The road less traveled dear blog sleeping positions after hip replacement

You see, I’m a little sleep deprived at the moment. The alarm went off Saturday morning at 1:30 a.m. with sirens loud enough for my friends to the north and across the pond to hear. That meant Hubby’s shop had been breached. Note to self: when startled awake at the sound of emergency sirens, plant BOTH feet on the floor as you exit the bed. One foot landings make the carpet runners next to the bed turn into surf boards. Your left hip would like to advise that pinching the sciatic nerve does not catch criminals. The good news was: no break in. The bad news was the alarm then proceeded to malfunction and scream at 2:30 a.m. and 4:30 a.m..

the water gurgling from the ground wasn’t a broken garden hose. It was neither a hose nor a sudden natural spring. It was the pipe from pump house to house.


It created a small lake that made taking our chocolate lab Bourbon outside an impossible mission: he wondered why we kept going out the front door. He’s never met a puddle he doesn’t want to embrace. Stomp in. Plop down and roll around in.

So that’s one call to the Alarm folks, one call to the plumber. The alarm guy comes that afternoon and fixes everything. The plumber evidently was secluded in an unknown location. Not just any plumber…a friend of Hubby’s. I feel nauseous and suddenly there is a sword running from butt, down my left leg and shooting out my ankle. Next call to Mom: to tell her taking her out to lunch for Mother’s Day has been postponed. My ego officially hits the floor as our household’s unofficial theme song plays in my head. It’s from an old t.v. show called Hee Haw and yep, it was as country cheesy as it sounds.. Evidently both of our Dads liked the stupid show because we both know it. The song goes, Doom, despair and agony on me. Deep dark depression, excessive misery. If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. Doom, despair and agony on me. (Even in my head, this is sung in a depressed, twang so southern Scarlett O’Hara would sound like a Yankee). I apply ice and hope for the best.

Hubby cooks chicken to take to his Mom’s as all three of his siblings are at her house for Mother’s Day. I send my regrets and grab an ice pack. I knew she’d understand. Not because I married the only boy in the family or because I can always be counted on. Nope, bad backs run in their family and she’s had enough back surgery to feel sympathy for me. Hubby comes back home later with enough food to feed an army. Then the plumber calls.

Evidently, third time’s the charm. I get home Monday to hear that the alarm has been properly fixed. I say properly because it turns out that the nice young man who seems to bathe in cologne, had fixed the wrong parts, therefore confusing the radio signals, which is why things were chirping and complaining. The plumber showed up. Natural spring gone. Bourbon, however, found the new watering hole. Hubby came around the corner and said the dog looked like he was made of mud. He got a bath. Hubby probably got high blood pressure and wet.

So my dear Blog, things have been coming at us hot and heavy. Thankfully my body comes with a self adjusting mode: I can turn back and forth to make my back snap into it’s God given position. Nerve un-pinched, now just sore. You know it’s pretty bad when you can get on your own nerves.