bitches on the floor

 This has not been a stellar week. Between passengers and a couple of people over my head, I feel like I have been stomped. Grump. 98Rock was kind enough to provide me with some angry music on my way into work today, and it felt good just to sit and seethe. Nothing of particular importance happened today, and for that I am grateful. So, on to the bitches.

I am still with an OJT (who is not a bitch). Bag check. Blah blah blah… your liquids, creams, gels and sprays are too big… blah blah… -this passenger is one of those Interrupters. The ones who ask me a question and before I have a chance to finish answering they tell me how ridiculous or stupid I am. The ones I need to dig down DEEEEEP into a well of calm to stop from snapping replies like, “Oh, so you didn’t actually want to know the answer to your question? Then shut up, step back and let mommy work here.” She knelt down on the floor to tie her shoes, and when we got to the part about “not able to go in your carry-on,” she threw her hands, her book and her purse into the air, threw herself onto the floor and had herself a snit. Pinching her nose between thumb and forefinger, she said in her haughty voice, “So a lady is not allowed to have her beauty products. That beats all.” Honey, you need more than products. She proceeded to sit in the walkway, blocking passengers who gingerly tried to pick their way around her and her mess, politely not rolling over her fingers. She proceeded to tell us how ridiculous it is that she can’t have her $50 worth (read: they were on sale for $1 each at Wal-Mart) of lotions and hair cream, and how these new rules keep messing her up. “New” being 2006, is rather new in her golden age, I suppose. My OJT did outstanding, telling her to make up her mind and fast, not batting an eye at the drama the mama brought with her.

(The very next day, my OJT passed her exam with flying colors… that’s two for two! WAY TO GO!!!)

I guess it is just human nature to want to “help” things that are “stuck.” Contrary to popular belief, the x-ray machine is not in constant motion. I, the x-ray operator, make the conveyor belt move when, and ONLY when I damn well please, with the push of a set of magical colorful buttons. My job is to look at the contents of the bag and the bag itself, not just roll the shit through like a burger on the griller at BK. It is not a moving sidewalk for your luggage. So, in order to better view the helter-skelter contents of your world-in-a-bag, I stop the machine. If your bag is inside the tunnel, just out of reach, LEAVE IT. It is not stuck. Looking in the tunnel won’t make it move faster. Talking to me won’t make it move faster. Talking to me repeatedly, telling me that the bag is stuck and the belt isn’t moving is certainly going to take more time. Cause now that I have taken my eyes off the bag to look at you and hold a conversation, I forgot what I already checked. Yeah. Your fault, there. Again, don’t reach into the tunnel to grab your bag. If I catch you, I will take your bag away and run it through again on principle. I am sick to death of getting yelled at by my supervisors for you freaks climbing into the x-ray and grabbing bags before I am done.

Don’t put your animals into the x-ray. I am also tired of playing firefighter and retrieving your animals for you. You didn’t know? You *didn’t* KNOW it was an X-RAY MACHINE???? And someone allowed you to care for another living being?? Please leave my sight. Now. Before my stupidity lasers activate and your cat needs a new owner.

Which brings us to insanity.

Random: (adj) 1. without pattern. done, chosen, or occurring without an identifiable pattern, plan, system, or connection. random checks 3. equally likely. relating or belonging to a set in which all the members have the same probability of occurrence. a random sampling

You’ve been randomly selected for additional screening. “I’ve been what? Why me? Out of all these ladies, why me?” Well, uhm, it was random? You were the next lady through the door? “My father just died the other day. I don’t know if I can handle this. I feel like the weight of a thousand bricks is on me.” Uhm, I’m sorry to hear that. This will just take a minute and you will be on your way. I need to pat you down– “WHY? I’m a Christian woman. Why did you choose me???” I didn’t actually choose you, ma’am. And your religion has nothing to do with it.

