Life Scan - part IV - exam and results

I didn't wait long before another stranger called my name. She mispronounced the last word but did get the Cara part right.  I didn't catch it hers if she even gave it. Turns out, she was the Life Scan Advanced Registered Nurse Practioner, but I only know that from the initials after her name on my result sheet. At the time, I had no idea who she was.

She took me into a darkened room where I had to answer questions about my eyesight. I told her I was practically bionic and then gave my cataract sob story. She was good at remaining neutral in her facial features and excitement level. I wasn't sure if she was impressed or not.

I had to stick my eyes into a machine, much like at the DMV, only this test was quite different than any vision test I've had. There were numbers from 1-10, and next to each number was a square box with four circles. One of the rings wasn't closed, and I was told to pick out that circle. I got two attempts. If I guessed correctly, I moved on to the next number. Each square box got smaller and smaller.

Again, the competitive streak that resides in me came to life. I knocked out the right eye with better than 20/20 vision. I was not surprised. Did I not just tell her I was practically bionic? The left eye wasn't as good, but it too scored well. Then she asked about my reading vision. I explained that it depended on the lighting, and then we went back to the machine. This was harder. Those little suckers were teeny. But I scored well. By now, I could tell she was somewhat impressed. Somewhat.

Next up was the hearing test. Now, let me just tell everyone this right now. Long ago, and by that, I mean in my twenties, I was written up in a medical journal for my exceptional hearing. I tell this to my children all the time, and they now quote me when they feel I'm about to spout out this helpful, useful information. It's one of the reasons why they couldn't put anything past me. I could always hear them.

My doctor sent me to an ENT because my ears were always closing up like I was on a 747 every other hour. He did an exam and then sent me into a soundproof room where I had to listen to beeps and raise my hand when I heard the noise either on the left or right sides. I listened to all sorts of beeps at different frequencies, and I was told I had exceptional hearing--like at the level of dogs and other animals. They tested me again to make sure it wasn't a fluke--it wasn't--and then the doctor asked if he could write about me for a medical journal article. It took me longer to sign all the papers for that then it did for him to tell me to take Dimetapp and hold my nose and blow when my ears clogged. End of story.

I didn't tell this to the ARNP until after I came out of the little soundproof booth, where she tested my 53-year-old ears. She told me I scored above my age group, and there were some frequencies I heard that impressed her. See, I impressed her. She marked down normal for both my eyes and ears because there wasn't an exceptional category.

From that room, we went into an examination room where this woman examined me like much like my regular physicals--minus the pap smear--heart, lungs, nose, ears. My right ear was full of wax (good to know why it always clogged after swimming,) and she recommended an ENT or a self-removal wax kit.

I hopped off the table, and she reviewed my Life Scan results. Did I have any questions regarding the ultrasound? I asked about the HUGE cyst on the liver. Again, I got that the lab results were normal, if not perfect. Did I have any pain? A feeling of fullness?

Me: "Could this be the reason I'm fat? Because I have a HUGE cyst growing in my stomach?"
Her: "No."

She didn't find me humorous. Whatever. She told me to discuss the ultrasound results with my practitioner at my yearly physical, got me copies of my HUGE cyst, and put everything into my envelope. I need to watch my intake of fatty foods, monitor my cholesterol, take my medications, and continue exercising. Nothing I didn't already know. My lab results were the same as they had been a year ago because I have those results. I mean seriously, straight across the board. The results were still not in on my CTA, and she told me to call back next week. Then she released me.

What? That was it?

I was hoping for a nutrionalist, but apparently, that is no more? She gathered my paperwork, brought it to me in a large envelope, thanked me, and told me she'd see me again next year.

And just like that, my Life Scan Wellness check was over. I went to my car and read through the results. Mr. Buff Body wrote down in the comment section what I thought was Evil Weeval, albeit misspelled.

I have since reread those results and believe it to be Eval W/VL, which I have no idea about despite multiple Internet searches. I hope it doesn't mean I'm dying. I also discovered my EKG had come back abnormal during the stress test. Yet, no one went over that with me. Erg. I decided to wait to hear back about the CTA.

