Before I went into surgery, I splurged and bought new pillows. Smart me-good for me-rehab is much easier with a soft place to lay my head.

I just don't feel like blogging. I don't feel like writing. Whatever the reason -and I have thought about all of the reasons. Forget the fact that I hurt, forget that I love to read and to write and to get the occasional kudos. Perhaps I just do not feel like sharing. Perhaps it some kind of despondency. Perhaps, hopefully, it will pass. I like myself when I write-when I use the gifts that have been given to me.

Before and after my surgery,I have chosen to zone out. Lots of DVDs. "N.Y.P.D. Blue"-the first four years-great stuff. Totally enthralling. No commercial interruptions, no live audience, no canned laugh tracks-just great writing about terrible things and the cops who try to fix them. It's funny. I never gave New York City a thought, a chance-and although this old show has not endeared me to The Big Apple, they have, strangely endeared me to cops. "Honest guys who can read and write," says Sipowizc. "Don't ever shame this job," Dennis Franz tells his son played endearingly by Michael Deluise. I have no delusions of cop grandeur, but know so many are just trying to do the right thing-as am I, most of the time, when I like myself best. And folks jump to erroneous conclusions about me all of the time. But I do mean well.

That didn't last-it was just an antihistime-a prescription Benedryl of sorts, and the buzz lasted a couple of hours, went away, and never returned. I feel no buzz @ all anymore and wonder how much of what I was feeing Saturday was mostly in my head. I get a little cotton mouth, and perhaps a slight mellowing, but not all that much. Nothing like my inept private physician prescribed to get me out of his office.

I am back to reality now and really. Reality is spasms in my intestines and a throbbing pang where the hernia is most visible. Reality is Bubba coming to the rescue again & me feeling like a lump. The sewer line is backed up & he has torn through the cement patio he worked so hard on trying to find a spot where he can snake the clog out. Here is the manly man with shovels & scary, wet piles of.. earth. I know that I would only get in the way and stress the hernia if I were to attempt to assist him. He wants to do it all himself, or he would have called a professional. What a man, what a man...I peek out a window on this cold April afternoon, and I feel so useless.

Reality is this man is taking Thursday 4/17 off to take me up to the VA for all the testing & procedures that are grimly necessary to prepare for this operation on Friday 4/18. The VA will spring for a hotel room on Thursday night so that we may start early, I suppose. I live about 80 miles from the hospital one way. and they want to ensure that I am available when they are ready for me. Reality is mixed emotions. Nothing is all good or all bad-but, better than it could have been under different circumstances. I don't have to face this alone, I am getting a multi-thousand dollar surgery for free because I served decades ago in the Navy. Man, in spite of everything, I am so blessed.

And I would be lying if I said I had no second thoughts, no fear of this surgery. My dad used to bug me regularly to get medical care @ the VA. I didn't realize then, I was eligible-I thought you had to have retired from the service to get care at the VA. Plus their reputation left a lot to be desired, though folks tell me that is a dated conception of the VA-that these days they are state-of-the-art. I never heard of a hospital springing for a hotel room. I am ready to be proved belatedly wrong about them, and plus it is all for free, that I am aware of. Reality has been tougher and colder in my past-they may be a tad difficult now, but things are settling into a more positive mode than if I had not lived my life as I have to date.

The lump continues to take it easy watching her man shouldering the burdens and sticking by her side. She continues to feel unworthy, but basks in the love & concern of her friends and family. This low self esteem gig is a bit tiresome, but keeps me humble.

V. A. Hop tells me My private family physician is less qualified to prescribe medication than they. Well, today I am starting their concept of balancing my chemicals as opposed to his & WOW! I can really feel the difference, yet am not convinced. So this is how I feel getting balanced! It will take time to assimilate the medication so that I don't feel this brain wobble...I am guessing that that is what is going on here. geez I really cannot write...my head is leering on the inside from side to side...are they gonna medicate my ass or what?

Oh man! I have to attend a wedding reception today...and I cannot blog...iI had best go work on myself so that I can go & see my sisters & brothers, nephews & nieces and the bride ( Bianca from Germany) and groom(sweet, funny, nephew Doug from Brown County) & celebrate the union of their lives. Bianca will automatically acquire a 10yr. old stepson and I sure hope that works out as the kid is genius & needs a stable mother figure.

