Sometimes I wonder what people think I must when they check their feedreaders, and I've been on their site.
Because, if I find something I want to comment on, but can't immediately think of what I want to say (like on this post), then I shrink it down, and let it simmer for a while in my brain.
And, by a while, I mean... sometimes three days. I think that's the record, anyways.
There are lots of reasons I do this: If a post is out of control funny, or too emotional to read in one sitting. Or if it's so powerful that I want to sip it rather than gulp, I just keep maximizing and minimizing it until I'm ready to move on.
It happens a lot: The talent out there in the world o' blogs is immense, people. I'm very often humbled by the words I see on my screen.
But still... I must really screw up people's statistics. So I thought I'd just offer this explanation: I'm not exactly a stalker. Really. I just... need to process a bit.
Sorry about your graphs, but I think you'll understand.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
How to feel semi-human
Take a shower. Seriously, if I told you how long it had been since I had a real shower, you would stop hanging out with me. I got washed and everything, but the grease in my hair could probably have been mined. (I might've been rich! What was I thinking, getting rid of it? Also, is it mining when it's oil? It's something... crap, not as human as I'd like to be apparently.)
And then I had a nice shower coma, even if it was in the parlor.
And now I'm going to eat food, take pills, and attack a list. It better beware! LISTS: BE WARNED!
And then I had a nice shower coma, even if it was in the parlor.
And now I'm going to eat food, take pills, and attack a list. It better beware! LISTS: BE WARNED!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
I know there are times that I have felt less like posting, but I must be blocking them out, because they were so horrid.
In point of fact, I have missed you all, but when you have the walking pneumonia, the tonsils the size of baby turtles, the sinus infection that will. not. die. And you add all of those things onto the fact that I was in exile because of the PUS and therefore not at least miserable and at home, well, you might say that I just didn't quite get around to saying all the things I've had to say.
Or, that I said them, but because they were covered in mucus, I thought it best not to share them with all of you.
You're welcome.
I am much improved (well, much improved for me anyways), and my nearly three weeks of exile has come to a semi-end. I am home again, just stuck in our own parlor, as the painting that was supposed to take place on the porch (above and behind my bedroom) actually wound up taking place in the hallway (directly above my bedroom) and my room still smells like paint.
You can just imagine, I am sure, the cheery, happy, mucus-covered thoughts I have been directing towards the PUS. Ahhh... if only thoughts could kill. Or maim. I'd settle for maiming.
Our couch, at the very least, is in closer proximity to my millions of lists of things that still need to get done. Not that I am really accomplishing any of them (certain blog friends who have birthdays this week may want to wait awhile before checking the mail for their cards, for example), but I'm physically closer to them, and that's a start.
Isn't it?
Meanwhile, I have been catching up with all of you... and if any of you are catching up here: Hallo! It is the middle of March! Already! And there's a wedding shower I'm supposed to throw in three weeks! Would you kindly tell me why nobody knows what RSVP means anymore????
Wasn't that a nice welcome back?
:)
In point of fact, I have missed you all, but when you have the walking pneumonia, the tonsils the size of baby turtles, the sinus infection that will. not. die. And you add all of those things onto the fact that I was in exile because of the PUS and therefore not at least miserable and at home, well, you might say that I just didn't quite get around to saying all the things I've had to say.
Or, that I said them, but because they were covered in mucus, I thought it best not to share them with all of you.
You're welcome.
I am much improved (well, much improved for me anyways), and my nearly three weeks of exile has come to a semi-end. I am home again, just stuck in our own parlor, as the painting that was supposed to take place on the porch (above and behind my bedroom) actually wound up taking place in the hallway (directly above my bedroom) and my room still smells like paint.
You can just imagine, I am sure, the cheery, happy, mucus-covered thoughts I have been directing towards the PUS. Ahhh... if only thoughts could kill. Or maim. I'd settle for maiming.
Our couch, at the very least, is in closer proximity to my millions of lists of things that still need to get done. Not that I am really accomplishing any of them (certain blog friends who have birthdays this week may want to wait awhile before checking the mail for their cards, for example), but I'm physically closer to them, and that's a start.
Isn't it?
Meanwhile, I have been catching up with all of you... and if any of you are catching up here: Hallo! It is the middle of March! Already! And there's a wedding shower I'm supposed to throw in three weeks! Would you kindly tell me why nobody knows what RSVP means anymore????
Wasn't that a nice welcome back?
:)
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
I am so over it
What, exactly?
Everything.
Mhmm. The dramas, the sickness, the sadness, the PUS poisoning me; thank you cards, invitations, and RSVPs; food that I'm not hungry for, naps I want to take but can't,coughing; sick grandmothers and missing nanas; political 'news,' cold sores, lawyers. I'm sick of it all.
And so, today? I'm just going to forget about as much as I can. Lose myself in some rereads, and float far far away. (or, long, long ago, as the case may be: I'm off to England with the Bridgertons. Their drama I can handle.)
Everything.
Mhmm. The dramas, the sickness, the sadness, the PUS poisoning me; thank you cards, invitations, and RSVPs; food that I'm not hungry for, naps I want to take but can't,coughing; sick grandmothers and missing nanas; political 'news,' cold sores, lawyers. I'm sick of it all.
And so, today? I'm just going to forget about as much as I can. Lose myself in some rereads, and float far far away. (or, long, long ago, as the case may be: I'm off to England with the Bridgertons. Their drama I can handle.)
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Thanks for stopping by
According to my sitemeter, the two most popular search queries that lead people to this here blog are "easiest ways to kill yourself" and "L is for the way you look at me."
If you got here through that first search, I just want to say this:
I know.
You're sure that I don't, but I do. I know the fear that this is all there will ever be, this pain, this mess, this struggle. And the way your tired brain makes you feel like this is the only option left to you.
It's not.
I promise.
And getting help, from places like this or this or this, will wind up being less scary than you thought.
Although it's grim, and most likely not what I should be saying, here's a thought that helped me through: I could always do it tomorrow. When I was at my lowest low, and the only things that really stopped me were the idea of someone in my family having to find my body or how Youngest Nephew wouldn't even remember me, the thought that helped me the most was 'if not today, then tomorrow.' And I kept saying that to myself, along with a running list of the things I would miss out on if I weren't here. Until there came a day, just a random day, when the list of things I would miss started to weigh more, to mean more, than the idea that I could end this whole thing anytime I wanted.
My circumstances have seemingly changed very little between my time in the pit and now - in a lot of ways I'm worse off: I'm sicker now than I was then. And I've got all the years between of being not just sick but disabled, not just being unable to work, but being unemployed and having to move home, not just single, but single while all of my friends - even my family - are married and having babies. I've lost a lot of close family members between then and now. Those are all tough things, all really hard things. Sometimes they seem impossible to live with. But I do, I can.
Because I'm not stuck in a depression, not mired in the middle of a molasses-y black hole, where all I am able to do is think about how I'm stuck and the impossibility of ever becoming unstuck.
I don't know how, exactly, I climbed out of it. I was so afraid to say I was depressed because for years, doctors had been telling me that I wasn't sick, I was really depressed, and I should just take an antidepressant and get on with it already. But depression, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't cause 104 degree fevers, doesn't weaken your muscle tone and decimate your immune system. It can't make your tonsils swell up to the size of those baby turtles you used to see in cartoons, can't give you bronchitis, pneumonia, or asthma. I knew that I wasn't depressed when I first got sick - if anything I was on a high - and I knew that the three psych drs I'd seen since then had not only ruled out depression as the cause of my ailments, but one had gone so far as to call my doc at the time 'a stunning fool' for having even suggested it.
So while I knew that my depression wasn't the cause of my illness, having it as a symptom was just as troubling. I was about 6 years into being sick; I had developed asthma that spring, spent the summer roasting and the fall struggling to make it through a very tough internship with a supervisor who told me I would "never become a teacher." I got sick again and again as the kids so kindly shared their every germ with me. My beloved uncle died, and I was to sick to drive down for his funeral. Things kept piling up, heavier and heavier.
It was like being in a snowstorm, and seeing all that snow coming down. You see the coating that comes and try to sweep it away, but it's too heavy for the broom you've brought. And while you were gone, looking for a shovel, the snow has gotten deeper and heavier. You try to shovel, but the snow is coming too quick. And by now you're very, very tired. So you walk away for a while, figuring to just let it sit, wait for the flurry to pass, and then you'll deal with it. But the flurry turns into a full blown storm, and the pile keeps mounting, it multiplies. You try to tackle at least one path, so you can get out, but every time you think it's clear, the storm starts up again. Exhausted, you retreat to watch the snow from the window, amazed at how quickly it piles up. You start thinking that the blizzard will never end, that you'll never be able to clear that much snow out of your way. You're stuck where you are - it might just as well have been an avalanche, for all that you don't have the strength to plow your way through what's there. And then it starts to seem reasonable that you would just go out there and lie down in it, let it cover you up, cold and numbing, until you didn't have to worry about it, suffer through it, anymore.
I wish I could say that the sun came out and melted all the snow away, but it's mostly still there. I've just managed to shovel out a lot of paths, to find safe places to hole up when the storms are strongest. For some people the path out is meds: I tried a few and found they were no real help to me (surprise, surprise: meds not working for NTE? Shocker.) Exercise helps, even the gentle stretching I'm sometimes capable of doing makes me feel peaceful.
For me, the best path was people: I'd been isolating myself, more and more, little by little. And the CFIDS/FM had already done a pretty good job of cutting me off from most people, so it was shockingly easy. I stopped calling home so often, I shared less with my Roommate/Best Friend. Kept things that were bothering me a secret, ashamed of what the people I had left - the people who were closest - would think.
It was dumb, and Roommate/Best Friend told me so, right to my face. She snuck her way back in, somehow, and wouldn't let me close the door. At home, Mum did the same. Wormed and wiggled their way back in until I could see that I didn't have to do this whole thing by myself. That there were people in my life who would be just as outraged as I was that a person who was supposed to help was so cruel to me (Roommate/Best Fried immediately began calling her Bitch Lady, as in "Bitch Lady left a message on the machine"), who would be just as scared as I was over the fact that my liver was malfunctioning, that it might, in fact be shutting down.