It was normal--across the board. No blocked coronaries. No stenosis. No major anything. Normal, normal, normal, although not NORMAL. Apparently, that is only used for HUGE.

I'm going to tell people I was NORMAL except for an abnormal EKG, a HUGE cyst, and an Evil W/VL. Next up on the health regime is a colonoscopy and perhaps a visit to a cardiologist. I'm ignoring the cyst until my November yearly well check because it is NORMAL in my Internet research.

After all of my health SnapChats, I heard from people concerned about all these tests. I mean, even my brother called me. That right there? That is HUGE. I obviously need to shake people up a bit to get them to check in with me. But seriously, it was nice to hear from everyone besides the NORMAL SnapChat dailies. Thanks all for loving me. I love you too.

So, now I'm going to finish up the rest of the medical and put my crazy mind to rest. Then I'm going to exercise,  cut down on fatty foods, lower my cholesterol, and get more sleep. Then next year, I'm going to SET SOME RECORDS in the Life Scan Wellness Center.

Life Scan - part III - Exercise

Just in case the snacks were a test, I opted out. I sent some SnapChats out to my followers, alerting them of my body riddled with cysts. The door opened, and Mr. Buff Body smiled.

Him: "What do all the ghosts say on Halloween?"

Me: "That isn't my name."

Him: "What? Come on? What do all the ghosts say on Halloween?"

Me: "Yep. I get it. But that isn't my name. It's pronounced differently."

Him: "What are the greatest speakers in the world?"

Okay, Mr. Buff Body had a sense of humor.

Me: "Why is it that when a fat girl has to have an exercise test, they send the buff guy?"

Him: "You think I'm buff? Thanks. Seriously? You think I'm buff?"

Me: "I'm a romance writer. I know buff."

Him: "Well, thank you. That makes me feel great."

He and I got along just fine. He tested my lungs first. I blew into a tube attached to a monitor. Been there and done that with Madison and my mom, so I knew what to do. He had me do it three times. I have the lungs of a 41-year-old.

My Brother: "Well, yeah. Anyone that has heard you talk doesn't doubt your lung capacity. You haven't stopped talking since I called you. I'll never worry about your lungs."

Mr. Buff Body told me he heard that I wasn't going to run. I gave him the knife remark. He told me he would skip the treadmill.

Me: "What? Uh, no. Just because I won't run doesn't mean I can't exercise--I can walk the hell out of that treadmill. I expect you to do all the normal tests on me. I'm not a wimp. I just don't run because of my herniated disc."

Him: "Okay, then. Hop on."

Me: "Why is there a sign that says I can't hold on to the treadmill? I always hold on to the treadmill."

Him: "Not today, you don't. Take off your shirt."

Me: "Excuse me?"

Him: "You heard me. Take off your shirt."

Okay. I'm a romance writer. In my world, this means one thing, and as I looked around that room, my mind may or may not have run through the comfort levels of this aging body on the floor, the treadmill, and the countertops before reality struck.

Me: "Seriously? It's bad enough that I have Mr. Buff Body giving me this test. Now I have to go shirtless?"

Him: "I have to hook you to the heart monitor. Easier to do with your shirt off."

Arg. Humiliating experience. I barely take my shirt off to shower, people. But I was here for a reason, and so I took off the shirt and let him stick me with electrodes and leads or whatever he was attaching to my body. Even when he told me to "lift the girls," I obeyed all the while thinking about how this experience just might get me to the gym more often.

Him: "How's your heart right now?"

Me: "Relax, Mr. Buff Body. It's beating, but the no shirt kind of dampened the attraction."

Him: "I'm trying to get into your book."

Me: "You're too short. And young. How old are you?"

Him: "Twenty-six"

Me: "You're a baby. I could be your mother. But the scruff you got going on the face is something I could use. What do you call that?"

Him: "Scruff. Do you like it? It's new."

It went that way through most of the testing. I liked him. I had to walk the treadmill shirtless, which definitely cut down on the sweat level for me. I might rethink the no shirt while exercising thing. There was a board with names and numbers on it, and I asked him about that. They were records set by people. That got my competitive juices going, and I told him I wanted to set a record. He refrained from laughing, kept turning up the treadmill's speed, and, boo-ya, I kept pace. He asked me to look at a chart from 1-20 with 1 being easy and 20 terribly difficult.