Venlaflaxine HCL 37.5 first thing this A.M. & I used to pay big bucks to feel this way. I feel like I had a drink or two...maybe 1 or 2 too many. Same effect with Hydroxyzine Pamoate which I took one of last nite & begged to go to bed @ 9...no more Prozac, no more Ativan. I didn't feel those anymore, anyway, but I feel these bad boys. Whew! I gotta try & get ready for the wedding. Bianca's family has flown in from Europe to see this. Surely I can make it from 2 counties over...but I surely cannot blog today. What an effort. it will be better tomorrow when I can enjoy this semi-gentle rocking (I feel like I'm on a boat!)

I have been to the V.A.Hospital, and I have enrolled. My initial evaluation of Hearni, the Hernia, has been moved up twice by me, due to the pain, and on the 27th of this month, I will finally see a surgeon and set a date for the operation. The pain moves around my abdominal area & I fear other abdominal wall weaknesses may be leaking with more of the same. A fear that I hope the surgeon will dispel upon examination. But I can no longer tread head at all, as I did in the past. Even the mildest of gaits, ruins the day of, and the day after the most calm of exercises. And more often than not, as of late, daily, Herni gives me considerable pain as I try to take it easy, and wait out the system.

Ah! The initial trip to Indianapolis to start the ball rolling. I have found a V.A. service that provides van transportation to & from
my nearest small town to the hospital for appointments. I had arrangements all set up & was ready to go out the front door to meet said van, when Bubba changed his mind about letting me go solo. The driver had called me on the eve before and advised me to pack an overnight bag, in case I was admitted. Although, I felt this precaution to be strongly akin to going over board, I, by and large, tend to do as I am told, so I did. The sight of me heading out the door with a packed bag put Bubba in a bit of a tizzy (as did the sight of me packing to visit Mark & Kim on the trip that never was did materialize earlier in the month). He told me to truck on down to the meeting point & tell the van folk that he would be taking me up. News they accepted less than gracefully, but I thought it to be way cool, in a "knight in shining armor" kind of way.

What he didn't tell me is that he was dead-tired with body aches, and a headache, and a weak feeling all over his body. What he didn't tell me is that this was his first day of a terrible bout with the flu.

After we finally found our way through the maze of hospitals on "Hospital Hill" to the V.A.'s front door, he dropped me off at the entrance, so he could go find a parking space. Almost an hour and a half later, my enrollment business was finished, and I called his cell only to learn he was STILL looking for a parking place. As the weather was turning from rain to sleet to flirtations with hail, we took refuge in a nearby Comfort Inn parking lot to await my late afternoon appointment. He never mentioned his flu symptoms. Miraculously, we found parking when I returned for my 3:00 p.m. appointment, as most clinics close at 4:30, and the place was starting to clear out. Once inside, he waited by my side without complaint.

When my name was finally called, the guy who took my vital signs told me that seriously, I had made his day. I wouldn't give up asking until he told me why...my smile, my response that "my life is good" and my "thank you , very kindly", when he had finished with his preliminaries. He told me that even the smile was a rare commodity in a V.A. hospital. Hmmmmm-I had taught myself those other two clever comebacks a few years ago, and now, they are second nature, and I know why I taught myself to make them second nature-they are a part of the me that I aspire to be. Good for me!

Well, I saw a nice doc who called in another nice doc, and I cannot think of one of the medications that I am currently taking that they do not want to change or eliminate entirely. Clean slate...well, I am willing to try...for free or almost free medical care (as last year's income was below $9,000) I am willing to try just about anything. This will involve riding the aforementioned van for 160 miles round trip every visit and a whole new method of medical care, but I think I can roll with it.

Come 4:15 pm, we headed for Bubba's truck through the cold rain & snow & sleet. He warmed it awhile and scraped the windshields before turning on the windshield wipers, one of which, immediately broke. I couldn't believe it when he told me he had a spare lying in wait for occasions just such as this, then he went back out into the storm and replaced it. He was shivering when he returned to the warmth of the truck's cab, and by then, 4:30 traffic had turned into 5:00 rush hour, and it took us a good 15 minutes before some kind soul allowed us to enter the bumper-to-bumper parade crawling past Hospital Hill. 1/2 hour later, when we had finally cleared the big city with it's big city traffic, he ventured his verbal guess that he might have the flu.

