Monday, May 09, 2016

My Mother's Day Surprise ...


Twenty years ago this fall, I walked into Mario's and met three adorable little girls.  I was utterly terrified.  I didn't have children ... didn't grow up with younger siblings ... didn't grow up younger cousins.  In fact, to this day, I've never watched a child overnight ... never changed a baby's diaper.  What I'm trying to convey is that I am woefully under-prepared when interacting with anyone but adults.

That night, so long ago, I looked like an idiot as the waitress looked directly at me and asked, "Will the girls need children's plastic cups with lids?"  It was everything I could do not to blurt out, "Beats the hell out of me ... ask them what they'd like to drink out of."  But I stopped myself ... and other than that gaff, the night went smoothly.  And they sat around the table ... taking turns telling jokes ... and making me more and more comfortable.

Now those little girls are grown women.  One is married to a great guy ... one moved to Chicago and is following her dreams in the theatre ... and one just came home from a month-long adventure in Europe.   They are all funny ... they are all smart ... they are all beautiful.  I feel blessed and fortunate to be a part of their lives.

We're all busy these days ... and we don't see each other as much as we'd like.   But the flowers they sent me last week for Mother's Day made my heart soar.   I know we texted and we talked ... but I'm sorry it took me this long to write a blog post.   Thank you, SO very much.   You made my day and my weekend.

I love you guys ... you are amazing.


When I see your face
There's not a thing that I would change
'Cause you're amazing
Just the way you are
And when you smile
The whole world stops and stares for a while
'Cause girl, you're amazing
Just the way you are

Bruno Mars -  Just The Way You Are

The Sweet Salt Life ... Or How I Found Myself Paying $20 For Shampoo


That picture up there?   That's a picture of our first sunset on Key West. 

We'd just finished a sunset cruise on a catamaran and were sitting down to dinner on the beach at Casa Marina, a Waldorf Astoria Resort on the south-eastern side of the island.   I slipped out of my sandals and dug my toes into the sand ... I couldn't believe that it was real.   So, I reached down, dug my camera out of my bag, and aimed out at the pier.  But honestly, looking at that picture up there now?  It still doesn't seem real.  Warm breezes ... palm trees ... Duval Street ... Hemminway's house ... Blue Heaven ... heck, even the omni-present roosters.  It all feels like something out of a dream.

At the end of April, we spent a week in paradise.  I don't think there's a way to share it all.  Our first day, Stoney went out deep sea fishing while I went on a foodie tour.  Our group walked around Key West and tried all sorts of local favorites like Cuban pork, rum runners at a real speak easy, fish tacos, and authentic Key Lime pie.  That evening, we went to Conch Republic for dinner ... and I'm not exaggerating ... I've never seen lobster tails so big.


Over the course of the week, we went to Earnest Hemmingway's house and Mel Fisher's treasure museum.  We took a cab to Duval Street and had a delicious dinner at Fogerty's.  PS - if you're thinking of going to Key West, stop by the Flying Monkey Saloon and order a Dirty Monkey.  It's a frozen drink that tastes like an alcohol-laced chocolate-banana milkshake.  Have I mentioned how I miss my alcohol soaked youth?  That's a post for another day ...



We also visited Robert the Haunted Doll at the Fort East Martello Museum.  Google it.  It's unsettling.  That was the "tourist spot" I wanted to visit on the island.  The whole museum is full of odd, spooky remnants of old Key West.  After the museum, we ate at Blue Heaven ... this beautiful, shady oasis ... and we listened to local music while we had steak and lobster eggs Benedict and fresh banana nut bread. 


Casa Marina is gorgeous and we ate our breakfasts looking out over the clear blue waters.  We spent our last evening having dinner at the Westin Sunset Pier enjoying the Sunset Celebration.  I've never seen the sun dissolve like that.   I'm not sure if that's an island thing?  If it is, it was really breath taking.

Everything about the trip was fabulous ... my only complaint?   The trip organizers told us not to bring shampoo or conditioner because Waldorf Astoria resorts provide everything.  And they did.  There were bottles of lotion and body wash and shampoo and conditioner.  But ... I'm picky.  I missed my products.  Even though I know they're more environmentally conscious and healthier, I don't care for shampoo that doesn't lather.   It's silly ... I know.

So, Stoney and I trekked down to the gift shop.   I'd already bought a pricey beach hat there ... so I thought I was prepared.  I looked around a bit and couldn't find what I was looking for ... so I asked the clerk, "Do you have any shampoo and conditioner?"  "Just the Sun Bum products over there ..."

I hadn't even noticed that shelf!  Joy! 

I grabbed a bottle of each and headed for the checkout.  My two bottles and a shot glass for Stoney added up to $52.  I tried to seem nonchalant.  This was a classy joint ... I didn't want look like a rube, you know?  But I managed to push the bottles forward in such a way that I could glance at the price ... $19.99 per bottle.  Forty dollars for shampoo and conditioner.

I'm aware salons sell products that are more expensive than that ... but I don't shop at salons.  Oh, let me assure you ... my hair smelled fabulous.   I spent the week smelling like fresh, island coconut.  But I'm pretty sure I can buy coconut-scented Suave here in Illinois for about $1.99.


In the big scheme of things?  That little complaint is miniscule.  It was the trip of a lifetime ... with my wonderful love.  He was patient with me when I got tired ... explored the beaches with me ... rubbed my back on the plane when it hurt.   I couldn't ask for more ... and I was only there because of him.   Thank you for taking me, Stoney ... it was the vacation of a lifetime.

I love you, baby!

Dancing in the moonlight
Everybody's feeling warm and bright
It's such a fine and natural sight
Everybody's dancing in the moonlight

King Harvest - Dancing in the Moonlight

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Mine Eyes Have See the Glory ...


