My Weblog

Second Work Update

So, I don't mean to brag, but this post has been more than a year coming:

Last year (that would be 2010 because I'm still in the very last hour of 2011 here) I was recognized during National Crime Victims' Rights Week with a certificate of appreciation for my "work with crime victims."  Several agencies sponsored the award, and one representative from each local law enforcement agency received one.  I was the only one in the Billings Police Dept to get the award.  I also got a cool key chain. 

I kept meaning to post that, but never did.

Then at the end of last year (again, 2010), I got super sick one day, and I had to call in to work.  As I was lying on my couch, suffering, I got a call from my sergeant.  I did not answer my phone, but thought, "What's going on?  Does he think I'm faking being sick?  I don't usually call in sick, so I can't be in trouble for this...can I?"  After stressing about it for 30 minutes, I finally decided that it would be best just to bite the bullet and call the sergeant back to see what he wanted. 

I was not in trouble.  He was calling to advise me that the Day Shift commanders had nominated me for Officer of the Year.  The proceedure, he said, was that commanders from each shift (Days, Noons, Nights, and Detectives) nominate one employee.  All of the commanders get together later on, present the letters of nomination, and vote on THE Officer of the Year.  The next week, I learned that I had not received the award.  It's hard to beat an under-cover detective who has been on the department for probably 15 years.  Anyway, I felt good just being nominated.  Mine is the largest police department in the state, and I was in the top 4! 

I kept meaning to post that too, but never did.

Well, about 2 weeks after my last post about my new job, I received another call from my sergeant (same sergeant, might I add).  I was already at home for the evening, and at the time, was still working on light-duty status due to my recent elbow injury.  I did not ignore his call, but had my hands full of squirmy Liam, so I could not answer in time.  Once again, I thought, "What did I do?  I didn't take any reports today, so I can't have forgotten to turn in any paperwork...How much trouble can I really get into on light-duty??"

I was not in trouble (again).  This time, the sergeant was calling to tell me that, not only had the Day Shift commanders nominated me for Officer of the Year again, but this year, I WON!

I was kind of shocked since they never told me I was nominated this year.  I'm sure I did not sound as appreciative and excited as he had hoped...it just took some time to set in.  Now, want to talk about neurotic self esteem problems?  I spent the rest of the night waiting for the phone call from a commander, saying they had actually mis-counted the votes, and I really had not won after all.  I know, it's sad.

But, they had not mis-counted.  I really got the award.  I was (am) very proud.  Then I got roped into giving an interview to the local news paper.  Then an on-camera interview for one of the local TV stations.  I did not realize those things came with the package.  (Because of my new position, I'm hearing rumor that my days in the media spot light are not over yet.) 

I did not know what to tell those reporters.  Honestly, I just show up every day and do my job the best I can, usually going home thinking that I could have/ should have done better.  Who knows.  I guess I'm doing things mostly right.  I can guarantee, though, that I will still have days where I think that I could have/ should have done better.  And the next time my sergeant calls me, I will still rack my brain wondering what I might have done wrong!

I kept meaning to post all of that.  Finally...with about 15 minutes left in 2011.

Work Updates

My elbow is slowly getting better.  I have nearly full range of motion back, but it's still painful and stiff.  The doctor advises that I should have full range of motion WITHOUT pain (imagine that!).  So, I have to remain on light duty for another couple of weeks.  And now we are monitoring a deformation on my knee from the same fence landing.  Something about calcification at the sight of an injury...blah, blah.  All I know is that I have a lump below my knee cap that is still very painful more than 6 weeks later.

On a happier note, I applied for and received a new position at work! 

I am now the Domestic Violence Investigator.  Job description?  Not entirely sure yet.  I will basically be like a detective for misdemeanor domestic-related crimes that would not otherwise get the attention they need (real detectives do not take misdemeanor crimes).  Other than that, I get to kind of write my own job description as I go.  I have worked for years to get my department to start this position, but it is so brand new that no one knows what it should entail.  Investigations, going to trainings, putting on trainings for my department and other agencies, whatever I want.  I am so excited to get started!

The job is mine for the next 3 years...as soon as my elbow regains full motion without pain.

