Rooms of Forgiveness

Last night for the first night in days I slept hard. I felt drugged but was not. My husband tried to wake me up about a weird smell, but if I HAD to converse about this smell or had there been a fire I could not have done so.
I was wiped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically empty from the past few days. I haven't been a good wife, good friend, good employee or good mother in days. I've phoned it in, I've paid attention to the things that were must do and the rest were simply done on autopilot.
At around 6 am yesterday I looked at my phone, glowing beside me with a message. It was my brother. Mom had fallen, 911 had been called and he was five hours away.

That meant my sister in law had three kids to get to school and one mother in law to see to at the hospital. That meant my mother was possibly hurt, or in worse shape than she had been before.

It turned out to be the latter.

I have known for a year that my mother was terminally ill but I had been holding out hope for the miracle of transplant. Even when she didn't want it, I held it as a candle in the darkness of the prospect of a world without my mother. When that hope died, part of me went with it. I didn't know how strongly I was leaning on it until it was gone and then I was lost.

Yesterday she went to the hospital for the visit that wasn't going to end. Hospice was discussed at length until my brother (having hauled ass to get there) was brain weary and mentally beaten. End of Life rules in terms of insurance are tricky and scary things. There are rules for the ending of life, and apparently you don't have to like them.

Mom said no to dialysis when they said she should have some of that. She's done. She doesn't want anything, she wants to go now. Maybe she doesn't want to go so much as she just doesn't want THIS anymore and there isn't anything on Earth left for her EXCEPT this.

After much stress it was arranged that she would actually go to the same facility where Dad is, which is a blessing and a curse. Dad's dementia being what it is, we just weren't sure he could handle it. But it was our only option and part of me was glad they could be together. As crazy as he drove her for 46 years, I hoped that despite that they would find some comfort being together.

Matt did the much dreaded duty of talking to Dad, and telling him what was going on. And then Mom was moved in to be with him - different room but Dad can be there with her.

Somehow in the course of my day yesterday I stopped being mad. Maybe that's not it. Because I AM STILL MAD AS HELL. And I'm soul crushingly sad. But I am not so mad at all the medication that probably caused this. I'm not so mad that none of us realized "fatty liver disease" was going to cause her hell on Earth and that we could've done so much more early if only we had known. We didn't know. I'm not so mad at my Dad for feeding her only fast food when she got too weak to cook for him, the worst possible thing for her to eat with her condition. I'm not so mad at myself for not being there enough. I don't know if I forgive, or if my mad just faded because it's pointless.

Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. The universe doesn't play favorites.

I got to talk to both of my parents today. Mom was a little incoherent because of all the stuff building up - end of life with liver failure isn't a coherent place. Yesterday she was seeing cowboys with white hats. I figure that was Gene Autry or Roy Rogers - her favorites. She was also seeing cats. Dad was very nonverbal, a few words. I know that stoic version of my dad, he can't handle what's happening so he has nothing to say.

Today my family got to celebrate my niece's birthday, a bright happy spot in a week that has been anything but. I was glad to see so many smiles on Facebook, so much joy taking place in a house that hasn't been that joyful lately.

I slept in, and woke feeling calm. I didn't wake up and grab my phone in a panic. I guess maybe this is acceptance. I don't accept it, I want to throat punch someone. But maybe, just maybe, moving past the point where you feel like you can't breathe and every single part of your life is burning to the ground, is where acceptance is.

Maybe that's what they mean, it's just the place where you can deal with it in your way.

I don't know what my is yet. I guess I'll find out.

This is about 5 or 6 years ago my Aunt Suzie with my Mom.

Yes, it was Christmas.
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Rooms of Forgiveness

Last night for the first night in days I slept hard. I felt drugged but was not. My husband tried to wake me up about a weird smell, but if I HAD to converse about this smell or had there been a fire I could not have done so.
I was wiped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically empty from the past few days. I haven't been a good wife, good friend, good employee or good mother in days. I've phoned it in, I've paid attention to the things that were must do and the rest were simply done on autopilot.
At around 6 am yesterday I looked at my phone, glowing beside me with a message. It was my brother. Mom had fallen, 911 had been called and he was five hours away.

That meant my sister in law had three kids to get to school and one mother in law to see to at the hospital. That meant my mother was possibly hurt, or in worse shape than she had been before.

It turned out to be the latter.

I have known for a year that my mother was terminally ill but I had been holding out hope for the miracle of transplant. Even when she didn't want it, I held it as a candle in the darkness of the prospect of a world without my mother. When that hope died, part of me went with it. I didn't know how strongly I was leaning on it until it was gone and then I was lost.

Yesterday she went to the hospital for the visit that wasn't going to end. Hospice was discussed at length until my brother (having hauled ass to get there) was brain weary and mentally beaten. End of Life rules in terms of insurance are tricky and scary things. There are rules for the ending of life, and apparently you don't have to like them.

Mom said no to dialysis when they said she should have some of that. She's done. She doesn't want anything, she wants to go now. Maybe she doesn't want to go so much as she just doesn't want THIS anymore and there isn't anything on Earth left for her EXCEPT this.

