Back at a different Starbucks this time as I continue my boycott of Borders

Let me tell you what relaxation is: it’s a wireless connection at Starbucks at dusk with Sam Cooke on the satellite radio.

Sam Cooke absolutely ROCKS. Steve Perry is so like him, vocally.

Now do I sing along or not?

Nah, I’d curl Simon Cowell’s hair with this voice.

(Okay, I’ll admit to a few verses of “Bring It On Home”…)

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When we last left hubby, John, he had just come home from the hospital and we were beginning the life of diabetic and wife.

I was stunned at the learning curve for the Accucheck monitor we bought. It took me an hour to read the directions, lock and load the device and do three practice runs on my own fingers before I was ready to attempt a blood sugar on John.

Then we had to find the right depth of the lancet for John, as you can vary it to get the most blood with the shallowest stick. That took a good three times. We varied from “where’s the hole?” to “I think I’m hemmorhaging!”.

Finally we found that 3.5 was good for him.

I use a machine five times larger and much more complicated at work and it took me less time to learn it.

But the home one doesn’t require every 24 hour “quality assurance” checks and I don’t have to follow JACHO rules! Ha!

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John came home on a Monday night and I knew with my exhaustion and his need for monitoring (he was less than 48 hours post-op), so I called in a day ahead to let work know I would be not coming in Tuesday.

I figure this is important. I’ve missed two twelve-hour shifts already so I figure it is time to apprise my manager of what is going on at home.

Whereupon I was barraged with a vivid description of how stressed everyone was and how burnt out and how badly I was needed and could I at least do four hours.

I was floored. But, teeth grinding, I agreed to four hours.

And then the seething began.

In retrospect, I can’t blame my manager. Our local county hospital nurses had decided to go on strike for a few days so most of the ambulance traffic was coming to us. She had her own stresses she was dealing with. Being a manager can suck sometimes.

But I wasn’t thinking that at the time.

All I could think of was how I had filled in during every emergent, elective and cosmetic surgery my colleagues had over the last 2.5 years, every tendon trauma, every death in a family, and I picked up more than my share of sick calls.

Including calls from co-workers who had, shall we say, exhausted all other ways to get a day off.

But I was expected to suck it up and come in when I needed the support.

Poor, poor pitiful me(<---channeling Warren Zevon here.) Oh yes, I can throw pity parties that make the Oscars look like pre-school picnics!

Luckily, I decided to email my manager and tell her how hurt I was by the attitude. If you let feelings build up, they just fester, in my experience.

My manager got right back to me, said that I had sounded more upbeat on the phone than I felt and not to worry, she had things covered.

Most excellent!

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I’ve always been an American Idol fan, but I never thought it would be a sanity saver!

We watched the show that Tuesday night and I felt like I was transported emotionally. Every care, every worry just lifted into a cloud of endorphin-induced euphoria induced by amateur rock and roll and Simon’s biceps.

And Taylor Hicks!

Oooo baybee, I needed that!

Except….. John normally leaves the house and watches “Idol” at the neighbor’s house because I get, um…..rather vocal during the show.

And if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but I cry every week. Especially on Wednesday elimination nights, but I can work up a good one on Tuesdays, too.

So my poor post-op husband was a prisoner in his own bed as I “did my thang” during that week’s American Idol.

My sanity was restored.

I think John needed counseling for a month.

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Two days later, we board a plane to go back to Indiana to see my son graduate from Notre Dame.

It’s a walking campus. You need a major reason to put your car anywhere except the periphery of the university.

John gets the idea that being 4 days post-op is a good reason to get a “handicapped” placard for the rental car.

We still walked a lot, but it was a lot easier on John to walk a bit less so soon after surgery.

(And guess what? We got to see Dave Brubeck get an honorary doctorate…THE Dave Brubeck….the “Take Five” Dave Brubeck. Tres cool!)

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By the time I was ready to go back to work, John was doing his own blood sugars four times a day and we were eating healthier than any time in our marriage.

Even I was losing weight even though I was now eating three meals a day AND snacks.

John now has a body like Mark Spitz (for you young ‘uns: seven Olympic Gold Medals in swimming back in the ’70s).

I still resemble Roseanne.

Hey, I’m workin’ on it!

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Next: Walls Have Ears and Meeting Dr. Hsu, Endocrinologist