(I will do a birthday post for Liam's 2nd b-day...someday.  Be warned, though, that I decided to just be at the party, in the moment.  I took pictures of the decorations and of Liam playing with toys afterward, but no photographs actually during the party.  Sorry.)

Professional Fence Jumper

    Each time I post something, I tell myself that I will do better:  post more often, read others' posts more regularly.  I have failed, once again.  That's ok.  I'll keep trying.  I should have some excitement coming up.  Someone in my house is turning TWO!  I may have a career move shortly.  I am learning to type one-handed...does that seem odd?  Let me explain:

 

The setting?  Last Monday, early--still dark outside.  The scenatio?  A call has come in that an unknown person was seen jumping the fence into a gated, locked wrecker yard.  Seen going in, but not coming out.  Since he had to jump the fence, he is probably not authorized to be there.  The business is still closed.  So that means that we, my partner and I, also have to jump the fence.  We go in:  no problem.  We search:  no person.  We find a damaged piece of fence on the other side where the person probably jumped back out.  Seems like a lot of effort just to get from one side to the other.  But that's ok.  It's what we do.  Jump fences.  Now to get back out...The business is still locked, so the only way out is the way we came in:  over the fence.  No problem, we just did that move 10 minutes earlier.  So I climb up.

Now let me pause here to explain.  This is a chain-link fence with no cross-bar along the top.  In other words, no support.  The jumping place happens to be next to the gate.  We are able to step on the chain that locks the gate, then step on top of the actual chain link fence.  The top happens to be bent down from what appears to be frequent fence-jumping.  The fence is over 6 feet tall, but the part that is bent over is probably just under 5 feet tall due to the deformation from being stepped on.  With my weight, it's probably a little lower than that.  Once on the top, jumping becomes a little complex.  We wear huge amounts of gear.  If I jump straight down, I will get hung up behind my waist.  If I try to jump out, there is a possibility, due to the type of fence, that my pant leg will get caught up and pull my leg out from under me before I land.  If I try to ease down, my forearms will be cut up by the bent-over metal.  My wedding ring may also become entangled and nearly pull off my finger.  It's happened before.

Despite all the dangers, (who knew fence jumping was so hard) I have to get down somehow.  The fire department would never let me live it down if they had to dispatch a truck to rescue me from a 4' 8" fence.  So, I jump.  And I land on my feet...with a lot of forward momentum.  That causes me to continue forward and down.  Hard.  On out-stretched hands and knees.  My partner wonders if my knees are ok because my landing "sounded hard."  I do not question what that sound actually sounded like.  I do quickly sit down to avoid passing out, though.  Weird.

And my left elbow hurts.  Just slightly more than my knees hurt, which is a lot.  I drive myself to our station, where I take some ibuprophen and sit with my head between my knees, again to avoid passing out.  Water helps.  I go to a few more calls, hoping the following:  that I wouldn't pass out, that the drugs will kick in soon, and that I won't have to fight anyone because, honestly, I can't even use my left arm to close my car door any more.

Fast forward to a couple hours later.  Two of my wishes came true.  The ibuprofen never kicked in.  Finally, I give in and cry to my supervisor that I fell, and my arm doesn't feel right.  He advises that it also doesn't look right, and he instructs me to go to the hospital.

Looong story short:  I have fractured my elbow.  A radial head fracture.  The Occupational Health doctor who saw me the next day had not read my chart completely.  He read what I had done and, apparently, read the fact that it would be a worker's compensation claim.  "Is jumping fences a part of your job description?" he asked me with a smirk. 

Yes.  That's me.  Professional fence jumper.  I never claimed to be a good one.

River Photo Shoot

Summer time.  Busy.  Very busy.  One semi-vacation so far, just back home to see family.  Had time for a final photo shoot by the river.  This property used to belong to my grandparents, so I spent a lot of time here.  Then it became my aunt and uncle's home...so I still spent a lot of time here.  Anyway, it has just been sold, so I wanted to get some last pictures:

 

 

We used to hang all of our home-made bird houses from those trees in the foreground.

 
These were great rocks to fish from.

 
 

 

 

 
This was a favorite climbing tree.

 
This rock bench was a newer addition by my aunt and uncle, but so fun to climb on.

 
 

 

 
Mmmm, crab apples.

 
Maybe not as delicious as we thought.

