Health

When I got home, I decided to get some lunch.  I ate all of the Swedish Fish Lisa gave me and then made some nachos.  As I was eating, I flipped through CSI and Law and Order: CI.  I don't honestly get how people can stay home all day and watch tv for days on end.  I was bored right then and there.
My Mom came home and asked if I wanted to go with her to the hospital to see Grandma.  Sure.  I got ready (which mostly consists of combing my hair, there's no one who needs me to wear makeup in the hospital) and then we left.  My Mom had to drop something off, and I flipped through the radio on the car, trying to find something we could agree on.  I stopped at the Beatles's "Blackbird."
At the hospital, my Mom realized she had forgotten her cell phone out in the car, so I was sent back to get it.  And then finally I wandered up to see my Grandma.
She looked worse than when I had seen her last.  Her arms were swollen, and when I inspected her fingers, they were too.  Her skin looks so weird and gelantaneous and her skin has weird patterns on them.  She reached for my hand.  I took it, not really thinking.  She was hot to the touch.
Because she is so sick right now, no one is suppose to touch her without gloves on, and after remembering, I did put them on.  It felt weird touching my Grandma's hand with a glove on.  Like wearing a condom, sort of.
I skipped around on her tv, looking for something she might like.  Score!  Criminal Minds.  The hottness, once again.
I read a celebrity magazine as my Mom talked to her.  She mostly reasked the same questions about where she was and what happened.  My Mom was impatient with her, but I tried to answer her questions patiently.
My Dad had been there earlier in the day, and I noticed that he was reading a book on Freud.  Maybe now he'll know something about psychology?  Probably not.
Various nurses and doctors came in to see her.  One asked me if we needed anything.  I said that she needed to be placed in the chair so she could eat her dinner.  She went to go get someone else to help her and we sat her down.
They brough my Grandma dinner.  My parents then left to get themselves something to eat, and I sat and watched her.  I read the magazine, or parts of it.  (There were lots of celebrities I had never heard of.)  I turned on SpongeBob Squarepants.
My Grandma ate by herself, which is a big improvement.  She asked me for something to drink, but we're trying to get her to do it herself, so I pointed to where it was on her tray and she did it herself.  A doctor came in to give her pills midway through her meal.
My parents came back and then we left.  We went out to dinner.  I have been desperate for protein, so I had an omelette, even though normally I have either an omelette or a hard-boiled egg every morning anyway.
When I got home, my sister was about to leave to go to the movies.  I got on my computer, intending to maybe write something.
There was a message from my friend Christine that she had a miscarriage.  This has to be her second one.  I feel badly for her, because I know she really wanted this baby.  I guess I'm also surprised, because she told me a few days ago how he (or she.  It was never really determined.) was kicking about and all excited for New Years Eve celebrations.
Seems like no one in my life is doing well health-wise.      

Optometrist

Like most people, I hate going to see doctor's.  But I recently realized what I really hate about going: socializing. 
This seems like a strange thing to say, since I'm relatively social.  But those people I socialize with are friends.  I don't want to talk to my doctor's about stuff.  When they ask "How are you?" I want that to be a cue to assert my overall health, not as a chance to catch up on my family, my career and the drama with that one friend. 
With this in mind I went to see my optometrist.  I sat in the waiting room, reading one of those celebrity magazines that I only look at when there's not something more sophisticated. 
I went in with the assistant, an older woman.  We tested various small things with my eyes.  There's a test where you're suppose to tell if certain circles are jumping out at you while wearing 3-D glasses.  As the years have gone on, I have failed more and more of that test. 
Failing eye tests are nothing new.  When I was thirteen, I had to take an eye test while at school.  I failed the first time, with my glasses on.  So they called me in a second time, and I failed a second time, again, with my glasses on.  I tried to explain to the lady running the test I had really poor eyes, and I think she believed me, but I was really embarrassed by this.  I didn't fail anything at that age. 
We kept going through tests, and, even with my glasses on, it's amazing how little I can see.  I think if I had lived before glasses, I would have been confined. 
The doctor came in and I braced myself.  This doctor really likes to socialize.  It's not that I can't be polite, or that I can't speak back, but this particular doctor likes to talk about politics, and we do not share the same beliefs.  Several years ago, he complained to me about a apparently gay English professor who tried to pick him up.  I have gay friends, and I know there's almost no way this story is true.  LBGT people are scared to pick people up if they don't know their sexuality, especially if they're doing so in an "unsafe" place.  (They're more likely to pick up in a gay club or bar, but there it's expected and assumed you're okay with that.)  I didn't really tell him I disagree, but I don't really want to talk to him about politics.  I only rely on him over my eyes because my Mom insists, but the truth is I'd rather try someone else. 
We had a long discussion about surgery.  We've been considering surgery for my eyes for what seems like ever now.  At least high school, though I think it goes back farther than that.  (I was first told that I could use contacts at ten.  I never have because something about putting shards of plastic in your eye strikes me as gross.  I can't even look at someone who is putting in or taking out their contacts.  It's one of the few things I find unsightly.)
Anyway, the surgery option is always on the table, though it's unclear if I qualify.  I would need to get checked. 
Thankfully, there was none of that.  Instead, he went through the usual tests, checking my eyes with those various glasses.  When he decided on something, we moved on to making sure I didn't have things like glaucoma.
I hate those eye drops that you get.  They always make my eyes sting and they give me a headache.  I don't even try to do anything after an eye exam, because I know it's futile to try. 

