Steve and I are buds-compadres-soul friends-siblings from separate diblings... and he is a pain in my ass. A boil on my butt and a splinter in my spleen.
Speaking of spleens... did you know his is enlarged? Yep-so is his head, but that is another story for another time.
Steve is heading to Northwestern this morning... for those of you non-Chicago people, that means that Steve is heading to the Big Game-the place where they will poke him, prod him and experiment on him until they figure out just what is wrong with him.
He doesn't feel good. He can't get through a day without pain and we are not talking the kind of pain that I go through a day (like-which shoes I wear? Flip flops or flip flops) no, Steve is in so much pain that all I can do is try and make him laugh when we talk-because laughter is the best medicine and he makes me laugh out loud through my tears and I can only hope to do the same for him.
I suggested that maybe aliens have abducted him and that is why he is having these problems. You all laugh now-but wait until they pull some 10 foot communicating device from his butt and then who will be laughing? Huh? Freakin' aliens.
Last night Steve called while I was at Hot Yoga. I saw his call as soon as I was out and so I zipped him a phone call back-which I know Steve loves when I call him when I am at my most hyper of the day... which is generally 24 hours a day, but after a work out my endorphins are a ragin' and I am especially hyper-giddy-loud-abusive-funny-and a damn good time in general.
During our phone conversation it all suddenly hit me. I know exactly why Steve is sick and I know exactly what he needs to do to get better...
I told him-in my best "LIFE IS GREAT" voice that he needed to stop eating meat, start drinking more water, and start doing yoga.
He called me a witch and hung up on me.
I called back and after convincing him that our phone call was not being recorded by the government and I was not a terrorist, he told me I could take my hot yoga and shove it where the sun don't shine... which on Steve is anywhere below his big fat head.
Sigh.
I just want him to get better-or at least to figure out why he is not feeling good. Those docs up at Northwestern need to know that if they do not help him they will have a rather small spitfire of a blonde woman knocking on their door and letting them see first hand what june cleaver means when she says (say it with me six-packers...) I will f*&$ you up!
Damn straight.
In the meantime... please toss up a peace sign to the Big Guy in the Sky for Steve today. He is a guinea pig and unless he ain't being served up with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, it is not fun to be a guinea pig.
Say a prayer-thank God for Steve from me and ask Him to lay His Healing Hands on my cousin, who is so much more to me than a cousin.
Thanks.
11 comments:
I've become kind of fond of Cousin Steve, so prayers are winging his way.
Sorry to hear about Steve...wishing the best...
Now, regarding the mantra...I have now gotten into the habit of saying "I will f*&$ you up!" before I eat a sandwich, fold the laundry, mow the grass. June, I think you are ruining me! In other news, my kids have learned a fun new word!
I, too, love your new mantra. I've taken to saying it in a very mellow, monotone voice.
Will definitely be praying for Cousin Steve.
What a wonderful post. Full of love, foul language and snuggly abuse for your favorite cousin.
Brings tears to the eyes.
What if, instead of a peace sign to the Big Guy, I gave the middle finger to some troublesome body part in his honor? Say, I stumped my toe on a stool and instead of saying, "ow! crap!" I shoot a bird at my toe and the stool and say "that's for Cousin Steve!"
'Cause that's how I feel about loved ones in pain....
Hoping he learns what is wrong and that it is easy to fix and banish to the bowels of hell.
What the heck is it with "Steve's" anyway?
I started dating my First Steve when I was 14, married him when I was 20, lost him to cancer when I was 36.
I married my Second Steve in October of 2007. He came with all sorts of defects from his Air Force career and twisted his "good" knee Saturday playing soccer with my daughters.
Every time I turn around, some Steve is having issues.
Ame in TN
Miss Cleaver,
Sorry to hear about Stevie, pretty sure I have a direct pipeline to the Big Guy upstairs, have had several deep conversations with him over the last few yrs & pretty sure he's heard plenty of 4 letter words sent up in my prayers. Guess some things can't be xplained on this earth is usually the std answer I get. They're doing amazing things in medicine these days, sci fi things that confound xplanation so sure Steve's in with good Doc's there. Would be willing to bet after the 1st round of blood tests they will figure out something that will stop the pain if not I can personally recommend Vicodin 750mg will stop it @ least temporarily.
& you are so right about attitude & laughter, even if it's on the morbid side, helping the healing process.
& thanks for yesterday's flirt [didn't mean to hijack your post & glad I reread yesterdays post], guess all the workouts on the boat paid off for something, haha. & didn't know as a real jaded jet jocky @ 31 I could still blush. Was serious about a heavy meal @ bedtime btw. Works almost as well as a roll in the hay with your sweetie, why else would the Navy serve huge midnight rations [midrats] everynight when we're deployed, even when in country.
Keep us posted on Stevie, big believer in prayer here & have seen it work some amazing miracles.
Buzzy
Jess and Warren-that mantra is about the best thing you can say during the day... I say it when I drive (alone of course....pfft)it is almost as good as "You want some of THIS?" That is one of my favorites as well.
Keri-I never thought of flipping things off and saying "And that's for..." that is PERFECT! So far today I have flipped off my bathroom scale, the shower head that refuses to pulsate and the greeter that hates me at Wal Mart (but I did it when she wasn't looking which was just as satisfying) and each time I said "That is for Steve!" Thanks! I am sure my flipping off has gotten him some healing points.
Lord help us all.
And Warren... I can't ruin you-you will have to claim that one on your own you bald man you.
Buzzy.... you can hijack my post any day buddy. As per a request... can we get some more love-I mean pics and make you the Monday Swoon? It is a rather prestigious award-ask Warren... he has been there, so has The Ward so you would be in good company. Ask the wife if she will allow it. Don't want to step on any territorial toes-because us women know how us women get about the mens that we control.
Wish I had something witty to add to your other commenters... I am praying for Cousin Steve, though. I can see by your posts he is one of those relatives a person is proud to claim :) God's healing hand be upon him.
Prayers for Steve. Pain sucks; you know I know this. Holding you both close in my heart.
(p.s.: "The Swoon"? LOOOOVE it!! Should I try out "Wank 'The Spank' Ette"?)
Wankette--Yes. Definitely.
June,
You don't know me from a hole in the wall, but as a fellow misplaced Chicagoan and Bears fan, you do touch my heart and funny bone regularly. My Aunt Kay spent some time at Northwestern many moons ago when they put cow bones in her ankle after it got stuck in a storm drain. I was young, but that place didn't give me the heebie geebies like so many other hospitals. I have a stinkin' nast headcold to offer up and will do so with joy.
Mrs. Wally (does that make me your daughter-in-law?)
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