The Humbling Hives and Handicap Cart

My lifelong quest to try new things and adventures has yielded some great memories and stories however my latest – Quinoa would seem to place nominally low on the list. I boiled the little faux caviar beads and ate a small bowl for lunch with cottage cheese and sun- dried tomatoes. I decided that chasing them around for a bite proved to be a mouth marathon that I don't want to compete in again and—it's a good thing— because hours later I am covered in hives.
Quinoa!  Well Hell's Bell's – should have known. I am allergic to several grains — Whole wheat, granola, some combo's of niacin, malt. No Colt 45's for me. Wth? Anyway, I took two Benadryl and scratched myself most of the morning.
Mid afternoon I'm on my way to CVS to get more Benadryl. I'm just cruising along and talking to my daughter on the phone when my throat started closing up.
"Gotta let  you go sweetie." I said, trying not to alarm her. I needed to save my last few breaths to grunt out "Food Allergy!" at an unwitting CVS employee in the consultation line.
The startled pharmacist replied, "Get to hospital now."
Well, have I ever told you guys that I'm cheaper than dirt? Yup, my throat is closing and my heart is  pounding — but da'-yumm can I save a buck or two here?
I call my  Doc while driving to ER. Same forced (don't know how many breaths) I have left convo "Food allergy, hives, throat closing – Can I come by and get a shot?"
"Nope, go to hospital or urgent care, might have to trach you for asphyxiation." they tell me.
I pulled into Urgent Care, I was in the back pretty quick. A few minutes later, a steroid shot in the hip and my throat opens immediately. That's disturbing in itself. But thank God I can breathe and I'm on the road to recovery.
I didn't call to tell Don about the episode until I left. I didn't want to disturb him, he was on the way to a friends house to pick up a farm table she gave me. But —  I did have the text ready for the doc to hit send if I started flopping like a fish in his office.
Next morning —The alarm went off and I jumped off bed..uh oh...no legs. I could barely move and have an 8:30 a.m. quote to give. I figured coffee, the rest on the drive and an Ibuprofen would have me moving in no time.
I'm about halfway to the clients door when my left leg gave totally out.  "Improvise Renae." I told myself.
I pulled out the cell phone – faked receiving a call (talk and all) and performed an award winning mock acting job of searching for a signal with hand in the air. This gave me a few extra seconds between step dragging across the yard.
When I finished the bid, I called Urgent Care. "Hey, I had a shot yesterday and today I can't walk." They called in a pain killer that sounded romantic to Publix. I'm in to alternative medicine, no scripts for me unless absolutely necessary—but he tells me I will be able to move again and then I can get to my regular physician.
The 20 steps to the front door of Publix was an obstacle/endurance course that required zig zag jaunts to objects for stability and rest. i.e.  garbage cans, bike racks and vehicle rear veiw mirrors. My version of a slow mo Harlem shuffle.
I got to the entrance and there was this motorized contraption with a basket basking in the sunlight of the foyer. I waited for customers to file by while I tried to read the operating instructions on it's panel. I gingerly touched the levers. Oh hell, first time for everything. I climbed aboard.
I cruise through the store in the handicap cart avoiding free standing displays, Banana's and pyramidal mounds of oranges and apples. I kept my  head down and my eyes averted.  Everyone is looking at me, why am I getting so much attention? I wondered.
Then it dawned on me that I am half the age of most people that drive carts.  And then it dawned on me that I can't say that anymore because they would have to be a centenarian to be twice my age now.
"What happened to you?" pharmacy assistant asked.
"Who knows...allergy one day.. can't walk the next." I replied
"Where'd you get the shot?" she asked
"In the hip." I answered
"Did they rub it out?" she asked
"Nope" I replied.
The busy pharmacist comes over and hands me a print out of high dose Prednisone side effects
Naturally under rare, he has highlighted Steroid-Induced Osteoporosis. It could be worse, another side effect was Avascular Necrosis aka bone death. When I got back into the handicap cart, I bumped the reverse handle....again.  I red faced beeped myself backwards and to the closest register.
The manager (my age) comes to my aid. "Can I help you out with these ma'am?" he asked nicely.
"No thank you..SIR..." Admittedly a bit catty, I replied.
"No, I insist." He continues.
"Ok..let's make a deal. You can help me if YOU drive the cart back in." I told him.
He laughs and agrees. We have a nice little talk in the period of time that the .003 mph handicap cart moved to the car. True to his word, he commandeered the cart when I threw my bags into the seat.
I smiled as the handicap cart disappeared into the automatic doors.
An unexpected emotion surged through me, I put my head on the wheel of the car and shed a few tears of humbleness. Pride is really not an admirable trait.  We robs others of the joy that they receive by helping us.
I love to help others but the tide turned that day and I was on the receiving end. I hid the happy sounding pain killers under the seat of my car, put the car in reverse and started backing out.
I had a momentary start..as I recalled the back up beeper on the handicap cart.  Aww hell Rome wasn't built in a day.