 
This was a pine tree that my grandparents planted for me when I was born.  (Several of the grandchildren got trees.)

 

Dear House,

Dear House,

How long have we known each other?  5 years this month, I think.  We loved you at first sight.  I feel like we have been together long enough for me to be honest with you:

I am tired of your passive-agressive ways!

I look at you day after day, and you tell me that you are fine.  But month after month, I find myself shelling out more and more money to help you improve your flaws.  Maybe if you would just come clean about everything, we could address it and move forward together. 

Please, don't deny.  I can site examples:  twice now, I have had to deconstruct your walls to make repairs.  Twice now, you have assured me that you were fine, and it would not happen again.  And yet, I am finding more damage, more repairs to be made.  I know you have not intentionally hurt us, but the time we have to spend attending to your every need is time taken away from time I could spend with the garden (please do no be jealous) or on other interests.  It is not all about you, House!

Also, you keep poor company.  Though your immediate neighbors are fine, I take issue with the ones across the street.  I am not comfortable around them.

So, here is my proposition:  we will continue with this relationship, however honest you want to make it.  We will agree to provide you with money for up-keep and accessories.  But, the end of our relationship is near.  We will uphold our end of the deal, and we hope in another year or two, we can leave each other on mutually good terms.

Thank you, House, for hearing me out.  We do still love you.

Owners

Guess What We Had for Dinner

 
 
 
 

Delicious "noonles" !

Poop Soup Recipe

INGREDIENTS:

*Average size tub

*Baby

 

(Size may vary, depending on availability.)

* Ducks

 

DIRECTIONS:

* Add warm water to tub.  (Do not over-fill.)

* Being sure to remove outter covering,

 

gently place baby in water.

*  Add ducks to taste...

* And wait!

Poop Soup will result.

I Think He Was Trying to Kill Me.

Want to see my enormously expensive new piece of jewelry?

I will give you a hint:  It's not the ring.

 

Hospital bracelet.

Here's the story:

Liam and I had been sick with bad colds last week.  Just colds, nothing more.  At about 11:30 on Sunday night, I woke up absolutely freezing to death.  Mike brought me another comforter and a heating pad.  He took my temperature, and it was only a degree or so higher than normal.  So, I burrowed further down in my blankets.  But nothing helped.  I just got colder and colder.  I kept telling Mike that I was worried and was not sure what was happening to me.  He kept saying, "You're fine."  Finally, my neck and head got beyond hot.  I tried to uncover, but the rest of my body was still freezing!  I had Mike take my temperature again.

105* F...I believe that is 40.5* C.

I started to freak out a little bit.  I told Mike that I should probably go to the hospital.  He said no, that I would be fine for a few more degrees.  I took some tylenol to try to bring my fever down.  (Mike is working nights.  He was home, but not in bed.  He promised he would continue to check on me.  I was terrified that I was going to slip into a coma, and Mike wouldn't notice.)

Mike left the room.  I was still afraid, so I called my mommy!  I felt bad waking her up.  It was about 2am then, but that's what mommies are for, right?  I told her my temperature, and she replied with, "Oh, my gosh, Katie!"  Based on that reaction, I called for Mike again and told him to call the Ask-A-Nurse hotline to see if I should go to the hospital or not.  He begrudgingly agreed to call. 

Then I started to get dizzy, even while lying down.  I felt like I was going to pass out.  I staggered out into the living room.  Mike told me he had been put on hold.  I informed him that I did not care what the Ask-A-Nurse people said, I needed to go to the hospital!  I then decided to lay on the ground before I did pass out.  I told Mike to start the car and then go get Liam so we could go.  I can't remember what Mike said, but it was something that would have gone together with an eye roll.  He then said he needed to go to the bathroom.  (In his defense, he has an intestinal condition, and if he has to go, he has to go.) 

The longer I laid on the floor, the dizzier I felt.  I tried propping my feet up.  That briefly helped.  Then my limbs started to go numb.  Clearly, all of my blood was being redirected to my vital organs...you know, like going into shock?  I really thought I was going to pass out.  Mike was still in the bathroom.  I knew that by the time he got out, started the car, and got Liam, I would probably be unconscious, or at least unable to get myself to the car.