I ran through the litany of questions I’m supposed to ask every lady who steps in to be screened by me. I asked her if she was sore anywhere, because I didn’t want to injure her. She was obviously upset and I wanted to finish what I had to do and quickly. “ Yes. I’m sore. Everywhere.” Okaaaaay. I will be careful. I reached my hands out to her elbow and she flinched back like she’d been struck by lightning, and said, “Don’t touch me. You’re dirty! You keep away from me!” When I called for a supervisor, she began wailing… and wailing about her father’s death “this very day, this day!!” -oh, did you catch that too? mm-hmm. She caused a scene the likes of which I have never seen before. She accused me of being a racist. She accused me of being a cold, mean-spirited, ugly girl with a dark heart. She said at one point, “Look at her dull eyes; she’s simple, that one.” Fortunately for her, I had already removed myself from the screening booth, because what she would have seen was green fire shooting from my eyes and fists controlled at my sides. If there is one thing that will get my goat every time, it’s calling my intelligence into question. Every. Effing. Time. NOW it’s on. Passengers are watching her snotting and crying on my supervisor, weeping and wailing all over the place. She is thrashing around the screening booth, leaning on this person and then that person. Falling all over herself and acting a fool.

Other passengers watching the calamity told me, “If she would just calm down, she would be done by now.” “I’ve been selected before. It’s no big deal.” “I get selected all the time.” The Supervisory Hysterics Committee finally calmed her enough to lead her out of the screening booth to a private room and when I gathered her things up, she started over again, about my dirty gloves. I was about *this* close to thowin down and knockin this old bitch to the floor, funeral or not. May I remind you, it is my job to see through shit like this; people lying to get out of screening procedures to sneak stuff onto a plane. For all I know, she is smuggling something on her person and is terrified I’m going to find it. It would not be the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. (Although the funniest was the dude who tried to smuggle his pepper spray through, tucked into his dark, dark secret and it um, leaked. That was a fast runner! But that is another story.)

She ruined my day. She ruined my night, too…thoughts of a plane going down because I didn’t screen her thoroughly enough…. She called me stupid, yes, but it also called into question what I could have done differently, better to calm her ass down. Or perhaps it was all a ruse and she just wanted to see how far it could go. Maybe she was testing the limits. At one point, I wondered if she was testing me, personally, to see if I followed procedures. She made me so angry and I held my cool, for the most part. But I hate her *hate* her with a passion for making me feel like this. She is a simple, stupid cow, funeral or not. And the next person who comes through, carrying on like that will not evade screening either. I guarantee it.

adding to the stupidity

 since the beginning of may, i have been in trainer status. my job is to train these ladies to be just like me!! well, not really. i impart my knowledge, then sit back and watch to make sure that they use prper procedure for the next six weeks. my first lady did a fabulous job and aced her test with flying colors. my second lady is testing this week, and she is a riot. she doesn't say much, but when she does, stand back.

part of the job is to tell passengers what they need to do to get ready to come through security. whether they listen or not is not our place to determine, we are required to run our mouths constantly... kinda like the announcements on the rides at disney. heaven forfend that there's a policy change that we have to announce because yesterday, everyone's ears were painted on.

so my girl was advising her passengers about laptops, shoes, boarding passes, the usual drill, and this one lady would not stop talking. my girl waited until the woman paused to take a breath. she tried to make eye contact. she waved her hand to get the lady's attention. nothing.

"ma'am. i will give you $100 right now if you look at me."

three people from another lane turned to look and this lady was completely oblivious. she finally stopped yapping when the other lane busted up laughing and someone from behind her pointed at my young lady up front. "are you ready, miss? good. because we have all been waiting on you."

and then it took her three tries to walk through the metal detector because she wasn't ready after all.

be not a salmon

 i thought the end of the school year meant i would have more time to write. not so. i am spending my time lounging about, enjoying my afternoons with my kids. and collecting short stories to compile. today is the compilation day.

when the airline representative at the ticket counter tells you that your sword is too valuable and that the airline does not want to take responsibility for its safe-keeping as checked baggage, and advises you to take the sword on the airplane as carry-on, you need to change airlines. really really. there were witnesses. witnesses that were not traveling with aforementioned sword-bearing passenger. the airline was informed that their representative was indeed incorrect. swords are not carry-on. Douchebags Endangering Luggage, Travelers & Aircraft.