What I'm about to say doesn't speak well of me.  It isn't complimentary at all.  It makes me sound like a rube, to be frank.  But ... facts are facts.

I'm an extremely lazy cook.  I can feed people ... it's not hard.  Spaghetti ... chicken ... steak ... potatoes ... pork chops ... whatever.  In the age of a multitude of boxes of flavored noodles and rice, anyone can throw together a meal that is edible ... and, to be honest, relatively tasty.

But I think a lot of us have fallen prey to the pre-seasoned, Sandra Lee-esque "semi-homemade" style of cooking.  We all have dozens of recipes at our fingertips ... and quite a few of them involve a can of cream of mushroom soup.   I season ... but I use a lot of garlic salt or a pre-mix of Italian seasoning.  That's about it.  Stoney's cabinet is full of spices and herbs.   And I use probably 1% of them.

Until last night.  So ... we saw a dish that looked simple.  Simple enough that I thought, "I could throw that together after work one night."  But once I was in the middle of it, it was a little more work than I'd anticipated.  That's what I get for skimming the recipe, huh?

It involved browning hamburger with diced onion and fresh garlic ... okay.   A little extra time needed to chop the garlic and onion but ... okay.   Drain.   Then you needed to add a can of diced tomatoes ... along with several spices including cumin, smoked paprika, Worcestershire sauce, and dry mustard.

I don't know when ... or if ... I've cooked with cumin before.  I can't lie ... there was a point when I was standing there ... lower back aching ... thinking,  "Ugh, who fucking cares about cumin!  Or Paprika!  Will anyone even notice if it's not in there?!"

But I got home early from work last night, so I took a deep breath and dove into the spice cabinet.  I measured everything out exactly as the recipe called for ... mixed everything ... arranged everything and then separately cooked up the glaze that was required ... and set the dish into the oven to bake.

I looked around the kitchen at the absolute mess that lay in front of me and thought, "Well, however it tastes, this was not worth it."   I was disgusted ... as I spent the twenty minutes of cooking time washing pans and spatulas and cutting boards, putting back spices, and wiping down the counter tops.  Seriously?  Why didn't I just make a Tombstone pizza?

Let me tell you why.  Because it was delicious.  Is this what comes from using cumin?  And paprika?  I mean nothing I used was exotic or advanced ... it was laughably simple.  But even Stoney said, "This tastes really good!"

So I've been thinking about the way I cook.   After working all day, it's really easy to throw together some hamburger meat and a packet of taco seasoning and consider a meal successful.   It was a simple recipe ... but the honest truth is that it did take some time.  So I know there will be some nights ... if not most nights, sadly ... that I'm too tired to stand there for 45 minutes to making something truly homemade.

But my eyes are opened ... spices are our friend.  It takes a little work ... but it is worth it.   The more you know ...

Colours of the world
Spice up your life
Every boy and girl
Spice up your life
Every boy and girl
Spice up your life
People of the world
Spice up your life

Spice Girls - Spice Up Your Life

PS - If anyone cares (and since I think I'm down to about two readers, I don't think anyone will) ... here is the recipe I made last night.  They're called Diamond Burgers a/k/a/ Cheesy Burger Sliders ... but be warned.  When you're scrolling through the main picture directions, they skim over the cumin, mustard powder, etc. ... you don't really see the spices until you read the ingredient list and steps at the bottom.  

For what it's worth, I used King's Hawaiian Rolls ... which are naturally sweet.  Perhaps not the perfect choice since the glaze you're going to put on top has brown sugar in it ... so mine tasted sweeter than intended, I think.  Plus I used smoked provolone as the cheese ... because I thought that sounded good?  Anyhow ... give them a try.  They were really tasty!


Monday, March 21, 2016

... And Knowing Is Half the Battle ...


So it started this weekend at Prompt Care.  We were back again ... bronchitis or a chest cold or whatever ... it was soundly kicking my ass and Stoney lovingly bundled me up and drove me back for more medicine.  After seeing the doctor, I stopped at the bathroom because ... well, because I've never been in the vicinity of a bathroom I didn't want to visit.

I had the initial thought, "This bathroom smells good.  Very clean."  Of course, it was very early and probably hadn't been used much that morning.  But as I washed my hands I considered ... "This would be a good place to hide during a zombie apocalypse."

I have these thoughts occasionally.  Not daily by any means ... but probably once a week at least?   I"ll see an office building with a reinforced fence and think, "That would be a nice feature."  If I'm at a store and see a display of air mattresses, I'll think, "Hmmmm ... not the most comfortable in the world but it would do nicely."

In the bathroom of the clinic, I was ticking off advantages ... few windows, medicine, bathrooms ... plus there's a sleep center on site which means beds and showers.  It only took a moment to realize the issue would be food ... other than a few dozen muffins at the coffee counter, there wouldn't be anything edible.  Fine ... mental line through that option.  In case of a zombie apocalypse, the health care clinic is not a good choice.

The thought came to me again as we stopped at Walgreens to fill my prescriptions.  I saw the high windows and again thought, "Few windows, medicine ... and food!  No bed ... or anything that could substitute for a bed ... hmmmm ..."

These are the things I think about it.  No, the zombie apocalypse is not going to happen ... but if it does?  I'll have a leg up ...

Oh, a storm is threat'ning
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away
War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away

Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter

Friday, March 18, 2016

The Fat Girl Lives ...


So, I've discussed my lack of appetite, irony intended, ad nauseam ... and now I've discovered what's been missing.  Taste.  The taste has been gone.  I just didn't know it.

Oh, but I know it now.  Thank you, Prednisone ... you viscous, insatiable bitch.

