The Clampetts Do NashVegas
April 4, 2011
Hello, I’m alyson, and I have a poorly neglected blog. I think about updating this blog all the time, even write posts in my head, but I never manage to type them. As I type this one, a doctor I met for 5 minutes last month is holding my husband’s life in my hands. I’m trying really hard not to be afraid, I’ve been very receptive to all the signs God has sent my way. There was Bon Jovi on the radio as we pulled out of the driveway, and another of my mothers favorite obscure songs on the sound system at last night’s restaurant. This morning in the waiting room there is a former local newscaster from my hometown on the television, and a very friendly couple from a neighboring home county sitting next to me, having their own private conversation about the little hole in the wall restaurant where I worked for 2 years. All of these things are making me more comfortable, but I’m still a little afraid. So, I’m taking my nervous energy to the blogsphere.
You may remember that my husband was out of work last year for 3 months. He had a bulged disc, and our chiropractor (whom I trust with my life, btw) tried everything to avoid surgery. In 3 months he was good as new and back at work. 3 months after going back to work he found himself back at square one. This time she recommended surgery. 2 months later, we’re finally getting it. From the best of the best. Unfortunately, throughout this process J’s FMLA and sick leave was exhausted, and 6 weeks from now, when he is completely recovered, he will begin the process of searching for a new job. I know I don’t have to tell you how bleak the job market is right now. Especaially for a man nearing 50 years old. Nor do I have to tell you how much it sucks paying for back surgery without insurance.
We found out last week that we had to be checked into the hospital at 5:3o am. There was much arguing last week about weather or not we would be getting a hotel room the night before. I argued against, in the interest of saving money. We found a wonderful compromise in our hospital literature called the “Hospitality House”. We were referred there by our doctor, and it was decided that if we could get a $20 room, we would stay overnight. The way it works is, you call at 1:00 on the day of your stay and see if they have any vacancy. In the event they were full I had found several rooms on priceline under $40. Of course, at that price, they weren’t anything nice, but I figured I could manage, after all, we would only be there for 10 hours.
We called at 1:00 and the hospitality house was full, but they offered to find us a discounted room in the area. What the heck, I thought. 2 hours and a half dozen phone calls later they put us up here for $55! The best available internet rate was $169. This place was amazing! I felt like the country bumpkin that I am as I pointed and stood with my mouth agape, and grinned like a little kid as I rode up to the 18th floor on a glass elevator. We explored the hotel, and I was amazed to see treadmills with built in televisions.
As I stood at the window of our room, looking down 18 stories to the city lights below, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for what could’ve been. My dream, upon finishing college was to move here, to live among the hustle and bustle. I was so ready to do it back then, but life happened. I met J, and I could never ask him to be that far away from his kids. So here we are, 10 years, 2 kids, and one fixer-upper in the country later. Driving to the, “big city” only for special events and medical procedures that we don’t trust our fellow country bumpkins to perform. And, with the exception of not bringing my camera to document the awesome room, there are no regrets. NONE. A statement that I’m sure will be echoed when we leave here this afternoon amid bumper to bumper traffic, and I ponder aloud, “Who in the hell would want to live HERE and fight this every day”!