the lines only move as fast as the person up front. remember that while you are grousing at the back of the line about how slow things are moving. use that line time to, oh, i don't know, maybe get the ticket out that says "from: baltimore, to: someplace else." then, when you are head guy up front, how about you empty your pockets the FIRST time you alarm the metal detector? oh, and you left your laptop in your bag, too? let me remove it for you. and once the laptop is out, i can see the bottles of shampoo and the pocketknife you aren't supposed to have. now you've lost your watch? did you check the flotilla of bowls exiting the x-ray machine? yes. all those are yours. don't forget your handful of condoms; i don't need those things anymore. i'm sure i don't know where you put your shoes. did you put them inside the x-ray machine? are you sure? i will go check out front. no, sir. they were on the floor under the table where you kicked them off. they are inside the x-ray right now. you want to speak to my supervisor? by all means. tell them you were the one who wanted to jump the line because you said it was moving too slow. yes. i remember your sneer from all the way back at the end of the line. sir? you forgot your blackberry. have a nice flight. there's the door.

real live conversation: ma'am, you can take this bag back to the ticket counter and check it if you'd like to keep all your bottles, but they can't go with you as carry-on. "what does that mean?" that means that you can't bring this bag full of big bottles on the plane with you. it has to go in the belly of the plane. "what do you mean?" ~pause~ ma'am, um, you can check your bag with the airline, if you like. if you don't want to check your bag under the plane, these will have to be surrendered. "i told you you can check in the bag already. what do you want?" ~~pause~~ ma'am. which airline are you flying today? "answer." did you speak to anyone who works for your airline today? "yes." they gave you your ticket, and you gave them a suitcase and they put a little sticker on it, and it rolled away on a black machine and now you can't see it anymore? "yes, that's right." you'll have to go out there and do that again with this bag. "oh. oh. no. go ahead and throw this stuff away then." christ-almighty-in-a-gold-lamee-tupee-on-a-pogo-stick-leaping-through-hoops-of-fire.

when you are selected for random additional screening, it is just that: random. i am required to continuously check random pieces of luggage, accessible property, and passengers. it's called "random" because it is not planned. it occurs to keep people guessing. you never know what is going to happen next. if you can't plan, then neither can They. if i am white, and you are not, selecting you for additional screening does not make me a racist. it does not mean i don't like your football team. i don't, but i don't like football anyway. i didn't see anything suspicious about you, and i'm not testing your DNA. i could care less if your shoes stink, because in this place, everybody stank. go right ahead and speak to my supervisor. i'm feeling froggy today, so go ahead and speak to her supervisor too. he might give me an award for all my randomness. i'd like an award.

you just paid $200 to fly somewhere, sitting very close to someone you quite possibly do not know for an unknown amount of time from one to four hours. maybe more. the least you could do is wash your ass, even if you had to get out of bed at 2am. a bar of soap is like 97 cents.

if the thought of walking barefoot on the nasty carpet bothers you, BRING SOCKS. you could try matching up socks, maybe even finding a pair or two that don't have holes (plural) in them. the dollar store sells bunches of socks (for $1!!) that you could put on, walk through the checkpoint, sit down, peel off the "nasty" socks, put your shoes back on, and throw away the $1 socks. it is feasible. your squeamishness and inability to plan ahead affect my job not in the slightest.

do not bring a 14-inch machete in your carry-on. let me rephrase that: DO. NOT. BRING. A. 14-INCH. MACHETE. IN. YOUR. CARRY-ON.

your flight takes off at 10:50? you want to cut the line? it's boarding now? they are calling your name? was there a line at the ticket counter? no? it is 10:45 am. ma'am, you can't cut the line. for all i know, half of these people in this line are on your flight. most of these people showed up with time to get to their flights. i am not allowed to put you in front of people who planned enough time to get to the airport. it doesn't matter if you have children or not. when you booked your ticket, the agent told you to allow two hours to get through the check-in and security process, not two minutes. this checkpoint has been open since 4:11 am, so you have had 6-1/2 hours to get through here. i suggest you head back to the ticket counter to re-book. you are not going to make it to your flight on time.

passenger flow is up, personnel is down, because not only do we deserve a little time off, we have training and testing requirements, too. work with me, people.

cedar plank grilled salmon

cooking light magazine

it's what's for dinner.

