Ducky! That's what I say when my husband calls me each day from work and asks me how I'm doing. I say, "Just ducky!" He can tell if it's a fake "ducky" or a real one. For those of you that don't know, "ducky" is the same as "okay." I don't know where I got that one, and no one I ever say it to has ever heard it before, so I assume I got it from my mother, who was English, and probably said it to me when I was little. I could just have easily read it in a book, but there are a lot of things I've said in the past that I found out no one knew what the hell I was talking about and it turned out to be some quaint little expression from the UK. I have a friend who thinks I "put on" whatever accent I have left, because I want one, but he doesn't know how embarrassed I've been when I've asked for a torch instead of a flashlight and made fun of or imitated because of the way I say things even to this day! And this guy is someone I consider a close friend, too!
Well, back to ducky, or the lack thereof of "duckiness." Yes, I just made up that word. I'm probably ending sentences w/prepositions and all the things that usually make me insane. Right now...I care not a whit about it. (ooh...I rhymed!) It's when I get all "snitty" and speak like that when I get teased about the way I speak. It's too late, or rather early in the morning to go into the long version of this story, and why the left side of my face has been black, blue, yelllow and swollen for the last several weeks, but the timing was perfect, as usual. Well, my face didn't get like this until after our trip to California, which was nice. But injury numero uno to my head happened prior to the trip, in fact, I was released from the hospital after the better part of three days there, approximately three and a half hours before the surprise birthday party I'd planned for my husband's 50th birthday! That was on a Saturday, and we were leaving for San Diego on Monday, and the doctors weren't sure I'd be able to FLY because I had a skull fracture with air inside my skull. They said it could be quite dangerous and I could die. I still don't know how true that was, but they ran test after test into the night Friday, and were going to start again Saturday morning but the neurologist they'd assigned to me (not my regular one), said he could see enough to see that the air, or most of it, had been absorbed into my body or my bloodstream or somewhere. I didn't care where; I could FLY! So, you'd think besides falling after I got home and making a big mess out of half my face, I'd be ducky, right? No, this is ME, after all. The neurologist gave me a pretty extensive exam. I knew something was off. You know how you just know? Sure enough, I had to have my cardiologist release me, because this time when I was admitted, my heartbeat was 37, and the docs from the emergency room were calling him telling him I needed a pacemaker the next day! I've always had trouble with my blood pressure being low, blah, blah, this is all part of the long story for another day I mentioned above. Anyway, my cardiologist was ready to release me. We just needed this neurologist to release me also. The cardiologist and I were talking and I told him that the neuro-guy told me I have another disease, to which he replies that he needs to concentrate on the situation at hand and release me. So, all that being done, husband on the way to get me, Dr. Neuro explains to me what I have, makes me promise about 3-4 times that I WILL go to this other specialist, he actually put it the release papers so I signed something that said I WILL GO to this person FOR THIS specific thing, blah blah, and I knew by his demeanor that it was not a happy disease. I asked if it were curable and he said, "no." I said, "of course not." I was supposed to rest the next day (my husband was working) and when he got home we'd pack. We ended up without going to bed at all. Our friends picked us up for an early flight and I tried to put it all out of my mind for the week. But that time when I was "resting," of course I sneaked into the "computer room" (extra bedroom w/a computer in it! lol) and looked it up. It has 6 "types" and 2 types are not so good. With one you can have cancer. The one that looks familiar to me, meaning it looks like it's got all my symptoms in it? Pre-mature death. How pre-mature? Oh, 48-50 yrs. old. How old am I? Forty-eight! I'll be forty-nine at the end of July! We called to make the appointment but they sent papers out that have to be completed and sent back before an appointment can be made and I've done all I can. I need my husband to fill out his portion and there's a portion that deal with genetics and I don't even know if my father will speak to me, let alone, let me come over to ask the questions (there are pages of them) Hell, they didn't tell me when my mom died until after the funeral, so maybe Dad died too. I never know what they're going to do. I told my husband again and again that he can stay in denial if he wants but it does me NO GOOD. Response? "Okay. We'll do it on such and such day." So what do I do? I keep praying and saying, "I don't have this. I don't have this. I DON'T BLOODY WELL HAVE THIS!
