Tuesday, May 13, 2008

The Blind Leading the Blind

So, my husband, J, has been having trouble with his eyes. No, not like pink eye or like any other eye infection I’ve ever experienced (aka no pussy, sealed shut eyes seeping onto his pillow, stuck shut, have to hold a wash cloth on them just to get them open- eyes. Goo, huh?). I’ve been jokingly calling him Popeye, as he has been keeping one eye or the other shut most of the time, giving him the oh-so-sexy Popeye the Sailor Man. (But I’m definitely no Olive Oil). Light causes pain, his eyes hurt, they’re super red and blood shot all of the time and he’s getting headaches. Today he called me and said he needed an eye appointment asap, and then he was sent home, due to the fact that he had blurred vision and was experiencing double vision. And, although I can think of nothing more appealing than two of me- this was concerning. After him driving home when he shouldn’t have (and almost got into an accident because of his, oh you know, LACK OF VISION!), we heading straight to the ER.

Ah, the ER.

Classy place this ER. First of all, I’m not a snob, but I don’t love the stink of people. Of Stinky People, that is. And the waiting room smelled like B.O. And that, dear readers, goos me out. So, I was thankful when we were buzzed back to the ER room without having to wait for too long. However, this is where the real trouble began.

We had a resident, which I would normally be a-okay with that. I mean, come on. I would put my life in the hands of the likes of Dr. Christina Yang, Dr. Izzie Stevens and Dr. Meredith Grey. Dr. Karev might be a stretch, but we would have welcomed him compared to the Dr. we got- Dr. WTFamIdoing.

Dr. WTF entered the room and was confused from the get go. J and I continued to correct him and add on Js symptoms. He wasn’t sure how to operate the chair. The ER chair. You know the one- goes up down, back forth… yeah.

Next he was unsure of how to put the dye into J’s eyes. I knew he was confused when he allowed the incredibly bright light to shine in Js eyes (despite J telling him that bright light caused his pain to worsen…) and took about 5 minutes to try to figure out the eye dropper. Yeah. He put the dye in Js eyes and then we moved onto the eye exam.

Yeah. No we didn’t. He. Didn’t. Know. How. To. Adjust. The. MACHINE. Lucky for him, J, the blind patient managed to point out the levers that moved the machine. In fact, J figured out how to turn on the next incredibly bright light Dr. WTF would shine in his eye, while he looked uncomfortable and confused. Dr. WTF then informed us he wanted another Dr’s opinion. He sounded very confident. “I’d just like another dr. to take a look at this.” Dr. WTF said, before making his exit.

We sat. We made shadow puppets. We made music on our empty Sprite bottle. A nurse came in, outing Dr. WTF with the information that he was just a resident and went to find the attending to help him. Yeah. We actually had thought he was an intern- yikes. Dr. WTF rejoined us with Dr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit, who spoke so quickly, showing Dr. WTF how to put drops in and move the machine around. Neither one of them looked at J for more than 10 seconds. Then they both left. Dr. WTF promised to return soon, he just “needed to check on something.”

They never returned. An hour later we used the emergency button to page the nurse, who then came over the loudspeaker in the room (about 10 minutes later) to ask what the problem is. I wanted to be an ass. “Oh nothing, my husband just went into cardiac arrest, but you know, whenever you guys get a sec.”

Instead J spoke. “Uh, well, we’ve just been sitting here for an hour and the doctor hasn’t returned.” He said, calmly. (I love this about J, he stays calm even when he should be reloading). She paused. “Yeah, well I think your paperwork’s been up here.. I’ll check on this.” Another ten minutes later another nurse with a great bedside manner (sarcasm here, please) came in with a prescription for an eye cream we still pretty much know nothing about to treat an ailment of which has yet to be diagnosed all signed by a doctor who pulled a Houdini on us. Brilliant.

So, we now have to go to our eye doctor to figure this mess out. J can’t drive or really see and we have to try to get this taken care of tomorrow.

Luckily I am sure this little evening out will only cost us a few hundred.

Gotta love the ER.


posted by Kellie @ 8:02 PM | 2 spread the gossip

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Beautiful Broken Things

It's the broken beautiful things...
shattered glass spiriting a window
reflecting each light ray.
A prism of light becoming an
unexpected rainbow...
a crack in the ceiling to watch the stars
and the raindrops that leak through,
seemingly blue and green, like droplets
from the ocean...
the sculpture's feature-
defining crack of an egg shell.
a broken record-
beautiful symphony of broken people
authentic and venerable repeating their music
over and over
demanding us to hear...
how fragile...
like a glass-blown vase.

And me.
these are the beautiful broken things.


posted by Kellie @ 10:55 AM | 3 spread the gossip


I drew my plans on the sidewalk
with... what else?
Side walk chalk.
With pinks and purples
I sketched my life-
plotted how our paths would cross.
I wiped my brow in
the hot summer heat,
careful not to drip
on my masterpiece.
But as soon as I'd finished
the cloud came by
and she dripped great teardrops
onto my canvas from under her
cloudy grey eyes.

And the colors swirled

and the picture changed

and I saw a new plan unfolding
in a hot summer rain.

I felt your hand on my shoulder
and your lips on my neck
I kissed you in the rain
as we stood in a puddle of what I had sketched-
our watercolored future

We waited for it to dry
to see what it might reveal.
And even though we couldn't make it out
it was more beautiful than I'd dreamed.
it was real.


posted by Kellie @ 10:35 AM | 0 spread the gossip

Thursday, May 08, 2008


God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.