15 x 6 x 3/8 inch cedar plank (can be found in the grilling area of walmart now)
1-1/2 tsp sea salt
1-1/2 tsp dark brown sugar
1 tsp gr. cumin
1 tsp dried crushed thyme
3/4 tsp ground black pepper
3/4 tsp paprika
3/4 tsp chili powder
1/4 tsp cinnamon
3 pounds salmon fillets

1. soak cedar plank(s) in water for at least 1 hour. pat dry, but leave damp to the touch.
2. while planks are soaking, combine spice rub. sprinkle onto salmon fillets and press into the surface.
3. brush both sides of cedar plank with olive oil. place on grill over medium-high heat and char one side. turn over and place salmon on charred side. keep spray bottle of water handy in case of flare-ups.
4. cover and grill 25 minutes or until fillets flake easily with a fork.

serves well with seasonal green salads and couscous or mixed rice dishes.

seriously, did that just happen?

 it isn't a full moon. it doesn't feel spring-like outside, so it can't be spring fever. maybe it's cabin fever, re-lived. maybe people are just dumb fucking dummies lately, but i have had a week of moments where i have to stop (*have* to, there is no choice in that) and ask, "seriously. did that just happen? i need a witness."

we have a hardscape with gravel in our front yard. i used weed death and waited until the ground was weed free before rolling out that fancy weed control tarp prior to laying the gravel, to no avail. false advertising, right? buying a weed control spray in a concentrate was less expensive and contained less packaging than buying 4 gallons of the stuff pre-mixed. so i carefully read the directions and put the new weed death into a generic 1-gallon sprayer. halfway through, the seal busted open and sprayed my left side and arm, all the way up and under my chin. apparently i was not supposed to pressurize the canister *quite* that much. point taken. clothes changed. take two. less than 10 minutes later, it happened again, narrowly missing my eyes a second time and spraying my right side. seriously. did that just happen?? i passed the torch to the hubs, who finished up without so much as a piff.

so this label thing hasn't quite been what was advertised. i have slogged through it, even though i don't like it much and won't be volunteering to do it next year. i made a commitment and i will see it through. the school had a contest last fall. i tallied up all the points from each classroom and made a tidy little spreadsheet, which i passed on to the principal in january. the principal cornered me this week and bent my ear about how upset the PTA was that i never rewarded the winning classroom. i wasn't aware that i was supposed to get the reward in the first place, let alone barge into some teacher's room and pass out ice cream in the middle of the day. i talked to three PTA members and discovered that the principal was the only one upset... and she told the entire committee that i dropped the ball and never gave her the information. seriously. did she just say that?? way to go... i am slowly losing interest in volunteering for anything next year.

i answer the call of bag check, finding several liquids in large containers. i don't even have both hands on the bag yet and the owner of said rolling storage closet snaps her fingers in my face and says, "hurry this up already, i have a flight to make. let's move it already. i'm late." seriously. did that just happen?? at this point, my blood simultaneously boils and turns to molasses. i have already determined that if she snaps her fingers in my face again, she will be frog-marched off the checkpoint. i do not slow down, no matter how much i want to, but i do my job efficiently. i block her several attempts to yank the bag from my hands and then put it through the x-ray one more time. as i tell her to have a nice flight, she flings, "if i make it now, thanks a lot." to which i reply, "oh, you'd better make it, or i'll have to see you again. we don't want that at all, so you'd better RUN." of course she was boarding at gate 14, the furthest away.

having several offspring of my own, i am perplexed by the "mommy's first stroller syndrome" of getting the largest, most outlandish, and freakishly huge strollers on the market today. and then proceeding to drag these heifers through an airport while carrying the 55 pound carseat, two diaper bags, a wheeled carry-on, a laptop bag, a purse, a bag for the carseat, (a bag for the carseat? isn't the baby going to be in the carseat? if not, why didn't you check it out front? needed your gym workout did you?) a stroller cover (really, is it going to rain on the plane??) and a backpack. america needs to downsize in every-which way. while performing a bag check, i glance over and a toddler has taken the safety leash (for the stroller, not the kid) and wrapped it around his neck about 14 times and is on tiptoe, trying to figure out how to get undone. where is mommy? wrestling the carseat into its bag. where is daddy? wrestling everything into the stroller. god forbid you put the kid in the stroller. i shrieked, dropped what i was doing and un-wound little junior while mom and dad looked on, stunned. stunned into immobility. seriously. are you still just standing there? "a little hint: child goes into stroller first. everything else can wait."

