Ruffles Give Me Help

I am participating in BC Health Care interviews about 1.5 hours ahead of when I will need the information contained in the interview. For example, I received information telling me that I don’t have an appropriate BC Health Care Palliative number, and will be needing one soon. Surely enough, that was true.

I'm going to mark this down to a fabulous health care system that is at the very least, efficient since it is not hard for me to keep these ideas at the forefront of my mind: that I just am recovering from procedures that have saved my life.

All is well, I  have warmth at my neck.

Within 2 hours of being home, I had an extended in-home, health care interview, one with questions about the usefulness of the equipment that just has the efficacy of equipment installed by the Red Cross being tested out. Still, all good.

One product being tested out was what the nurse called “do you have your baby monitor”. A blank look must have crossed my face when the healthcare worker asked how is it with the baby monitor.

Mary said, “Baby monitor?”

The interviewer replied, “You know, baby monitor, so you can know how Arta is doing if you are in another room?”

Mary dropped her shoulders a bit, tucked the crest of her own arm into a scarf on her arm, looked around all four corners of the room as though in spy mode, and then, speaking directly into the middle of her elbow said. “Alexa? Call Rebecca.”

Of course, the technology worked.  Rebecca went running after her phone (in the other room), which Alexa had dialed in response to the request.  I don't think the interviewer in our room found this as funny as the three of us did, but we are getting to have a relationship with Alexa, and know how she needs to be present for quick help. She is almost as good as google …., almost.

Now Alexa is acting as an advance in-home model of the baby monitor. As well she has great powers: electronics that turn off and on lights and my radio, besides telephoning loved ones.

Oh, I thought to myself and then the interview continued on a pace. I took notes. I can only, at the very least, at this point, let what is going on, go and let, and someone else take care of implementing it

Anybody who has just come home from the hospital, knows there is a long list of products that need to be purchased at the local drugstore, and at the five-and-dime, and so the helpers get on with the job. I was too tired and laid down to let the shopping trips continue.

I wanted to be alone for a bit.   And so that is what happened.

When I woke up I couldn't figure out if it were day or night. I looked on my own wrist to figure that out.

I made it to the toilet that is in my bedroom.  No worries.   But at some point, I knew I needed to use some help with "ruffles" [The code name for adult gastro-intestinal support under-clothing]

I didn't know who was in the house and could help me out. Usually one of the girls assists me with this.  But desperation longs for any kind of help.

I could figure out how I could ask Alexa to find Mary for me. I remembered Mary tucking her head into the crack of her arm and calling for someone. So I tried to do the same thing. “Alexa, call Rebecca.”

Rebecca answered her phone.

“Where are you guys?”, I asked.

“We're driving down Quadra Street. Where are you?“

“I'm needing some help, but it is obvious I'm not going to get it from you.”

By this time, I believed that any necessary conversation with Rebecca was finished since how can someone driving a car, help?

Indeed.   And instantly, Steve was at my door, having overheard a conversation going on with Alexa or Rebecca, and knowing she was gone, and wondering whom I was speaking with or why I would talking to anyone at all and he came to investigate.  I was inside the bathroom, and he was outside my door in the hallway. So our conversation went like this:

ARTA: “Okay Steve, it is just you and me and some problem-solving ahead.” 

STEVE:  “What do you think you want me to do?”

ARTA: “You're on standby. “Walk into my bedroom backwards, pick up the new pair of ruffles I had dropped to the floor since I had been investigating how it was made, then exit my bedroom with them. Make the best curved football throw you can with one fresh, beautiful ruffle. Have it curve around the corner and into my ensuite bathroom where I am be standing waiting to receive them akin to a possible touchdown in football, with all of the cheering."

He did as I asked.

I made a catch in the first instance.

Steve then said that the women were on their way home. 

STEVE: "They've just driven up the driveway,”

ARTA: “Quick. we're going to finish this off. I don't want Rebecca and Mary to think that we can't manage without them."

Steve was still game to do my plan. 

ARTA:  “Take these ruffles. Back up, advancing until you are just in front of me. Be looking in the same direction as I am looking. When you can see the tip of my foot, then back up until you can tip one of one legs into a hole through where I can slip my foot into the ruffle, and then this specific leg hole of the other, exit the room, and then leave the rest to me.

He did.

I safely got into that ruffle. 

I was cool.

What I like is that Steve knew what I was talking about when I was saying, “go get my ruffle”.

Steve and I are the good guys. We got good practice using refined, even superior household body language about women's clothing.

Arta