After much stress it was arranged that she would actually go to the same facility where Dad is, which is a blessing and a curse. Dad's dementia being what it is, we just weren't sure he could handle it. But it was our only option and part of me was glad they could be together. As crazy as he drove her for 46 years, I hoped that despite that they would find some comfort being together.

Matt did the much dreaded duty of talking to Dad, and telling him what was going on. And then Mom was moved in to be with him - different room but Dad can be there with her.

Somehow in the course of my day yesterday I stopped being mad. Maybe that's not it. Because I AM STILL MAD AS HELL. And I'm soul crushingly sad. But I am not so mad at all the medication that probably caused this. I'm not so mad that none of us realized "fatty liver disease" was going to cause her hell on Earth and that we could've done so much more early if only we had known. We didn't know. I'm not so mad at my Dad for feeding her only fast food when she got too weak to cook for him, the worst possible thing for her to eat with her condition. I'm not so mad at myself for not being there enough. I don't know if I forgive, or if my mad just faded because it's pointless.

Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. The universe doesn't play favorites.

I got to talk to both of my parents today. Mom was a little incoherent because of all the stuff building up - end of life with liver failure isn't a coherent place. Yesterday she was seeing cowboys with white hats. I figure that was Gene Autry or Roy Rogers - her favorites. She was also seeing cats. Dad was very nonverbal, a few words. I know that stoic version of my dad, he can't handle what's happening so he has nothing to say.

Today my family got to celebrate my niece's birthday, a bright happy spot in a week that has been anything but. I was glad to see so many smiles on Facebook, so much joy taking place in a house that hasn't been that joyful lately.

I slept in, and woke feeling calm. I didn't wake up and grab my phone in a panic. I guess maybe this is acceptance. I don't accept it, I want to throat punch someone. But maybe, just maybe, moving past the point where you feel like you can't breathe and every single part of your life is burning to the ground, is where acceptance is.

Maybe that's what they mean, it's just the place where you can deal with it in your way.

I don't know what my is yet. I guess I'll find out.

This is about 5 or 6 years ago my Aunt Suzie with my Mom.

Yes, it was Christmas.
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Beneath An Angry Star

Visiting my dad this past weekend was surreal. I knew what to expect. He's in the part of the nursing home where the people are most invalid. It stinks. It reeks of poop and pee, and other non-descript yuck no matter how much air freshener they try to spray. There is moaning and indistinct sounds of pain and suffering.

What can be hard to quite fathom is that those things are coming from your dad.

Matt said it would be the worst part of my trip home. I'm not sure if visiting dad was the worst, it was the hardest in ways I didn't expect. I wasn't prepared for the bewildered but somehow also expressionless look on his face that either stroke or dementia had created. Being there in person was in many ways exactly like being on the phone. We talked about the kids. I said lots of cheery, positive things.

Then his mind took a turn. He told us he couldn't wait to show us Aunt Ruth's farm. We both said yes we'd like that.

Aunt Ruth's farm, the mecca of my childhood tales, was the best place in the world. They had an orchard and cows and chickens. There was a fruit cellar. Bread was baked. Everyone worked hard. They rose with the sun and went to bed with the sun. On Sunday Night they listened to old timey gospel on the radio. There were small metal heaters that were put into the bedrooms when it was cold. It was a place of Rockwellian perfection, with a wrought iron fence out in front of it. Peace and plenty were in great supply there, and Dad wants to take us there.

He doesn't recall that I've been there. The white clapboard house that needed painted, the three trees that don't quite constitute an orchard I don't think, the scraggly front yard, all of these things were a great surprise to me as a child. The fence was leaning and in disrepair.

There is a great secret about Aunt Ruth's farm, however. A reason it is so magical to him that I didn't divine until I was an adult, having listened to tales from Aunt Ruth's farm for my entire life.

My father was a child born to a teenager and a young man shipping out to war. Unwanted doesn't cover it. My grandmother actually left the hospital WITHOUT HIM when he was born. My great aunt had to go back and get the baby. The way the stories go, my great aunt actually took care of him as a small baby.

My grandparents would dump him off starting when he was a toddler at Aunt Ruth's farm, for months at a time. When he entered school he'd spend whole summers there. It was a place where no one drank nor smoked. He was cared for, fed well and most importantly - he was loved. He was safe and they loved having him there. My spinster great-great aunt Ruth, who was never allowed to marry, and her brothers lived together. One worked in town and the rest of them kept their little farm going. It was the best place he ever was growing up. In many ways it's a tragedy they didn't just leave him there. He probably would have had a much better life all around.

It's no surprise then, as his mind makes it slow and painful exit, that it wanders back to his happiest place. A place where there is no pain, and he's free and loved.

When I left him for the last time, after reminding him repeatedly that no, I had already seen Aunt Suzie I wasn't going to miss her that evening all was well, I took his hand and promised I would be back soon. I took his hand, that was motionless due to stroke and squeezed it, and told him I loved him. He answered, "I love you more."

Now that I'm a parent, I know what he means. He looked me right in the eye when he said it, he was himself at that moment. He meant what Cersei said to Tommen, "I would burn cities to the ground for you." We never really know what I means to love someone so fiercely until we have our own children. My dad hasn't been big with the I Love You's ever.

