All good things come in threes? Or is it all BAD things come in threes? All I know is that I have had just about enough.
Everything with mom went really well in the U.S. As she recovered we watched movies, I cooked and cleaned, and bonded a bit with the family. I even managed to get in a day with lunch, shopping, old friends and chugging a Margarita (it will give you brain freeze). Good times. Because my work was done, it was time to head back home.
The trip back to Germany was almost effortless, but then again I discovered the secret to the trans Atlantic crossing: Coladapin. Okay, so taking anti-anxiety medication is NOT the best idea without a prescription and visiting a doctor, but a friend passed me an extra and smiled, "You will thank me." After two glasses of wine and some food, I flew from Charleston to Charlotte. After waiting in the most cramped gate area ever, I got on the plane to Frankfurt. I turned down the evening meal, took a glass of water and my pill. Just when I thought nothing was happening and I had a long 8 hour flight ahead of me, I began to feel warm and fuzzy. I drifted off. I did not sleep the entire time. I got up to go the bathroom and had some pretzels. In my half-sleep I did notice a little turbulence, but I smiled and said to myself, "Bump, bumppity, bump, bum . . ." An hour before landing they served breakfast (which I ate!), and I landed in Germany totally refreshed and relaxed. Wow.
Although, I made it safely back to Germany . . . my luggage did not. Seriously, I had one, small bag. With a large sigh, I went over to the Lufthansa counter. The woman confirmed my information, which was already in the computer. "Yes, this has happened before," I smirked. She actually looked embarrassed.
Losing a bag when coming home is annoying, but it really is not the end of the world. They had it at my doorstep that evening and it saved me the trouble of going through customs . . . where I would have nothing to declare anyway . . .
Wednesday I was just the Dude and I. He mercifully slept until 8am. We had breakfast and played. It took me 3 hours to do the dishes and run the vacuum cleaner, but I just could not stop hugging and kissing him.
"Claire, none of this sounds too bad." Oh, it's coming . . .
Thursday we took the Dude to the ENT specialist. It was a routine check-up after his ear infection(s) last month. The doctor took one look in the Dude's ear and got tense. "It iz not better." Not only was his ear worse, but now both are completely blocked. The eardrums are swollen, and no air is moving at all. The doctor estimates that the Dude has a 33% reduction in hearing with his ears like this.
So . . .
Tomorrow morning the Dude is going in for an operation. They are putting in tubes and removing his "Rachenmandel" (palatine tonsils). The procedure should take about two hours and we should be able to take him home that afternoon.
Several friends have tired to comfort me. It is "just" tubes. They do it all the time. Honestly, this does not help. The anesthesia bothers me the most; reading the "fact page" scared the hell out of me. Watching my son go through that . . . oy, not looking forward to it. I am taking it better than the German, though. I thought he was going to cry in the doctor's office.
"Wow, Claire. But that is only two bad things."
I forgot to mention that I found a cracked tooth while I was in the U.S. And it is finally starting to hurt and I cannot chew on that side of my mouth. Thus it is off to the dentist and a possible root canal in the coming weeks.
Between my mom, the Dude, my tooth. Ugh. I have had enough.
And don't even get me started on the Christmas shopping.