Him: "What number are you?"

Me: "Uh, 13. Somewhat difficult."

Him: (turning up the speed) "We go until your heart rate reaches 142 or you say 14. Are you there yet?"

Me: "Am I near to setting a record?"

Him: "In about eleven more minutes."

Me: "Then, I'm still at 13."

I reached 142 at seven minutes and some change, and he made me cool down. Pfft. If I had known how things were before starting, I would've ignored the questions he asked and concentrated more on my breathing. I could've made that board. I let it go.

I had to do some push-ups, some planking, and some wall crunches. I did them, although he was okay with me skipping. Please, Mr. Buff Body. I can handle anything you throw at me. I did them all. I did ten girlie push-ups, which I'm not sure counted, but that was considered "average". 

I scored "above average" on my flexibility, which was awesome compared to other flexibility results I've had. I only held my plank for 35 seconds, and that's only because Mr. Buff Body turned around to write down something, and I let my knees drop for a minute, proving a point--never turn your back on the patient. He wrote "needs work" for planking. 

I stood against a wall and squatted. I did not hold that for a minute, nor did that test make it on the result sheet. I think Mr. Buff Body threw that one in for his own grins.

Bam, it was over. As he led me back to the waiting room, he asked about my daily exercise routine and then suggested swimming. Yeah, thanks, kid.

My Life Scan experience - part II - Ultrasound

I sent SnapChat pictures of the waiting room each time I was sent back but didn't save any for the blog. The waiting room at the Life Scan Wellness Center was like most; sterile, clean, chairs, reading material, water, and food. I couldn't have the water and food because, for the Life Scan, I had to fast for twelve hours and drink over 20+ glasses of water forty-five minutes before my appointment. Sitting in the waiting room, I had to pee and needed to have my morning constitutional. I got relief for neither of those.

At first, I was alone in the room, staring down the hallway of the opened door that led into the inner sanctions of the wellness center. The center was relatively small and not how I'd pictured it. The radiology center where I had the CTA was more how I imagined this place, but the center was non-descript, and suddenly, I wondered if I had signed up for some type of diabolical sci-fi testing with a mad scientist. I mean, what really was Life Scan?

A young man with bulging muscles appeared, walked the hallway, came out into the waiting area, wished me a good morning, and got himself some water from the water cooler. Yep. That will be the exercise guru who will put me through that test, I thought. Always have to have the buff people.

Ultrasound Lady - "Carla?"

Me: "Cara?"

Oops. Apology. Then she chopped up the last name and issued another apology after I corrected her. Typical in my daily life, although as I signed paperwork, I had to mark out the "L" that she had added to my name. Not typical.

She told me she was the ultrasound technician, had me remove my shirt, and climb on to a table. The instructions for this appointment said to wear an exercise bra and exercise clothes, and she was relieved to hear that I had followed those instructions. Yeah, probably she thought that until she saw that it was old and really not very fitting. I had attempted to shop for a better one without luck, so I'd pulled out the old standby, one of those infomercial wonder bras. She refrained from making a comment.

The only ultrasounds I've had were when I was pregnant, went through menopause, and my heart. I was asked this question, but at the time, I only remembered the pregnant ultrasounds. The menopause one came to me later, and I mentioned that, but the heart I omitted. What did it matter at that point? I wasn't sure if memory loss would be written into the chart. Better to be safe.

She would ultrasound the hell out of all of my organs, makw comments when she found something, and explain as she went. The room was darkened and very, very silent. Was that a good thing, I wondered? Silence? Did I want her to talk? If she spoke, didn't that mean something was wrong? I decided soft music was needed in the room.

Ultrasound Lady - "I'm looking at your thyroid and your arteries."

Silence. Silence. Silence.

Ultrasound Lady - "You have a cyst on your right thyroid."

Me: (Silence as I processed this. What did it mean? Was that bad? What the hell was up with me and cysts? My doctor checks my thyroid levels every year. What is the point of that if I have a cyst we didn't know about?)

