Just when you think it can't get any worse....

It does. Last week I whined about the flooding of my apartment, and developing a hard cough, constant enough to keep me from getting any sleep. So, what else could possibly get worse than all that? Well, folks, that was just the half of it. On Wed., the 4th, the cough was bad enough to acknowledge that I needed to have a doctor see me. My Primary Care doctor was on vacation. Her PA was not available, so I ended up with a nice MA who didn't know me from Adam. To the Blood Lab and chest x-ray. Friday the results were back and on Sat. a.m. Marta called at nine to say she'd be there in an hour to take me to the hospital. I had pneumonia, the cough needed intravenus antibotics, the MA found a nodule on the kidney, more ultrasounds; every time I turned around, they found another problem. Then began a full day of pain, frustration and anxiety, trying to find a bed in a hospital overwhelmed with Covid patients. One became available in the Maternity end of the Women's ward. but my computer has just frozen three times while writing this so I will mercifully let you go. I had a very nice private room, I as there 5 days. The intravenus didn't go in the vein but in a muscle and I had the most agonizing pain I've ever had in my entire life. They had to have a special ultra sounding of the veins to insert the needle and tube. Ya no mas. Five horrible days, but I'm not going to talk about it. I spent all day yesterday sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for them to get my Release approved. Steve brought me home at 4:30. So, I had five days of ample proof that the American system is totally geared to preventing lawsuits, the people don't know their equipment, and the unholiest of words you can ever hear are, "I'll be right back." Three hours later you're still waiting. Bernie, you've got a big job but you have to convince government to adopt the Canadian system. ASAP. Trying to build up my strength. Will let you know. Love, Janice

You're beginning to trust me a little too much, God

I have a quotation magneted to my fridge, something that Mother Theresa once said, "I know God won't send me anything I can't handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so much." The past couple of months have seemed like that, which is why this morning I suddenly realized I had not written on my blog for a long time. Nothing good or spectacular to report, don't make an entry, right? Well, you're supposed to write once a week, whether you have any interesting things or not, just to keep people reading your blog. So here goes all the exciting things that have been happening. In that order. First,my Editor dropped a bomb on me after she read the manuscript, saying, "Janice, you have 659 pages in the Hardback size so it would be over 800 in the Paperback size. You have two books here, so you'd better decide how to divide them up." She might just as well have told me to just start the entire thing all over again. I had just written up all the chapters so I could renumber them in the correct order and now I have to decide to split them up? It threw me for a loop, until I decided that the first book would be all my life with Fritz, all the travels, his past, how we met, everything. Then the second book would take up after he died and I got the courage to open my studio, and work on my own and the success I had, thus encouraging other older women to do the same. But that meant I had to read every chapter, every little anecdote or Bits and Pieces, to see where they fitted in. So I came to a halt, being overwhelmed at the amount of work that would entail. Just when the pandemic was slowing down and activities picking up. I started a knitting class on Saturday mornings, I resumed jewelry classes twice a month on Wednesday afternoons. I became an Ambassador and attended Engage Life meetings. I attended Town Hall meetings, I went to Culinary meetings, I gave private classes, I began inviting people over for lunch (that didn't last long!) Add to that all the eye doctor meetings and the worry about why my eyes were so blurry while watching TV. Several emergency meetings and tests confirmed there was nothing wrong with the retina, the glaucoma and pressure were good and the concensus was that I had a bad case of "dry eyes". Taking drops has helped some, but I have another appointment next Saturday to have my prescriptions checked. Then came God's test of me:On Monday night, July 19th, God decided he had had enough of all the complaints about what a dry monsoon season we were having again this year and decided to send Noah to take charge. Around midnight I started hearing thunder and rattling of my stove hood and got up to look. The stove was dry so I went back to finish my Hallmark movie. When that ended I decided to go to bed, and when I walked into the bathroom, my sandals were sloshing through two inches of water! Which was seeping into the hallway and from there into the bedroom. When I went to look out the front door, yes, of course, I was squishing through soaking carpets. The wind was so ferocious it was blowing the rain through the slot under the door. I decided it would be a good time to call the night security man. He answered he was right next door, because Mary was flooded too, and he'd be right there. Turned out that Mary's entire apartment was inundated, while mine had half of every room soaking wet. Soon the carpet cleaner people arrived with their big water vacuums and even larger fans, and worked sucking up the water until close to 3 a.m. They moved the couch, coffee table and part of the bookcase to the middle of the room to a dry spot. They moved Mary and all of her furniture to an empty apartment and the next day tore up all of her carpets. Mary and I were the ONLY apartments to suffer flooding. I was left with the mess of soaked boxes in closets, clothing on my bed, and a lot of my jewelry supplies were piled in the dining-room, the only room which wasn't flooded. The noisy fans were left running night and day to dry the carpets and I moved them from one place to another for four days. The maintenance and carpet people picked up the fans on the fourth day, declared all the carpets dry, but didn't offer to move any of the furniture back. I moved the couch, and Steve moved the coffee table, and after I complained to Maintenance a few days after that, they were already re-laying new carpet in Mary's apartment and so three of them came to mine and moved a few more things back in place and turned back a couple of carpet corners to show me there was no mold under it. The only concession that I got for all the hard work and trouble was their promise to come in "later" and have the carpets shampooed. I'm still trying to put things away. But God wasn't quite ready to let me get back to normal. Marta and Steve brought my great-grandsons to visit last Saturday and after they left I noticed my voice changing. By midnight I had a full-blown case of laryngitis, something I never had in my entire life. No idea how I got it nor what causes it. My dry cough has turned into a wet cough, so I'm picking up my lunch or dinner at the dining-room patio, wearing a mask again. OKAY, enough complaining. My lethargy and lack of motivation is keeping me from getting things done which adds to my burden of guilt. I ENJOY writing, wish I could get back to it,but the task of re-listing all the chapters and numbering them is overwhelming. Maybe when I get my voice back and can bitch out loud without squeaking, will give me the energy to start up again. I hear I'm not the only one!