On the subject of my navel...

No, this is NOT a picture of my navel...

On Tuesday, after working out, my belly button started to hurt.

I didn’t think too much of it. That is, until it started to get worse. By Wednesday night, the pain was so bad that it woke me up when I rolled over on to my tummy in my sleep.

By Thursday, I was whining about it at work.

One of my coworkers, tired of my complaining, Googled “Belly Button Pain” and discovered that pain in the belly button could be a symptom of a much more serious problem. Literally anything from a Urinary Tract Infection to Appendicitis to Crohn’s Disease. I wasn’t too worried about it, but my coworker was, and convinced me to call my doctor and inquire about the strange pain in my navel.

The nurse at my doctor’s office wasn’t too concerned, but recommended that I come in anyway to have it checked out. Since I am a newlywed, she figured it was most likely a bladder infection and – for whatever reason – I was presenting with belly button pain instead of the more common symptoms like frequent urination or a burning sensation while peeing.

I arrived at the doctor’s office around 3:30 and saw the doctor a little before 4 PM. Urine tests quickly ruled out a UTI, and a swab culture of the inside of my navel eliminated infection. So, my doctor made me stand up, stuck her gloved finger into my navel and had me turn my head and cough.

NOTE: Having someone stick their finger in your belly button for any reason is a weird. Even if it is a medical professional.

My doctor’s diagnosis: An umbilical hernia.

That’s right. A part of my body that has served no functional purpose in over 29 years and two months may suddenly be herniated.

My doctor explained that it probably happened during my workout on Tuesday, and is relatively common in people who lift heavy weights and/or professional weightlifters. Now, granted, I am not a professional weightlifter, but I DO lift two to three times a week and have been told that I am strong (for a girl). I never knew a potentially herniated belly button could be a side effect of working out.

To confirm the diagnosis, she referred me to a friend of hers down the hall. As luck would have it, Doc. #2 could see me at 4:30 that afternoon.

Doc. #2 also did the turn-head-and-cough test with her finger stuck in my navel, and seconded my doctor’s ruling of an umbilical hernia. To confirm, however, she’d need to take a CAT scan of my abdomen. And – lucky me – an appointment for Friday morning at 9 AM had just opened up.

I decided not to take the appointment, though, for four reasons.

1. Everything was happening too fast. I had accepted the fact that I might have bladder infection, but not an umbilical hernia. Quite frankly, before yesterday I didn’t even know that a herniated belly button was possible.



2. I wanted to give my belly button the weekend to reconsider itself and the pain it was causing me. Because, really? An umbilical hernia?! I just couldn’t get my head around a part of body herniating that has done absolutely NOTHING functional for me in almost 30 years!



3. I don’t want an umbilical hernia. Correction: I don’t want to have to tell people that I HAVE an umbilical hernia. I've already been told that I have a somewhat bizarre list of medical issues, and an umbilical hernia would only go to support that theory.



4. I don’t like CAT scans.

So, basically, I am giving my belly button until Monday to feel better. If not, I’ll swallow my pride and get the test. Maybe. It may depend on the pain factor.

Stupid belly button…

The start of a bad day...

You know it is going to be a bad day when you toss a bag of dog poo into your alley trashcan, and manage to splash trash/poo water all over yourself.

I still don’t feel clean after a long, hot shower with much soap and scrubbing.

Ew.

It is funny how nothing and everything has changed…

The strangest thing about being married for one month and one day is that I have ONLY been married for one month and one day. Gone are the days when people asked how long Trevor and I had been dating (7 years, 12 weeks and 2 days at the time of saying “I do” or 6 years, 7 weeks and six days at the time of the engagement – depending, of course, on your perspective), and I was able to answer them in YEARS. Now, I am back to calculating our time together in days, weeks and – as of yesterday – months. Disclosing how long we dated prior to the wedding is no longer appropriate when asked, “How long have you been married?” That clock zeroed out 31 days ago.

Not that any of that matters, mind you. I just find it fascinating. Plus, it makes everything SEEM new again – even if it really isn’t. And, for the record, the best kind of new is the kind that is both comfortable and familiar. Does that make any sense? Probably not, but I think it is still pretty great anyway!

Time flies when you are having fun...

Trevor and Deals
Married One Month

It isn't easy being green...

A group from one of the local community colleges was scheduled to do a science demonstration involving chemicals and dry ice in the museum. A science experiment that resulted in a lot of green smoke. During MY State Fair shift on Saturday.

The lead lady from the college had apparently done the experiment in the building every year with no problem. I tried to explain my concerns involving our brand new (and highly sensitive) fire alarm (compliments of the recent renovations), but to no avail. The experiment was already underway. Tragically, I had no authority to trump this decision, and my boss wasn’t answering his cell phone.

Museum security recommended that I contact the Fire Marshall. Unfortunately, no one in the Fire Marshall’s office answers their phone on the weekend over at the City of Dallas. So, I called 3-1-1 instead, and explained the situation to the operator:

Me: “Hi, yes. My name is [Deals] and I work at the [blah, blah, blah museum]. An experiment that will result in a lot of green smoke is currently underway in the museum’s lecture hall, and I am concerned that it will trigger the fire alarm. I do not have the password to put our building on “test” with our alarm monitoring company, and was wondering if there was any way I could preemptively alert the Fire Department to the situation so they don’t respond to a false alarm? I already tried to call the Fire Marshall’s office, but no one is in the office today.”