Turns out he was right...he had contracted a kick-ass flu that at one point had him asking me, only half jokingly to go get his rifle, and to please shoot him to put him out of his misery. We were both sure that I would catch it next, but as I had a flu shot in the fall, and it appears to have covered the brand of flu Bubba brought home, I didn't catch it. Headaches and hernia pain-pinches I got, but mercifully, that flu passed me by. That flu or one like it, has hospitalized at least 3 older folks that I know of, but I am willing to bet money (and I am not a betting woman) that Bubba still won't get a flu shot next year. But believe me, if possible I will inoculate myself against future flus, whenever possible.

Bubba is content to have me take the van in the future, except of course when that surgery date finally rolls around...then, he is taking the day off to stay by my side. We really ought to get married.

My mother continues to float further and further out into her dementia-laden space. I cry often, when I think back upon how bright and intelligent she used to be, but it is what it is, and I straighten up and recover pretty quickly until the next time. I miss my father more than words can say, and I cry often, but again, come around more quickly than in my recent past, as again, it is what is.

I told my therapist, Cecile, that I had a theory regarding my flirtations with minor depression. I am in pain, and thus my brain is not secreting the serotonin it usually does when I am in better spirits and pain free. She told me that I was one of the most well-adjusted people that she knew, and maybe I didn't need to see her anymore. I am not yet ready to go on without her, but I feel I can safely procrastinate visits until this hernia problem is over & done. I feel that I will want and need her support when I tackle interviewing for my next dead-end job. I just want to enjoy my day and come home with some minor feelings of accomplishment. I have no delusions of grandeur. A woman has to know her limitations, or so said Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry about a man...Anyway, visits with my Mental Health Therapist appear to be drawing to an end all too soon. Go figure.

I have been an avid, dedicated fan of Stephen King for over 20 years. I gifted myself his "Duma Key" in hardback, when I saw how big the book was, and knew from experience that waiting for the paperback would only make the book harder to read due to it's lengthiness. Oh, good for me! I love this book! I cannot wait to finish it, so I can start to re-read it with my fever to finish it, at least somewhat abated. And you know, it is the strangest thing...Stephen King wrote that following his accident, his painful recovery could only be appeased by writing..."more powerful than any pain pill," he wrote.

"Duma Key's" main character is an artist who finds that only painting quiets the pain he suffers after an traumatic accident that only Stephen King or painful reality could imagine. Then, there is me. This hernia is nothing to be taken lightly. The pain often awakens me in the night. But when I read or write, I forget about the pain. I forget about my sorrows. I live the book. Indeed, my love of reading has proven to be a strong and powerful friend. Long may it reign-my mother loved it, too.

And now, back to the book!

Hard season, hard winter-"The Secret of Life is Enjoying the Passage of Time" says Sweet Baby James...but it takes a mindset, a determination, and a will to pull that off.

I've had some bad days with this hernia-not terrible, but enough so that it feels as if my brain chemistry is even being messed with, and I am not able to pull off that inner evervessence that usually bubbles from within. I cannot expect to be bubbly all of the time, I know...and I don't...as I can't.

My step-mother, Rene, my father's wife, and my mother's ex-best friend from so many decades of drama ago, died yesterday. Angel sister Jan, sat the bed-side death vigil for the 6 days since Rene was granted Hospice. Rene's long-estranged daughter Becky does not know (or care) that her mother has passed or was even ill. We have no way to get in touch with her, and we are pretty sure she does not want to be notified of anything. Rene was a complicated woman. I don't know the straw that broke Becky's back, as she had been sporadically in touch until a few years ago with my parents-but Rene used to insist that Becky distanced herself as Dad & Rene did not have enough money. Rene befriended & betrayed we 5 children and our mother for years, having an affair with Dad for a long time before Mom & Dad finally split. Dad remarried Rene, Mom's ex-best friend, and that took quite a bit of getting used to, but the 5 of us eventually accepted the love of our father's life. If we five could forgive Rene, and even grow to love her in our own ways in spite of her complicated, convoluted and sometimes corrupt personality. I feel sorry that Becky could not find it within herself to even stay in contact with her mother in Rene's declining years...but it is not a problem, especially, not my problem. None of us desires to look for Becky (quite the golddigger as hometown gossip insists), but I feel sorry for her...she missed out on a lot of good times and family love & stuff, that through forgiveness and a grudging acceptance, we 5 were party to in Dad and Rene's life.