Ultrasound Lady - "I didn't look at your blood work beforehand. We'll check those thyroid levels. Have you had your thyroid checked before?"

Me: "Every year. It is always fine."

Ultrasound Lady - "Actually, you have two cysts on that thyroid. That's quite normal. If the lab work comes back normal, we will just keep an eye on that next year. It is very normal."

O-k-a-y? Already I was 0-2. That's what went through my brain. What did normal even mean? Now I was chanting, please be quiet, please be quiet.

Ultrasound Lady - "Now I'm going to check your organs in the stomach starting with the pancreas."

Me: Please be quiet, please be quiet.

Ultrasound Lady - "You have a HUGE cyst on your liver."

That's how she said it. HUGE. In capital letters. It annoyed me, not to mention scared me. I said I was aware that I had a cyst on the liver, but no one had ever said it was huge, let alone HUGE. She showed me the scan. It looked HUGE. She gave me the measurements. Then she told me as long as I didn't have any problems, they would monitor it next year. Check to make sure it hadn't grown. Uh?

By now, I gave up the chanting. It wasn't working. Thank goodness all the other organs were great. The ultrasound woman moved lower into the female region, and, of course, I had a cyst on my right ovary.

Me: "Great. I'm riddled with cysts."

Ultrasound Lady - "It's very normal. We all have cysts. Some people are more prone than others. Most of the time, cysts cause no issues."

Me: "Great."

I meant it sarcastically. Later, I remembered I already knew about that ovary cyst. Like the liver cyst, it had shown on some tests I had. That made me feel a tad better. I mean, my doctor has been aware of these and hasn't sounded the alarm. The ultrasound lady just kept telling me cysts were normal, and all was well--as long as my labs were fine. At which point, I wanted to yell that maybe she should've taken a look at those before we began. Instead, I kept quiet.

The last ultrasound was of the heart. A few "mild" issues of wall thickening and plaque. Nothing HUGE. I mopped up the gel while she finally took a look at my labs--all normal and FINE. I finally got to relieve my bladder. That was tested--normal. Then she sent me back out to the waiting area while she wrote up the results.

Ultrasound Lady - "You don't have any issues exercising?"

Me: "No, but I don't run. Unless someone is chasing me with a knife. So if Mr. Buff Body is thinking he's going to want me to run, he'll need a knife."

I went to the waiting area where two other people were waiting. The ultrasound lady told me I could eat but knowing I was exercising later I refrained from touching the packets of what I considered not very healthy niblets. Granola Bars? Goldfish? Was this some sort of test?

My Life Scan experience - part I, lab work and CTA

I recently participated in Life Scan testing, an integrated medical approach for early detection of major diseases such as heart disease, diabetes, stroke, cancer, and aneurysms. My husband's job has offered the testing for several years now, but I'm one of those people who prefer to ignore medical issues until they hit. I suppose it's a protective defense, but as I age with all of the aches and pains and twitches, I've changed my mind. I had my husband sign me up.

First up was blood work. I had scheduled all of my testings very precisely, but the morning of my blood work, I ended up at a 6:30 a.m. appointment with Darcy at her pediatrician for her constant stomach pains. From there, she had to have blood work, so we figured why not a two for one. Unfortunately, I forgot my paperwork, so Darcy did her blood work, and then after I returned home, I grabbed my paperwork and went back because I had to fast, and by now, I was hungry.

I have problematic veins when it comes to drawing blood. I've been told they are tiny. The one thing on me that is tiny, and it has to be my veins. Whatever.

Sometimes it is easy. Most of the time, drawing blood isn't easy, and I'm left with bruised arms. I'm a warrior despite the pricks, the moving around of needles inside my arm, and this time it was all of that. The woman asked me if I'd been drinking water, and then she was sorry because I ranted about my early wake-up running around town morning. Needless to say, when the blood work was discussed at my Life Scan appointment, I was dehydrated. You think?

Before the Life Scan, I could also sign-up for one of three additional testings; a lumbar MRI, a CTA of the coronaries and lungs, or a brain MRI. Since I'm the product of a father who died of a heart attack, that weighs hugely on my mind, and I chose the Coronary Angiogram scan. I've already had a lumbar MRI due to hurting my back after lifting my mother and, really, a scan of my brain? I'm sure my brother would have said we already know there isn't anything up there.