I used my last bit of strength to turn my body so my torso was back in our bedroom, and I reached up to the phone cradle.  Thankfully, the phone was there.  It's always a toss-up at our house.  I dialled 911 and told them I needed an ambulance.  The dispatcher knew who I was, and he asked if I wanted him to notify the police shift commander.  I did not.  I told him that I would call in later, but then it occurred to me as my arms got more and more numb that there may really not be a "later."  The dispatcher assured me that the ambulance was on its way.

Mike had come out by then, and I told him I had called 911 for an ambulance.  He said, "No, I already started the car."  I just thought, "ARE YOU SERIOUS??  I am lying on the living room floor, going into shock from a fever that you told me was fine!  I'm scared enough that I called an ambulance, and you're still going to tell me it's not that bad?" 

As I waited for the ambulance, I had several thoughts bouncing through my head.  I wondered if they would give me IV's.  I wondered if I would die in the ambulance or at the hospital.  I tried to remember how much life insurance I had.  I felt bad because I imagined that after I was gone, Mike would feel guilty for not helping me more.  I did not want to leave Liam.

The dispatcher told me that the ambulance was outside, and he asked if the door was open.  It wasn't.  I told Mike to open the door, then go take care of Liam, who had woken up and started to cry.  When I said it, I really meant for him to do it IN THAT ORDER.  He took off up the stairs to Liam's room instead.  I screamed for him to get back downstairs and open the door for the medics.  He refused!  Eventually, he came back downstairs in time to find the medics on the porch.

The medics helped me up and loaded me onto the gurny.  I started to get feeling back in my limbs.  Then I started to feel stupid.  Maybe I wasn't dying after all.  I thought about declining the ambulance ride, but I still didn't know what was wrong.  If something started going wrong on the way to the hospital, I would rather be in an ambulance than in my car...with Mike.

After all was said and done, I had been tested and x-rayed.  The docter believed I may have pneumonia in my right lung.  He thought the high fever was a side-effect of the pneumonia.  The dizziness and other symptoms were, in turn, side-effects of the high fever.  They gave me more medicine, and after a few hours, I got to go home.    

Mike later explained to me that he had not wanted to open the door because he did not see the ambulance outside.  He didn't want me to be on the floor with the door open if we were still going to be waiting for a long time.  Whatever!

So, I feel pretty stupid for calling an ambulance when everything turned out fine.  Especially since the fire department always responds with the medics, and I knew most of the firemen and one of the medics...I go to calls with them all the time.  But, without hindsight, and if I had those same symptoms, (and without better assistance from Mike), I would call 911 again.  I'm just holding my breath now, waiting for the bill!

What do you think?  Stupid, expensive overreaction?  Or legitimate, freaked-out response?

Decisions, Decisions

Long ago, Kelly mentioned something in her blog about pants and pants-shopping and how it's a horrible experience. (I was paying attention back then, I swear.  It's just been a while!)  I also hate pants-shopping, and it occurred to me that I could probably devote an entire post to the society-approved torture that is pants-shopping.  I decided that the next time I went shopping, I would bring a camera and document each pant and why pant makers should be punished. 

Well, I went pants-shopping, but I forgot to bring my camera.  Shoot! 

First, I went to a little boutique, thinking that in a specialty store, I should be able to walk in the door, declare, "I want pants," and have a person fit me.  It doesn't work like that.  I made my declaration, and the girl walked around the entire store, selecting pants.  Let me rephrase:  and the size 2 girl walked around the entire store, selecting not size 2 pants for me.  Nothing fit.  I was glad I did not bring the camera because I literally could not even fit one of my legs into the leg holes.  I could sense where this event was headed:  I always have to buy pants that are way too big in the waste just so they fit my legs.  I hate it.  Add that to the fact that my taylor will just advise me to "buy pants that fit" if I ask to have the waste adjusted.  I was done.  The girl asked if I wanted to try bigger sizes.  Like I said, I knew where it was going.  I told her I would just look around at shirts for a while.

Then I went to Eddie Bauer.  Why haven't I tried shopping in grown-up stores before??  I found a great, soft, comfortable pair of jeans that fit perfectly!  They were a weird stripedy pattern, though, and they did not have plain blue denim in my size. Of course.  I planned to return for the stripedy ones if I found nothing else, but I did not have to!