Once I realized that I didn't have to do it alone, I realized that I could do it. It was never easy - it still isn't easy. (An easy way to tell that would be to look at the name of this blog.)
But it's worth it - I may be sicker and older and sometimes feel more stuck than every, but I'm also so much better off in a lot of ways: I've watched Youngest Nephew grow from baby to boy, had a hand in his raising, and feel pride at how far he's come. Lil Girl wasn't even a vague idea at the time suicide was uppermost in my mind, and now she's what's uppermost in my mind a lot of the time. I've got a lot of honorary nephews and nieces to spoil, and can see that Oldest Nephew is going to be taller than his mother in a matter of months. I've spent time with the people who mean the most to me, shared moments of unspeakable sadness and unbearable joy. I've started this blog and 'met' some of the most thoughtful, caring, individual people I've ever known, all the while being able to work hard at writing true, to document some parts of my life and say: this is me, take it or leave it. To know that people get it. To have seen my illnesses go from fringe and crazy to less fringe and suddenly researchable. To be able to hope that someday they'll figure this shit out.
There's a lot of times, especially recent times, when I see the snow start to come down and I wonder, do I have the strength to shovel out this time? What if I don't, what if I get stuck again? And the best part is that now I know enough to think that if that happens, someone will come for me in their snowmobile, at break neck speeds if necessary. All I have to do is ask.
So, if the Google has brought you here in search of easiest ways to kill yourself, I hope instead that you'll consider this a shovel, a snow plow, hell, even one of those tiny gardening spades. There are people outside of the storm who can help you, you just have to let them know you need the help.
Oh, and if you want to see some of my shovels, click that second link up there: L. O. V. E.
If you got here through that first search, I just want to say this:
I know.
You're sure that I don't, but I do. I know the fear that this is all there will ever be, this pain, this mess, this struggle. And the way your tired brain makes you feel like this is the only option left to you.
It's not.
I promise.
And getting help, from places like this or this or this, will wind up being less scary than you thought.
Although it's grim, and most likely not what I should be saying, here's a thought that helped me through: I could always do it tomorrow. When I was at my lowest low, and the only things that really stopped me were the idea of someone in my family having to find my body or how Youngest Nephew wouldn't even remember me, the thought that helped me the most was 'if not today, then tomorrow.' And I kept saying that to myself, along with a running list of the things I would miss out on if I weren't here. Until there came a day, just a random day, when the list of things I would miss started to weigh more, to mean more, than the idea that I could end this whole thing anytime I wanted.
My circumstances have seemingly changed very little between my time in the pit and now - in a lot of ways I'm worse off: I'm sicker now than I was then. And I've got all the years between of being not just sick but disabled, not just being unable to work, but being unemployed and having to move home, not just single, but single while all of my friends - even my family - are married and having babies. I've lost a lot of close family members between then and now. Those are all tough things, all really hard things. Sometimes they seem impossible to live with. But I do, I can.
Because I'm not stuck in a depression, not mired in the middle of a molasses-y black hole, where all I am able to do is think about how I'm stuck and the impossibility of ever becoming unstuck.
I don't know how, exactly, I climbed out of it. I was so afraid to say I was depressed because for years, doctors had been telling me that I wasn't sick, I was really depressed, and I should just take an antidepressant and get on with it already. But depression, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't cause 104 degree fevers, doesn't weaken your muscle tone and decimate your immune system. It can't make your tonsils swell up to the size of those baby turtles you used to see in cartoons, can't give you bronchitis, pneumonia, or asthma. I knew that I wasn't depressed when I first got sick - if anything I was on a high - and I knew that the three psych drs I'd seen since then had not only ruled out depression as the cause of my ailments, but one had gone so far as to call my doc at the time 'a stunning fool' for having even suggested it.
So while I knew that my depression wasn't the cause of my illness, having it as a symptom was just as troubling. I was about 6 years into being sick; I had developed asthma that spring, spent the summer roasting and the fall struggling to make it through a very tough internship with a supervisor who told me I would "never become a teacher." I got sick again and again as the kids so kindly shared their every germ with me. My beloved uncle died, and I was to sick to drive down for his funeral. Things kept piling up, heavier and heavier.
It was like being in a snowstorm, and seeing all that snow coming down. You see the coating that comes and try to sweep it away, but it's too heavy for the broom you've brought. And while you were gone, looking for a shovel, the snow has gotten deeper and heavier. You try to shovel, but the snow is coming too quick. And by now you're very, very tired. So you walk away for a while, figuring to just let it sit, wait for the flurry to pass, and then you'll deal with it. But the flurry turns into a full blown storm, and the pile keeps mounting, it multiplies. You try to tackle at least one path, so you can get out, but every time you think it's clear, the storm starts up again. Exhausted, you retreat to watch the snow from the window, amazed at how quickly it piles up. You start thinking that the blizzard will never end, that you'll never be able to clear that much snow out of your way. You're stuck where you are - it might just as well have been an avalanche, for all that you don't have the strength to plow your way through what's there. And then it starts to seem reasonable that you would just go out there and lie down in it, let it cover you up, cold and numbing, until you didn't have to worry about it, suffer through it, anymore.
I wish I could say that the sun came out and melted all the snow away, but it's mostly still there. I've just managed to shovel out a lot of paths, to find safe places to hole up when the storms are strongest. For some people the path out is meds: I tried a few and found they were no real help to me (surprise, surprise: meds not working for NTE? Shocker.) Exercise helps, even the gentle stretching I'm sometimes capable of doing makes me feel peaceful.
For me, the best path was people: I'd been isolating myself, more and more, little by little. And the CFIDS/FM had already done a pretty good job of cutting me off from most people, so it was shockingly easy. I stopped calling home so often, I shared less with my Roommate/Best Friend. Kept things that were bothering me a secret, ashamed of what the people I had left - the people who were closest - would think.
It was dumb, and Roommate/Best Friend told me so, right to my face. She snuck her way back in, somehow, and wouldn't let me close the door. At home, Mum did the same. Wormed and wiggled their way back in until I could see that I didn't have to do this whole thing by myself. That there were people in my life who would be just as outraged as I was that a person who was supposed to help was so cruel to me (Roommate/Best Fried immediately began calling her Bitch Lady, as in "Bitch Lady left a message on the machine"), who would be just as scared as I was over the fact that my liver was malfunctioning, that it might, in fact be shutting down.
Once I realized that I didn't have to do it alone, I realized that I could do it. It was never easy - it still isn't easy. (An easy way to tell that would be to look at the name of this blog.)
But it's worth it - I may be sicker and older and sometimes feel more stuck than every, but I'm also so much better off in a lot of ways: I've watched Youngest Nephew grow from baby to boy, had a hand in his raising, and feel pride at how far he's come. Lil Girl wasn't even a vague idea at the time suicide was uppermost in my mind, and now she's what's uppermost in my mind a lot of the time. I've got a lot of honorary nephews and nieces to spoil, and can see that Oldest Nephew is going to be taller than his mother in a matter of months. I've spent time with the people who mean the most to me, shared moments of unspeakable sadness and unbearable joy. I've started this blog and 'met' some of the most thoughtful, caring, individual people I've ever known, all the while being able to work hard at writing true, to document some parts of my life and say: this is me, take it or leave it. To know that people get it. To have seen my illnesses go from fringe and crazy to less fringe and suddenly researchable. To be able to hope that someday they'll figure this shit out.
There's a lot of times, especially recent times, when I see the snow start to come down and I wonder, do I have the strength to shovel out this time? What if I don't, what if I get stuck again? And the best part is that now I know enough to think that if that happens, someone will come for me in their snowmobile, at break neck speeds if necessary. All I have to do is ask.
So, if the Google has brought you here in search of easiest ways to kill yourself, I hope instead that you'll consider this a shovel, a snow plow, hell, even one of those tiny gardening spades. There are people outside of the storm who can help you, you just have to let them know you need the help.
Oh, and if you want to see some of my shovels, click that second link up there: L. O. V. E.
Friday, February 29, 2008
At the restaurant after Nana's funeral, Big/Only Brother and I were left alone, waiting for Mum to bring the car around. It was just the two of us and a waitress, hustling through trying to clean up the debris us grieving people had left behind. (PS: Grieving people apparently eat a lot.) He sat the wrong way in one of those restaurant booths, I was in my chair across from him, making the wheelchair rock the way I do when I am upset.
I asked how he was doing, he asked how I was doing. It was one of those times when it just seems as if the whole thing is too much. I was in so much physical pain, from pushing to be able to do all the things that were required of me, and so much emotional pain, that I could feel only relief that it was over. That there were no more "have to-s" on my list, even if only for that day.
He looked much the same, exhausted, crushed and confused. There were other things that happened then that I am not ready to talk about, but there was a moment when we were sitting there by ourselves that stands out so clearly in my mind. He asked me what I thought: "Do you think she's gone, that this is the end?"
And I told him: "I don't know. I don't know for sure if there's anything that comes next, and that bothers me deep down in my analytical, must know all the ins-and-outs of everything soul. It's one of those things I've studied to death. Back and forth and forth and back: religiously, psychologically, intuitively, factually.
And I've still come up with no answers.
But I know that it makes me feel better to believe that she's someplace else, someplace better. Buying Papa that drink and taking Maryellen to task for leaving without her. Watching over us and crying with us because we're so sad. And I don't care if that is just my subconscious trying to deceive me. If it wants to help me feel better, even just a little better, then I'm going to let it. What does it matter if it's true or not, if it feels true?"
He looked surprised, then laughed and gave me a kiss. We moved towards the door & mum's car and I asked him what he believed. And he said: "Up till a few minutes ago I had no idea."
Inspired by this post by Sweet & Salty.
I asked how he was doing, he asked how I was doing. It was one of those times when it just seems as if the whole thing is too much. I was in so much physical pain, from pushing to be able to do all the things that were required of me, and so much emotional pain, that I could feel only relief that it was over. That there were no more "have to-s" on my list, even if only for that day.