The CTA scan I scheduled five days after the blood work. I had to fast four hours before the appointment, and I had some trepidation after reading about which people shouldn't have the scan because I have PVC's and PAC's and worried I fell into that category. After much research, while my husband made comments about waiting until the last minute, I read this was due to an inaccurate reading. I decided I didn't fit that protocol and then proceeded to worry all night long while my PVC's and PAC's began in earnest.

Luckily, that was a "volunteer" day for me, and I didn't have time to worry. When I arrived at my appointment, I was pretty chill, not to mention hungry. I was called in, told to remove my bra, and then was taken into a large room with a huge machine that looked like the MRI machine where I had my lumbar testing. I hopped up on to the table following the technician's instructions, and he took my blood pressure.

This is another weird issue I have like the blood work. Cuffs are pumped up. Stopped. Pumped again. Stopped. Pumped again until I think I'm going to pass out from all the squeezing. Usually, the machine doesn't read it, or the person attached to the stethoscope can't hear it, and the pumping begins again in earnest. This time a machine took it, and no surprise, it took forever. When it finally registered, it was 107/43. I was kind of pumped, excuse the pun, about that blood pressure, although, after some thought, which included concern that the lower number was awfully low, I decided the technician wasn't the brightest bulb. He hooked me up to an IV because this test required a contrast dye. Yeah, I knew this wouldn't go over very well.

I explained my difficulty, and he decided that he'd go right into the bruised bump where the blood had been drawn five days prior. Before I could argue that bright idea, he was poking me--in the same damn hole. That produced nothing, so he moved the needle around inside my arm several times before giving up and moving to my other arm. I smiled, reminded myself I was not my mother, kept my mouth closed, and prayed this would work on the other arm.

Only it was stopped before the first poke because another technician, a female, arrived. She had multiple questions for the male technician, and then she explained to me this was his first time working with Life Scan patients as if that made any difference. Isn't a machine a machine, whether for Life Scanning or daily scanning? She began hooking me up to a heart monitor as she explained that my pulse rate had to be lower than 80 to do the scan. As I watched my bp numbers on the machine, my pulse rate read 62, and I refrained from rolling my eyes. The more they monitored my jumpy heart, the better. My pulse rate was now at 60, a feat I thought incredible due to all the drama, and the female technician began to wrap the cuff on my arm again before the male technician said he'd done that.

It was decided I was good to go, and the female technician got the IV in with minimal effort. Yay to women, I thought in my head. I had to put both arms over my head, and then they left me alone to run for protection from the rays that would shoot out and attack me. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and began writing my book in my head.

The table I lay upon moved in and out at various times. An automated voice told me to hold my breath at various times, then told me to breathe. At one time, the female technician asked if I was okay, to which I responded, "peachy." Then the male technician told me they were now shooting me with the dye, and I would feel warm all over and think I was peeing my pants. Nothing new, I thought, since menopause.

I felt the warmth but didn't feel the need to pee. I went in and out some more, then was told the next breath would be a long one and that I wouldn't be able to hold it and should slowly let out my air. That got my competitive juices flowing at being told I couldn't do it, and I began to mentally prepare to beat the system. I didn't do it, but I was oh, so close. Then, of course, I wanted to ask if I could try again, but I didn't.

Then it was over. I thought the worst was having my arms over my head. The needle bothered me where my arm lay on the pillow. I was removed from the hook-ups, helped up off the table, and sent on my way with a new bruise to accompany the other in the first arm. The findings will be sent to the Life Scan center. Two tests down, the one big one left to go. I drove off to get some food.

First day photos

I don't care that my children are off to college. I insist on a "first day of school" picture. I've taken one most every year of their school careers. This year as the first day approached, I sent texts and SnapChats reminding them of their obligation to their mother.

Darcy started first, and I got the picture early in the morning as she headed off to class. After spending the summer at home, she is still in the mode of pleasing her parents, and she understands the benefits of keeping her parents happy.