Next was the GAP.  I love shirts at the GAP, but generally feel like they, too, make pants for the stick-person crowd.  I made a discovery, though:  THE PERFECT TROUSER.  That is seriously the name of the pants.  And they did not disappoint!  I bought 2 pairs of the Perfect Trousers (no more because I am not a millionaire).  I decided I will threaten to photograph my shopping more often, since I ended up with exactly what I wanted.

Now for the dilema:  I have started going back to the gym.  I am about 10lbs away from pre-baby weight.  I fear that if I really commit and lose the weight, my Perfect Trousers may not fit! 

What to do?

Goodnight, Bo

 

(Bo footprints in the snow Tuesday morning.)

Our Bo Dog passed away Monday night.  He was our best friend.

I was home alone.  I let Bo outside before bed.  When I let him back in, I knew something was wrong.  I also knew I wouldn't be able to get him into my car by myself and take him to the 24-hours emergency vet.  And I didn't want to take him to the vet.  He is scared of the vet, and I knew if we made it to the vet, they would put him down.  I didn't want him to go, not in a scary place with strangers.

Bo walked around the house much of the night.  I hate myself for feeling this way, but I was scared.  I didn't know what to do, or how to help him.  Everytime I heard him move, I just thought, "Lay down Big Bo.  If you need to go, please, just go.  It's ok."  When I got up that morning, he was gone.  I am truley thankful for that.

I am terribly tempted to put any thought of Bo in the dark place in my mind where a handfull of bad things live, chained up and unspoken, far from the emotional part of my brain.   But that is not fair.  Something as simple and pure and happy and beautiful as The Bo does not belong there.  So, I will cry for what feels like eternity, but then I will always remember silly, lazy, lovey Bo.

We will love Bo forever because:

• He went from having to be lured into a car with beef jerky, to demanding to go for rides if he caught us even putting shoes on.  We would have to specifically uninvite him from going, or he would race out to the car and refuse to go inside.
• There are disgusting dog nose prints all over the back windows of my car.
• He could smile!  Believe it.  When we came home, he would greet us with one side of his upper lip curled up.  He only ever did it when he was very excited.  What else could it be but a smile?
• He took himself for walks, but always returned home by himself.  Even if we were in a different town, visiting my parents, Bo would slip out of the gate, unnoticed.  By the time we realized he was gone, we would find him, waiting patiently on the wrong side of the gate.
• If he was outside when we returned home, he would greet us with a loud round of howling and growling.
• If he was inside when we left, we could always look up and see the sillouette of his head, watching us out the window at the top of the stairs.
• He never tore up shoes or furniture.  However, if he got too excited to go outside and play, he would accidentally grab a shoe or whatever was closest.  For a time, he was obsessed with Mike's socks.
• He had no idea how big he was.
• He loved Liam, and would give him kisses whenever Liam was within reach.  Liam learned to say his name "Bo Bah" (Bo Dog).
• He would bark at other dogs or if someone was approaching the house, but he hardly ever used his big dog voice at random.  He never learned to "speak."
• He was happy just to sit next to us, waiting to get petted or receive scraps of food.
• He loved to go on walks, but did not like to go swimming.
• He loved to be chased while carrying toys, but did not understand fetch.
• He was so gentle, and would totally ignore the fact that the cat repeatedly jumped on his face and stole his food.
• He gave out kisses any day, any time.
• He was our dish pre-washer, and he believed anything edible should be sampled by him, even if it was fruit or vegetables.
• He would wag his tail when we looked at him.

Bo loved us.  He was always by our side...sometimes annoyingly so.  We called him co-dependent, but I think we were more dependent on him than we realized.  I still listen for him to scratch at the door to come in.  If I catch a glimpse of a big black shape in a dark room, I have to remind myself that it is not Bo.  I walk to the door with my head down because I cannot stand that no sweet dog head is going to pop up over the fence and start howling at me.

My Best Bo, my Man-Bear-Bo, my Big Dumb Dog, "Bo Bah."  I love you.  I miss you.  I'm sorry you had to go.  I'm sorry.  But I'm glad the last 5 years of your life were the best years.  And I'm glad those years were with us.  We are better people because of one giant dog with sad eyes. 

Goodnight, Bo Dog.  Goodbye.