health nurse makes her weekly stop, and the troubled look on her face is enough for me to know what my status is. Becah drives me to my speech session; I am feeling terrible. Becah drops me off and runs quickly to work to drop off a folder with a co-worker. Susan the therapist hooks the electrodes in to start, and I instantly must I lie down, my tube erupting liquid again. Becah eventually returns and toys with the water level and balloon inflation, and I am ready to try again. The tube leaks on and off again all day, but we run a few errands and hope for the best. My voice is erratic still.

The drought continues throughout our area, with perpetually sunny days guaranteed. I am apprehensive the Saturday morning of August 6, because I must successfully make it through my daughter Bree’s seventh birthday party, firing on decidedly not all cylinders. We start strong by dancing in the den to the Beatles’ “Birthday” (that will show me), before driving to the mall to have her party at Build-a-Bear. My niece arrives with big news - she is pregnant with twins. The store is closed, though, because the manager has not arrived and the staff can’t get in. They wind up entertaining 12 excited little girls for 30 minutes outside the store, as I sit and squirm, trying to act like I feel fine. In fact, I am fatigued, and feel very tentative due to probable low blood pressure and worries about the tube holding. The store eventually opens, and I make it through all the bear stuffings and dressings up, as well as lunch at the food court. I realize the three hour stint is my longest sustained outing in some time.

Overheard at the party: Brooke leans over and tells Bree she looks like a piñata and that Brooke wants to hit her and get the candy that falls out. A friend of Breanna’s asks her how old her dad is. I inwardly cringe when Bree tells her. The little girl exclaims, “wow, you’re lucky! My dad is 78”. I breathe easier and smile.

Back at home I make fettuccini for dinner while Becah slices apples and makes bread. CC and GG are staying overnight, along with Bree’s best friend Hannah. Becah has texted her new buddy Dr. Ra-, who feels my tube should be stitched to secure it better. As the laugh tracks abound from the den TV, I am getting Disney sitcom-ed out. It happens sometimes, even to someone who handles juvenile shows pretty well. I suggest they turn on “Big Time Rush”, my favorite show of theirs, because I genuinely like it, but probably at least in part because it has no laugh track.