Madison started the next day, and I did not receive a photo. Apparently, she sent it via SnapChat sometime during the day. She did this despite my reminder that I needed a picture texted to me from the CAMERA and not SnapChat. This is what a summer away from her parents has done--no need to please.

My friend and I rolled our eyes at the picture. What kind of a "first day of school" photo is this? With her headphones? Luckily, she must have thought that same thing because there was another picture behind that one.

Uh, yeah, not the best, and obviously taken some time after the first. Like, AFTER school had started. I texted this very thing, complaining I hadn't received her picture. She sent me to SnapChat where I had to take a photo of her photo to keep it for posterity. Then I mentioned the above.

Madison: "Here you go."

Me: "Much better. Thank you. But technically, you already had class."

Madison: "Listen. I have taken pictures after class most of my college."

Come Christmas, this child will be doing some BIG make-up on pleasing the parents--like daily.

May their year be filled with studying, laughter, learning, friendship, and happiness. Oh, and good food.

Another machine tale

I spend a lot of time searching through my blog for various articles that I may or may not have written to link them in my new posts. This was the case when I sat down to write about my new washing machine, but alas, I didn't find the documentation. Which means I'll have to start at the beginning.

A little over ten years ago, we bought a Whirlpool washing machine because our old one died. It was the first one without the agitator, a top loader that seemed very big to me. So big that I figured it could wash my king size comforter. The washing machine broke, although I did not confess to that being the cause. The repair guy informed us the tub was broken, was not covered under warranty, and shrugged his shoulders.

Hubby was pissed--at Whirlpool, at the store where we bought the machine (where the guy told me I could wash my king-sized comforter), and at everyone around him who had a working washing machine. See now, why I left out the comforter details? It's a wife thing.

Irritated, he went to Home Depot and purchased another washing machine without my knowledge. It was delivered the next day while I was at a swimming lesson and so my SIL, who was visiting, accepted the delivery and showed me how to use the machine. It was a Maytag, much smaller than the Whirlpool, and straightforward. No bells or whistles. The detergent went directly into the machine, and the fabric softener into a ball then thrown into the bottom. I shrugged and went with it. I mean, it's laundry.

Two weeks ago, that machine, during the rinse and spin cycle, went apeshit crazy. It emitted a sound like a ten-foot monster tearing through my garage growling and screaming at an ear-splitting level. I went outside, guessing I had an unbalanced load, and the damn machine was walking. WALKING. Away from the wall and toward me, growling and groaning and shrieking. I barely had enough time to push the button that turned it off before I was swallowed whole.

I fixed the load and turned it back on, but the monster kept coming. It took another three washes before it hit me that maybe the damn thing was broken. I pulled out the wet laundry and hauled it to my friend's house to her super large Samsung washing machine. It can wash an entire sports teams' laundry, and she's a skilled laundress, taking great pride in her soaking levels, hanging of clothes, etc. She finished my load for me.

When the husband got home, I gave him the bad news.

Tom: "What do you mean it walks?"

Me: "It walks. Out. Away from the wall. And it screams. Loudly."

He refrained from asking if I'd been drinking, but I know he thought it. He's learning. 

He took the back off and turned it on. Within five minutes, the machine was out of control, and Tom appeared in the house his eyes wide and his hair standing on end.

Tom: "That was the craziest thing ever. Did you hear that noise? It was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. That was incredible. The thing literally walked. I couldn't hold it back."

Me: "Have you been drinking?"

Tom: "What? I'm serious."

One thing about the husband is he keeps every bit of paperwork on appliances. So he pulled out the information on the Maytag and lamented that it was only a little over eight years old. He'd paid for an extended warranty, was annoyed we'd never used it and decided that he'd fix the machine himself with Youtube's help.

He spent two days watching videos and assessing the machine. In the meantime, he suggested I go out and look at washing machines. My laundress friend and I did this, and I found two machines at Home Depot I thought would work well and were within the range I would spend. I went home, gathered my laundry, and turned it over to my friend. I wasn't missing my machine at all.

