I don’t know where to start writing this blog entry. Do I
talk about my second Reclast infusion which was a ho-hum experience of sitting
in a La-Z-Boy in a large room with twenty other people of all ages getting
infusions? Or do I search for something more interesting to write about? I’ll
just start and see where I end up. My I-V infusion was to make my bones into
better receptacles for laying down calcium and it does its best work in the
first two weeks thus the need to eat as much calcium rich foods as humanly possible
then and to also forego caffeine. I intend to eat so much spinach and sardines
over that time frame that my complexion---or is it my pee---will turn green from
the spinach and my skin will get shiny from the olive oil that comes with the
sardines.
If you want the technical explanation for what the infusion
does, this is what the American College of Rheumatology says about Reclast, aka
Zoledronic Acid. “Zoledronic acid is a
bisphosphonate prescribed to prevent or treat osteoporosis or Paget's disease.
Unlike other common bisphosphonates that are taken by mouth, Reclast bypasses
the stomach because it is an infusion into the bloodstream. Bone is a living
tissue constantly being remodeled. Bisphosphonates specifically act on bone
cells (osteoclasts) to inhibit bone resorption and turnover activity and reduce
progressive bone loss and risk for fracture.”
While I was there I worked on my book club homework---a set
of questions we were supposed to discuss the following day. It was a hard book
for me to finish because I didn’t just dislike it, I hated it. The author of The Language of Flowers, Vanessa
Diffenbaugh, must have been raised in a mass transit city because who else
would repeatedly use the words ‘car’ and ‘truck’ interchangeably? “We got in
the truck and when we got to the flower market we parked the car.” Drove me
crazy! I can overlook that sort of thing in fiction by chalking it up to
something a good editor should have caught but I couldn’t overlook not researching
basic flower shop operations and servicing weddings when it took up half of the book. I was in
the floral industry for twenty years and did flowers for over 4,000 weddings so
I was curious to see if others in the book club noticed the amateur hour stuff that
I did. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal my history with weddings in that
group out of fear that someone would try to recruit me for center’s decorations
committee. I know myself when it comes to doing artsy-fartsy stuff by committee.
I don’t plan to jump into that fire again.
When I got to the senior center on book club day the members
from our two book clubs were standing on the sidewalk. The person who was
supposed to unlock the door couldn’t find her key and everyone else on the
board of directors who had keys were out of town on a color tour. (I’m going
next week.) We couldn’t even find the building maintenance man and after twenty-five
minutes of standing out in the cold, we all left. I think the gods of control
freaks was looking out for me because they knew I wasn’t fond of the idea of
discussing that book and coming off sounding like a flower shop Nazi.
The next morning I was back to the senior center. This time
to catch a bus for an afternoon sponsored by a senior living community who gave us
a free lunch as a bribe for us touring the place. I actually liked the place better
than the other, similar communities I’ve toured. The artwork alone would make me
happy to live there---all donated by a wealthy person in town; but the main
thing that made this place stand out from the others is when you “graduate” from independent
living to assisted living they don’t move you to another building. You get to
stay in the same apartment.
After lunch our sponsor took us over to the Garden and
Sculpture Park, paid for our tickets to get in and for a tram ride around the 158
acre park. It was a nice afternoon except for something the bus driver said as
he was helping people get off the bus: “I don’t know if I should offer you ladies a
hand getting down. I don’t want to be accused of sexual assault like they are
trying to do to Trump.”
My temper flared up so quickly I scared myself and I spit angry words out of my mouth, “If you put your hand where Trump brags about putting his hand you can bet I’LL accuse you of sexual assault!” I don’t know what made me madder---that he assumes Trump is an angel and would never do what he bragged about doing that was caught on tape (I can “grab pussy” and get away with it because "I'm a star."); or that those of us getting off the bus wouldn’t know the difference between sexual assault and a hand offered to help us off the bus; or if I was mad about something larger involving the Feminist Movement and having to fight the same battles all over again. But I was mad! Thankfully, I got over it quick enough because the Gardens were beautiful with hundreds of mum plants and pumpkins lining the tram trails. The sun was shining and no matter how many times I’ve been to the park, I always see something new and beautiful. ©
My temper flared up so quickly I scared myself and I spit angry words out of my mouth, “If you put your hand where Trump brags about putting his hand you can bet I’LL accuse you of sexual assault!” I don’t know what made me madder---that he assumes Trump is an angel and would never do what he bragged about doing that was caught on tape (I can “grab pussy” and get away with it because "I'm a star."); or that those of us getting off the bus wouldn’t know the difference between sexual assault and a hand offered to help us off the bus; or if I was mad about something larger involving the Feminist Movement and having to fight the same battles all over again. But I was mad! Thankfully, I got over it quick enough because the Gardens were beautiful with hundreds of mum plants and pumpkins lining the tram trails. The sun was shining and no matter how many times I’ve been to the park, I always see something new and beautiful. ©