About a week ago, I felt that familiar heaviness in my chest.  Breathing became difficult ... and within a few days, I felt like death warmed over.  Everything hurt.  Every bone and muscle.  And it felt like a gorilla was relaxing on my chest with the remote control.  A trip to prompt care confirmed that care was needed ... but it was just viral.  Therefore, no antibiotics were issued ... but a prescription for cough pearls was written along with a "burst dose" of Prenisone.

What that means ... you start high ... and immediately taper.  Three days of three pills ... three days of two pills ... three days of one pill.  And I can't lie ... it helped almost immediately.  Stoney took me in first thing in the morning and I barely felt like walking ... but by the afternoon, with three Prednisone in me, I was able to get up, take a shower ... even watch the Walking Dead.

Oh ... but there's a price.  There's a price in Prednisone.  First off there's the law of diminishing returns.  That burst I felt in the beginning was a little less the next day ... followed by less ... and less still.  Now I can't really say that I felt anything when I took today's two pills ... however, they warned not to stop taking it without the weaning steps.  But worse than the lack of improvement ... is the return with a vengeance of my appetite.

I'd forgotten the taste of food.  It's not just any food ... it's the same old favorite fat foods from thirty pounds ago.  It's the seasoning.  Monty's submarines ... that bread ... soaked with mayo and Italian dressing.  It's like some kind of heaven.  A Taco Gringo sancho tasted very close to ambrosia ... just ... unimaginably good.  Yesterday I chugged a large sized tart lemonade in less then ten minutes.  A week ago, that would've been unthinkable.  Not even physically possible.

In five days, I've gained four pounds.  Oh, and let me tell you ... it feels like it.  It's not like, "Oh, I didn't even notice!"  Sweet Christ, yes ... I've noticed.  My fingers are tight with fluid ... I feel ... swollen.  Too much fluid.  I took two water pills today ... and I'll continue to take extra this weekend.  But I won't be able to tell if it's helping for at least a day or two.

This is not catastrophic.  Tomorrow I'm down to one pill ... and that's only for three days.  So this will pass.  In fact, today I've made a conscious effort not to eat ... to drink water and to be aware of what I'm putting in my body.   But it's depressing ... to know that the dialysis nurse was right.  It's still there.  That unhealthy craving for taste ... seasoning ... fat ... salt.  

The kidney appetite issues made me weak ... but I can't lie.  It felt good not to have that constant almost unconscious thought, "What could I be eating now?"

Ridin' into town alone
By the light of the moon
I'm looking for ole' Sukie Jones
She crazy horse saloon
Barkeep gimme a drink
That's when she caught my eye
She turned to give me a wink
That'd make a grown man cry

Aerosmith - Back in the Saddle Again

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Now?


So you come to this point where you have to make a decision.  Dialysis is inevitable.  It's all a matter of when ... and weighing quality of life versus the inconvenience of treatment.   If we didn't have a trip planned, I'd sign up right now.  The fatigue is overwhelming ... the nausea comes and goes so much.  It's disheartening.

So you wonder ... is it better to go ahead and start treatment ... and feel better for the trip?   Weighing that against the fact you'll have to take the machine with you ... and have the fluid shipped to the hotel ahead of time.  I'm not an outdoors person but I would like to have the option of sitting on a beach ... and I don't know if that's something I can do with a PD port?

I'm a stubborn person ... and I've always felt I can push through almost anything.  But the last few days have been hard ... and so I wonder if it's time.

I really don't want it to be time.  If I could just have three more months? 

That doesn't seem like a lot to ask ...

Tonight I'm gonna have myself
A real good time
I feel alive
And the world
Is turning inside out Yeah!
I'm floating around in ecstasy
So don't stop me now
Don't stop me
'Cause I'm having a good time
Having a good time

Queen - Don't Stop Me Now

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

ALL The Food ...


Okay so ... part of the whole kidney failure thing is a lack of appetite.  It is the weirdest thing in the world ... I have no idea how to describe it ... but I'm going to try. 

I've been told that foods will eventually take on a metallic taste ... but I don't have that yet.  No ... right now it's this bizarre combination of a complete lack of interest in any food and an almost instant feeling of fullness.

For a fat girl, it's a new sensation to have no interest in food.  I've been heavy most of my life because I genuinely enjoy food.  I'm not a foodie.  I have no interest in goat cheese or chimichurri or anything involving the word "infused."  I'm from the Midwest.  I was raised to enjoy a good filet ... BBQ ribs ... cheese ... mashed potatoes ... pasta.  I'm fat for a reason ... because fat tastes good.

So to have this complete apathy towards food ... especially later in the day ... is foreign.  What do you want for dinner?   Ummmm ... [insert gap here].   There is no answer because there is almost nothing I want.  There are things I can make myself eat ... but even that is constantly changing.   I'll have a taste for Raisin Bran and eat a bowl twice a day for a week.  Then ... poof!  My tolerance for that is gone.  I'll want nothing but salads?  Then that taste disappears.  I'll crave shrimp dip ... and only want a handful of chips and dip for dinner for a week.  Then ... poof!  It's gone too.

In my head, living next to that dysfunction, is the polar opposite.   I'll occasionally want something ... really want it.  I'll think to myself, "I am going to order that 16 oz ribeye and I will eat every bite of that steak!" or "I want a pie. No ... I want all the pie!"  I smell something and I remember the taste and I can feel that taste in my head.  But in every single one of these cases, I'll have a bite (or two or three) and be done.  Completely done.  There's no pushing past it ... when done hits?  You're done.