By the end of the week, the husband decided the tub was the issue. Same as the Whirlpool. He went off to work and discussed machines with his co-worker and then purchased a month's subscription to Consumer Reports. He read the reports and then read the customer reviews, and then he insisted I accompany him to Home Depot to look at machines. Sigh.

My two washing machines were on his list, but not as high as the LG. So I opened the lid, peered inside, and asked the lady if I could wash a king-sized comforter. She told me I should be able to do that on the "bulky" cycle, and I agreed it was a fine machine. While the hubby bought it, I went to look at refrigerators.

My friend continued doing my laundry for another week until my machine was delivered. I had my coffee while the husband followed the delivery guy's instructions to run the machine for thirty minutes.

After thirty minutes, he appeared in the house and smiled.

Tom: "The machine is all ready to go."

Me: "Go where? Does this one walk too?"

Tom: "No, it's ready to go meaning ready to get to work. It's all ready for you.--to get to work."

Me: "Say that again so I can record that for my SnapChat followers."

Then we spent our Saturday watching our laundry swish in the see-through lid.

This, people, is what happens to parents after the kids go to college. Get ready. 

College year 2

Summer as I know it is over. Just like that, the kids start school--Darcy tomorrow and Madison Tuesday. Crazy how fast the days fly by now that the kids are older. Remember when we use to count their ages by months? Writing down every milestone and then checking to make sure they weren't behind? Sigh.

Darcy worked until her very last day of summer. Then she spent three days traveling back and forth from college for job training. That meant that it was up to Mom to haul out the belongings from the nooks and crannies where I stashed everything in May and up to Dad to load the van. Darcy packed the rest in the late evenings after training, and we set off on Thursday morning in two cars packed to the ceiling.

Tom: "You really don't need all this stuff. I mean, your room is probably going to be small."
Darcy: "This isn't even all I'm going to need. We still have to go shopping when we get there."
Tom: "I don't know what for. This is plenty of stuff."

Initially, he wasn't going to accompany us on this trip, but Darcy wanted him, so she guilted him to take a day off. I think at times she regretted that decision--mainly when it came to shopping.

This year Darcy is in the dorm for students in deaf studies. This dorm was one of the reasons she chose this school out of the other Florida schools. As of her move-in day, she didn't have a roommate, so moving was easier without another crew of people.

It went much smoother than last year. Darcy had scoped out the dorm during her three days of training and knew the back way to bypass the road closures and move-in day crowds. We parked in a lot behind her dorm, and we were there early enough to have three college helpers with a cart. While Darcy and I went off to retrieve her keys, Tom and the kids loaded up the first cart and were alone on the elevator.

It took two cartfuls from our van and one from Darcy's car. Three trips. We were unloaded and working on the room before the first hour of being there—a far cry from last year's debacle. Darcy and I immediately got to work unpacking and hanging her clothes. We lofted her bed and arranged and then rearranged her side of the room. We made lists as we did for our shopping trip. We discovered that her outlets weren't working, so Darcy got her RA, who had a maintenance man in our room within fifteen minutes. Whoa! Last year it took three days for the maintenance guy to show up to lock the door!

Darcy was the only one moving in on her floor that day. It was eerily quiet. Even the television was on mute with a closed caption or people talking in sign language. We were pretty much moved in and ready to shop by one o'clock. We spent a leisurely lunch and then hit Walmart, where we filled the cart until it was overflowing.

Tom: "This is ridiculous. Why do you need all this shampoo? All these bottles? What is all of this stuff? How much laundry are you planning on doing? It only takes a little bit of detergent to wash nowadays."

We ignored him as much as we could, but we had to suffer when it came to buying the microwave. The man insisted on lifting each one in the aisle as if Darcy were going to be doing the same each time she heated something. Then he read everything on each box as if by doing so would tell him the best one. We spent longer in this aisle then we did in the entire store. Eventually, Darcy and I wandered off to pick up dishes and flatware. He joined us after making his decision based on...ready for it...color.

Tom: "You're buying forks? Why are you buying forks? We have a million forks at home. You can get those on your next trip home. Don't buy forks. Are you buying spoons? Why would you do that? You don't have a lot of room, you know."

We fed her, kissed her, and said our goodbyes. Cheers to another great year!