He looked much the same, exhausted, crushed and confused. There were other things that happened then that I am not ready to talk about, but there was a moment when we were sitting there by ourselves that stands out so clearly in my mind. He asked me what I thought: "Do you think she's gone, that this is the end?"
And I told him: "I don't know. I don't know for sure if there's anything that comes next, and that bothers me deep down in my analytical, must know all the ins-and-outs of everything soul. It's one of those things I've studied to death. Back and forth and forth and back: religiously, psychologically, intuitively, factually.
And I've still come up with no answers.
But I know that it makes me feel better to believe that she's someplace else, someplace better. Buying Papa that drink and taking Maryellen to task for leaving without her. Watching over us and crying with us because we're so sad. And I don't care if that is just my subconscious trying to deceive me. If it wants to help me feel better, even just a little better, then I'm going to let it. What does it matter if it's true or not, if it feels true?"
He looked surprised, then laughed and gave me a kiss. We moved towards the door & mum's car and I asked him what he believed. And he said: "Up till a few minutes ago I had no idea."
Inspired by this post by Sweet & Salty.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Some laughing links to share:
If I have to explain to you why this is one of the funniest things ever, then I'm not really sure how you got here: God, how I hate that stupid Castle Toad! It's not just about the toad, though: Heather! Anne! nails all 5 as she reminds us all that sometimes being alone on a deserted island is preferable.
Also, you should head on over to Jennie's! place, and see how many times you can say "That's what she said" while you're reading.
Cuz anything that makes me laugh today, is worth it's weight in gold. Or finger sandwiches. Or meat. Either way.
Also, if you're into that kind of thing (which I usually am not), may I suggest you head on over to YouTube and see what Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, Matt Damon & Ben Affleck are up to? Crude, senseless, totally shouldn't be funny. But I laughed. A lot. Out loud at one point. If you want, go see if it makes you chuckle too.
Also, you should head on over to Jennie's! place, and see how many times you can say "That's what she said" while you're reading.
Cuz anything that makes me laugh today, is worth it's weight in gold. Or finger sandwiches. Or meat. Either way.
Also, if you're into that kind of thing (which I usually am not), may I suggest you head on over to YouTube and see what Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, Matt Damon & Ben Affleck are up to? Crude, senseless, totally shouldn't be funny. But I laughed. A lot. Out loud at one point. If you want, go see if it makes you chuckle too.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Last week
I had to pick up some prescriptions, and went on the search for the least smelly dandruff shampoo I could find. (My scalp is out of control, people. But I can't use those tar things they used to tell me to use, because of the smells... it's a pickle.)
Anyways... I came across this:
Yes, that's right: anti-sponge shampoo. I honestly could not figure out what they heck they were talking about, and since the back of the bottle was in spanish, I was left totally confused.
The website says it's to combat hair that 'absorbs water and magnifies in size'... So... poofy? Poofy hair is what we're working against here? Except they also have an Anti Poof shampoo, so it must be different somehow. And they also have a volumizing shampoo. So there's sponges, bad poof and good poof.
No wonder I don't get this kind of stuff...
Anyways... I came across this:
Yes, that's right: anti-sponge shampoo. I honestly could not figure out what they heck they were talking about, and since the back of the bottle was in spanish, I was left totally confused.
The website says it's to combat hair that 'absorbs water and magnifies in size'... So... poofy? Poofy hair is what we're working against here? Except they also have an Anti Poof shampoo, so it must be different somehow. And they also have a volumizing shampoo. So there's sponges, bad poof and good poof.
No wonder I don't get this kind of stuff...
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I just want to say a couple of things
Most of those things sound an awful lot like this: Sorry I'm not here so much.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Sometimes my life really sucks.
Now would be one of those times.
I've avoided talking about it here, but since my Nana's death, we're having some issues about housing.
As in: wouldn't it be nice to have some?
I know I've talked about our living arrangements before: we (my parents, one sister, and I) live on the first floor, my Nana lived on the second with The PUS: her son, his wife and their three kids (whose bedrooms were on the 3rd floor). Now that my Nana isn't here, there's really no way we can afford to keep the house - she owned it free and clear and left it to my mum, the PUS, and Auntie E in equal shares, but there's taxes (insane) and maintaining/fixing it (about triply insane), plus there's the fact that we don't want to live with the PUS now or ever again.
Now that Nana is not here, there will be no heartwarming reunion where they ask us all to forgive them for what they've done: At the hospital, the morning she died, Mr. PUS claimed one of Nana's hands, and I wanted to punch him in the face. Mrs. PUS walked around in tears and said things like "it's for the best" and "you should call your uncle, he really misses you guys." As if the reason we don't speak to our uncle is that we lost his phone number, not because he is a huge asshole. As if they didn't play a very large role in Nana's illness getting to the point it did as quickly it did. I could do a very large rant right now about their role in Nana's life, and how much they wanted her dead (and said to her face "I'll be happy when you're dead!") but that's not what I came here to rant about, and you know how I like to stay on track.
Anyways, there will be no forgive and forget moments between us - I think they are abominable people and I will not allow them to continue to have a role in my life, because I know them to be toxic. I'm through trying to see things from their perspective, giving them a fresh start/another chance, even listening to their excuses: the only reason I had to listen to them before was because of Nana. I know that they are the same people who called my grandmother a 'raving bitch,' who refused to stop painting the porch when I started having an asthma attack because they were 'halfway through a coat,' who threatened to 'punch (us) till we bleed, because (I) won't be able to stop myself.'
And I know that continuing to allow them access to my life, or my family... would be poisonous and crazy.
Except that we're still living in the same house. And, of course, the PUS are the most self-centered, careless people on the face of the planet.
Which brings us back to the whole 'where are we going to live' issue. Because the PUS, who weren't supposed to make any decisions regarding the house until the lawyer's papers all came through; who assured us that they weren't going to 'so much as dust' Nana's things (and yet threw some of them away); who were offended when Auntie E's husband asked them what they were planning to do about either buying the house or selling it (we haven't even thought that far ahead!") - yeah, that PUS?
Well, they're having the upstairs floors sanded and varnished.
Next week.
Oh, there'll be 'no smells - the guy promised!'
And the sanding won't be an issue either because it's upstairs.
Right.
I just did a ton of research, and none of it said anything about 'odor free'... as a matter of fact, most of them mentioned 'health concerns' and 'toxicity levels.' That sounds fine... that sounds like something I'll be react to perfectly well.
So, I may be on the move. I may be permanently on the move, as I doubt, once they start, that they're ever going to stop. There'll be varnish, and sanding, and painting, and gluing, and hammering, and all of those things that come along with fixing up a 125 year old house.
Meanwhile, we don't have enough money to just get our own place right now, so I'm going to, most likely, be imposing on the kindness of my relatives (SisterJ, who's got a couch: Yay, almost newlyweds! Have a sick sister living on your couch! or my Grandmother, who, you may remember, turned 90 last July. Not that she wouldn't love to have me, but still... It's hard enough having to move back in with your parents because your sick and can't do everything for yourself, but to have to move in with your 90 year old grandmother? Yeah, that's not exactly in my life plan either.) But we do what we have to do, and I may not have any choice.
However, Nana's lawyer (who hates the PUS because he's an 'arrogant asshole') says that he'll help us out, so we're going to try to get some sort of Temporary Restraining Order, so that he won't be able to do any improvements without the consent of the two other owners (Hi: we hate you, and no you can't fix anything because it will make me sick. The End!)
We'd still have to sell the house, relatively soon... but by then, hopefully, the money from Nana's trust will come through, so we can find someplace else to stash me. And it won't be two day notice that I have to leave behind everything and live on someone's couch for however long.
The funny part is that the lawyer doesn't really know if he'll be able to get the TRO on the grounds of my health concerns, but seems pretty confident that they'll be able to get it because of the money involved: PUS will no doubt be applying to Nana's accounts for the funding - he, however, gets no funds from her estate... which was as cold as she was willing to be to him, unfortunately.
Me? I've never met people more deserving of the "comes around" portion of the whole "What goes around comes around" maxim. I'd like to say that I'm done letting them have even the tiniest bit of say in my life, but I can't really afford to just move on my own (healthwise or financially).
So for now, let's all pray that the restraining order comes through.
If not, it's just something else I'll have to deal with. Which I will, because I can... I just don't want to have to.
So, I wouldn't mind a break right about now... maybe I'll see if we have any chocolate.
Now would be one of those times.
I've avoided talking about it here, but since my Nana's death, we're having some issues about housing.
As in: wouldn't it be nice to have some?
I know I've talked about our living arrangements before: we (my parents, one sister, and I) live on the first floor, my Nana lived on the second with The PUS: her son, his wife and their three kids (whose bedrooms were on the 3rd floor). Now that my Nana isn't here, there's really no way we can afford to keep the house - she owned it free and clear and left it to my mum, the PUS, and Auntie E in equal shares, but there's taxes (insane) and maintaining/fixing it (about triply insane), plus there's the fact that we don't want to live with the PUS now or ever again.
Now that Nana is not here, there will be no heartwarming reunion where they ask us all to forgive them for what they've done: At the hospital, the morning she died, Mr. PUS claimed one of Nana's hands, and I wanted to punch him in the face. Mrs. PUS walked around in tears and said things like "it's for the best" and "you should call your uncle, he really misses you guys." As if the reason we don't speak to our uncle is that we lost his phone number, not because he is a huge asshole. As if they didn't play a very large role in Nana's illness getting to the point it did as quickly it did. I could do a very large rant right now about their role in Nana's life, and how much they wanted her dead (and said to her face "I'll be happy when you're dead!") but that's not what I came here to rant about, and you know how I like to stay on track.
Anyways, there will be no forgive and forget moments between us - I think they are abominable people and I will not allow them to continue to have a role in my life, because I know them to be toxic. I'm through trying to see things from their perspective, giving them a fresh start/another chance, even listening to their excuses: the only reason I had to listen to them before was because of Nana. I know that they are the same people who called my grandmother a 'raving bitch,' who refused to stop painting the porch when I started having an asthma attack because they were 'halfway through a coat,' who threatened to 'punch (us) till we bleed, because (I) won't be able to stop myself.'
