The Luck of the Irish?
Shortly before my father passed away, he told me that I wasn’t really Irish. This came as a surprise to me because I used to buy him green carnations every St. Patrick’s Day when I was in grade school. After putting the carnations on the front doorstep, I’d ring the bell and hide in the bushes. He would come to the door, pick up the flowers and pretend to be surprised. “Must have been a leprechaun leaving them“, he told me. I loved doing that. I am not Irish? Come on, now. I have freckles. Freckles mean I’m Irish, right? I also like cabbage and corned beef. Come to think of it, I eat anything put in front of me, so that doesn’t really mean much. But I have freckles. Not as many as my little auburn haired daughter, but I have them. I also buy Lucky Charms (because they are magically delicious) and I believe in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. Just haven’t located the rainbow yet.
I am not Irish? Surely, Dad, you were fooling around. Right? Well, according to my all-knowing father, he was a lot more Scottish and English than he was Irish. My Mom was Polish, that I knew, so I could continue to enjoy cabbage. Phew.
So why did my father keep pretending he loved the green carnations? Oh, probably for the same reason I love when my children draw pictures of me with bright yellow hair. It’s not about the gift, it’s about the giver.
That said, I researched a little about “The Luck of The Irish”. I’ve got it despite NOT being Irish. Or I had a taste of it this weekend. You see, that saying is a little tongue and cheek. What sort of luck is it that brings about 1,000 years of invasion, colonization, exploitation, starvation and mass emigration? Obviously, the luck to get out of a bad situation and make the best of it. So, maybe I do have a touch of Irish after all, not hereditary, but the fact that I can make the best out of a bad situation. Or at least write about it.
This past weekend I found myself a boyfriend and he’s going to leave me soon. Actually, not soon enough. His name is Sal. Nice Irish Boy. Sal Monella. That’s right. He was served to me amidst a plate of what looked to be some delicious eggplant. Well, maybe he rode in on the prosciutto that was in the hot stuffed cherry peppers. I’m not sure. But he isn’t the type of guy I want sticking around. Because of him, I landed my ass in the hospital after a fine dinner out that included a free serving of salmonella. Yum.
Before I forced myself to go to the emergency room, I spent hours talking to myself while I camped out in the bathroom. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say I made communion with my porcelain prayer bowl and I’m not even Catholic. At the point that I saw so much blood I thought my body had been invaded by an alien, I decided to give in and get checked out. The fact that I was sweating like a sumo wrestler had nothing to do with it. It was all about seeing blood. That freaked me the hell out.
“Can I help you?” asked the perky triage nurse.
I vomited right in front of her. Sure enough, that was a clear indication that I was in the right place. She didn’t seem so perky any longer. Shortly thereafter I was on a stretcher in a fashionable little hospital gown that I couldn’t close in the back. Frankly, I didn’t have any vanity left at that point anyway. I was hurling like a sorority sister at a frat party.
Needles. I hate needles. Just give me a pill and make me better. Chris, my super talkative nurse, was kind to me. He only stabbed me once. Probably because I didn’t vomit on him. He was even kinder to tell me about how he got very sick on raw chicken once…and proceeded to tell me about all the side effects that went with it. Like I needed to hear about his excretions while my insides were flipping out.
The IV was in. I was counseled on how badly dehydrated I was. Well, no shit, Sherlock. I’ve been losing bodily fluids for eleven hours and didn’t have a butler to bring me a drink. Not that it would have remained in my stomach anyway.
Then the doctor decided it was time to make me “more comfortable”. Hot diggity dawg. I love when they say that. Soon, chatty Chris was shooting me up with some Dilaudid. As it entered my infected blood stream, I felt as if I had gone back in time and I was partying at Woodstock. Bless you, Dilaudid.
(In my haze, I dreamt that I was poisoned by tainted breast milk. OK, I added this in to the story after I first posted it because of a comment left here. Just for fun, people. Relax. I did NOT drink any one else’s breast milk. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you lucked out not getting involved in boobie-gate.)
