Showing posts with label Sturbridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sturbridge. Show all posts

Friday, April 23, 2010

Home and forgetful

I got home Wednesday night with instructions to refrain from walking the dog and driving the car until I see Melissa Monday. Also I'm supposed to remember to eat and drink.

So far, so good. Yesterday Chip walked the dog around the lake with me, and today Donna did. I feel a little stronger, but still wobbly. Somehow the day passed and I didn't do any of the new exercises I came home with (or any of the old ones).

Wednesday evening I realized I had left all my medicines, about 30 pills a day, at the hospital almost two hours away. Luckily I had some prednisone from a recent refill, but that was that. I called the hospital and, sure enough, I had left them in a storage drawer under a window seat. Called the pharmacy in the a.m., and they gave me enough to last the day, then arranged for Diane to pick them up and meet me half-way in Sturbridge.

Katie drove, and we met Diane in the parking lot at a Dunkin Donuts, where she brought the bag over and I put it in the car. That was our little drug drop. We went in and had coffee and hot chocolate, then turned around and drove back.

Today my "sketchy" behavior continued. The day before I had picked up one of those cooking magazines in racks along the aisle, and got the ingredients for a chicken, feta cheese linguine and spinach dish. I had the magazine open and must have forgotten it in the store. I thought it said "free," and I was going to just take it. I sent Katie back to look for it, and she returned saying all of those magazines cost around $10.

So today I went back with Donna and found the magazine. I picked it up and said, "See, it says free."

"Where does it say that?" she asked.

I looked closer and it said "fine," not "free." Oops. Time to get my eyes examined. I know it's not my brain, because the MRI just recently found there's nothing there. I fished around for a scrap of paper, and Donna dictated while I wrote down the steps. A woman started to hover, but we hurried on through.

Now I better go make it, if I can understand the shorthand I used to write quickly.

Four hours later...

Made the meal. Instead of being smooth, the goat cheese sauce came out icky and sticky. I overcooked the chicken, and although I used a ton of spinach, it withered to nothing. My companion threw hers away. I soldiered through about half of mine, then got rid of it.

1 star