And I know that continuing to allow them access to my life, or my family... would be poisonous and crazy.
Except that we're still living in the same house. And, of course, the PUS are the most self-centered, careless people on the face of the planet.
Which brings us back to the whole 'where are we going to live' issue. Because the PUS, who weren't supposed to make any decisions regarding the house until the lawyer's papers all came through; who assured us that they weren't going to 'so much as dust' Nana's things (and yet threw some of them away); who were offended when Auntie E's husband asked them what they were planning to do about either buying the house or selling it (we haven't even thought that far ahead!") - yeah, that PUS?
Well, they're having the upstairs floors sanded and varnished.
Next week.
Oh, there'll be 'no smells - the guy promised!'
And the sanding won't be an issue either because it's upstairs.
Right.
I just did a ton of research, and none of it said anything about 'odor free'... as a matter of fact, most of them mentioned 'health concerns' and 'toxicity levels.' That sounds fine... that sounds like something I'll be react to perfectly well.
So, I may be on the move. I may be permanently on the move, as I doubt, once they start, that they're ever going to stop. There'll be varnish, and sanding, and painting, and gluing, and hammering, and all of those things that come along with fixing up a 125 year old house.
Meanwhile, we don't have enough money to just get our own place right now, so I'm going to, most likely, be imposing on the kindness of my relatives (SisterJ, who's got a couch: Yay, almost newlyweds! Have a sick sister living on your couch! or my Grandmother, who, you may remember, turned 90 last July. Not that she wouldn't love to have me, but still... It's hard enough having to move back in with your parents because your sick and can't do everything for yourself, but to have to move in with your 90 year old grandmother? Yeah, that's not exactly in my life plan either.) But we do what we have to do, and I may not have any choice.
However, Nana's lawyer (who hates the PUS because he's an 'arrogant asshole') says that he'll help us out, so we're going to try to get some sort of Temporary Restraining Order, so that he won't be able to do any improvements without the consent of the two other owners (Hi: we hate you, and no you can't fix anything because it will make me sick. The End!)
We'd still have to sell the house, relatively soon... but by then, hopefully, the money from Nana's trust will come through, so we can find someplace else to stash me. And it won't be two day notice that I have to leave behind everything and live on someone's couch for however long.
The funny part is that the lawyer doesn't really know if he'll be able to get the TRO on the grounds of my health concerns, but seems pretty confident that they'll be able to get it because of the money involved: PUS will no doubt be applying to Nana's accounts for the funding - he, however, gets no funds from her estate... which was as cold as she was willing to be to him, unfortunately.
Me? I've never met people more deserving of the "comes around" portion of the whole "What goes around comes around" maxim. I'd like to say that I'm done letting them have even the tiniest bit of say in my life, but I can't really afford to just move on my own (healthwise or financially).
So for now, let's all pray that the restraining order comes through.
If not, it's just something else I'll have to deal with. Which I will, because I can... I just don't want to have to.
So, I wouldn't mind a break right about now... maybe I'll see if we have any chocolate.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Things I don't get that other girls do...
(Part 1... of probably 1 billion.)
Valentine's Day.
I just ... don't get it.
I mean, I am a Card Person. Capital C, Capital P.
I know the location of 3 local Hallmark Stores. I know two of the salespeople at one store as more than nodding acquaintances (I may or may not know the names of their children).
I can, very easily, spend upwards of $50 (and 50 minutes) on choosing cards alone. I usually have a multistep approach to buying cards...
- Step 1: Pick up cards that I like, have a need for, may someday have a need for, or just plain want.
- Step 2: Try to keep a running tally in my mind of an approximate cost for the cards I am gathering.
- Step 3: About 45 minutes later, after having gone through each aisle of the store at least once, realize I now have enough cards to wallpaper my room with, and no freaking idea of how much they cost.
- Step 4: Realize that I cannot rob a bank in the next 15 minutes, which requires cutting the pile of cards in my lap down by about 75%.
- Step 5: Still spend about double what I had set out to spend, but walk away happy just the same.
If those steps get screwed with -- if I have an urgent need for just 1 card, for example, I feel disappointed that I did not get to loiter in the store for hours on end.
So I love cards. Hallmark commercials make me cry, I am sappy and sentimental and have a gooey chocolatey center. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and Grandparents' Day, and even sent a Friendship Day card one year (albeit totally by accident.
In short, I am the sort of person that seems tailor made for Valentine's Day Fever.
And yet, I have none.
I know what some of you may be thinking, but I am also not a Valentine's hater: a cynic, heartbroken at having spent her entire 28 years on earth Valentine free, set lose to terrorize the 'lucky few' out of their moonlit dinners and conversation hearts. (Well, I doubt that any of you are thinking that, but let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I ever heard that theory...)
No, I'm all for you having a great time if it means something to you... I just don't get it.
I like Valentine's Day parties in classrooms ... as you are reading this, children everywhere are sneaking business card-sized envelopes into the specially decorated desks of their classmates, eating cupcakes bedecked in pink sprinkles, or wondering at who could have possibly signed their card with a question mark. (And their teachers are shaking their heads at their naive belief that they might have actually accomplished any work today.) And, when you're teaching, any excuse for a party is welcomed ... but I don't get it: It isn't as if there are extensive curriculums set up that delve into the philosophy of love and it's many representations, or that there's a historical imperative to learn more about this wonderful patron saint of fainting, the plague, bee keepers and lovers (wow, I love being a Catholic!)... It's just, "Hello, it is February, and this is what we do in February."
I don't get buying roses when they're 3 times as expensive as they might be on any other random Thursday. Or heartshaped boxes of chocolates that are irresponsibly unlabeled (I hate those orange creme ones: why are they even in there??)
I don't get why single people have to feel lonelier on the 14th of this month than they would on any other mid-month (especially since, any other 14th day would not find them feeling particularly lonely at all). Or why couples should have to feel the pressure of adding a perfect night to their weekly routines. I don't get imposed happiness any more than I get imposed unhappiness.
I don't get how guys forget Valentine's Day, when it starts being everywhere right after Christmas, but I also don't get why it's so important that they should have to remember it.
It's just one of those things that I missed out on, like the need to buy shoes that cost more than a good camera.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm going to try to get back into posting: I've been missing it, and all of you.
My days are still very difficult: knowing the right thing to do for other people who are grieving, particularly my mum, is a hard, hard thing. Knowing what to do for myself is proving pretty difficult as well.
But I think we're all doing ok, and I'm going to keep thanking you all for all your help, just so you know how much I appreciate it. For now, I need to write again ... it helps me remember that there are other things going on -- in my life, and in the world -- and helps me feel more like myself. And I can use all of that that I can get.
Valentine's Day.
I just ... don't get it.
I mean, I am a Card Person. Capital C, Capital P.
I know the location of 3 local Hallmark Stores. I know two of the salespeople at one store as more than nodding acquaintances (I may or may not know the names of their children).
I can, very easily, spend upwards of $50 (and 50 minutes) on choosing cards alone. I usually have a multistep approach to buying cards...
- Step 1: Pick up cards that I like, have a need for, may someday have a need for, or just plain want.
- Step 2: Try to keep a running tally in my mind of an approximate cost for the cards I am gathering.
- Step 3: About 45 minutes later, after having gone through each aisle of the store at least once, realize I now have enough cards to wallpaper my room with, and no freaking idea of how much they cost.
- Step 4: Realize that I cannot rob a bank in the next 15 minutes, which requires cutting the pile of cards in my lap down by about 75%.
- Step 5: Still spend about double what I had set out to spend, but walk away happy just the same.
If those steps get screwed with -- if I have an urgent need for just 1 card, for example, I feel disappointed that I did not get to loiter in the store for hours on end.
So I love cards. Hallmark commercials make me cry, I am sappy and sentimental and have a gooey chocolatey center. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and Grandparents' Day, and even sent a Friendship Day card one year (albeit totally by accident.
In short, I am the sort of person that seems tailor made for Valentine's Day Fever.
And yet, I have none.
I know what some of you may be thinking, but I am also not a Valentine's hater: a cynic, heartbroken at having spent her entire 28 years on earth Valentine free, set lose to terrorize the 'lucky few' out of their moonlit dinners and conversation hearts. (Well, I doubt that any of you are thinking that, but let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I ever heard that theory...)
No, I'm all for you having a great time if it means something to you... I just don't get it.
I like Valentine's Day parties in classrooms ... as you are reading this, children everywhere are sneaking business card-sized envelopes into the specially decorated desks of their classmates, eating cupcakes bedecked in pink sprinkles, or wondering at who could have possibly signed their card with a question mark. (And their teachers are shaking their heads at their naive belief that they might have actually accomplished any work today.) And, when you're teaching, any excuse for a party is welcomed ... but I don't get it: It isn't as if there are extensive curriculums set up that delve into the philosophy of love and it's many representations, or that there's a historical imperative to learn more about this wonderful patron saint of fainting, the plague, bee keepers and lovers (wow, I love being a Catholic!)... It's just, "Hello, it is February, and this is what we do in February."
I don't get buying roses when they're 3 times as expensive as they might be on any other random Thursday. Or heartshaped boxes of chocolates that are irresponsibly unlabeled (I hate those orange creme ones: why are they even in there??)
I don't get why single people have to feel lonelier on the 14th of this month than they would on any other mid-month (especially since, any other 14th day would not find them feeling particularly lonely at all). Or why couples should have to feel the pressure of adding a perfect night to their weekly routines. I don't get imposed happiness any more than I get imposed unhappiness.
I don't get how guys forget Valentine's Day, when it starts being everywhere right after Christmas, but I also don't get why it's so important that they should have to remember it.
It's just one of those things that I missed out on, like the need to buy shoes that cost more than a good camera.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm going to try to get back into posting: I've been missing it, and all of you.
My days are still very difficult: knowing the right thing to do for other people who are grieving, particularly my mum, is a hard, hard thing. Knowing what to do for myself is proving pretty difficult as well.