“Hi. I’m Donna and I’m going to take you for a cat scan!” someone said excitedly as I lay in my zoned out stupor.
“Soooooo awesome. Love cat scans.” I managed to say. I’m sure she rolled her eyes at me.
Cat scan. Done. IV. Pumping away. Dilaudid. Making me as happy as the last time the bank made an error in my favor.
‘Time for something to settle your stomach a bit,” the nurse woke me up.
Like he needed to wake me up to tell me that. I’d been there for 4 hours and now they were thinking about settling my stomach? Good move. I know, it’s all about protocol. I was, however, thankful for the loopy drugs. Could I have more? Maybe in a to-go bag?
Hours later, I woke up. I suppose I’d been sleeping with my mouth wide open or something embarrassing like that. At least I didn’t snore. Or did I? Oh, who cares. The guy next to me was passing so much gas all day he had the nurses all giggling about him instead of me. Saved by the gassy guy.
“We’re going to let you go home,” the doctor told me. “You won’t be feeling better for a few days and the fever might not subside right away. No solid food for several days. Just clear liquids.”
WHAT?? NO CORNED BEEF AND CABBAGE???? Oh, that’s right. I’m not Irish. Good thing. But no solids? Does that mean no chocolate? Can I melt it? Clear liquids? Is that like “broth”? Who the heck enjoys BROTH? Really. It’s like eating nothing. May as well dream of a big steak and drink water.
Home. Pouting about how much the band aid on my arm hurt when I pulled it off. Pouting about how I didn’t feel much better…but thankful that I could stay out of the bathroom for longer periods of time. Pouting about how I can never just go out and enjoy a meal without a shitty result. Bad pun. Such is why I love to cook at home. At least I know where my utensils have been. I also know that my refrigerator actually keeps things cold and I am a maniac with bleach.
The worst is over. It’s now St. Patrick’s Day and I’m looking forward to a large cup o’ broth to celebrate my Polish/Scottish/English heritage. If my Dad was alive, I’d still bring him a green carnation. It’s all about tradition.
When you open net, you are bombarded with millions of article. However, unfortunately most of them are just a piece of junk. It is difficult to even read first paragraph of such articles. However, this article is not like them. It contains quality content, which can bind you to finish till the last words.
[...] a lot about food recalls. They concern me. Mostly because I found myself in the ER a year ago after getting it on with Sal Monella. Recently there has been a big to-do about a rather substantial lot of salami and sausage [...]
I enjoyed listening to your blogtalk radio show interview. Now I got a voice (loved it) to put with the face
I like it. I think I will read another.
Bye
I am only Irish “by injection”. I am married to a SULLIVAN. He didn’t even know what “Erin Go Braugh” meant! (Ireland Forever). I LOVE corned beef and cabbage, too, so much so that I actually COOKED some on SPD! I am so proud! I had to sub my Kahlua with Bailey’s for the day, though. Tell your boyfriend “SAL” that you never want to see him again, and feel better soon!
Well, that was no fun! Hope you’re all better.
Boo Hiss on that jerk, Sal! He tried coming over here last Saturday and almost ruined my daughter’s big Irish dance weekend. I told him to get the H E double hockey sticks out of town!
Hope you are feeling much, much better! Big hugs to you!
Oh my
I do love some Dilaudid though. Hope you’re feeling better today and continue to feel better.
Sounds like your St Patty’s went like mine. Kidney stones. Yay. I boycott this day.
Oh honey. Yucko.
Hey girlfriend. Your man-picker is busted! LOL
Ugggh! That Sal is a real bastard!
I hope you are feeling better!
eww and ouch (iv)
no fun!
As a nearly full blooded Scot, I feel it is my duty to take you under my wing this St.Pat’s day.