This conversation between Stoney and myself happens weekly:

S:  What do you want for dinner?
T:   I don't know ... nothing.
S:   I guess I'll eat leftovers.
T:   Okay - I'm going to make chicken wings.
S:  Okay - I won't eat much cause
I'll eat whatever you don't finish.
T:   Don't plan on eating my wings.
I'm eating ALL these wings.
S:  You're going to eat five ... maybe.
T:  No I'm not! 
I'm eating ALL THESE WINGS!
S:  Sure you are.
Ninety minutes later:
T:   Um ... honey?
S:   How many did you finish?
T:  Five.
S:  How many did you cook?
T:  About a pound.
S:  Sigh ... hand them over.

Stoney is very understanding ... if a little frustrated ... with the constant, ever-changing meal requirements.  I'm currently on a kick where I want to drink gallons of black-cherry lemonade ... when that taste leaves, I'll never want to drink it again.  But in the meantime, I'm making pitcher upon pitcher of it.

The third, and most frustrating, problem is that rarely (very rarely) there is a window where I do want to eat and can eat.  Today, for instance, I wanted nachos for lunch ... so I drove to Taco Gringo.  Now, I'm optimistic but not an idiot ... so I bought a small order ... and ate probably 75% of it.  This should be a good thing, right? 

It's not ... because I feel awful.  When I do eat real food ... for instance when I went to a steakhouse with my mom on Sunday and had a few bites of steak and a potato ... I wind up feeling terrible.  It's a vicious,  never ending cycle ... apathy ... hunger ... nausea ... fatigue.

And ... let's be honest ... sadness.  Sadness because I miss enjoying food.  That fat girl is still inside me.  Well, that fat girl is still everywhere.  I'm losing weight all the time ... but I'm just slightly less fat.  But I can tell ... the personality flaw that landed me at Lane Bryant will keep me there forever.

They tell me that once I start dialysis my appetite will come back ... and it will come back with a vengeance.  They say "rebound weight gain" is a common thing because people can actually eat again.  And since that fat girl is still in my brain thinking, "I want ALL the chicken wings!" ... I can only imagine this rebound will be an issue down the road.

In the meantime ... my back aches like hell ... my head hurts ... and I'm left wishing I would've stuck with dry pretzels instead of nachos.  Sigh ... tomorrow's another day.

PS - Do you watch Shameless?  You should ... and because of Shameless you should listen to "The F Word" ... trust me on this one!

When I was young
I remember
I was taught not to say the F word
I guess I forgot
As a grown man with an open heart inside
I got married to the F word
And my heart slowly died
F is for Fiona
With her fists of flaming fire
F is for Fiona
I felt like I could fly
But then fucking Fiona
Was fucking everyone
Fuck you Fiona
Cause now I'm fucking done



Monday, January 18, 2016

I Know What I Know ...


So, in the interest of full-disclosure, I know almost nothing about sports.  I find it amazing that every day Mike and Mike have something else to talk about when it comes to sports.  Those two guys are on every morning discussing every aspect of every sport ... it's mind boggling.  I fully expect to wake up one morning and this conversation:  "Did you SEE that badminton game last night?"  "Oh man ... that shuttlecock was CLEARLY out of bounds."

Note:  See what I'm talking about?  I know nothing about sports.  I don't know anything about badminton.  Does anything in that game really land out of bounds?  I don't know.  I just wanted to make a joke involving the word shuttlecock.  Shuttlecock.  HAH!  Mark THAT off the bucket list!

However, despite my impressively tiny knowledge of anything "sporty ball" ... I am picking up a few things through osmosis.  Stoney's house ... pardon me ... our house .... has five televisions.  Why is this impressive?  It's a two bedroom home. There's a large television in the living room ... a small one in the kitchen ... a nice size in the master bedroom ... and the final two are in the spare bedroom and basement.  All are fitted with Direct TV receivers and/or DVRs ... and, on any given Sunday ... all are tuned to ESPN. 

Okay, so you're thinking to yourself ... this house sounds like some sort of Elvis-esque Graceland circa 1974.   While I think shag carpeting on the ceiling sounds delightful ... I, unfortunately, have to burst your bubble.  If Stoney isn't currently in the room, that television is typically on mute ... and mainly it's set up this way so he can go room to room doing various projects and also watch the game, in essence, seamlessly.

My point in sharing this is that, when you live in an environment like this, you're bound to pick up a little knowledge.  I've learned the names of most of the teams ... Pittsburgh is home to the Steelers, for example.  I can recognize a small handful of players ... Payton Manning likes chicken parm.  And I know a few basic things about the game itself ... for example, everyone should always throw the ball to Dez Bryant.

Now the bottom line is that I don't have any opinion or preference about any of this knowledge.  Except chicken parm ... mmmmm ... chicken parm.  But I don't have a preference for any team or player ... I don't care about who wins or loses.  As far as sports go, as a whole ... I don't care.

Except for Tom Brady.

Tom Brady is a lying, cheating pussy.

 I believe, in life, it's usually never about the sin ... it's about the coverup.  Admit to what you've done and the world will move on.  Unless you're Tom Brady.  If you're Tom Brady, you get caught ... you get a punishment ... then you whine and cry and stomp your feet until someone says, "Aw, that's okay, Tom ... you can play in the reindeer games.  Here ... dry your tears, lil' buddy ... have a cookie."

Fuck that.  Fuck that hard.  Be a man, Tom Brady.

That's pretty much all I care about in sports.  Tom Brady is a lying, cheating pussy.  And chicken parm ... chicken parm does taste so good.

I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean
Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box
Religion is the smile on a dog
I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean

Edie Brickell and The New Bohemians - What I Am

Edited to Add:  I forgot to mention something.  I do know enough about sports now that I came up with the sweetest name for a fantasy football team ever.  Good Will PuntingGet it?  Like ... Good Will Hunting ... but ... punting ... like football?  Those skinny little dudes that kick the ball?  Punting?  HAH!  Common ... that is an awesome name, right?  Stoney says he doesn't use "cute" names like that unless it's basketball or baseball ... but that's okay ... because then it becomes ... Good Will BUNTING!  Goddamn ... I am like a sports genius over here!!


