Morning Musings: Coffee Mugs, Batman, and Mark Twain

What do these things have in common? The gradual return of my health, apparently. It seems I like to string random topics into a cohesive whole to amuse myself, and laying in bed, recuperating, has inspired more randomness than usual.

I've been told I have a quirky brain. My response? 

"Thank you."

My favorite coffee mug

This past Christmas, we each received a mug bearing a fun quote - something from a movie or TV show, or simply a snarky saying. I have no idea where the wording on my mug comes from, but it makes me smile... every single morning... especially since contracting my most recent illness.

Did you know my mug has a Cockney accent? It has! Something like Michael Caine playing Alfred, Batman's butler. Granted, they don't use a silver tray, but when someone brings me coffee while I'm resting in bed, I can almost picture this:

Of course, my mug doesn't quote the Batman movie. It says, "Good morning. I see the assassins have failed." To which I silently add, "again." *internal smirk* 

Yes, I'm still here. Recovering, even. Amazing, right? 

"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." - Mark Twain

This is good. It's almost staggering the number of things piled up (literally), waiting for me to get back on my feet. It's true, everyone has pitched in and helped keep the household fed and clothed, but it's equally true some things remain invisible to eyes that are not my own. See that thing on the floor there? That thing that everyone has stepped over at least a hundred times? You and I are the only ones who have noticed it. Weird. 

Wait a minute. Maybe the others did notice it. Maybe they left it there as a signal to me that they needed me. Maybe, just maybe, that thing on the floor, begging to be picked up, is the Mom equivalent of the Bat-Signal. 

I shouldn't be surprised. I was the same way as a child. My mother didn't mind at all, however. I know she would have been bored if I had been a neat child. I made her feel needed. Yeah. That's what I was doing. *ahem* What a good child I was.

As Mark Twain once said, "My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it."

Anywhoo, my mug is now empty and I'm feeling well enough to go pick that thing up off of the floor. Take that, illness! You have failed. 

Again. 

At Least It's Not Consumption

Steven Hawking reportedly said, "Life would be tragic if it weren't so funny."

I couldn't agree more.

After they ruled out heart attack, the emergency room doc informed me I have pleurisy. I started to crack up, telling the doctor it sounded like some old-fashioned disease name, like dropsy or the grip.  The nurse and I giggled while putting on our best Southern belle accents, exclaiming, 

"I haz the pleurisy!" 

Well, I may have sounded a bit more like, "...cough, cough... I haz the... cough... pleurisy! cough..." But, you get the idea. 

(This is not the first time I've had that reaction. I must find medical names inherently funny. When my eye doctor told me I had uveitis, I had to wait until I stopped laughing before I could accuse him  of making it up.)

Now, days later, my doctor sent me back to the ER. Something about not liking that I almost keeled over in her clinic...

I'll admit, I was having a rough day.

My ER visit went something like this:

Me: I'm too weak to stand and my head's going to explode.

Doctor: We can't find anything wrong with you. Come back if you die.

Me: OK, sounds like a plan.

Truthfully, they tried, but a gazillion tests later, I had to forgive my husband for quietly stating, 

"I knew it," 

when they said the CT scan of my head found nothing. Thank you, Honey.

I was sent home to "plant your tush in one spot and don't move 'till you feel better."  

I'm following doctors orders. 

My plans for the day are: 

Lay on my left side, drink some green tea, lay on my right side, fluff my pillow, lay flat on my back and decide I don't like that position, roll back to my left side, flip through all the TV channels bemoaning the fact there is nothing good on, eat soup, chat with Joey, nap, repeat... As you can see my schedule is full.

I just wish I could've brought one of those rockin' nurses home with me. They kept me laughing (even though it made my headache worse) and too distracted to worry. One even complimented me on my "honking big veins."
How is that for a compliment? Seriously. Now, I'm going to get a big head. If anyone says something mean to me, I'll just go,

"Yeah, but I have honking big veins, so... what you said doesn't really bother me."

I'm really hoping rest is going to make a difference and I'll be back on my feet soon. If not, maybe they'll name a disease after me. It can't sound worse than pleurisy.