I say this prayer every day, sometime multiple times a day. Every time I want to make a decision which I know is a bad one, one that could impact my life today, tomorrow and always, I say this little prayer. It’s true what they say- live one day at a time. It’s hard to look at yourself- look hard at the person you are, seeing all your flaws (I have so many) and all of your mistakes and trying to make a change. I’ve changed so much in my life. I joked all through finals, calling myself a shape shifter (mostly because I like to say it in this funny voice), but it rings true. I’ve morphed so many times in my life, most of the time trying to fit into the mold I’ve poured myself into.

I grew up Poor Girl in Richtown. My friends were all wealthy, lived in gated communities or had a mansion with a gate (nevermind that half of the rooms in their too-big-houses were without furniture because mommy and daddy were living paycheck to paycheck). The kids I grew up with had brand name underwear (Victoria’s Secret at age 9) and cell phones before cell phones were popular. They belonged to the yacht club, which always made me laugh, as we lived in freaking Indiana. A friend from high school left to SAIL AROUND THE WORLD. Who does that? Except for the kids on Gossip Girl (a guilty pleasure which is a recent development). I spent so much time from the outside looking in at these girls, with their highlights and perfect hair. I had a perm. I thought the perm was a good look.

It was not.

I grew up, wanting so badly to be everything they were: Rich, thin and popular. I did everything I could. I cringed when my parents bought me something from Wal-Mart or Target and saved my money to buy a short from Bebe or Abercrombie. I would go to the mall with my friends and quietly head for the sales rack as nonchalantly as I could. I’d keep the clothes for years, trying to make them still look new and fashionable. I don’t know why I cared. By high school I had managed to befriend these beautiful creatures they called “girls” at my high school. I had a boyfriend. I was well-liked. I was finally “happy”- I had “morphed.” But into what, exactly? A girl who yelled at freshman who looked at her wrong? A girl who stood by while her friends criticize and put down others? A girl who had nothing nice to say about anyone at all, because no one else seemed to either? Morphed. I remember driving to graduation with two girls I called my “friends” in a too-expensive-for-an-18-year-old-to-drive convertible, top down, three manes of product filled hair in the air. I remember thinking I’d finally made it- I’d morphed into who I’d always wanted to be.

I went to a state school, funded half by my parents and half by me (I’d been working since 14- despite the fact that NONE of my friends had jobs!). I morphed again. And again. And again. I feel like I’ve changed so much and so often I lose sight of who the real me is/was. She was there. During each change, she was there. It just amazes me how different a person can be looking back.

There are things about myself that I don’t like. At all. And I know I’m supposed to love myself, but there are parts of me that I just can’t seem to love.

I hate that I get drawn into gossip. I hate that I still seek approval from peers who don’t mean shit in the long run. I hate that I get self conscious, wondering if people are looking at me or talking about me. I hate that I eat too much/too little and can’t find a balance in between. I hate the person I become after too many drinks. I hate that I made a decision to quit drinking and people make me feel like crap about it (that one goes out to an acquaintance after finals at Flanagans). I hate that I can’t keep house for anything. I hate that I am constantly saying “I’m going to do this better” and then never seem to. I hate being so G.D. self aware that I notice all of my flaws all of the time and can’t let myself overlook them, even for a second. I hate that I am up at 1am, wanting to write on my second book (yes, it’s a miracle, I’ve even started it, too!!!) and all I can do is sit here and blog about my shortcomings.

God… grant me the serenity…


posted by Kellie @ 11:58 PM | 1 spread the gossip

Foot Massage

It's been raining for two days now. Light rain, mostly, with not a peep of my favorite spring thunder and lightening. Not that lightening "Peeps" but you get the point. I stepped in puddles today and not because I was being free-crazy-child Kellie. Nope, just running through the rain and BAM! Suddenly my entire foot is down beneath and sea and my bedazzled (okay, not really bedazzled, but strikingly close) shoe is soaked. Which forced me to walk around barefoot for the rest of the day.

This didn't bother me until halfway through my massage tonight. As I lay under the thin sheet, smelling lovely and listening to New Age-Whatever, it hit me. Soon my masseuse would get to my feet. My potentially dark feet. Potentialy dirty feet. I wanted to sit up. Shout at her "STAY BACK! DON'T TOUCH!" The sad part is that the foot massage is one of my favorite parts of a massage. No, I don't have a foot fetish. I, in fact, hate feet. I hate my own and therefore, I pretty much hate everyone else's as well. I allow only trained professionals and J to rub my feet. The list is limited. But, this being said, I enjoy a good foot rub. My feet virtually always hurt, so i look forward to this part of the massage. But not today. I was dreading it. What would she think? Would she not rub them? I lay, frustrated on my stomach, naked and vunerable and possibly dirty.

"Relax." She said, as she worked on my lower back. I tried, but all I could think about were feet. I tried to listen to the waves splashing from the stereo, as she worked her way down my legs. I sucked in my breath as she got to my feet. She must have heard me.

"Tickleish?" She asked.

"No." I managed to say. She began to rub. I gave in. Let her think I'm dirty. Let her think I don't bathe. Who cares- I'm not paying her to judge me. Why would she judge my anyway? I thought in a huff.

After my massage was over and she had slipped out of room I lay there for a moment, eyes readjusting to the room, dreading that an hour had slipped by so quickly.

Then I pulled my leg up like a gymnast and checked out the bottoms of my feet.


Whew, that was close.


posted by Kellie @ 7:43 PM | 0 spread the gossip