a portion of this week has felt a lot like christmas, minus the thousands of wrapped presents and freezing my ass off. i cannot figure out why we have been so busy, but tuesday took the cake. tuesday is supposed to be The Day to Travel because crowds are light and fares are cheaper. well, looks like people are taking advantage of that. i got up, showered, ate (on tuesday it was three waffles and 2 cups of coffee), and headed into work. i nibbled on some dried peaches during the morning briefing. because i get up before 2am and eat right away, i am one of the first people whining about when we will begin breaks. it has nothing to do with laziness; i am HUNGRY. breaks usually start around 5:30 and are staggered by team. so, on this busy day, imagine my surprise to hear my manager (not my supervisor; her "boss") grumbling, "this is insane. you people always take your breaks during the peak busy rush of the day. tomorrow we won't start breaks until after 6." he says. holding a danish in one hand and a coffee in the other. and about 6 days of flubber around the middle to survive on if starbucks should be closed for a week for health violations. seriously. did that just happen?? so i am supposed to go more than four hours without food at a breakneck pace on a checkpoint that does not have a reliable climate control system? i lost it. and almost lost my job. i told him off in front of my trainee and passengers. and i let him know that if he wants me to get a little note from my physician about the dangers of starving me and my high metabolism, i would create a paper trail from my checkpoint all the way to his office.... and i would make sure it did not stop there. i have already fainted twice on the checkpoint in the past 2-1/2 years. both of those dates, astonishingly, it was close to 7:30 and i had not yet had a break. hm. we shall see. i already fought this "you're not allowed to eat" battle in high school and won, bitch. my paper will beat anything your rock can think up.

cooking dinner on my friday... easy, fast, and well-loved pasta bake with sliced leftover grilled sausages. i am exhausted. i have not had a nap after work for the past three days. i am getting sore from being on full-duty again. (insert sad face) the phone rings and it is the elementary school's number. puzzled, i answer right away, mentally counting how many kids i picked up. the vice principal is calling to inform me that seamus had to go to the office today with another friend because of an incident. this is totally unlike seamus. the story goes, someone farted, either seamus or Friend. my son and friend laugh about it and then say, "ew, it smells like Other Person in the class." they have a good laugh and then Other Person, who is also in fifth grade, tells the teacher. there's a pause in the conversation. i offer a confused and anticipatory, "...and?" oh, no, that's it. seamus had to write a letter of apology and is missing recess on thursday. "...for?" i ask again. for making inappropriate remarks and hurting Other Child's feelings. seriously, am i getting this phone call for real?? i stifle a giggle and reply, "seriously? farts are totally appropriate for 5th grade boys. farts are hilarious. i'll let him know not to name names and we'll call it a day. deal?" it wasn't really a deal, i could hear it in her voice, but i am not punishing my kid; we had a talk, about 2 sentences long that went like, "don't go around saying that people smell like shit, even if they do." and fifth graders who smell like farts should take that message and a shower. middle school will be a WHOLE lot worse than someone saying you smell like a fart.

let the drinks flow.... this week is DONE. thursday is my day of rest. i'mma eat all i want when i want, not garden, not count labels, no one snapping fingers at me, no toddlers, and i will smell like a fart because i'm not taking a shower until i have to go pick up kids. fin.

the story from the top

 as it was told to me, from several sources.....

during lunch on tuesday, 27 april in the year of our lord 2010, ms. mileidy and her friends (who shall remain nameless), were sitting on their lunchboxes, engaging in silly talk. apparently, one of such nameless friends yanked mileidy's lunchbox out from under her, causing her to topple backwards off the bench and split her head open on the radiator. another nameless classmate walked mileidy to the nurse, bleeding profusely from the head. (i was concerned to hear that an adult did not accompany them, since at any moment my child could have fainted, resulting in further injury...but...) she was cleaned up, bandaged, and the cafeteria lady brought a tiny stuffed bunny to the nurse's office while they waited for me. older brother seamus stuck his head in the doorway as he passed and uttered the encouragement of: "don't die." ah, the love.