Friday, January 15, 2016

Always Another Baby Step ...


It's odd how our perceptions change.  How something that is completely unacceptable one moment can morph into something that seems perfectly reasonable.

I've always hated writing about health stuff here. It feels like whining ... like begging for sympathy from a world with people who have lives so much harder than mine. I've even considered starting a second blog JUST for my kidney issues ... but common.  I don't have enough energy these days to post here.  Why start a second blog to be ignored and neglected?

So there are two types of dialysis - peritoneal dialysis using a stomach port and hemo dialysis using a fistula on your arm.  Okay, yes there are technically more options ... if you find yourself in the ER with kidney failure, they can (and will) shove a catheter into the side of your neck and dialyze through that type of port.  But we aren't discussing catastrophic situations here. 

I'd decided on peritoneal ... it doesn't involve blood or needles and I was under the impression you did exchanges while you slept.  In my mind, I'd imagined hooking myself up before bed ... and unhooking myself in the morning.  Simple, clean, and it wouldn't involve anyone else having to be a caretaker.  That's an issue with me ... something I really wanted to avoid.

But apparently I was mistaken. Peritoneal DOES allow you to do dialysis without working with blood or needles ... but it involves MUCH more time. Ten to twelve hours of time.  What that means is that, for many people, you go home ... hook yourself up at seven o'clock ... and then unhook yourself at seven o'clock the next morning. Twelve hours. Every day. For the rest of your life.

I'm numb with the thought.  I don't even know how that fits into a normal lifestyle. So you can't ever do anything at night for the rest of your life?  The surgeon told me that there's wiggle room ... if we wanted to go to dinner and a movie on a Friday night, that was fine. I could hook myself up at ten o'clock with no problem. But then I couldn't unhook myself until ten o'clock on Saturday.  How would you travel?  How would you have friends over?  I'm still heartbroken.

And so ... it was a short hop from "I won't work with blood or needles" to "I won't tie myself (or us) to the house for twelve hours every day."

So now I'm considering hemo dialysis. Unfortunately, that type, once again, involves blood and needles. Maybe that should be the name of my new, kidney-related blog?  Blood and Needles or (My kidneys Are Trying To Kill Me).

So there was a hop ... from peritoneal dialysis to hemodialysis ... and once you're there?  Once you have no choice but to be there, what's another hop?  To go from in-center to in-home? 

With hemodialysis, you spent 3-4 hours three days a week hooked up to a machine that cleans your blood. You can do that in a center ... and a lot of people do.  But if you can learn to do the technical bits yourself, you can dialyze in-home.

So let's look at the choice ... to leave work and go to a center ... where I'll sit from five o'clock to nine o'clock ... three days a week.  Or two days a week if I can get on the Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday schedule.  If I could manage that, I'd just come home late two days a week and then spend Saturday morning at the center each week.

Or ...

Come home from work ... have dinner ... and then, two days a week, hook up and sit for three or four hours at home.  Watch a movie ... talk to Stoney ... watch the Goldbergs ... color ... crochet ... whatever.  Then maybe on Saturday or Sunday while Stoney watches football ... hook up and nap while I'm cycling?

Don't get me wrong. None of this is good. There are no silver linings and there's no, "But, hey at least there's THIS!"  It all sucks and it sucks hard.

The trick lies in finding which one sucks the least.

I have to talk to Matt at the dialysis center again ... he's the RN Who does the training. I have more questions ... more things to nail down in my head. And then I guess the only thing left is to get the fistula.  You can do that at any point ... but it takes 2-3 months for that new vein in your arm to grow strong enough to use ... so you have to start planning ahead for when that time comes.

And the time is coming. I'm holding it off as best I can ... but it's coming.

'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves
Under pressure
Under pressure
Pressure 

Queen - Under Pressure

Friday, January 01, 2016

Everybody Needs Love ...


Happy New Year, everyone!  I haven't posted since August ... this might be a new record for me, as far as ignoring my blog goes.   As someone on Twitter speculated, my lack of output may be in direct proportion to my overall happiness these days ... and it's true ... I can't deny that's part of the equation.  But the thing that keeps me from opening my laptop each day isn't happiness ... it's my utter lack of energy.

My kidney function is down to 13% as of last week ... which puts me in Stage 5.  This isn't catastrophic.  I mean, it isn't optimal ... but it isn't catastrophic.  This is just the next part of the journey ... and it's alright.  It's hard to think ... hard to write these days.  I'm nauseous ... but there's medicine for that.  I hurt ... but there's medicine for that as well.  I'm tired ... but Stoney is sweet and he understands when I sleep for eleven to twelve hours and yet crave an afternoon nap.

Speaking of Stoney ... his love is the reason I wake up in the morning.  He is the reason I can't wait to come home at the end of the day.  He is the reason I smile.  If it weren't for him, I don't know how I would've gotten through this year ... hell, if it weren't for him, I don't know if I would've been able to sell the house.

It's wonderful to have a partner ... a partner who helps with everything.  I'm still not used to it.  We spent time with family and friends over five consecutive days over Christmas ... first a large group of our friends, then my mom, then more friends, then my girls, then all of his family.   Before the girls came over, we spent the day cleaning the house ... just the normal things people do like dusting and vacuuming and cooking.   And it hit me at one point ... I'm not doing this alone.   He's in there running the vacuum while I clean the kitchen ... we're a team.  A really good team.

My year has been wonderful with the house being sold and all the loose ends from my life before being wrapped up and topped with a bow.  Stoney's year has been great with a promotion and winning EOM last month.  We'll get to go on a trip with the other winners and, more importantly, he has a shot at employee of the year.  I'm so very proud of him ...