It's Gettin' Coyote Ugly Up in the Mt. Pleasant 'Burbs | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

It's Gettin' Coyote Ugly Up in the Mt. Pleasant 'Burbs | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Coyote Wiley vs Curious George

This blog was done..albeit a few skim overs and ready to submit on Friday morning. My eyes were tired slits when  I got up and walked away from the computer Thursday night without saving it.
I jiggled the mouse the next morning. Oh no! Windows closed down my computer to install ~Important~ updates. Blog is gone. I just got up and left the computer. It pretty much summed up the week I was trying to close out.
As for the blog... In the words of Donna Summer...I don't think that I can take it 'cause it took so long to bake it / And I'll never have that recipe again, oh, no.
But...I will try.
I knew that I had overbooked myself last week. It was going to be a miracle — Moses proportion, to get done what was on my plate this week. As it usually does if I have a big day planned, my internal problem solving alarm clock rang early. Two consecutive mornings at 3 a.m. exactly. Uh oh...this is NOT going to be good. My reasoning skills among others evaporate with lack of sleep.
I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep while my brain mentally planned the course of the day out.  I glared at the clock, it's 4 a.m and Don is faring much better than me, obvious by his nasal baritone.
4:58 -4:59- 5:00 a.m.... I watch the minutes tick off on the bedside table and cut the alarm off seconds before it would have sounded.
Minutes later I am at the kitchen sink trying to figure out the sequence of putting my percolator (which i have had for ten years) together. I glanced up and out of the window and noticed a shadow pacing the pond.  The quacking little Aflac ducks were swimming to the silhouette on the bank across the pond as fast as they could.
As stated in the Miley Cyrus/Duck story last week, the domesticated aviary community beside my pond is castrated, docile and oblivious to fear. To the ducks, dogs are friends who usually accompany their owners bringing buckets of cracked corn, bags of bread and as we have witnessed.. mom's dinner out of the pockets of Tween boys.
Only, this morning....there are no owners bearing gifts and the dog is a coyote.
The ducks were within 20 feet of the bank when I realized that I must intervene. I glanced down..pink Curious George pajama's. Oh hell,  no time to change.
I flew out of the patio door in as much blind naiveté as the ducks. I waved my arms furiously while shouting to the coyote as I headed toward it. Great, now the ducks are coming to me.  I glanced back at my house, realizing that there is as much distance between me and the coyote and me and the back door... and to boot — I am now standing between a hungry coyote and it's breakfast.
The coyote is much bigger than he looked from my window and damn healthy looking too.  He is not pacing anymore or backing down for that matter.
I cannot believe that I am outside in my pajama's staring down a coyote. Don is in bed, hell so is the neighborhood.
I tried to remember National Geographic channels advice on encountering wildlife? The hair stood up on my arms.
Do I continue the stare down? Make myself appear larger? Lay down and wet myself?  I forget.
The coyote lowers it's head and gives me a good look over as if questioning whether he could take me. For once I am glad I am still toting around the extra five Christmas pounds.
He gave me this steely eyed stare and then sauntered off into the wood line. Daylight edged over the trees and a neighbor across the pond waves a thumbs up at me. I feel a little guilty because I really don't think I ~wanted~ to save the duck —maybe I just didn't want to see it die in front of me. I mean this is really what happens behind the scenes in the brush, at dawn, at dusk and while we sleep anyway isn't it?
Don and I talked about the intervention over coffee. We both agreed that nature would and has indeed taken care of itself without us for a long time. In the normal course of things, maybe one duck would die... but the next one would know the difference between a coyote and a dog and wouldn't go near the bank when one came up. True, but...these poor ducks are nature neutered. It may have been easier to close the blinds if I had not watched them rely on the hands of the community to carve out an existence.
I told a friend later about the morning's wildlife adventure.
"I don't remember coyotes, bears and aardvarks in the coastal peninsula when we were growing up." I told her.
She doubled over. When she could talk, she told me "We don't have Aardvarks..we have Armadillo's."
"Ok...those too."