Pneumonia be damned – It’s Cheetos and Salami all the Way!

Life in my shoes has sure been an adventure, lately.


I’m as sick as a dog and a pork pie short of a picnic, as my Uncle Tony likes to say.


But other than that, I‘m doing just peachy, People – just peachy.


Went from having the galloping consumption (as the Princess fondly calls it) to full-blown pneumonia all in a period of 3 weeks and am sitting here munching away on some cheese puffs and Italian salami and thinking I damn well need to get better real soon, ‘cuz the Princess is not exactly the Heloise of Homemakers, and if recent grocery purchases are any indication of my fate, I’d best be looking into my cremation arrangements, soon….REAL SOON.


On Sunday morning, I woke up feelin’ kinda light headed and queasy and told her that I needed some chicken soup and maybe some protein in my diet to help me keep up my strength.


All the coughing that I’ve been doing lately is totally exhausting me, and I really think my diet of prunes and Coke are not exactly what the Dr. was referring to when he suggested nutritional supplements be added to my diet.


So, unless the Princess wanted me strolling (and hacking) amongst the unsuspecting public, she’d best put on her big girl pants and venture out into one of these here buildings that most of us know as grocery stores to purchase some sustenance for us (and the wacky cats) or she’s gonna be hearing me howling, soon!


“No, problemo,” she obligingly retorts, “Make me a grocery list and I’ll have you swimming in chicken soup and groceries faster than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking competition, Chica.”


So out the door she ventures with the courage of a lion (and the memory of a goldfish) and no list.


I go back to bed and begin a deep, feverish sleep with the (innocent) hopes of waking up to smells of homemade chicken soup and a refrigerator full of healthy foods and good eats.


Two and a half hours later, I’m rudely awakened by a howling (very hungry) cat with a major attitude, no smells of simmering chicken soup wafting through the air, no Princess in sight and (unless I’m a tad delusional), no additional groceries added to our depleted cupboards.


About the time I’m rustling-up some food for Molly and Boo, the Princess (beaming proud as a peacock and looking none the worse for wear) comes rambling through the front door with a big-ass grin on her face and 4 bags of groceries.


“Got your groceries, Hun!”


“And boy what a mad house it is out there on the weekend,” she energetically continues.


“Do people have nothing better to do than grocery shop on Sunday mornings?” she queries.


“You’d think this city of sinners would be at church on Sunday mornings,” she humorously adds while starting to unpack her proud purchases.


Being feverish and all and just woken up with Boo’s howling, I’m not totally with it, so I ignore her comment and dismiss the fact that it’s after 2 p.m. and that most church goin’ folks would be out of church by now.


I then begin eyeballin’ the groceries that she’s unpacking, while simultaneously starting to worry that I’m not seeing too many nutritional items among her proud purchases, when she magically whips out a bunch of asparagus and proudly announces, “Picked up some fresh asparagus for us for $1.99/lb.! Looks good, doesn’t it, Hun?”


By this point, I’m silently numb looking at the purchases that she’s deftly placing on the counter and decide to ask her if she purchased anything to make homemade chicken soup, when she proudly shows me the box of (Kosher) Lipton’s Chicken Soup that she bought for me.




As I’m eye-ballin’ the ingredients listed on the box of Kosher chicken soup, I’m thinking, “this is either gonna be a very slow, excruciatingly painful death (via malnutrition) or a very quick, miraculous recovery (via the Kosher Lipton Soup),” she starts looking at me with those child-like, innocent eyes of hers and quietly says, “What’s wrong, Hun?”


“I bought you KOSHER chicken soup,” she continues before I can respond.


“It’s better than the REGULAR kind. Right, Hun”? She continues with the innocence of a 5 year old.


“Yes, Princess,” I teasingly respond with a wise-ass grin on my face.


“It’s made with Jewish love, so I’m sure the MSG, disodium guanylate, palm oil and host of other ingreedimunts that this Kosher soup has, also contains a shit-load of curative and nutritional properties, as well.”


I continue eyeballing her treasure trove of delectables as it’s lovingly placed on the kitchen counter and sarcastically say to her,


“Hun, I’m sure the Italian salami, sardines, KOSHER chicken soup, Cheetos, chocolate chip cookies and a side of prunes is just what the doctor ordered. Thank you sooo much.”