But I think we're all doing ok, and I'm going to keep thanking you all for all your help, just so you know how much I appreciate it. For now, I need to write again ... it helps me remember that there are other things going on -- in my life, and in the world -- and helps me feel more like myself. And I can use all of that that I can get.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Go Pats
Wanted to say thanks, again, to all of you. Mostly because I know you're here: my brain is starting to be able step outside the ridiculous dramas that are happening in my family, and see them and go "What the hell is happening here?" and I know that a large part of that is thanks to the blogging part of my brain. The part that thinks "wow, where's Janice when you need her?" or "Maya's Granny would know the perfect thing to say right now." Please know that with all of the absurdity & disconnection from reality and drama that is happening here, everysingleday, that so many of you are in my mind and heart, helping me to get through it.
And to get through all the regular stuff, the stuff that shouldn't be this hard, like four o'clocks and football games.
Tonight's game is niggling in my mind like no other football game before it, only because of Nana: She and I had a running faux-argument about the merits of football. She insisted that there were merits, and I insisted that if a grown man wants a piece of leather that he can throw around, all he needed to do was go to the store and buy one - there was certainly no need for all this traipsing and chasing up and down of fields, and certainly no need for tackling and being injured for the rest of your life for a stupid BALL. Nana suffered my lack of interest in organized sports (and my Kindergarten teacher-let's all just get along- mentality) semi-stoicly... which means that she and I had essentially the same discussion every time a football game was on, particularly a Patriots game.
Nana was - with the exception of the Red Sox (or "Red Slobs" as she called them), a diehard, home-team sports fan. The heydays of the Celtics and Larry Bird were crystal clear in her memories, and she even had a positive thing or two to say about the Bruins, even though she found hockey mostly boring. But the Patriots were her team - I'd like to remember some of the stuff she told me about them here, but I honestly wasn't paying that much attention: football players that were good, football players and coaches that sucked, traitors and the traded, glories and goners... she knew a lot of useless Patriots information, and watched every game as if the team depended on her in order to win.
Which, of course, they did. She would run up and down the entire field with them yelling and stomping, cheering and jeering. Coaches were called horrible names, players had their honor defiled. Even when they won, she'd be sure to tell me how they almost screwed it up.
And this is - in case you aren't interested in football &/or don't live in New England - a record setting year for the Patriots. They've gone undefeated for the entire season, heading into the Super Bowl. No one's ever done that before, apparently. Which is great for them, and would, ordinarily, mean very little to me...
Except this is a game my Nana won't be here to nag me into watching.
In Super Bowls past, we've watched together, me reading during the football and listening to her scream, her tsking me when I would look up in order to catch the new commercials, then head out for a cigarette. I know there was another football game they were in, the day after she died, but I wasn't ... aware ... enough of anything for that one to matter to me. This one, I feel it.
I feel all the hype and crazinesss, and I just wish it were over. I miss the "What am I going to do with you, you have no sense of team spirit?!?" conversation that we'd have already had 3 times today.
And I know that it's just another football game, that it has no impact in my life besides this: It's just one more thing we won't be doing together.
I don't know whether or not I'll watch try to watch it alone (Sister Ch probably won't be watching, and Mum and Dad will no doubt be smoking in the cellar), or take advantage of my first Tivo-fied Super Bowl and wait till later and just watch the commercials, or just... blow off the whole thing altogether. But I know that Nana will be riding the coach... (I seriously looked up the coach's name to add it to this post, but that felt forced... Nana will know it either way) from the sidelines, giving him her very clear opinions of each and every play. And even heaven won't be able to help them if they lose.
And to get through all the regular stuff, the stuff that shouldn't be this hard, like four o'clocks and football games.
Tonight's game is niggling in my mind like no other football game before it, only because of Nana: She and I had a running faux-argument about the merits of football. She insisted that there were merits, and I insisted that if a grown man wants a piece of leather that he can throw around, all he needed to do was go to the store and buy one - there was certainly no need for all this traipsing and chasing up and down of fields, and certainly no need for tackling and being injured for the rest of your life for a stupid BALL. Nana suffered my lack of interest in organized sports (and my Kindergarten teacher-let's all just get along- mentality) semi-stoicly... which means that she and I had essentially the same discussion every time a football game was on, particularly a Patriots game.
Nana was - with the exception of the Red Sox (or "Red Slobs" as she called them), a diehard, home-team sports fan. The heydays of the Celtics and Larry Bird were crystal clear in her memories, and she even had a positive thing or two to say about the Bruins, even though she found hockey mostly boring. But the Patriots were her team - I'd like to remember some of the stuff she told me about them here, but I honestly wasn't paying that much attention: football players that were good, football players and coaches that sucked, traitors and the traded, glories and goners... she knew a lot of useless Patriots information, and watched every game as if the team depended on her in order to win.
Which, of course, they did. She would run up and down the entire field with them yelling and stomping, cheering and jeering. Coaches were called horrible names, players had their honor defiled. Even when they won, she'd be sure to tell me how they almost screwed it up.
And this is - in case you aren't interested in football &/or don't live in New England - a record setting year for the Patriots. They've gone undefeated for the entire season, heading into the Super Bowl. No one's ever done that before, apparently. Which is great for them, and would, ordinarily, mean very little to me...
Except this is a game my Nana won't be here to nag me into watching.
In Super Bowls past, we've watched together, me reading during the football and listening to her scream, her tsking me when I would look up in order to catch the new commercials, then head out for a cigarette. I know there was another football game they were in, the day after she died, but I wasn't ... aware ... enough of anything for that one to matter to me. This one, I feel it.
I feel all the hype and crazinesss, and I just wish it were over. I miss the "What am I going to do with you, you have no sense of team spirit?!?" conversation that we'd have already had 3 times today.
And I know that it's just another football game, that it has no impact in my life besides this: It's just one more thing we won't be doing together.
I don't know whether or not I'll watch try to watch it alone (Sister Ch probably won't be watching, and Mum and Dad will no doubt be smoking in the cellar), or take advantage of my first Tivo-fied Super Bowl and wait till later and just watch the commercials, or just... blow off the whole thing altogether. But I know that Nana will be riding the coach... (I seriously looked up the coach's name to add it to this post, but that felt forced... Nana will know it either way) from the sidelines, giving him her very clear opinions of each and every play. And even heaven won't be able to help them if they lose.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
My Nana
I just wanted to thank you all for your supportive comments and wonderful advice: this week has been incredibly difficult, and having you all there in my heart & head has been so helpful.
I've heard people speak poignantly about death and grief: read amazing posts from people who are suffering through unbearable pain, and I've never been more in awe of them than I am now.
Because I can think of nothing to say. No, I can think of too many things to say, and the zooming of my thoughts does not seem to translate into anything I can express.
I want to say how much I miss her: that I hadn't realized exactly how much of my everyday life was wrapped up in hers - from her morning trek down to get the paper to her last pills at night, she lived with us, she was a part of almost my every moment.
I want to say that it is so hard knowing that she won't knock on the door again... that it doesn't seem real. It seems as if I am either the best actress in the world, or the worst, and I am just waiting for her to enter stage right, and until she does, I don't know my lines. Or my cues, or my reason for being on the stage.
I want to say that, even as I am writing this, I know that it could have been so much worse. That this was, in actuality, a pretty easy way for her to go. The last two weeks were hellish for us & for her, but it would've gotten so much worse. And so I'm glad that she didn't have to do that.
I want to say that I am mad at her for hiding how sick she was, for wasting so much of our time together with the stupid PUS, for so smoking up until the day she started her radiation. And that I know how pointless it is to be angry at her.
I want to say that losing her makes me so afraid because I remember again, just how easy it is for people not to be here any more. 10 years ago, I lost my grandfather, my father, and an uncle, one every year for three years, and I kept thinking "I can't go through this again. I'm just not strong enough." 10 years later, and I feel no more capable of saying goodbye than I did then, and I'm terrified, because I know more people that I love will - eventually - be lost. Seeing my grandmother kneel in front of my Nana's casket, and knowing that she was my last living grandparent? I just wanted to hold on to her and never, ever let her go.
I want to say that I wish I could just deal with this one thing, but there are so many other things that I have to deal with too, and that makes it feel impossible. That makes it feel as if I will never be able to feel normal again.
And I want to say this here, because I can't say it anywhere else without feeling like a ridiculous child: It's just not fair. I know that life isn't fair, I live a pretty unevenly balanced life most days anyways, but this, it's just not right. It's just not fair.
I want to say so, so many things, but they all get stuck somewhere around my throat, and I feel like I'm choking on them. So, just... Thank you.
And, here's my Nana... know that she was loved.
I've heard people speak poignantly about death and grief: read amazing posts from people who are suffering through unbearable pain, and I've never been more in awe of them than I am now.
Because I can think of nothing to say. No, I can think of too many things to say, and the zooming of my thoughts does not seem to translate into anything I can express.
I want to say how much I miss her: that I hadn't realized exactly how much of my everyday life was wrapped up in hers - from her morning trek down to get the paper to her last pills at night, she lived with us, she was a part of almost my every moment.
I want to say that it is so hard knowing that she won't knock on the door again... that it doesn't seem real. It seems as if I am either the best actress in the world, or the worst, and I am just waiting for her to enter stage right, and until she does, I don't know my lines. Or my cues, or my reason for being on the stage.
I want to say that, even as I am writing this, I know that it could have been so much worse. That this was, in actuality, a pretty easy way for her to go. The last two weeks were hellish for us & for her, but it would've gotten so much worse. And so I'm glad that she didn't have to do that.
I want to say that I am mad at her for hiding how sick she was, for wasting so much of our time together with the stupid PUS, for so smoking up until the day she started her radiation. And that I know how pointless it is to be angry at her.
I want to say that losing her makes me so afraid because I remember again, just how easy it is for people not to be here any more. 10 years ago, I lost my grandfather, my father, and an uncle, one every year for three years, and I kept thinking "I can't go through this again. I'm just not strong enough." 10 years later, and I feel no more capable of saying goodbye than I did then, and I'm terrified, because I know more people that I love will - eventually - be lost. Seeing my grandmother kneel in front of my Nana's casket, and knowing that she was my last living grandparent? I just wanted to hold on to her and never, ever let her go.
