Don't Do What I Did

My extremely fit husband has been sick for about two weeks. He's better now, but he still has to sleep sitting up to avoid coughing spasms. He’s been bedding semi-recumbent in a living room chair, with me on the sofa in solidarity, and the terriers wherever they damn please, per usual.
This Monday the doctor finally gave him antibiotics, even though he seemed (to me) to be getting better everyday out of his sheer Canadian stubbornness. He figured if a pill would make him feel better quicker, why the hell not.
Tuesday I woke up feeling a little sick. Why now, dammit?
Later that morning, after my hubby had left for work, I smelled gas. It wasn’t the kitchen stove. The smell came from the living room. After scratching my head a bit, I realized it was the fireplace, and I could see why. I’d scooched an end table up to where the gas knob is so I could reach the lamp for reading while lying on the sofa. The valve had been nudged open, and a slow leak had probably been going for a couple of days.
I turned the gas off, took the knob out so it couldn't happen again, and aired the place out. I immediately felt better, so I figured it’d been the gas that’d made me feel sick. I also realized the dogs had been acting funny before I discovered the leak, and I'm pretty sure they’d been trying to alert me. They often try to communicate with me, and I often don't get their message. My bad.
A little later I realized that if I hadn't discovered the leak, I probably would’ve blown the place up. Geeze, how many ways are there to accidentally kill yourself?
They say all’s well that ends well, but this story isn't over.
Wednesday morning I woke with no voice. And I was coughing up nasty green stuff. Despite obvious symptoms to the contrary, I felt fine. I figured my breathing apparatus had been irritated by gas, and that it was simply going to take another day to recover. I took some Airborne, drank tea, and went about my day. The glands in my neck hurt a bit, but I still felt fine.
That afternoon a Netflix came with new episodes of LOST, our new favorite show. I figured it would do us both good to vegetate in front of TV. These episodes had plenty of gun pointing and "give me your drugs" action. Great entertainment.
While watching TV, my lungs became seriously volcano-like, reminding me of the time I’d breathed a lot of perfume in a theater and soon after got pneumonia.
The TV show had given me an idea for a possible fix for my condition. I’d hijack my hubby’s antibiotics for myself. Yeah, yeah, it says right on the label you aren’t supposed to do that, but what else is a girl with Vesuvius lungs supposed to do?
There are no firearms in our house, so I made my hand into a pistol and hid it in my pocket. “Hotcakes, give me your goddamn drugs.” I sounded just like Sawyer on LOST.
He had three pills left -- two for me (first dose is two) and one for him. I’m not heartless, and besides he could get a refill in the morning.
I took the pills and within an hour I felt a remarkable improvement. My lungs settled, and I went to bed (sofa) and slept soundly with no coughing. I woke with a rasp but definitely much better. Either this was some powerful placebo effect, or I had an actual infection that this antibiotic knew what to do with.
All of the above facts were reported the next day to the doctor, who sighed but agreed with the self-prescription and called in a refill.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

My Life Flashes Before Me

One of the great things about our US culture is that we get to pick apart our politicians in any way that suits us. We get to talk about their policies and their personalities, and we can complain about their big fat butts.
Anyone running for US President should expect to be barraged. It is part of the deal. And this is happening now to Sen. Clinton.
While I don't dream of bucking this system, that doesn't mean I don't find it painful at times to watch. And I do see my life flashing before me.
When I was 25, circa 1975, I truly believed there would be gender equality in my lifetime.
By the time I was 35, I believed great strides had been made.
By the time I was 45, I realized we hadn't come a long way, Baby, after all, but we were still walking the walk.
By the time I was 55, the whole world was in a shitstorm.
But not long after that, the first woman who seemed to have a chance at the US Presidency had emerged. I have to say, as a woman, I was happy to see this.
Of course, Sen. Obama was always on the horizon. I remember well the speech he gave at the Dem. Nat'l. Convention in 2004. What a speaker! I remember people, including me, then saying, "Why can't we have him for a candidate?"
Barack Obama is handsome, young, smart, and inspiring. He's carrying little known baggage. And, wow, can that guy speak! And, for those who have been hoping all their lives for the first US President of color, he qualifies there.
I definitely can't quarrel with anyone who is crazy about Obama. And it should be little surprise that, in contrast, so many people are seeing Hillary Clinton in a less attractive light.
Heaven knows, we women of a certain age need to pay attention to lighting.
Nevertheless, I sigh for the fact that the culture has a dual language to describe men vs. women candidates: auspicious/audacious, bold/bitchy, steadfast/strident.
I have modified my dream of equality of the sexes in my lifetime. I see now it is a lot to ask to change our human hardwiring and so many generations of cultural shaping.
And yet I still hold hope for growing awareness. We have not killed the planet yet, and there are still generations to come.