And so, we start 2016 on a good note.  I'm making my resolutions ... but I'm not stupid.  I realize I'm blessed ... and I'm so thankful that I get to wake up every morning with a kiss and go to sleep every night feeling loved.

Moon beams we can dream on
At the setting of the sun
And the stars we can wish upon
When the working man is done
Sunsets we could cry over
Have our trouble's on the run
But more than these miracles above,
Good people, we need love
Everybody needs the love, love, love
Everybody needs the love, love, love
Everybody needs the love, love, love
Just like they need the sun and moon and stars up above

Drive By Truckers - Everybody Needs Love

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

My Sun and Stars ...


Nothing comes from nothing
Never ever could
So somewhere in my youth
Or childhood
I must've done something good

If the song is right, I'm not sure what I did in my childhood ... but it must've been spectacular. Because one week ago yesterday, Stoney made me the happiest girl in the world when he asked me to marry him.

We were texting at the end of the day on August 11th, when he asked if I wanted to go to dinner.  It was a Tuesday ... which used to be "Tuesday Date Night" when we first started dating ... and he suggested Red Lobster. Do I wanna go to Red Lobster?  Common ... who doesn't want cheddar biscuits and shrimp scampi?  We had a delicious, if slightly unorganized, dinner ... and rode home together laughing about everything from the flaky waitress who kept disappearing to my refusal to park more than 50 feet from the door of my office.

Once we got home, he said he needed to use the bathroom.  Meanwhile, I wandered around the kitchen doing this or that.  At this point, I should tell you ... we have a smallish white board hanging in the bathroom. I like to leave Stoney little notes or doodles on it.

So anyhow ... as I'm standing at the table with my back to the hallway, I hear Stoney say, "The white board in the bathroom fell down."  I didn't turn around but answered, "Aw, that sucks ... now I can't leave you messages."  He said, "Yeah, it fell ... so ... look at it ..." and I turned around to see ...

Stoney standing holding the white board.  He'd taken the markers and written, "Will you marry me?" on it ... and was holding out a ring box with a beautiful ring inside.  I stared at the white board and said, "Really?  Really?  SERIOUSLY?!"  

I hugged him and he handed me the ring box.  I slid the ring on ... which fit perfectly ... and then threw myself at him again.  After a minute or two, he said, "Um, technically, you haven't said yes ..." I corrected the situation by saying yes many, many times!

Everyone has been so excited for us ... everyone wanting to know a date ... some wanting to know where we'll register ... the girls cheering us on and wanting to know if we'll be going to next year's bridal expos ... and one friend even wanting to know what color of dress she'll be wearing.

We were both so busy with work last week that there wasn't a lot of time to relax and celebrate ... but I've tried to take a minute to stop every night and thank him for my ring and tell him how happy I am.

I don't have enough words to say how lucky I feel.  Lucky that I met him ... lucky that he asked me to that Springsteen concert ... lucky that he didn't see the basement in my house and run screaming for the hills ... just lucky that he chose me.

I love you, hon ... and I know this is Ben and Becca's song ... but I'm borrowing it because it couldn't be more true.


I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns the stumbles
And falls brought me here
And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face
Now I see it every day
And I know
That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

Ben Folds - The Luckiest

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Learning To Fly ...


I had a realization last night.  Most everything I fear right now is about me.  It's a problem with me.  Not with the world ... or my Mom ... or Stoney.

Just me.

So here's the thing ... at this very moment, Stoney is on his way to a job interview.  The details don't matter ... I'll just say that it's five hours away and with a prestigious company.  When all of these opportunities started coming up a month or so ago, he asked if I would move with him and I said yes.  And I meant it.

But, honestly, I was sick with worry.  We have to finish selling my house.  We'd have to sell his.  I'd have to get a new job there because I need health insurance.  On top of all that ... I'd be leaving my mom.  She's seventy two ... and just the fact that I'd be leaving her weighed a lot on my mind.

But last night it came to me.  I get it.

The fears I have are deeper than that.  That stuff above is all surface stuff.  What I'm scared of is what's underneath.  This situation requires trust.  Not just trust that we'll be a good team and be happy together in another state.  That's not an issue.  We're good together and I enjoy just being around him.

No ... it's trusting that I won't be the only one working.  That I won't feel alone all the time.  It's trusting that I can depend on him ... because the bottom line is that we'll be depending on each other a lot more there.  Last night it came to me that I'm hauling around a lot of baggage.  Baggage that has taught me that when someone says, "Trust me, I'll take care of you ..." that when you desperately need them?  That person will be gone.

So yes ... I am worried about my house.  I am worried about money because I've just about spent all mine trying to get it ready to sell.  I'm worried about selling his house.  And yes, I'm worried about my mom.  We talked about it tonight and she knows what is going on.  She says she's alright with it ... but I know she's scared too.

All of that is true.  But my trust issues?  That's on me.  That's something I have to fix.  Years ago, when I was scared to even ask Stoney to go out with me, K told me, "Fix this shit."  And she might as well have been sitting with me ... because I heard her voice telling me, "Fix this shit."

My cousin, T ... whom I've written about many, many times ... loved adventure.  And if he were here, he'd be telling me to GO ... have FUN ... make this an ADVENTURE.  Before he died, T told me not to make Stoney pay for the things someone else did that hurt me.  And I'm thinking this trust issue?  Is doing just that ... and it's not fair.

I'm feeling better about the whole thing; although, I'm not trying to make this about me.  This is a huge thing for Stoney.  He's on his adventure right now.  But he's smart and amazing ... he'll do great at the interview, there's no doubt about it.  So if it's meant to be ... it's meant to be.  I love him.  And I'll love him in Illinois or Ohio or Iowa ... anywhere.