If that's the last one I ever get, it will also stand as the best one I ever get.
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Beneath An Angry Star

Visiting my dad this past weekend was surreal. I knew what to expect. He's in the part of the nursing home where the people are most invalid. It stinks. It reeks of poop and pee, and other non-descript yuck no matter how much air freshener they try to spray. There is moaning and indistinct sounds of pain and suffering.

What can be hard to quite fathom is that those things are coming from your dad.

Matt said it would be the worst part of my trip home. I'm not sure if visiting dad was the worst, it was the hardest in ways I didn't expect. I wasn't prepared for the bewildered but somehow also expressionless look on his face that either stroke or dementia had created. Being there in person was in many ways exactly like being on the phone. We talked about the kids. I said lots of cheery, positive things.

Then his mind took a turn. He told us he couldn't wait to show us Aunt Ruth's farm. We both said yes we'd like that.

Aunt Ruth's farm, the mecca of my childhood tales, was the best place in the world. They had an orchard and cows and chickens. There was a fruit cellar. Bread was baked. Everyone worked hard. They rose with the sun and went to bed with the sun. On Sunday Night they listened to old timey gospel on the radio. There were small metal heaters that were put into the bedrooms when it was cold. It was a place of Rockwellian perfection, with a wrought iron fence out in front of it. Peace and plenty were in great supply there, and Dad wants to take us there.

He doesn't recall that I've been there. The white clapboard house that needed painted, the three trees that don't quite constitute an orchard I don't think, the scraggly front yard, all of these things were a great surprise to me as a child. The fence was leaning and in disrepair.

There is a great secret about Aunt Ruth's farm, however. A reason it is so magical to him that I didn't divine until I was an adult, having listened to tales from Aunt Ruth's farm for my entire life.

My father was a child born to a teenager and a young man shipping out to war. Unwanted doesn't cover it. My grandmother actually left the hospital WITHOUT HIM when he was born. My great aunt had to go back and get the baby. The way the stories go, my great aunt actually took care of him as a small baby.

My grandparents would dump him off starting when he was a toddler at Aunt Ruth's farm, for months at a time. When he entered school he'd spend whole summers there. It was a place where no one drank nor smoked. He was cared for, fed well and most importantly - he was loved. He was safe and they loved having him there. My spinster great-great aunt Ruth, who was never allowed to marry, and her brothers lived together. One worked in town and the rest of them kept their little farm going. It was the best place he ever was growing up. In many ways it's a tragedy they didn't just leave him there. He probably would have had a much better life all around.

It's no surprise then, as his mind makes it slow and painful exit, that it wanders back to his happiest place. A place where there is no pain, and he's free and loved.

When I left him for the last time, after reminding him repeatedly that no, I had already seen Aunt Suzie I wasn't going to miss her that evening all was well, I took his hand and promised I would be back soon. I took his hand, that was motionless due to stroke and squeezed it, and told him I loved him. He answered, "I love you more."

Now that I'm a parent, I know what he means. He looked me right in the eye when he said it, he was himself at that moment. He meant what Cersei said to Tommen, "I would burn cities to the ground for you." We never really know what I means to love someone so fiercely until we have our own children. My dad hasn't been big with the I Love You's ever.

If that's the last one I ever get, it will also stand as the best one I ever get.
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It Even Comes With A Free Shovel

Being the adult is sometimes more aggravating than the literature suggested. I think we were supposed to be able to stay up as late as we want and eat whatever we want and no one can tell us we can't. Life was supposed to be carefree and full of nonstop fun right? I think there were supposed to be flying cars.
What adult life actually is, is best summed up by Steve Martin in PARENTHOOD. "My whole life is have to."
Yesterday my sweet girl had her last soccer game. She was the TEAM CAPTAIN. She was ecstatic. The girl who will volunteer to sit out whenever they will let her played three straight quarters, and even tried to play a few times (she's still more enamored of running around a field with a bunch of little girls than playing soccer).

Afterward was the requisite team party and little trophies for participating. I smiled and cheered.

Inside I was a ball of stress. You see, my dad might be dying. When he had a heart attack, it wasn't surprising. He's been over 300 pounds most of my life, and if I'm honest has horrendous eating habits. A heart attack for my dad seemed like the normal course of events quite frankly. It's not that I wouldn't grieve and be sad, it's just that - I've been mentally ready for this for 30 years at least.
But he didn't die.
He had a massive bypass surgery and he lived. He recovered. He went to rehab, but then moved into a care facility because his dementia is creeping up and he needs more help than my mom can give him. However, things were going pretty ok. I'd call him a few times a week, on my way to the airport when flying out, from a far away place and tell him all about it, from work, just wherever and my dad and I would talk. Sometime's he be confused and we'd talk about things from a long time ago. Sometimes though, he'd be himself and it was kind of wonderful.

3 days ago my brother and SIL texted me that dad was being taken to the hospital and he was unresponsive. He had sepsis. It wasn't good.

Two days ago he started telling us he was dying and telling us who he would like us to tell, including his parents who he told me he hadn't seen in 20 years. They're dead.

This was turning and turning and turning in my brain, watching my girl play, watching her eat her treats excitedly. There were treats for the twins too, who liked the fruit kabobs best.