I want to say that I wish I could just deal with this one thing, but there are so many other things that I have to deal with too, and that makes it feel impossible. That makes it feel as if I will never be able to feel normal again.
And I want to say this here, because I can't say it anywhere else without feeling like a ridiculous child: It's just not fair. I know that life isn't fair, I live a pretty unevenly balanced life most days anyways, but this, it's just not right. It's just not fair.
I want to say so, so many things, but they all get stuck somewhere around my throat, and I feel like I'm choking on them. So, just... Thank you.
And, here's my Nana... know that she was loved.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Hola chicas!
(I can't think of any male readers I've got, off the top of my head, but just in case: Hola chicos!)
Things are creeping along, hopefully in a positive manner, with my Nana: her feeding tube is working well, and she's being moved out of the ICU into a regular room. They've got four major concerns: 1) When will she be able to restart the radiation, because that tumor is ridiculously large and prohibitive to, you know, breathing normally, eating, & sometimes talking (plus, you know, it's fatal if left to its own devices, which is a very big deal). 2)Is it the tumor that is causing her 'episodes' (they think it is), and how do we prevent them during her treatment?
3)She's got a tiny bit of fluid in her lung right now, and they're not sure why, but they're pretty confident that sitting up, inhalers and nebulizers will help to clear that up & 4)Her liver levels are "off" which may be from not eating for over a week, so they're keeping their eyes on it to see what's happening with it.
Overall, I will take any positive thing: any little step forward is NOT a step back, so I'll take it. Thank you all for your kind words, wishes, and support.
In other news, I've been distracting myself from the hell that has been our house these past few days (oh, the PUS and their sanctimonious "She wouldn't want any tubes!" "I'm here to take care of you!" "Let me remind you of when your father died, or when your sister died, and make vague accusations that you don't care about your mother!" "Let me weep and cry at the idea of this woman's death, in public, even though I have been abusing/neglecting/hating her for at least 20 years!"), I've been following/catching up on the Cassie Edwards controversy.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you pretend you never saw what I just wrote, and instead just stop reading right her. Because, trust me, you will get sucked in! If you're still sticking around, I'll give you my very abbreviated summary of what the hell is going on:
Cassie Edwards plagiarized. A lot. As in, I can't actually see that more than 25% of any given book of hers was actually written by her. She plagiarized from research materials, from Pulitzer Prize winning novels, from the classics. (This will open a PDF of the evidence against her, if you're interested. It is long, and detailed, and painful.)
The plagiarism was uncovered by, and then outed by, writers and readers over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, which is one of my most favorite websites. The Smart Bitches are wonderful writers, have strong opinions stated in entertaining (and often hilarious) ways, and run a site with some of the smartest commenters I've come across. Because of this situation, they've been condemned by many as "meanies" ... and much worse. The idea that bringing this situation to light could be construed as vindictive, unfair or any of the other things I've seen battered around in the past couple of days is, in my point of view, ludicrous. They did us all a favor, and have taken a lot of heat because of it. I'm grateful to them, to the readers who continue to Google search (what I consider) poorly written books, & to everybody who's seen this and gone "WTH??? This is so wrong!"
Including, my favoritest romance author, Nora Roberts, who's had some experience on the wrong side of this issue (her work was plagiarized by 'author' Janet Dailey back in the late 1990's), and who, rightly, made a statement denouncing Edwards' plagiarism. Note: she didn't denounce Edwards - she merely stated that this is plagiarism, and that it's wrong & should be dealt with.
This has been, of course, seen as an attack on an elderly woman (Edwards is 71) by some people...who have been labeled the excessive "fann gurls", but as an excessive Nora fan gurl myself, I might take offense at the idea that I would support my favorite author should she blatantly steal her words from other people. As much as I love La Nora, should I find that her books are largely made up of someone else's words? I would be horrified. Then I'd be pissed. And you better believe I'd tell her (and probably anybody else who'd listen) how outrageous that is. And I'd want my money back, which I would then distribute to all the other people who actually did that work I enjoyed so much.
Anyways, there's this whole brouhaha (as there seems to be anytime anything happens on the Internet), but it really boils down to this:
You can't call yourself a writer if your book is made up of another writer's words. All you are? Is a pretty good copier. Who sometimes adds characters, commas, or stunted dialogue to whatever you are copying from. This does not make you a writer, and the fact that you've been able to last this long in this business is a disgrace.
The End.
(But thanks for the distraction, Smart Bitches! You can click on any of the Cassie Edwards posts over at SB by clicking on their link on my sidebar, and if you want to read a hilarious take on this whole thing, may I recommend Gennita Low's post over at A Low Profile?)
Things are creeping along, hopefully in a positive manner, with my Nana: her feeding tube is working well, and she's being moved out of the ICU into a regular room. They've got four major concerns: 1) When will she be able to restart the radiation, because that tumor is ridiculously large and prohibitive to, you know, breathing normally, eating, & sometimes talking (plus, you know, it's fatal if left to its own devices, which is a very big deal). 2)Is it the tumor that is causing her 'episodes' (they think it is), and how do we prevent them during her treatment?
3)She's got a tiny bit of fluid in her lung right now, and they're not sure why, but they're pretty confident that sitting up, inhalers and nebulizers will help to clear that up & 4)Her liver levels are "off" which may be from not eating for over a week, so they're keeping their eyes on it to see what's happening with it.
Overall, I will take any positive thing: any little step forward is NOT a step back, so I'll take it. Thank you all for your kind words, wishes, and support.
In other news, I've been distracting myself from the hell that has been our house these past few days (oh, the PUS and their sanctimonious "She wouldn't want any tubes!" "I'm here to take care of you!" "Let me remind you of when your father died, or when your sister died, and make vague accusations that you don't care about your mother!" "Let me weep and cry at the idea of this woman's death, in public, even though I have been abusing/neglecting/hating her for at least 20 years!"), I've been following/catching up on the Cassie Edwards controversy.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you pretend you never saw what I just wrote, and instead just stop reading right her. Because, trust me, you will get sucked in! If you're still sticking around, I'll give you my very abbreviated summary of what the hell is going on:
Cassie Edwards plagiarized. A lot. As in, I can't actually see that more than 25% of any given book of hers was actually written by her. She plagiarized from research materials, from Pulitzer Prize winning novels, from the classics. (This will open a PDF of the evidence against her, if you're interested. It is long, and detailed, and painful.)
The plagiarism was uncovered by, and then outed by, writers and readers over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, which is one of my most favorite websites. The Smart Bitches are wonderful writers, have strong opinions stated in entertaining (and often hilarious) ways, and run a site with some of the smartest commenters I've come across. Because of this situation, they've been condemned by many as "meanies" ... and much worse. The idea that bringing this situation to light could be construed as vindictive, unfair or any of the other things I've seen battered around in the past couple of days is, in my point of view, ludicrous. They did us all a favor, and have taken a lot of heat because of it. I'm grateful to them, to the readers who continue to Google search (what I consider) poorly written books, & to everybody who's seen this and gone "WTH??? This is so wrong!"
Including, my favoritest romance author, Nora Roberts, who's had some experience on the wrong side of this issue (her work was plagiarized by 'author' Janet Dailey back in the late 1990's), and who, rightly, made a statement denouncing Edwards' plagiarism. Note: she didn't denounce Edwards - she merely stated that this is plagiarism, and that it's wrong & should be dealt with.
This has been, of course, seen as an attack on an elderly woman (Edwards is 71) by some people...who have been labeled the excessive "fann gurls", but as an excessive Nora fan gurl myself, I might take offense at the idea that I would support my favorite author should she blatantly steal her words from other people. As much as I love La Nora, should I find that her books are largely made up of someone else's words? I would be horrified. Then I'd be pissed. And you better believe I'd tell her (and probably anybody else who'd listen) how outrageous that is. And I'd want my money back, which I would then distribute to all the other people who actually did that work I enjoyed so much.
Anyways, there's this whole brouhaha (as there seems to be anytime anything happens on the Internet), but it really boils down to this:
You can't call yourself a writer if your book is made up of another writer's words. All you are? Is a pretty good copier. Who sometimes adds characters, commas, or stunted dialogue to whatever you are copying from. This does not make you a writer, and the fact that you've been able to last this long in this business is a disgrace.
The End.
(But thanks for the distraction, Smart Bitches! You can click on any of the Cassie Edwards posts over at SB by clicking on their link on my sidebar, and if you want to read a hilarious take on this whole thing, may I recommend Gennita Low's post over at A Low Profile?)
Monday, January 14, 2008
MBSM
It's a snowy day here in the Boston area, and, if I could get outside, I'd be wandering, trying to get shots of the heavy, tired trees.
Instead, this is what I can see outside of my window.
But, it reminds me of a wishbone, and we could use all the good luck we can get around here, these days. (Nana is hopefully getting her feeding tube put in as I type... please cross fingers right now.)
I'm going to distract myself by wandering through all of your photos, so I'll thank you in advance for the distraction!
Instead, this is what I can see outside of my window.
But, it reminds me of a wishbone, and we could use all the good luck we can get around here, these days. (Nana is hopefully getting her feeding tube put in as I type... please cross fingers right now.)
I'm going to distract myself by wandering through all of your photos, so I'll thank you in advance for the distraction!
Saturday, January 12, 2008
I promise, I took a deep breath after this post
See, one of my problems is I have a very good memory.
And today, that's a problem, because I don't want to do anything: I don't want to read anything, talk to anybody, watch anything on television, listen to the radio, because I'm afraid of what today will bring.
My Nana had another 'episode' in the hospital this morning, and has been moved to the ICU. She's fine (or, as fine as she gets) right now, but they have no idea what happened, and are putting her through further tests. Her feeding tube surgery has been postponed, even though she desperately needs it.
I'm so afraid of today. I'm afraid to pick up a book, to start reading a magazine, or even to turn on the tv, because I'm afraid that whatever I do, it'll be the thing I was doing when I got the phone call that my Nana died.
I am hugely afraid of what today (or tomorrow, if we make it that far) will bring, and am almost frozen because of it.
I've been trying to distract myself online here, visiting sites, not really responding, not really all there. Distraction isn't really working, because a part of my brain, a part of my heart is at the hospital.