Good luck, baby ... although I know you don't need it.

Into the distance a ribbon of black
Stretched to the point of no turning back
A flight of fancy on a windswept field
Standing alone my senses reeled
A fatal attraction holding me fast how
Can I escape this irresistible grasp?
Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue tied and twisted Just an earth bound misfit I

Pink Floyd - Learning To Fly

Friday, June 26, 2015

Seriously Ask Yourself ... How's It Hurting YOU?


Years ago, it used to be common to hear me ask, "How's it hurting you?"

It was my go-to response whenever anyone was complaining about a situation.  I would say, "Seriously ... HOW is it hurting you?"  If it's not actively harming you or affecting your life?  Shut up about it.

Today, I'm reading all the responses on Facebook about the Supreme Court's ruling on gay marriage and I can't help wanting to open my window and shout to the world, "HOW IS IT HURTING YOU?"

As far as I know, George Takei isn't advocating the creation of a task force made of gay people whose only job is to go door to door and force you to marry someone your own sex. 

Seriously ... don't agree with gay marriage?  Don't marry someone your own sex

Problem solved!

To any men upset with this ruling:  The Supreme Court didn't make it mandatory for you to suck a dick.

To any women upset with this ruling:  No one will force you to eat anyone out ... I promise.

All today's ruling means is that gay people will now get to do what you, as a citizen, have always been able to do.  See how ridiculous that sounds?

Think back to when it was illegal to marry outside your race.  Could you imagine someone telling you, "You're not allowed to marry her ... she's black!"  Of course not ... that sounds barbaric.  Hopefully fifty years from now, this will seem just as ludicrous. 

"Wait ... Adam is marrying Steve?  Big fucking deal."

I don't know if I'm ever going to get married again ... but you know what?  That's an option for us.  No one will judge us whether we get married or whether we don't.  That choice is completely up to us.  But what makes me elated is that there's a couple ... somewhere out there tonight ... who is  overjoyed because they can now make a choice ... a choice that I take for granted.

Sometimes we do something right.  Today, we ... as a people ... did something right.  There are historic records of people saying that interracial marriage was a sign of the downfall of our nation.  Do you want to be that person?  The person our grandchildren and great grandchildren look back at with shame?

I deeply love someone ... and I would never deny someone else the happiness I feel. 

So ask yourself ... how is this hurting you?  

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Belated Updates ...


Hey there, team.  Long time, no see.

I've been gone almost two months.  Sigh ...

I wish I could tell you that I've been on exciting adventures.  That I've traveled.  Or that I have amazing news that involves a new job.  Or maybe that I've won the lottery.

I want to be funny ... I want to be my best, wittiest self and write something that will make you laugh or smile.

What I don't want to do is get on here and be a downer ... to use my blog to whine or complain.  These last two months, if I haven't written, its because I haven't had anything positive to add to the discourse.  Dozens of times I've looked at my laptop, almost picked it up, and turned away thinking, "Why bother?"

So ...

Six months ago, my kidney function was at 24% ... which wasn't awesome ... but I thought I could live on that for years.   I took a five percent dip to 19% right before my hernia repair ... but I didn't panic.  My doctors thought the drop could be a combination of pain and the injury itself ... and we all thought it would bounce back after the surgery.

Then the last three or four weeks, things began to get worse.  I was nauseous ... my head hurt ... my appetite decreased ... and most of all ... I was tired.  Bone tired.   I called my nephrologist ... whose staff told me to call my family doctor ... who checked for infection and such.  Bottom line is that I took another dip.  I'm now down to 14% kidney function.

So ... once you get under 20%, you're supposed to start taking workshops ... learning about dialysis options and possibly getting the transplant process started.  The first time I was under 20% was in December ... and we honestly thought it would bounce back.  So I haven't taken any classes, talked to a nutritionist, or done any research.  I thought I had time.

Under 10%, you're eligible for dialysis ... some people start at 15%.  It all depends on how sick you feel.  At 14%, I'm struggling with work ... struggling with vomiting ... struggling with finding words.  A couple weeks ago, I couldn't remember the word "rug" ... and last week, during a Game of Thrones discussion, I couldn't keep Theon and Ramsey straight.  I knew who I meant when I spoke a sentence ... but I kept saying the wrong names.  But brain fog is a symptom of ESRD ... as is nausea and fatigue ... so none of this should be a surprise.

Friday night, I tried researching ... reading about hemodialysis versus peritoneal dialysis ... learning  about nocturnal options.  It was so mindnumbingly overwhelming.  I don't know how I would've handled it if I'd been alone ... but Stoney was here.  He hugged me and held me ... and told me no matter what type I chose or what came next ... we would do it together.

Stoney's going to my nephrologist's appointment with me on Monday ... to which I'm so very grateful.   Hopefully between the two of us, we'll ask all the right questions.  It's not the end of the world ... it's just a new normal.  I have worries ... things I need to make this work.  I saw what chronic illness did to my friend's marriage.  Although her situation was much different than mine ... I want Stoney to be my partner ... not my caregiver.  I saw what that does to a relationship ... and it's bad.  But ... if I can learn from her situation ... maybe something good can from it.

In any case ... I'm babbling.  I apologize for being away for so long.  This is why I haven't been posting ... and why I probably won't be posting as much as I used to.  At least for awhile.  Monday we'll talk to the doctor ... and find out where we go from here.   Say a prayer ... keep us in your thoughts ... and I'll come here and write when I can.

There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're traveling with me

Crowded House - Don't Dream It's Over

Friday, April 03, 2015

The Walkabout ...


So to understand how I found myself sitting on our kitchen floor at one a.m. surrounded by dozens of randomly scattered blueberries, you have to understand the concept of "The Walkabout."

