Curve balls

I believe my daughter was still in her hospital bed, still hooked up to her morphine pump, still dazed and confused after her surgery when my stepdaughter gave me a look.

"So, what are you going to write about now?"

At the time, I believe I indignantly said I had lots to write about. Lots of topics, lots of stories, lots of fodder for my little blog here.

But, go look. You haven't seen much of me, have you? Or heard much from me? I haven't had much to say or much to tell. And I don't know if that's because I've just been so worn out by recent events or my life is just that boring.

Probably a little bit of both.

If you're wondering, Lora Leigh is doing great. Her recovery has gone much smoother than anyone -- certainly I -- imagined it would. Although we had a few rough times, none of my nightmares came to fruition. Her scar is straight and healing beautifully. Her pain levels never reached what I feared they would. She is back to her normal, goofy self. And I tell all the moms-in-waiting in the Facebook groups, "The reality is not nearly as bad as your imagination."

The Coach's knee replacement surgery went fine as well, but his recovery has been much slower than he anticipated. He has a hard time getting and staying comfortable, and still has a pronounced limp. His attitude is great, though, and that helps him through.

Saturday was the 22nd anniversary of our first date -- a Saints-49ers game in the Superdome. He asked me to go, I told him I was already going with my mom, he sold the tickets, my mom invited someone else, I told him I could go and he spent days trying to get his tickets back. When we got to the crowd surrounding the Dome, I slipped my hand in the crook of his arm and felt -- something. We both did. Later, he excused himself.

"Bring me back some chocolate," I told him.
"What kind?" he replied.
"Surprise me," I said.
He came back with one of every kind of chocolate they had.  And I knew he was the guy for me.

And me? I'm just a little freelancing fool, covering high school football and volleyball games for both The New Orleans Advocate and Sportsnola.com.  I haven't written any great works, but I've kept busy and made the car payments. I guess that's all that matters.

Yesterday, September 30, 2014, marked two years since I was laid-off by the then-great Times-Picayune newspaper. Today, October 1, 2014, would have been my 28th anniversary at the paper. Any day now I would have gotten my little invitation to drive to New Orleans for a free cup of coffee in the cafeteria  and a meeting with the human resources head.

Instead, I sat in my little home office,  surrounded by my favorite things and writing about the annual Hahnville-Destrehan football rivalry and procrastinating. I hate doing football capsules.

Oh, I miss it sometimes -- getting dressed in real clothes and not just yoga pants, the friends in the office who knew everything going on in my life, being part of a team. I'm sort of a housewife now. I don't go anywhere after my daily walk.  I rarely wear long pants. Sometimes I shower and dress and put makeup on and say, "OK. Where can I go?" Sometimes I go to the Dollar General, which is just across the street from my house. Sometimes I go to Big Lots.

It gets a little lonely sometimes.

But I look back on the last two years and have to wonder: Did all this happen for a reason? Did I get moved from sports to crime so that I would come to hate it so much that I wouldn't be so devastated when it all came to an end? Did I lose my job so that I would be able to take in Jane the Mother-in-Law two weeks later? Did she pass on so that I could devote my attention to my daughter and my husband when they needed me? Would I have been able to do all that for them with a full-time job? Probably not.

Strange how life throws you curve balls sometimes. Strange how, sometimes, they're the pitch you're supposed to hit. At least they make for good stories.

Life on the Other Side

"Life on the Other Side."

That is what my fellow scoliosis parents call life after surgery -- after the worrying, the waiting, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the consultations with doctors and surgeons, the MRIs and the X-rays, and after the week in the hospital trying to get your kid and your life back to some semblance of normal.

nor·mal

  [nawr-muhl]  Show IPA

adjective

1.

conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.

Of course, most of them (probably ALL of them) didn't have their husband undergo just-as-major surgery 12 days later, so their "normal" and my "normal" probably aren't even close. To me, "normal" is not automatically waking up every two hours and being able to put Grandma's shower chair back in the garage.

This is Lora Leigh's fifth week after surgery and I can't even express in words how great she is doing. She was off all of her pain medicines after two weeks. She takes the occasional Ibuprofen or Aleve now. She bathes and dresses herself -- but does need help tying her shoes.

She is still figuring out how to do a lot of things -- how to sit in a chair, how to pick something up off the floor, how to tie her own shoes, how to give hugs and kisses when she is standing and we are sitting. But we have been to Barnes and Noble (her favorite place!), and Walmart (not her favorite place), and Rue 21 (her second favorite place). And Sunday she went with her friends to the New Orleans Mechacon for the first time and made it through the whole day. (She even showed them her gnarly scar!)

Well, she was a little bent over when she got home, but not in pain. I'm hoping this is a good harbinger for when she starts school next week.

The Coach, on the other hand, is a different story. His normal, I think, is a good ways off. He had his right knee replaced on July 15. After two grueling weeks of in-home physical therapy, lots of ice and two bottles of Demerol, he got his staples out on July 28, two weeks post op. His scar is nice and pretty, but he still can't straighten his leg. It's been two years since he has been able to straighten his leg. It's going to take a while.

He made it up the stairs to our bedroom in the second week, but still has a hard time getting comfortable anywhere -- the bed, the chair, his cave. He rolls around a lot. He can shower and dress himself without help, but isn't able to pitch in around the house as much. He can't put out the garbage or do the laundry or shop or cook, but he is managing to do the dishes again.

And he did drive himself to school today for the first day for teachers, taking the ribbing from his colleagues over his cane. His new normal also includes not being The Coach. He gave up the baseball team in the spring, remember. So, now he's just Mr. Luquet, not Coach. That may be harder for him to get used to than his new metal knee.

As for me, well, my new normal is taking some getting use to (besides doing more chores, I mean.) For the first time in nearly two years, since the fall of 2012 when my mother-in-law Jane moved in with us, I don't have anyone to take care of.  Marty's back at school and Lora doesn't really count since she sleeps until 3 p.m.  And there is no one to dress or feed or give pills to or water or take to dialysis treatments. It's  very strange. I'm free! I have no obligations, no schedules, no excuses.

Of course, I also have no job.

Now that I can, I'm going to jump into this freelancing thing with both feet though. The kind folks at The New Orleans Advocate have promised me as much work as I can handle through the fall football season. I'm also writing for SportsNola.com. If I can just make my car payment, I'll be happy. 

I'm also happy that our New Normal is so normal. It's just us, an over-stressed mom, a dad with a new knee and a teenager with a nice, straight spine, one poodle who likes to pee on furniture and one who likes to eat Kleenex. (And a kooky Mama who needs me to fix her iPhone for her every once in a while.) And we're all on the Other Side together.