Operator: “How about calling 9-1-1?”

Me: “Well, since it is not an actual emergency, I do not want to disturb them. Plus, they don’t have the time to filter calls that may or may not be an actual emergency.”

Operator: “Hmmmmm. Interesting problem. Let me see if I can find someone to better assist you. Hold please.”

After approximately 5 minutes on hold: “9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

Me: “Whaaaaat? Oh, no! 3-1-1 just transferred me to you! I don’t have an actual emergency. I’m just trying to get advice on a potential fire alarm!”

The 9-1-1 operator was very patient and did his best to help me – all the while he was taking ACTUAL emergency phone calls (I actually heard him give advice to the son of a woman with chest pains. CHEST PAINS!). I finally made him get off the phone with me, because I felt so guilty I was taking up his time. Plus, I had no real emergency. Just the potential for a fire alarm in a crowded public facility mere hours before the Grambling/Prairie View game.

About this time, one of my coworkers stopped by briefly to finish up some paperwork for an upcoming fundraiser. As luck would have it, the facilities manager had given her the password for the alarm monitoring service the day before, and she happily handed it over to me. As a result, I was able to call and put the system on “test” for half an hour around 2:15.

Good thing, too, because the fire alarm was triggered at 2:42 – mere minutes before our “test” half hour was up. I called back and extended our “test period” before running upstairs to see about silencing the alarm.

The smoke was SO thick, though, that the museum’s newly installed sprinkler system kept trying to activate. Lucky me got to stand in the security closet and push the “reset” button every 15 seconds in an attempt to keep the sprinklers from going off and flooding the lecture hall. And – just so you know – it took almost an hour for the smoke to clear out enough to quiet the system. That is a lot of button pushing. I felt like I was on the TV show LOST.

Additionally, I had not one but TWO toilets in the building start violently flushing without stopping. Since the museum’s plumbing system is ancient, there is always a threat of flooding when this happens. The public, however, doesn’t take too kindly to OUT OF ORDER signs. I actually got yelled at about it on Saturday afternoon. I wanted to say, “Yes. I closed this stall on purpose because I am a cruel and evil person. Now, deal with it and get back in line!”

And, thanks to the chemical smoke, everyone who worked in the building got a pounding headache, which, of course, made me and everyone else a picnic and to work with. It is amazing I made it through the day with killing somebody. Because I was on the verge several times.

Stupid fair.

Dealing with the public…

Dear State Fair patron –

Please do not verbally assault me just because I walked up and reminded you that the museum closed five minutes ago. I understand that it is a free, public building, but we still have hours of operation. I also appreciate the fact that it is raining, and you will mostly likely get wet once you step outside. If I could control the weather, believe me, I would. But I am not going to allow you to stay in the building after closing time just to keep your head dry. This is a museum, not a public shelter. You should have dressed appropriately and brought an umbrella.

I’m sorry if you do not like my tone. Please understand that I’ve been at the museum for over ten hours today, and - quite frankly - I want to go home. Feel free to call and lodge a complaint against me on Monday morning.

In the meantime, please leave and take your attitude with you.

Sincerely,
The Management

I love stories like these...

This totally brought a tear to my eye, and I just had to share. As previously stated, I am such a sucker for sweet animal stories. Who knows if this particular forward is true or not, but I have decided it doesn’t really matter (at least not to me). This is the kind of story I WANT to believe in. For SO many different reasons...

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:

Dear God,

Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick.

I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her. You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.

Love, Meredith


We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed "To Meredith" in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, When a Pet Dies... Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey and Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith,

Abbey arrived safely in heaven.

Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away. Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by.

Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you.

I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much.

By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love.

Love,
God

(Sniff)

On needless delegation…

Last week, the facility manager, Jim, brought me an email that had been sent to him and to our old interim director. It was about a city contract that I manage, so Jim thought I was the best person to deal with it. I agreed, but to cover my bases I took it to our old interim director, Paula – who, by the way, is now the museum’s part time accountant. The timestamp on the original email was 11:49 AM.

Paula also agreed that I was the best person to deal with the information request, but asked that I take it to our current Executive Director, Jeff, and let him know that it had been received.

So, I did. However, Jeff decided that I was NOT the best person to handle the request, and asked that I instead deliver the email to Betsy in Development. He also asked that I have Paula forward the email to his account since he never received it.

Betsy wasn’t in her office, so I left the email on her chair with a note explaining the situation. Then, I returned to Paula’s office and asked her to forward the email onto Jeff.

Jeff received the forwarded email from Paula in his Outlook inbox at exactly 12:17 PM, and promptly he forwarded it on to Betsy. Betsy was working from home that day, and received Jeff’s email around 1:30 PM. After quickly browsing the document she forwarded it back to me with the note:

"Can you please take a quick look at the language below and let me know of any changes?"

So, yeah, after a two hour tour of the office, the document landed right back where it started – ON MY DESK.

Somehow I think we aren’t as efficient as we ought to be.

Grumble, grumble…

(NOTE: All names have been changed to protect the true identities of everyone involved.)