When you're the adult, you have to smile and cheer and take pics like a good mom (or dad) while your heart is splitting apart because someone you love is suffering and you can't fix it. Worse than that, the experts aren't sure they can fix it either. My brother and SIL are manning the ship, having the conversations with doctors and nurses and talking about what we'll do after he recovers/if he recovers. I want to shake my dad and say GET BETTER MATT IS GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU ARE IN A NICER PLACE. But honestly he can't. I sit at a distance and worry, and cry intermittently when I remember something wonderful. I worry so much that I forget everything I hate about him.

You learn who cares and who doesn't when crappy things happen, and you learn how strong you are and how strong you aren't. And you keep moving, drinking coffee, putting on foot in front of the other and going on. Because this is how life works.

As we walked to the car Julia gushed over the goodie bag/bucket she got as a gift. "It even comes with a FREE SHOVEL MOM!"

Indeed. Life should.



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It Even Comes With A Free Shovel

Being the adult is sometimes more aggravating than the literature suggested. I think we were supposed to be able to stay up as late as we want and eat whatever we want and no one can tell us we can't. Life was supposed to be carefree and full of nonstop fun right? I think there were supposed to be flying cars.
What adult life actually is, is best summed up by Steve Martin in PARENTHOOD. "My whole life is have to."
Yesterday my sweet girl had her last soccer game. She was the TEAM CAPTAIN. She was ecstatic. The girl who will volunteer to sit out whenever they will let her played three straight quarters, and even tried to play a few times (she's still more enamored of running around a field with a bunch of little girls than playing soccer).

Afterward was the requisite team party and little trophies for participating. I smiled and cheered.

Inside I was a ball of stress. You see, my dad might be dying. When he had a heart attack, it wasn't surprising. He's been over 300 pounds most of my life, and if I'm honest has horrendous eating habits. A heart attack for my dad seemed like the normal course of events quite frankly. It's not that I wouldn't grieve and be sad, it's just that - I've been mentally ready for this for 30 years at least.
But he didn't die.
He had a massive bypass surgery and he lived. He recovered. He went to rehab, but then moved into a care facility because his dementia is creeping up and he needs more help than my mom can give him. However, things were going pretty ok. I'd call him a few times a week, on my way to the airport when flying out, from a far away place and tell him all about it, from work, just wherever and my dad and I would talk. Sometime's he be confused and we'd talk about things from a long time ago. Sometimes though, he'd be himself and it was kind of wonderful.

3 days ago my brother and SIL texted me that dad was being taken to the hospital and he was unresponsive. He had sepsis. It wasn't good.

Two days ago he started telling us he was dying and telling us who he would like us to tell, including his parents who he told me he hadn't seen in 20 years. They're dead.

This was turning and turning and turning in my brain, watching my girl play, watching her eat her treats excitedly. There were treats for the twins too, who liked the fruit kabobs best.

When you're the adult, you have to smile and cheer and take pics like a good mom (or dad) while your heart is splitting apart because someone you love is suffering and you can't fix it. Worse than that, the experts aren't sure they can fix it either. My brother and SIL are manning the ship, having the conversations with doctors and nurses and talking about what we'll do after he recovers/if he recovers. I want to shake my dad and say GET BETTER MATT IS GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU ARE IN A NICER PLACE. But honestly he can't. I sit at a distance and worry, and cry intermittently when I remember something wonderful. I worry so much that I forget everything I hate about him.

You learn who cares and who doesn't when crappy things happen, and you learn how strong you are and how strong you aren't. And you keep moving, drinking coffee, putting on foot in front of the other and going on. Because this is how life works.

As we walked to the car Julia gushed over the goodie bag/bucket she got as a gift. "It even comes with a FREE SHOVEL MOM!"

Indeed. Life should.



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With a Little Help From My Friends

Tuesday morning last week I got a text from my brother, dad had gone to the hospital with chest pains. As the hours rolled by the details emerged.Heart attack. Multiple blockages. He couldn't find the way into the hospital so he drove to the police station. He went to Mcdonalds on his way to the hospital to get a coke (this is my family we go to McDonalds on the way to the hospital, that's how we roll). Open heart surgery, bypass - TOMORROW was what they said. I desperately needed to get home.
One of my best friends at work gave me his frequent flyer points and Lou & I packed up and flew home.
They postponed the surgery out till today. In the interim we've begun what I feared, the downward slide people take in the hospital. At first it was that they discovered he has a broken back, he had a bad fall on Sunday before his heart attack (or related to a different cardiac event maybe even). In said fall he fractured T9. Since then he's had MRI, multiple CT, developed a fever, we've learned he has respiratory disease, they are now testing him for flu and he's in isolation.
It's like EVERY time we go something bad is new.
They tried to stand him UP for his X-Ray and his BP skyrocketed.

I'm a little frustrated because as of yesterday, they'd moved his surgery AGAIN - now it's tomorrow. When this started it was OMG WE HAVE TO DO THIS NOW and now it's like meh we can wait.

The positives are that my brother and I like his surgeon and we feel confident in her.