I couldn't go this morning, when my mom got the call: I'm just in so much pain from everything this week, was even kinda looking forward to having the day to rest (with Nana fine and settled at the hospital, waiting for her feeding tube). I got a shower last night, which I haven't been able to do in about 2 weeks, because of the shower coma, and having to be available at all times. I don't feel guilty about that, but I feel horrible about not being able to be there, even if she is just like she was before, not really up for conversation or company. It's the fact that I can't be there, right this minute, patting her feet, or searching the tv for yet another episode of Law and Order for us to rewatch.
I keep telling myself that this could all work out: her prognosis, even as late as last night, was pretty positive (once she got the feeding tube, she'd be much better through the rest of her treatments).
But today is a whole different ballgame than last night: I feel as if I have been learning bowling, practicing bowling, bought my own ball and bowling shoes, only to show up and be expected to play tennis.
And so, I'm here, just blurting out what I'm feeling, trying to occupy my mind.
And it's obviously not working that well...
And today, that's a problem, because I don't want to do anything: I don't want to read anything, talk to anybody, watch anything on television, listen to the radio, because I'm afraid of what today will bring.
My Nana had another 'episode' in the hospital this morning, and has been moved to the ICU. She's fine (or, as fine as she gets) right now, but they have no idea what happened, and are putting her through further tests. Her feeding tube surgery has been postponed, even though she desperately needs it.
I'm so afraid of today. I'm afraid to pick up a book, to start reading a magazine, or even to turn on the tv, because I'm afraid that whatever I do, it'll be the thing I was doing when I got the phone call that my Nana died.
I am hugely afraid of what today (or tomorrow, if we make it that far) will bring, and am almost frozen because of it.
I've been trying to distract myself online here, visiting sites, not really responding, not really all there. Distraction isn't really working, because a part of my brain, a part of my heart is at the hospital.
I couldn't go this morning, when my mom got the call: I'm just in so much pain from everything this week, was even kinda looking forward to having the day to rest (with Nana fine and settled at the hospital, waiting for her feeding tube). I got a shower last night, which I haven't been able to do in about 2 weeks, because of the shower coma, and having to be available at all times. I don't feel guilty about that, but I feel horrible about not being able to be there, even if she is just like she was before, not really up for conversation or company. It's the fact that I can't be there, right this minute, patting her feet, or searching the tv for yet another episode of Law and Order for us to rewatch.
I keep telling myself that this could all work out: her prognosis, even as late as last night, was pretty positive (once she got the feeding tube, she'd be much better through the rest of her treatments).
But today is a whole different ballgame than last night: I feel as if I have been learning bowling, practicing bowling, bought my own ball and bowling shoes, only to show up and be expected to play tennis.
And so, I'm here, just blurting out what I'm feeling, trying to occupy my mind.
And it's obviously not working that well...
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Ranting a bit, sorry...
I've avoided talking about our family's health issues the past few posts, because it seems like, in person, that's all I'm ever talking about. And I am so, deeply sick of having to think about my pain level, or Nana's radiation, or my aunt's rehab, or Big/Only Brother's EKGs, or the twins weight in exact ounces. I'm going to do the quick roundup, while I am feeling up to it.
I don't think I even mentioned it here, but my cousin C had her twins at 33.5 weeks, (right in the middle of all this other nonsense) and they're having some health issues too. Fortunately, they are both at home now, but one is still very slow to gain weight & is being tested for genetic disorders.
Big/Only Brother has had no further seizures, thank god, and they're looking into a connection between the flickering televisions he has to monitor at his job (as the head of security at a medical school) and his seizures. Both seizures occured in that room, and he recently found out that a predecessor had seizures in that room too. Perhaps they trigger a certain disposition to seizure activity? Who knows... but if this is the issue, at least it can be addressed and evaluated.
Auntie L is home from rehab, and making great progress. She's still not allowed on stairs, and is living on the bottom level of her home, which she's not too happy about. Her blood levels (don't ask me, IDK which ones: they're being semi-secretive about her actual condition) aren't where they should be, yet, but they're improving. She's doing really well for someone who was not expected - by the doctors, and by us - to make it past Thanksgiving.
Nana's radiation has turned out to be horrid: She had a reaction to her pain meds on Monday (her first day) that had her throwing up all day and night, leaving her dehydrated and we had to take her back to the ER, who hospitalized yesterday morning, rehydrated her and gave her a different pain med. They sent her back home again last night, after her second radiation, and it was marginally better: she still slept away about 9/10ths of the day (which is fine, except that she gets upset at herself for doing so), but there was no vomiting. Her pain was better controlled, but still pretty bad - it went from a 4/10 to an 8/10 over the course of the day. She slept better, but not well. We're in charge of caring for her, Mum & I mostly, although Dad or my sisters can be called upon when necessary (so long as it doesn't involve puke: SisterCh literally dropped what was in her hands and fled when Nana threw up on Monday night). PUS, her son? Yeah... he's pissed cuz she's not upstairs with him. But he can deal because A) she can't climb the stairs and B)I don't trust him to take care of a Chia pet, let alone my grandmother.
As for me, I hate HATE how selfish this makes me feel, but this is all so incredibly difficult on me - emotionally, yes, but also physically. Nana has my bed at night, which is fine, because I don't sleep anyways, but also my aches and pains are used to my bed, and they're having issues adjusting to trying to rest anywhere else. I'm required to do a lot more: for myself, since Mum's caring for Nana & for Nana, when I'm the only one there. It's a lot more movement, a lot more intensity, a lot more pain. Where my normal levels are 7 or 8 (out of 10), I know I'm functioning at a 9 right now. And barely functioning, at that. Between the stupid sinus infections, the double ear infections, and the almost unbearable level of pain (not to mention the stress of all of these situations, plus watching the baby - tomorrow's our first day since Nana started her treatments, and I have no idea how we're going to manage that: Disney movies seem to be my most realistic strategy - and helping to plan the wedding and the zillion other everyday things that have to get done.)
I think these are the times I would most like to kill the people who say things about CFIDS/FM like "You're just using it to avoid real life." Because, your real life? Doesn't stop because you're ill. You can't avoid your grandmother's cancer because you can't move without tearing up... you just have to deal. Having a chronic illness magnifies all the challenges you face during your life, it doesn't shield you from them AT ALL.
Now, I've got an appointment at the pain clinic, to discuss why this round of drugs is still not helping. After that, I've got to try to coax my 84-yr-old Nana into getting a feeding tube, because it's too painful for her to swallow. Obviously, my life is just peachy, b/c I've got all these 'excuses' to get me out of jail free.
Happy Wednesday, anybody who made it through the rant.
I don't think I even mentioned it here, but my cousin C had her twins at 33.5 weeks, (right in the middle of all this other nonsense) and they're having some health issues too. Fortunately, they are both at home now, but one is still very slow to gain weight & is being tested for genetic disorders.
Big/Only Brother has had no further seizures, thank god, and they're looking into a connection between the flickering televisions he has to monitor at his job (as the head of security at a medical school) and his seizures. Both seizures occured in that room, and he recently found out that a predecessor had seizures in that room too. Perhaps they trigger a certain disposition to seizure activity? Who knows... but if this is the issue, at least it can be addressed and evaluated.
Auntie L is home from rehab, and making great progress. She's still not allowed on stairs, and is living on the bottom level of her home, which she's not too happy about. Her blood levels (don't ask me, IDK which ones: they're being semi-secretive about her actual condition) aren't where they should be, yet, but they're improving. She's doing really well for someone who was not expected - by the doctors, and by us - to make it past Thanksgiving.
Nana's radiation has turned out to be horrid: She had a reaction to her pain meds on Monday (her first day) that had her throwing up all day and night, leaving her dehydrated and we had to take her back to the ER, who hospitalized yesterday morning, rehydrated her and gave her a different pain med. They sent her back home again last night, after her second radiation, and it was marginally better: she still slept away about 9/10ths of the day (which is fine, except that she gets upset at herself for doing so), but there was no vomiting. Her pain was better controlled, but still pretty bad - it went from a 4/10 to an 8/10 over the course of the day. She slept better, but not well. We're in charge of caring for her, Mum & I mostly, although Dad or my sisters can be called upon when necessary (so long as it doesn't involve puke: SisterCh literally dropped what was in her hands and fled when Nana threw up on Monday night). PUS, her son? Yeah... he's pissed cuz she's not upstairs with him. But he can deal because A) she can't climb the stairs and B)I don't trust him to take care of a Chia pet, let alone my grandmother.
As for me, I hate HATE how selfish this makes me feel, but this is all so incredibly difficult on me - emotionally, yes, but also physically. Nana has my bed at night, which is fine, because I don't sleep anyways, but also my aches and pains are used to my bed, and they're having issues adjusting to trying to rest anywhere else. I'm required to do a lot more: for myself, since Mum's caring for Nana & for Nana, when I'm the only one there. It's a lot more movement, a lot more intensity, a lot more pain. Where my normal levels are 7 or 8 (out of 10), I know I'm functioning at a 9 right now. And barely functioning, at that. Between the stupid sinus infections, the double ear infections, and the almost unbearable level of pain (not to mention the stress of all of these situations, plus watching the baby - tomorrow's our first day since Nana started her treatments, and I have no idea how we're going to manage that: Disney movies seem to be my most realistic strategy - and helping to plan the wedding and the zillion other everyday things that have to get done.)
I think these are the times I would most like to kill the people who say things about CFIDS/FM like "You're just using it to avoid real life." Because, your real life? Doesn't stop because you're ill. You can't avoid your grandmother's cancer because you can't move without tearing up... you just have to deal. Having a chronic illness magnifies all the challenges you face during your life, it doesn't shield you from them AT ALL.
Now, I've got an appointment at the pain clinic, to discuss why this round of drugs is still not helping. After that, I've got to try to coax my 84-yr-old Nana into getting a feeding tube, because it's too painful for her to swallow. Obviously, my life is just peachy, b/c I've got all these 'excuses' to get me out of jail free.
Happy Wednesday, anybody who made it through the rant.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Getting back into the swing of things
with a Best Shot Monday post.