The Scots marched as Orangemen with Wm of Orange against the Irish. We wear orange armbands on St. Pat’s day. Nary a Scot would e’er be caught in green.
Cheryl- I hope you’re feeling better. I wasn’t able to go out for St Patty’s Day either so when you’re feeling better we’ll meet halfway and parTay!!! Wonder if you can add pastina to the broth? I guess you better listen to the docs, we Italians are major rule breakers!
Rachel Ferrucci
http://mamarucci.wordpress.com
Oh you poor thing…. Hope today has you feeling better! I am married to a 100% Irishman and I am ITALIAN… Yup… a whole 100% so we mix well! Corn Beef and Cabbage and Pasta LOL
Geez, talk about some bad luck. Uck. I hope you are feeling better!
Great story Cheryl…you never fail to make me laugh …in sickness and in health…
enjoy the broth…I will have an extra St. Pats Day taco for you…
What a beautiful tradition! Hope you’re feeling better. That was quite an ordeal. Last year on St. Patrick’s Day, which was over Spring Break from college, my DD21 came down with an emergency case of appendicitis and was in the hospital having it removed! Take care.
Great story. I’m glad I happened on your site through something you said on Twitter. I guess that’s how Twitter is supposed to work, right?
That is just awful! I hope you feel better soon. Hey, since you’re missing out on St Patrick’s day celebrations, maybe you’ll be well enough for St Joseph’s Day on the 19th. Like the Irish, we Italians aren’t afraid to share our holidays. In our neck of the woods, St Joseph’s day means we get to have zepolli!!! They are fabulous Italian pastries. Stop by a good Italian bakery in your area and treat yourself! If need be it will keep for a few days before you’re ready to eat it. It’s a once a year treat. I hope it gives you something to look forward to!
HAHAH, OH MY! Let’s hope people don’t trip like you did on the dilaudid! I’m sure that all breast milk is safe and that nothing ever is passed in it! DUH! ok, ill stop now! but come on, it’s just toomuch fun! (disclaimer: …..screw the disclaimer!)
MJMILLS: Just for you I added something to the post. See if you can find it. lol
Oh Cheryl!
I’m so sorry you were feeling so bad! I’m glad you are feeling better! And I love that you can make me laugh while telling about how sick you were! Great job.
I bet i know who sent you the sal! hahahah…im sure you already contemplated that one! lmfao! for reals! not at you, but at the fact of “who” is so glad that you are in misery right now! hope you feel better soon!
My father and I got salmonella (from a restaurant) when my mother was out of town, just the two of us, DYING and no one to take care of us…the worst! I think I was 15…we ended up in the hospital too.. I will never forget the stomach cramps
So sorry — not a good way to celebrate any Tuesday, let alone a holiday. Glad they hospital has you on the mend (even if it involved needles) and you’re able to keep things down now.
I’m also much more Scottish than Irish. Doesn’t stop me from celebrating today, though!
Well I’m hoping you’re feeling better now. That’s a pretty bad case to land you in the hospital.
I always called that the “twins” – Sam and Ella.
Getting sick (hurling)on this day is SO Irish…are you sure your Dad was telling you the truth?
Oh my, you poor dearie!!!!!
Well, at least you kept your sense of humor despite all the hurling.
Hope you are feeling better soon. Hey, why don’t you dye your broth green? That would be festive!
Oh we all must be a little Irish … I always thought I was full blood Scots. The geneology craze swept my Dad away and it turns out I have Irish Catholic blood in me after all. Judging from what my Dad found I’d say we are all related somewhere down the line. So dye your broth green and get better quickly!
Thank you Cheryl for making me laugh and smile. How about some corned beef and cabbage soup?
Coming to wondering if you snored is a good thing. Last time I was knocked out for surgery they said I was talking in my sleep.
Appears that I was mumbling in UNIX and talking about a program. Now every time they see me at the Dr’s office they call me the “the Code Talker”.
Welcome back, glad you’re feeling better