at precisely the same moment, i was walking through a cellular void in the airport from my checkpoint through the underground tunnel and parking garage to my car. when i got the message, i frantically drove 25 miles to the school and took the leidybug to the emergency room. after following a series of confusing directions from my garmin, and ultimately finding the blue emergency hospital signs, we arrived on the GBMC medical campus. now i understood why the garmin was confused.

as far as "ease to get there" is concerned, GBMC fails utterly in my book. not only do they get an F, but a triple F for eFFing Failure. i spent 15 minutes looking for a place to park, because the 10 spaces marked "emergency patients only" were taken. yup. all 10. parking, parking everywhere, as long as you want to walk at least 1/4 mile to get to the door. carrying an injured child. bleeding from the head. what if it had been a compound fracture of the leg??? no wheelchairs available at the elevators, nothing. aside from the parking fiasco, GBMC was awesome.

we were in and out of the emergency department, from front desk to discharge in under 90 minutes. they did a great job of hiding exactly what was going on, without scaring my daughter. miliedy was immensely impressed with the twinkling stars on the ceiling above the nurse's station. first, nurse kristin removed the sarajevo war victim head dressing prom do and swabbed leidy's head down with some iodine solution, making her bloody head look a sight more gruesome. next, she gave mileidy a numbing gel and an ice pack for 10 minutes. then the doc came in and stabbed my child in the head multiple times with a syringe the size of a honda fit to numb her up quite a bit more. fortunately leidy had no idea that there was a needle involved... that could have gotten Fugly. lastly, a package arrived looking oddly like a cross between a cordless glue gun and a star trek phaser, with a fully loaded complement of staples. doc trimmed a few hairs from around the wound, told mileidy to brace herself for a little pressure and stapled away.

and my babycakes did not cry. not a tear. she squeezed her new bunny (named stitch, by the way) when it hurt, just like the school nurse taught her. after staple number four, she un-squinched her eyes, and said, "whew. glad that's done. it was starting to hurt a lot."

i watched some guy staple my kid's head. *gulp*

it took a lot for my mommy instincts to not take over and rip the gun from his hand and staple his nuts to his chin. my hands were thrust into my pockets, balled into fists, repeating "it's a good thing, it's OK, he's a helpy-guy..." inside my head.

it was harder to keep her wiggly little butt seated during the paperwork part than it was for her to get her head put back together. she walked herself back to the car, but was pale, shaky and light-headed by the time we got there. (stoooopit parking garage.) and then i was like, "um, i don't have any cash to pay for parking." there wasn't exactly an ATM available either. i don't feel upset at all about the parking lot losing my $4 in revenue. i mean, who checks their pocket or stops at the bank on the way to the ER anyway??

The Bravest Princess In The Land requested papa john's for dinner, so papa john's she got. she relaxed at home for the night, and was sad to hear she would miss her turn on the school's wednesday morning announcements. so i told her she could go for the first 5 minutes of school. as much blood that gushed from her head, i'm sure a bunch of kids were scared, so i thought it would be good for them to see that she was not dead. we woke her up twice in the night to make sure all was well, and to deliver tylenol. she was cheerful, if pale, this morning , and extremely proud of her brevity. and her cyborg-stapled head. which brings us to lunch time on wednesday, where TBPITL is watching barbie movies, learning how to use the intercom feature on the telephone to fetch mommy, and is headed to nap land shortly.

TBPITL thanks everyone for their well wishes, and wil be returning to school thursday, minus gym and recess for the remainder of the week. she is scheduled to get her staples removed next wednesday.

ring, little phone, RING!

 details, details. oh, find the devil in these, baby.

on march 10th, i fell down half a flight of carpeted stairs in our house. i missed the first step down and caught air, landing on two steps flat on my back, slightly to the left of my spine. the small box of frozen foods i was carrying to the freezer landed on my chest. we debated about whether to call an ambulance and decided that since i *could* get up, insurance would prolly not cover the ride. i changed out of jeans into fresh pajamas and off to the emergency room we went.

they took x-rays of my lower spine, where the pain was most severe and they came out clear. i was given percocet, an Rx for hydrocodone, told to see my doc and sent home.