The hard parts have been his confusion and his cognitive gaps. He didn't understand more than once why he couldn't come home with us. He kept telling them to pack up his food because he was going home. He also hasn't ever really had much more than a blood test, so he's not a very good patient. He is confused about time, forgetting we are there sometimes, and also other little details like how many children he has.

The number of things to worry about almost seems to escalate every time we walk in the door but I'm going to have to believe they've done this before at Methodist hospital and I'll trust them. Dad's health was bad to start with so I guess none of it should come as a terrible surprise.

The best parts have been waking up with my mom here, and watching TV with my Mom like we always used to do, even though she watches crazy shows like Dr Pol. (Seriously I've never watched someone go shoulder deep in cow's butts so frequently in my life).

I got to enjoy some of the best parts of small town America, like eating at the old diner downtown where I grew up.

I told my brother that when I was a kid, that place was a joke. It was the sort of "LOL YOU ATE WHERE?" sort of place. Now it's been rehabbed and i
t's lovely and the food was amazing.

I was lucky that I was able to spend time with my old friends visiting and laughing and feeling like life was normal for a few hours.

I got to spend the next day with my best friend Christa and our day was long and amazing even if we spent a lot of it sitting in Starbucks. 

It was the best day at Starbucks ever! And we went back to the diner for tenderloin sandwiches. Hoosier Tenderloins look like THIS:

Dad's surgery is moved to Tuesday and we fly home today. Life is marching on I guess. And that's just how it is.

But it finally started snowing here this morning, which was met with a lot of joy as you can imagine.

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With a Little Help From My Friends

Tuesday morning last week I got a text from my brother, dad had gone to the hospital with chest pains. As the hours rolled by the details emerged.Heart attack. Multiple blockages. He couldn't find the way into the hospital so he drove to the police station. He went to Mcdonalds on his way to the hospital to get a coke (this is my family we go to McDonalds on the way to the hospital, that's how we roll). Open heart surgery, bypass - TOMORROW was what they said. I desperately needed to get home.
One of my best friends at work gave me his frequent flyer points and Lou & I packed up and flew home.
They postponed the surgery out till today. In the interim we've begun what I feared, the downward slide people take in the hospital. At first it was that they discovered he has a broken back, he had a bad fall on Sunday before his heart attack (or related to a different cardiac event maybe even). In said fall he fractured T9. Since then he's had MRI, multiple CT, developed a fever, we've learned he has respiratory disease, they are now testing him for flu and he's in isolation.
It's like EVERY time we go something bad is new.
They tried to stand him UP for his X-Ray and his BP skyrocketed.

I'm a little frustrated because as of yesterday, they'd moved his surgery AGAIN - now it's tomorrow. When this started it was OMG WE HAVE TO DO THIS NOW and now it's like meh we can wait.

The positives are that my brother and I like his surgeon and we feel confident in her.

The hard parts have been his confusion and his cognitive gaps. He didn't understand more than once why he couldn't come home with us. He kept telling them to pack up his food because he was going home. He also hasn't ever really had much more than a blood test, so he's not a very good patient. He is confused about time, forgetting we are there sometimes, and also other little details like how many children he has.

The number of things to worry about almost seems to escalate every time we walk in the door but I'm going to have to believe they've done this before at Methodist hospital and I'll trust them. Dad's health was bad to start with so I guess none of it should come as a terrible surprise.

The best parts have been waking up with my mom here, and watching TV with my Mom like we always used to do, even though she watches crazy shows like Dr Pol. (Seriously I've never watched someone go shoulder deep in cow's butts so frequently in my life).

I got to enjoy some of the best parts of small town America, like eating at the old diner downtown where I grew up.

I told my brother that when I was a kid, that place was a joke. It was the sort of "LOL YOU ATE WHERE?" sort of place. Now it's been rehabbed and i
t's lovely and the food was amazing.

I was lucky that I was able to spend time with my old friends visiting and laughing and feeling like life was normal for a few hours.

I got to spend the next day with my best friend Christa and our day was long and amazing even if we spent a lot of it sitting in Starbucks. 

It was the best day at Starbucks ever! And we went back to the diner for tenderloin sandwiches. Hoosier Tenderloins look like THIS:

Dad's surgery is moved to Tuesday and we fly home today. Life is marching on I guess. And that's just how it is.

But it finally started snowing here this morning, which was met with a lot of joy as you can imagine.

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Pressure

That phone call you dread, that something is wrong - no really wrong happened two days ago. My husband's left arm went numb. He didn't feel right.

The 18 miles between home and work were never longer.

The ambulance came and stuck things on his chest and asked him questions and we decided on which hospital, they felt like Northside had a nicer ER, and they were gone. It wasn't as quick like that but - it felt quick. Like WOOOSH and he was gone.

I stood on othe porch watching his face through the window of the ambulance, because I just needed to see him.

Then he was gone.

I spent the evening playing with the little ones while the big boy did his homework. We ordered pizza and got ready for bed. I didn't really know what else to do, I have four little people and so I just trudged on waiting.

It turns out his blood pressure was crazy high as was his pulse. They've given him BP medicine and scheduled all the tests for next week.

I need him to be ok. Universe, please sort that.


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Pressure

That phone call you dread, that something is wrong - no really wrong happened two days ago. My husband's left arm went numb. He didn't feel right.