Thank God I love this woman. She keeps me laughing (and coughing) every day!


Be good to one another, People.


And remember: God/the UNIVERSE doesn’t always give us WHAT we want, WHEN we want it, but WHAT we need, WHEN we need it!


Thank you, Lord, for giving me the Princess. She’s just what the doctor (and YOU) ordered.


Catch ya next time for another adventure, looking at life from my shoes.




Pneumonia and a Bunged-up Dinglebungus!

OK, People!


So, I’m sitting here having a lovely time experiencing the finer attributes of developing pneumonia and really taking the time to appreciate the “finer sides” of modern medicine and health-care.


In order to combat those nasty, yucky pneumonia germs, one of the medications that I’ve been prescribed is an antibiotic that could take down a young Clydesdale, weaken even the strongest among us and cause a lovely myriad of maladies ranging from sleepiness, dizziness, and yeast infections, to the ever-popular back-door trots and hurling, to the more exotic of ailments like tremors, seizures, mental mood changes, confusion (hm…what was I saying?) and a host of other alluring side-effects.


So, why, pray tell, do I find these side effects so humorous?


Maybe because I’ve been prescribed a dopamine medication to alleviate the leg tremors and sleep deprivation of restless leg syndrome that can cause a host of health issues (among them- increased sexual urges and unusual urges to gamble!) and prescribed a pain medication that can cause dizziness, twitching muscles, hallucinations (rarely, but possible with certain charmed individuals) and CONSTIPATION (most likely!).


As I’m sitting here waiting for a bag of prunes (that I stumbled out to buy this morning) to counter the effects of one of my pneumonia medications and work their magic on my newly acquired bunged-up dinglebungus, I’ve got an unexplained eye twitch and having visions of men in starched white coats picking me up in a little white van to chauffeur me to the ever popular St. Jude’s Laughing Academy that a number of us have been (voluntarily and involuntarily) asked to join.




To think this whole, wonderful little adventure (of getting diagnosed with pneumonia) only cost me/my insurance company THOUSANDS of dollars to have the privileged entitlement of lying on an antiquated, lumpy bed, (with an attractive view of the ER entranceway) in the middle of the drafty, shabby-looking hallway at our local (soon-to-be totally renovated) hospital’s ER!


I guess the ER personnel figured it wasn’t enough that the urgent care doctor that sent me there suspected that I had heart problems and pneumonia. They wanted to make sure that I was thoroughly sick and deserving of such swanky accommodations.


After being “triaged” in the loveliest of intimate, comfy spaces (a 2 by 4 area with an open, thread-bare curtain used for ones privacy from the other sickos), I was whisked away in a squeaky, rickety, (wobbly) wheel chair, to the “guest area” of the hospital to hack my pneumonia germs on other unsuspecting mortals waiting their fait accompli, before being assigned “bed #1” in the ER’s drafty, dingy hallway.


(Yes, People, you read correctly – bed #1 is located in a drafty, air-conditioned hallway!)


In their defense, however, I do need it noted that after an hour of body chills and various tremors that I (hallway patient #1) was kindly offered a warm blanket to stop said body chills and newly acquired tremors.


Whoo hoo!


Lucky me.


I hit the jackpot and was assigned bed #1 in front of the smelly homeless guy that wreaked of smoke and God knows what else and the pajama-clad woman who recently stopped taking her psych meds and kept asking me if I were related to Tiger Woods.


(And, “No People, I assure you – Tiger and I are NOT– in any shape, way or means – related. And I’m sure Mr. Woods is more than grateful for this”.)


Lord! Lord! Lord! How I miss my mind!


Please keep me sane and my humor in tact, God, ‘cuz I need these dam prunes to start working their magic soon or my sunnier than usual disposition is not gonna be so sunny when the Princess gets home.


(And beware my wacky cats, ‘cuz you may not want to be howling at me any time too soon!)


Have a good one, People! And don’t take yourself too serious. Life’s too short not to laugh at it once in awhile. Be well.


Catch ya next time, looking at life from my shoes.