Brother Buzz and his wonderful wife, Beth, Angel Sister Jan, and Rene's only surviving brother, Paul (a sweet, kind, uncomplicated man) will be making the arrangements at the funeral home today that helped inter Dad in June. Brother Mark's son Ken, 16, wants to deliver the eulogy. A fun-loving, America loving, all around loving 16 year old credit to Mark and his wonderful wife Kim... indeed, Ken is Mark all over again...they even complete one another's sentences. Ken is wise beyond his years. Rene adored Ken & spent time with him whenever possible, and we are all so proud of Ken for undertaking this task when he is so emotionally involved, at such a tender age...

Mark & Kim have been having some intense trial of their own, but they are steadfastly standing by one another, weathering the storms. As Mark keeps a blog and has chosen to not yet reveal their traumas and dramas on line, I will refrain from telling their story...unless Mark tells me Rene's funeral that I may. His boss reads his blog and confronts him frequently on their differences of opinion...but, oh the tales he could tell about his personal life. Yet, I cannot go there at this time..it is only his place and choice..but, I am so proud of the both of them...they are bravely traveling through Hell-on Earth, hand in hand. I had planned yesterday to go up North to stay with them for a few days, but weather, hernia complications, and Bubba's disapproval kept me home.

Bubba continues to amaze me, and my family and friends with his loving kindness. His Wally World Track phone has been defunct for quite awhile now, and Tuesday when I accompanied him to WW to pick up some meds, he purchased a new Verizon cell, took my old Verizon, put us on the Verizon Family Plan, & gave me the sleek new model. He even bought my multi-vitamins for me that day...and as we are now on the Verizon Family Plan & he tells me he will pay half of the Verizon bill. He is helping me with my truck payments, treating me to many happy surprises, and unending, unconditional love. For Valentine's Day, he bought 2 huge box of chocolates, one for my mother, one for me, and 3 smaller boxes of chocolates for my 2 sisters and my best fiend, Deb, who is like a sister to me.

Medicaid turned me down Tuesday, as I have some money in an IRA. It appears I may have to break into that IRA early (unless there are other financial developments) and deplete it to less than $2,000 before I can get any state aide on this hernia problem. I am awaiting correspondence from the V.A., and remain optimistic that they can help me at a more fair cost than civilian facilities. Biding my time... I do not expect anything other than the usual government hurry up and wait, eventual positive income. The sooner, the better...I cannot take a job in good faith knowing that at any moment I could be doubled over in pain, and therefore a less-than-dependable employee. Now that I know what the medical problem is, it must be taken care of, and that has become my priority-with no job or insurance to help me pay for it, I am researching my options.

Which leads me to a true confession. My therapist Cecile, was quite confrontational about me coming the the financial aid of some one close to me recently. I am the last person anyone should ask for money at this time of my life, I know. I also strongly feel that I know I will be repaid, and I believe in the honesty and goodness of the close one involved, and I know how difficult it was of her to ask me for a loan. With Cecile, I stood my ground, defending my actions and the worthiness of this individual, and my belief is that I will be repaid. Cecile found me standing my ground admirable, but remains adamant that red flags abound with this loan. I agree, but I believe in this person. It is not a huge amount of money, just enough to get her car out of the shop, but it has become a point of contention between Cecile & I. Another life experience I will eventually learn from, but I really believe that this person will pay me back ASAP-it is a hard, cold season for her, as well. I wanted to help and I still believe I did the right thing. To a fault-all of the Webber children want to help...But again, only time will tell...

I have really had to reel in my tread-heading...my brother-in-law Rick expanded & improved my ipod & I get inspired & really want to put on the miles, but it does unpleasant things to my hernia, if I should get carried away. I took yesterday off, but plan to resume a slow pace and a low mileage goal again today. Too much Christmas pie, too much "healthy" dark chocolate. I have to get this hernia repaired soon...my life is waiting-and my body is gaining weight!

Well, enough about me (ha!)-"how you doin'?"(Joey on "Friends").

Ice storm en route all over Nowhere, Indiana. I dream of Spring & can barely wait. But I insist-there is a light at the end of all of our tunnels.