The Doctor's Again

In keeping with his recent theme of telling me what to do, my father felt the need to get me up today. I had gotten up early and gone out for a walk with Jennifer, and then went back to bed. I was planning on going down to see my Grandma and take her to the doctor's. I was annoyed that my father felt the need to wake me up because I know what the plan was and was going to get myself up. Also, I set my alarm, because, you know, I planned ahead.
When we got to see my Grandma, he was a pain in the ass. We found her outside her room, working at her beloved puzzle. We had to make sure she went to the bathroom and change her clothing and then get her into the car and then drive to the Doctor's office. With a normal person, this would be easy, but my Grandma is stubborn, can't move well, is slow, and needs lots of help. Because she wasn't in her room and takes ten minutes to waddle to what for most people would be a two minute trip, I was trying to be conscientious of time and not waste any of it. I asked my Dad to walk back to the room and get something.
"Don't tell me what to do," he said.
I almost burst at him right there. I'm so sick of listening to him, I'm so sick of hearing him. Every time I do anything in front of him, he takes it as an opportunity to tell me what to do. And not in a helpful way. In a patronizing, annoying, nosy, rude way. I'm so sick of listening to him. I'm so sick of him being completely unhelpful and then having the gall to make it about me telling him what to to do. He hasn't done anything to help Grandma since she came back from rehab, and he was more concerned with whether or not he was going to go get something a two minute walk away to conserve time and prevent an old lady from getting winded. God. I can't believe him.
I texted my Mom, telling her that how much I hated dealing with her "asshole husband."
Luckily, he made himself scarce. That's what he does when he doesn't want to do something at home: he disappears. He figures someone else will do it, and sadly, that's often the case. So I did everything myself.
My Grandma was being particularly stubborn. She weighs at least twice what I do, so I can't make her do things. She first gave me a hard time about the bathroom. Then about going to the doctor, whining the entire time about it. Then she wouldn't change into proper clothes.
Finally we got her ready. And then we drove to the Doctor's.
My Grandma has this thing where she will look at things as we drive past and make the same couple of comments. Usually, she notes how small the windows on people's houses are and how big the trees are.
For some reason, my father decided to talk to her about where we were going, asking her if she knew the way. Friday, she didn't even recognize her own daughter, so this was a stupid, and, as far as he was concerned, a rhetoric question. My Grandma always said she didn't know where we were going, as she always answers. After my father said something about it the third time, I was really annoyed about it, because it seems like a vicious way of causing her undue stress. She gets upset when these things happen. If it's necessary to ask her a question like that, sure. But if you already (apparently) know the answer and continue to badger her, then you're just being a jerk.
I'm so embarrassed by what a terrible human being my father is.

The Many Faces of Sherlock Holmes

Sometimes I watch things and then wonder what the heck that was. That was the feeling I had when I watched The Many Faces of Sherlock Holmes.
This was an odd little documentary charting the many forms of the world's most famous detective. It discussed the literary incarnation, and then the play adaptations, and then the movie and tv versions. It was kind of fun to see the detective change so many forms.
The one thing I don't understand was how they conned Christopher Lee into hosting this program. He's Christopher Lee! Guy could be doing anything with his time; why was he doing this?
I get the distinct impression this was created to promote a new Sherlock Holmes movie that was coming out right at the same time. (Around 1985)
But the program was set in the Sherlock Holmes Alehouse, which I've actually been too! And apparently, it hasn't changed in 25 years.
Of course, if this program was made now, it would have to talk about the awesome that is Robert Downey Jr. in the latest movie and Hugh Laurie as a Holmes-as-doctor in House.