The 18 miles between home and work were never longer.

The ambulance came and stuck things on his chest and asked him questions and we decided on which hospital, they felt like Northside had a nicer ER, and they were gone. It wasn't as quick like that but - it felt quick. Like WOOOSH and he was gone.

I stood on othe porch watching his face through the window of the ambulance, because I just needed to see him.

Then he was gone.

I spent the evening playing with the little ones while the big boy did his homework. We ordered pizza and got ready for bed. I didn't really know what else to do, I have four little people and so I just trudged on waiting.

It turns out his blood pressure was crazy high as was his pulse. They've given him BP medicine and scheduled all the tests for next week.

I need him to be ok. Universe, please sort that.


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So I Invited These Three Hot Studs Over

Ok they were actually all three pretty cute. I think the one smiling at the camera took the cake though, he was a total charmer.

So I was walking down the hall carrying a towel to shake out on the front porch (explanation, the twins sit on a bench on a towel and they get it crummy so I shake it out on the front porch) and while I was walking and talking to the husband THAT THING happened again.

Now I can't remember if I blogged it.

Ok well, what happened was, I was sitting at a stop light several weeks ago, months ago now, and I got this cracking/tingling sensation on the back of my skull followed by numbness. Think of the way your face feels after novocaine is administered. Now, put it at the base of your skull. Next have the world sway. I figured it out last night - it is the sensation of walking on a ship at sea. Not on a lake. AT SEA -where there is wave and serious power under those planks of wood beneath your feet.

Last night,walking down the hall this happened all at once. Luckily Scott was right behind me and I was able to lean in to him.

So we called 911.

They did a lot of tests and I stayed till 2am.

What I decided was this.

OMG I am fat that picture is horrendous even if I am having "an episode". Weight Watchers I might need you.

Hospital trips are annoying.

They didn't quite decide anything about me. They ran a shit load of tests, and the neurologist who popped by after I was getting ready to leave said my CT was textbook - they saw nothing abnormal at all. So I'm referred to a neurologist and he suggested an ENT because he thinks it might actually be vertigo. I thought vertigo was spinning but he described as it could feel like you are on a ship and I was like "THAT'S IT!"

My labs were good, slightly anemic, but everything was NORMAL.

Which is good except for the whole why is this happening part.

Which is annoying.


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So I Invited These Three Hot Studs Over

Ok they were actually all three pretty cute. I think the one smiling at the camera took the cake though, he was a total charmer.

So I was walking down the hall carrying a towel to shake out on the front porch (explanation, the twins sit on a bench on a towel and they get it crummy so I shake it out on the front porch) and while I was walking and talking to the husband THAT THING happened again.

Now I can't remember if I blogged it.

Ok well, what happened was, I was sitting at a stop light several weeks ago, months ago now, and I got this cracking/tingling sensation on the back of my skull followed by numbness. Think of the way your face feels after novocaine is administered. Now, put it at the base of your skull. Next have the world sway. I figured it out last night - it is the sensation of walking on a ship at sea. Not on a lake. AT SEA -where there is wave and serious power under those planks of wood beneath your feet.

Last night,walking down the hall this happened all at once. Luckily Scott was right behind me and I was able to lean in to him.

So we called 911.

They did a lot of tests and I stayed till 2am.

What I decided was this.

OMG I am fat that picture is horrendous even if I am having "an episode". Weight Watchers I might need you.

Hospital trips are annoying.

They didn't quite decide anything about me. They ran a shit load of tests, and the neurologist who popped by after I was getting ready to leave said my CT was textbook - they saw nothing abnormal at all. So I'm referred to a neurologist and he suggested an ENT because he thinks it might actually be vertigo. I thought vertigo was spinning but he described as it could feel like you are on a ship and I was like "THAT'S IT!"

My labs were good, slightly anemic, but everything was NORMAL.

Which is good except for the whole why is this happening part.

Which is annoying.


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Sidelined

About 2pm on Monday, my stomach started to hurt. Nothing epic, more of a "man I have a tummy ache" sort of hurt. It progressed as I went through my day into a "If I could just throw up I am sure I'd feel better" sort of discomfort, gradually moving into pain.
By 7pm it had ratcheted up into some major sort of pain. The sort that might actually be gas and make you feel quite stupid about kicking up a terrible fuss over. But, it got steadily worse. I took some of the baby's gas drops, no lie I did. I drank some hot tea which two drinks of set me on fire.
And then I started throwing up.

At which point the husband drove me to the ER.

After getting admitted to the ER and hooked up with an I.V they immediately pushed in some painkillers and some anti nausea something or other as I'd also barfed in their waiting room and during triage. (I was feeling MIGHTY pretty). It was an amazing feeling, whatever they gave me went WHOOOSH up the back of my skull and immediately I was feeling floaty and fine.

This lasted about 20 minutes or so.

Then, suddenly, the pain went like this HELLO I AM BACK NAO!

And I was dying again.

They gave me something to drink, something with lidocaine in it and it lasted about 10 minutes before the pain came screaming back as well.

So - more went into the I.V.

I was fairly loopy by that time. I slept some. They came in and did Ultrasound and Xray - which I also mostly slept through and then the pain came back and I got MORE drugs. By then, I was full fledged zombie.