My Best Shot Monday is now being hosted over at Mother May I?, Tracey's blog, as ClubMom (and therefore Picture This) is kinda kaput. That's ok, because now I can remember the name of Tracey's actual blog, where before I kept forgetting. And there's supposed to be a new code soon, for a badge... I'll fix it when I get it.
Onto the shot:
Amid flare, double ear infections, and a sinus infection from hell (and that's just me), the hospitalizations, the treatments, the endless negotiations with an 84-year-old woman who's more stubborn than a goat, there were the holidays. And The Clump, which has finally peaked and will now start to wind down. We weren't exactly all feeling the festive so much these past few weeks, but we did dinner for Mum's day, and SisterCh picked the Monopoly for hers. (After first saying she didn't want to do anything - because she broke up with/is still fighting with the boyfriend, then getting pissy and crying hysterically when nobody showed up. Ah, the unnecessary drama of sisters! Joy o' joys. She turned 22 for God's sake, not 12!) And so, because I could NOT play another game of Monopoly (bringing my total for three days up to 4 games) with this damned sinus infection and the HEADACHE it's caused, I declared myself official Monopoly game photographer and took pictures.
My family thought I was insane, as I tried to get Spongebob (it was Spongebob Monopoly this time, and don't even get me started on how much I don't like the different Monopolies - I now just call the places by their colors, and it's still a railroad, damn it!) at the perfect angle, with the dice in the light behind him. I don't really care that they think I'm crazy, because I can assure you that the feeling is mutual.
At some point, my goal became trying to get different depths of field captured correctly... trying to get the piece of each person clear and defined, with the person moving it sort of fuzzy in the background. I very much do not know how to do this, and will not tell you how long it took me to get this picture (or how many pictures it took.... thank God for digital!)
BUT, now that it's done: I LOVE IT! So, here is my definitely best shot for this week (and, yes, I know I still haven't posted my Christmas pictures, but I'll get around to it, because they'll be cute whenever...)
My Best Shot Monday is now being hosted over at Mother May I?, Tracey's blog, as ClubMom (and therefore Picture This) is kinda kaput. That's ok, because now I can remember the name of Tracey's actual blog, where before I kept forgetting. And there's supposed to be a new code soon, for a badge... I'll fix it when I get it.
Onto the shot:
Amid flare, double ear infections, and a sinus infection from hell (and that's just me), the hospitalizations, the treatments, the endless negotiations with an 84-year-old woman who's more stubborn than a goat, there were the holidays. And The Clump, which has finally peaked and will now start to wind down. We weren't exactly all feeling the festive so much these past few weeks, but we did dinner for Mum's day, and SisterCh picked the Monopoly for hers. (After first saying she didn't want to do anything - because she broke up with/is still fighting with the boyfriend, then getting pissy and crying hysterically when nobody showed up. Ah, the unnecessary drama of sisters! Joy o' joys. She turned 22 for God's sake, not 12!) And so, because I could NOT play another game of Monopoly (bringing my total for three days up to 4 games) with this damned sinus infection and the HEADACHE it's caused, I declared myself official Monopoly game photographer and took pictures.
My family thought I was insane, as I tried to get Spongebob (it was Spongebob Monopoly this time, and don't even get me started on how much I don't like the different Monopolies - I now just call the places by their colors, and it's still a railroad, damn it!) at the perfect angle, with the dice in the light behind him. I don't really care that they think I'm crazy, because I can assure you that the feeling is mutual.
At some point, my goal became trying to get different depths of field captured correctly... trying to get the piece of each person clear and defined, with the person moving it sort of fuzzy in the background. I very much do not know how to do this, and will not tell you how long it took me to get this picture (or how many pictures it took.... thank God for digital!)
BUT, now that it's done: I LOVE IT! So, here is my definitely best shot for this week (and, yes, I know I still haven't posted my Christmas pictures, but I'll get around to it, because they'll be cute whenever...)
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Ta Da!
So, there's still a bit of tweaking to be done, but I've got a new look here! And I did it myself! And it took for-freakin-ever! But it's up!
AND
It's a good illustration of the word I've chosen as my keyword for this year: Closer.
As in, "It's not perfect, but it's closer to what I wanted."
I thought long and hard about what I wanted out of this year, and once I threw out all of the 'miracle cure' and 'totally happy and healthy' pie in the sky things that I have no chance of making happen (although, should they perchance occur, I would have no qualms about accepting them into my life gratefully and graciously), I finally decided that all I want is to be closer to some of my goals by the time 2009 rolls around.
I don't have to be in perfect health, but are there things I can do to help me get closer to healthy? Sure. So why not do them? What am I waiting for?
Same goes for my weight: I am not going to lose 60lbs. while I'm on the meds I am on: it ain't never going to happen. But can I get closer to where I'd like to be? Absolutely I can, and there's no reason not to take those steps.
The key to this year for me, is going to be -
1) Doing what I can, in whatever the situation is
and - JUST AS IMPORTANTLY -
2) Being ok with what I can do. Accepting that I am doing what I can, that I have limits.
Like with this website: Rather than continue with the old design while I obsess about every little aspect of this one, why not put it up? Is somebody else going to think "Oh, well, I think that this color here is about 3 shades off, why'd she do that?" I doubt it. (Although, if there's anything really screwed up, or not showing up that was here before, I would appreciate it if you'd drop me a note. Also: Are there any AdSense users out there who'd like to share their experiences? Thanks!) So instead of driving myself crazy over what isn't done, I'm giving myself credit for what I did do: Designed a simple header! And a footer! (And, hello, was surprised at how easy it is - Photoshop! -, and will now be working on ones I like even better.) And figured out where to find all the numbers for these colors! And so on. Did I know how to do any of those things this time last year? No, I did not.
Showing myself how much closer I am getting to getting the hang of this blog thing - and to giving myself credit for things. Yay!
So, here are a few of the things I would like to make progress towards over the course of this year:
Closer to healthy
Closer to independent
Closer to employable
Closer to being a good photographer; to understanding what the heck an F-Stop is (even though I thought I got it, I don't); to being able to fix some of the things on the camera while I'm taking the shot, so I don't have to fix them in Photoshop; to someday getting a good SLR camera
Closer to happy
Closer to being a more knowledgable blogger, a more reliable poster; a better blog-friend & commenter
Closer to knowing what I'm really capable of
Closer to certain members of my family (and not closer to others)
Closer to understanding - and being able to do something about the way I react to - the behaviors of the people around me (a certain almost 2 year old and a certain 84 year old are at the top of this list, today)
Closer to knowing what's wrong healthwise, and how to fix it; to eating better and reaching a healthier weight; to capable of withstanding every.single.germ that travels within 500 yards of me.
Closer to kind; to gracious; to giving without expecting a return
Closer to free
Some of these are very broad; others much more specific. Even for the broader ones, I have an idea of where I want to go, and the next step or two on my way to get there. And I really don't think that's too much to expect from myself: to amble along the roads I want to amble down, no matter how slowly I have to go.
Happy 2008, friends: May we all be happier, healthier, and have the strength we need this year.
Love, NTE
AND
It's a good illustration of the word I've chosen as my keyword for this year: Closer.
As in, "It's not perfect, but it's closer to what I wanted."
I thought long and hard about what I wanted out of this year, and once I threw out all of the 'miracle cure' and 'totally happy and healthy' pie in the sky things that I have no chance of making happen (although, should they perchance occur, I would have no qualms about accepting them into my life gratefully and graciously), I finally decided that all I want is to be closer to some of my goals by the time 2009 rolls around.
I don't have to be in perfect health, but are there things I can do to help me get closer to healthy? Sure. So why not do them? What am I waiting for?
Same goes for my weight: I am not going to lose 60lbs. while I'm on the meds I am on: it ain't never going to happen. But can I get closer to where I'd like to be? Absolutely I can, and there's no reason not to take those steps.
The key to this year for me, is going to be -
1) Doing what I can, in whatever the situation is
and - JUST AS IMPORTANTLY -
2) Being ok with what I can do. Accepting that I am doing what I can, that I have limits.
Like with this website: Rather than continue with the old design while I obsess about every little aspect of this one, why not put it up? Is somebody else going to think "Oh, well, I think that this color here is about 3 shades off, why'd she do that?" I doubt it. (Although, if there's anything really screwed up, or not showing up that was here before, I would appreciate it if you'd drop me a note. Also: Are there any AdSense users out there who'd like to share their experiences? Thanks!) So instead of driving myself crazy over what isn't done, I'm giving myself credit for what I did do: Designed a simple header! And a footer! (And, hello, was surprised at how easy it is - Photoshop! -, and will now be working on ones I like even better.) And figured out where to find all the numbers for these colors! And so on. Did I know how to do any of those things this time last year? No, I did not.
Showing myself how much closer I am getting to getting the hang of this blog thing - and to giving myself credit for things. Yay!
So, here are a few of the things I would like to make progress towards over the course of this year:
Closer to healthy
Closer to independent
Closer to employable
Closer to being a good photographer; to understanding what the heck an F-Stop is (even though I thought I got it, I don't); to being able to fix some of the things on the camera while I'm taking the shot, so I don't have to fix them in Photoshop; to someday getting a good SLR camera
Closer to happy
Closer to being a more knowledgable blogger, a more reliable poster; a better blog-friend & commenter
Closer to knowing what I'm really capable of
Closer to certain members of my family (and not closer to others)
Closer to understanding - and being able to do something about the way I react to - the behaviors of the people around me (a certain almost 2 year old and a certain 84 year old are at the top of this list, today)
Closer to knowing what's wrong healthwise, and how to fix it; to eating better and reaching a healthier weight; to capable of withstanding every.single.germ that travels within 500 yards of me.
Closer to kind; to gracious; to giving without expecting a return
Closer to free
Some of these are very broad; others much more specific. Even for the broader ones, I have an idea of where I want to go, and the next step or two on my way to get there. And I really don't think that's too much to expect from myself: to amble along the roads I want to amble down, no matter how slowly I have to go.
Happy 2008, friends: May we all be happier, healthier, and have the strength we need this year.
Love, NTE
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)