monday, march 15th, my doc put me on 2 weeks no duty, gave me an Rx for an anti-inflammatory, a muscle relaxer to help me sleep and said REST FOR REAL.

all went swimmingly. i took my meds less and less. i followed-up with my doc on monday, 29 march, who said, if you're not in pain, then stop taking the anti-inflammatory and see what happens. she asked me to do a few things to show her my range of motion, which was great. i told her i'd been lifting full laundry baskets occasionally over the past couple of days to test my strength. no pain. she said if i had any further troubles, i'd likely have to go to PT. i was released to full duty.

wednesday we walked & biked down in DC for a few hours. i was sore, but not overly so. i rested all day thursday. 3am friday i woke up in pain. PAIN pain. i can't recall exactly, but i might have woken up in a sneezing fit; that is not an uncommon occurrence in spring. i got up and got the heating pack for the pain. i rested again all day friday.

i went back to work on saturday, 3 april. i was tired and a little sore after the first day, so i decided to take the anti-inflammatory again. sunday was a bit worse. monday after work, it hurt to breathe. tuesday morning i took aleve in addition to the anti-inflammatory. i took my oxycodone and a muscle relaxer at bedtime and hoped i'd wake up on time for work on wednesday.

wednesday i just gritted my teeth and made it through the day. it felt like a knife wound in my chest with every breath. which is odd, because the initial injury was in my lower back. i went home and slept poorly, not hungry, and after dinner, looked up chiro in my insurance plan. once i found what i needed, i drugged up for pain and tried to sleep again.

thursday i went to my initial chiro appointment. they ordered another set of x-rays to get a picture of my upper back that had not been x-rayed in the ER. i was informed that there are several possibilities to justify the pain in my chest. 1) the pain in the injury to my lower back was so severe, it blocked the lesser pain of the upper back at that time. 2-a) the anti-inflammatory medicines took care of the upper injury altogether and i didn't notice any problems until after i stopped taking the anti-inflammatory and went back to work and/or 2-b) re-injured that area at work. that second part is unknown, since i can't pinpoint exactly what set it off. 3) the new x-ray showed a slight possibility of a compression fracture of one of the vertebra - the one that had a rib connected to the pain in my chest. apparently the rib bones can "resonate" pain from an injury all the way through the bone. i was also informed that not all fractures show up in the initial x-rays. doc asked me to wait until the radiologist confirmed that diagnosis before treating the ribs.

friday, radiology hadn't read my pictures yet, but doc said he would call me in the afternoon if there was indeed a fracture. i was told to go ahead and work the weekend because he wanted to see me again on monday after three days of light duty - to see if adjustments to my duties needed to be made and judge how well i was holding up. i was given a back support to wear at work and the doc filled out a light duty request for work. no lifting over 5 pounds. paperwork was faxed to work for duty restrictions. since i have to show up live and in person to receive a light duty accommodation, i drove my little self to HR... who promptly said "we don't know why this other guy says you can only do certain things, but the first provider says you're fine."

wouldn't that be the difference between a general practitioner and a specialist? hm.

three weeks of ass-sittage right into 5 days of full duty. perhaps i wasn't ready to come back to full duty and sure, maybe we should have thought of that. *shrugs* but we didn't. i felt just fine at the time. no hard feelings over here. so what is the deal?

HR sent me home. meanwhile the clock is ticking. i haven't heard whether or not i am going into work saturday, my monday, when both my doc and HR are closed, with no hope of communication until mid-shift on real monday. and i am out of sick leave, thanks to the genius at HR who cleverly just submitted all 15 of my days off as sick leave, not as partial sick leave and partial annual leave. tell me exactly why they ask for paperwork if they are going to do it their own way? i kinda wanted a little in the bank, yo. it's MY leave and i should dictate how it is spent. my back is sore from the treatment this morning, my guts are a wreck from worry (over the bid, the pain, radiology, and if i'm going to get slapped with unpaid time off). i've actually lost 4 pounds in 10 days from all this stress. can we please????

i'm going to carefully put my uniforms in the laundry (one at a time, no heavy lifting, i know!) and try to nap a bit. updates will be forthcoming. i effin hope.