It's fun to text people when you're completely whacked on meds. I don't have most of my contacts in my new phone yet, so don't be sad if I didn't text ya.

I spent yesterday in an drug induced haze but today I feel good enough to be hungry. But NOT great.

Friday I go to the gastro doctor to talk to him and to most likely set up an appointment to get a scope down my throat. I hope I can keep the pics. I'll TOTALLY BLOG THEM.

Gross, eh?

Can't help it.

Till then, bland diet. No caffeine, no CHOCOLATE (bastards), nothing GOOD to eat at all.

I had a dream my husband made me appetizers of saltines with mashed potatoes on top.

That's a sign of things to come.......isn't it.

OH - and our money is on ULCER.

Feel free to leave your best in the comments.

Sidelined

About 2pm on Monday, my stomach started to hurt. Nothing epic, more of a "man I have a tummy ache" sort of hurt. It progressed as I went through my day into a "If I could just throw up I am sure I'd feel better" sort of discomfort, gradually moving into pain.
By 7pm it had ratcheted up into some major sort of pain. The sort that might actually be gas and make you feel quite stupid about kicking up a terrible fuss over. But, it got steadily worse. I took some of the baby's gas drops, no lie I did. I drank some hot tea which two drinks of set me on fire.
And then I started throwing up.

At which point the husband drove me to the ER.

After getting admitted to the ER and hooked up with an I.V they immediately pushed in some painkillers and some anti nausea something or other as I'd also barfed in their waiting room and during triage. (I was feeling MIGHTY pretty). It was an amazing feeling, whatever they gave me went WHOOOSH up the back of my skull and immediately I was feeling floaty and fine.

This lasted about 20 minutes or so.

Then, suddenly, the pain went like this HELLO I AM BACK NAO!

And I was dying again.

They gave me something to drink, something with lidocaine in it and it lasted about 10 minutes before the pain came screaming back as well.

So - more went into the I.V.

I was fairly loopy by that time. I slept some. They came in and did Ultrasound and Xray - which I also mostly slept through and then the pain came back and I got MORE drugs. By then, I was full fledged zombie.

It's fun to text people when you're completely whacked on meds. I don't have most of my contacts in my new phone yet, so don't be sad if I didn't text ya.

I spent yesterday in an drug induced haze but today I feel good enough to be hungry. But NOT great.

Friday I go to the gastro doctor to talk to him and to most likely set up an appointment to get a scope down my throat. I hope I can keep the pics. I'll TOTALLY BLOG THEM.

Gross, eh?

Can't help it.

Till then, bland diet. No caffeine, no CHOCOLATE (bastards), nothing GOOD to eat at all.

I had a dream my husband made me appetizers of saltines with mashed potatoes on top.

That's a sign of things to come.......isn't it.

OH - and our money is on ULCER.

Feel free to leave your best in the comments.

One Point In The Star

I haven't been writing much recently, mostly because I've got four kids and no time.

But there has been another reason.

I've got a good friend who had surgery a week ago or so, and I'm worried about her.

She's doing various degrees of good and bad and her recovery is taxing her body.

And my mind.

There are people who'd say that she isn't my real friend. Because we've never met in the corporeal sense.

But I'd disagree. When she was well, I'd talk to her every day on the phone. I've got her mother's pie crust recipe. We tell each other our secrets and our dreams. I talk to her more than people I've known twenty years. And she's no less my friend.

She's one of the best friends I've ever had.

I worry, here on the other side of the country, while her best friend in the real world sits vigil with her, and helps her through her recovery. I get messages and calls to let me know how it's going.

And I wait and I worry.

I've been thinking for about four days to address what I need to say about this time she's going through. You might be surprised that this atheist chose these words.

"Wither thou goest, I will go.

And where you lodge, I shall lodge,

And your people shall be my people."

- Ruth - 1:16

Our friends are the family we choose.

Get better Cajsa. I love you.

One Point In The Star

I haven't been writing much recently, mostly because I've got four kids and no time.

But there has been another reason.

I've got a good friend who had surgery a week ago or so, and I'm worried about her.

She's doing various degrees of good and bad and her recovery is taxing her body.

And my mind.

There are people who'd say that she isn't my real friend. Because we've never met in the corporeal sense.

But I'd disagree. When she was well, I'd talk to her every day on the phone. I've got her mother's pie crust recipe. We tell each other our secrets and our dreams. I talk to her more than people I've known twenty years. And she's no less my friend.

She's one of the best friends I've ever had.

I worry, here on the other side of the country, while her best friend in the real world sits vigil with her, and helps her through her recovery. I get messages and calls to let me know how it's going.

And I wait and I worry.

I've been thinking for about four days to address what I need to say about this time she's going through. You might be surprised that this atheist chose these words.

"Wither thou goest, I will go.

And where you lodge, I shall lodge,

And your people shall be my people."

- Ruth - 1:16

Our friends are the family we choose.

Get better Cajsa. I love you.

Post Surgery Post

*this post is fraught with typos.....I'm medicated leave me alone
So I'm home, none the prettier.
If this was minor surgery, screw major surgery, I'm OUT. I gotta say the staff was fairly wonderful (even if my pre-op AND post- nurses were both Miss Swan). I don't even remember going to sleep in the op room. I remember then telling me I was going to get something to help relax me and that after THAT I'd get the anesthesia and feeling a cold push into my hand - and wondering if THAT was the anethesia.
But then I woke up in recovery.
They kept me there a couple hours cuz just like always I having trouble with waking up out of anesthesia. So they gave me lovely pain meds for the burning fire in my tummy and something for nausea and I slept the time away. Then I spent, god like 7 hours or something, in a private room trying to recover enough to go home. Everytime they came to check on me I saw sound asleep.
I'm still pretty groggy and am only sitting up because my back was screaming from so much laying down. My tummy does not want to sit up.
Hightlights from my day yesterday are:

• Having not one but TWO Miss Swan Nurses (see Mad TV if you don't know Miss Swan)
• Having Nurse Swan 1 tell me she was glad she didn't have to shave my belly, that she has "the happy trail......"
• Eating my liquid only meal at about 7pm which was cream of chicken soup strained (mmmmm) and pudding and sweet tea
• Texting and calling people while completely medicated to the gills
• Sleeping
• Puking all over the road on the way home - yeah all that soup and pudding and tea - it came right baack up and I leaned out the window (which hurt to do) and vomitted it all back up.
• Amber coming to visit me,which made me cry, because I was so happy that some visited me who didn't have to.

So I'm home, I feel terrible. And I'm going back to bed soon.

They removed an ORGAN from my body. In what world is that not major surgery?

oh and they wouldn't give me my gallstone! boooo!

Post Surgery Post

*this post is fraught with typos.....I'm medicated leave me alone
So I'm home, none the prettier.
If this was minor surgery, screw major surgery, I'm OUT. I gotta say the staff was fairly wonderful (even if my pre-op AND post- nurses were both Miss Swan). I don't even remember going to sleep in the op room. I remember then telling me I was going to get something to help relax me and that after THAT I'd get the anesthesia and feeling a cold push into my hand - and wondering if THAT was the anethesia.
But then I woke up in recovery.
They kept me there a couple hours cuz just like always I having trouble with waking up out of anesthesia. So they gave me lovely pain meds for the burning fire in my tummy and something for nausea and I slept the time away. Then I spent, god like 7 hours or something, in a private room trying to recover enough to go home. Everytime they came to check on me I saw sound asleep.
I'm still pretty groggy and am only sitting up because my back was screaming from so much laying down. My tummy does not want to sit up.
Hightlights from my day yesterday are:

• Having not one but TWO Miss Swan Nurses (see Mad TV if you don't know Miss Swan)
• Having Nurse Swan 1 tell me she was glad she didn't have to shave my belly, that she has "the happy trail......"
• Eating my liquid only meal at about 7pm which was cream of chicken soup strained (mmmmm) and pudding and sweet tea
• Texting and calling people while completely medicated to the gills
• Sleeping
• Puking all over the road on the way home - yeah all that soup and pudding and tea - it came right baack up and I leaned out the window (which hurt to do) and vomitted it all back up.
• Amber coming to visit me,which made me cry, because I was so happy that some visited me who didn't have to.

So I'm home, I feel terrible. And I'm going back to bed soon.

They removed an ORGAN from my body. In what world is that not major surgery?

oh and they wouldn't give me my gallstone! boooo!

Surgery Count Down Tminus 11 Hours.....

Yeah I should be in bed. Whatever. Why bother. I ate whatever I wanted today and I don't see the point in getting much sleep frankly. The way I see it I'll be sleeping aplenty tomorrow. Plus - if I have a gallbladder attack today, well......then I just have the surgery a few hours early then don't I?

I'm not bothered.

OK, I'm a little bothered. It hadn't occurred to me properly the vast array of things I'm not going to be able to do - as a six year old lay all over me poking elbows and knees and rolling around snuggling, it dawned - I can't DO this tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

That is going to be the worst part. I've got three very snuggly children and one big very snuggly man (don't tell that I said that part - it's a secret). And I'm going to be in snuggle isolation for at least a week.

Sigh.

OH Well....it's for the best. Bring on the chicken wings and beer. I think it's the perfect recipe for recovery. I'll have some blue cheese dressing with that - thank you!

Surgery Count Down Tminus 11 Hours.....

Yeah I should be in bed. Whatever. Why bother. I ate whatever I wanted today and I don't see the point in getting much sleep frankly. The way I see it I'll be sleeping aplenty tomorrow. Plus - if I have a gallbladder attack today, well......then I just have the surgery a few hours early then don't I?

I'm not bothered.

OK, I'm a little bothered. It hadn't occurred to me properly the vast array of things I'm not going to be able to do - as a six year old lay all over me poking elbows and knees and rolling around snuggling, it dawned - I can't DO this tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

That is going to be the worst part. I've got three very snuggly children and one big very snuggly man (don't tell that I said that part - it's a secret). And I'm going to be in snuggle isolation for at least a week.

Sigh.

OH Well....it's for the best. Bring on the chicken wings and beer. I think it's the perfect recipe for recovery. I'll have some blue cheese dressing with that - thank you!