I have a tendency to go on walkabouts.  This usually results in Stoney waking up in the morning to find me sleeping on the couch.  Or on the guest bed.  Or on the floor.  Basically it starts simply enough with an urge to use the bathroom in the middle of the night ... and ends with the odd sleep-induced compulsion to eat, drink, or sleep somewhere unusual.

I know what I'm doing.  But I can't necessarily explain why.  Answers to the inevitable questions usually include, "well, the spare bed looked comfy" or "I was peckish" or "my feet were cramping."   But last night's comedy of misfortune all began with the thought, "I am so thirsty."  It was one o'clock when I woke up and needed to use the bathroom.   I'd been sleeping pretty deeply ... and one o'clock was a pretty good stretch considering I'd fallen asleep before nine o'clock.

On the way to the bathroom ...

And I should pause the story at this point to explain that everything is on one level in Stoney's house.  The bedrooms, kitchen, laundry, two bathrooms ... no stairs are involved.

On the way to the bathroom, I think, "I am so thirsty."  And with that thought, I had that immediate need to get something to drink.  You know that feeling where you throat feels like a desert?  I had that ... and so I altered my shuffling flight path from the bathroom to the kitchen.

The six pack of Black Cherry Propel was still wrapped in plastic.  So I began struggling with the package.  I tried to pull a bottle out with one hand ... all while three quarters asleep, holding myself up with the other hand ... one eye closed, and the other only partially open.  I didn't feel myself bump anything.  I heard ... something?  But the only real sign that something was horribly amiss was when I stepped backward trying to wedge this damned Propel out of the plastic ... only to feel my foot squish something.

We don't own a dog (yet) ... so the sensation of that squish was alarming.  It wasn't furry.  It can't be a mouse.  Was it a spider?  Jesus, don't let it be a spider.  It's cold.  Why is it cold?  And wet.  Why is it wet?

I looked down and for a moment or two ... I literally couldn't understand what I was seeing.  I didn't have my glasses on ... so all I could wrap my head around was that there were dozens of little black dots all over the kitchen floor.  What the sweet fuck?

I looked down at my foot and saw a pool of smeared, purple goo and realized the dots were blueberries.  Dozens of blueberries.  In my futile attempt to pry out that Propel, I'd bumped the blueberry carton and dozens of Wish Farms' finest were scattered over the ceramic tiles.

Shit.  Tile.  Blueberries stain.

It's almost ten past one, the kitchen floor is covered with blueberries, I am still thirsty, and I haven't even peed yet.  The situation is getting exponentially worst by the moment.  I stood there for a minute and prioritized.

I can't lie.  For a split second, I thought about leaving them.  I thought about going to the bathroom and just going to bed.  I thought about the conversation that would ensure.

Stoney:  ThirtyWhat, wake up!
Me:  Huh?
Stoney:  Wake up.  Why are there blueberries all over the kitchen floor?
Me:  What the what??  Blueberries?  Someone must've broken in the house and randomly scattered fruit all over our nice tile floor!  What a bastard!!!

No ... he wouldn't buy that.  I'd have to pick them up.

And so, after wiping the blueberry remains off my foot and off the tile, I carefully tiptoed through the minefield of berries and made my way to the bathroom.  I did my business and made my way back to the edge of the kitchen, got on my hands and knees, and began tossing the blueberries into a pile.  Blueberry by the garbage can ... toss.  Blueberry under the kitchen chair ... toss.  Blueberry next to the recycle bin ... toss.   Blueberry by the china hutch ... toss.

This went on for ten or fifteen minutes until there was a large pile of pitched blueberries.  I slowly scooted over to the fridge like some demented, sleep-deprived toddler and sat on the floor ... gathering the berries back into the carton.  We're clean people, mind you ... but there was no way we were going to be able to eat any of these.  They were ruined.

I tossed the carton in the garbage and went back to bed.  It was one thirty by then ... and I was wide awake.  So I lay in bed ... tired ... angry ... thirsty ... and smelling blueberries.

I found my thrill
On Blueberry Hill
On Blueberry Hill
When I found you

Fats Domino - Blueberry Hill

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Every Day Another Step ...


Today is a momentous day.

(No, honey ... I still haven't called Direct TV ... but soon.  Soon ...)

No ... today I left our house for the first time since my surgery.  I drove over to my house and picked up the mail, drove to my mom's house to get her mail, and went to County Market to pick up a few things.  Nothing extraordinary or Earth shaking.  But it was something.

This week I tried to do little things to keep moving forward.  One day I put on makeup.  One day I got dressed.  Yesterday, I picked up around the house and made dinner.   Okay, fine ... I "heated up" dinner.  First Wife actually made two dinners for us ... but I put the chicken and macaroni and cheese in the oven ... and I made some biscuits ... so I get partial credit, right?

Unfortunately, the cold that started tormenting Stoney last week has now taken up residence in my head.  I'm congested and snoggily and coughing ... my stomach is aching and I am bone tired.

So bottom line ... right now, I can't tell if the pain I'm feeling is because I pushed myself too hard and did too much today?  Or if it's just part of the healing process?  Or maybe it's just the head cold that's making me so achy and tired?

Probably a little of all three ...

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Hugs and Cookies and Soup ...


Well, I had hernia repair surgery on Wednesday.  Sometimes it feels like weeks ago ... sometimes it feels like hours.  Thursday and Friday were bad.  For three solid days, I couldn't stand up ... or roll over ... or walk to the bathroom.  Basically, I couldn't do anything without Stoney's help.   

For three days, Stoney made bowl after bowl of chicken noodle soup.  He brought me cold ginger ale and chocolate pudding and a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  Despite his ever-worsening head cold, Stoney didn't quit ... even getting up in the middle of the night several times to help me walk to the bathroom.  He was amazing and I'll never be able to thank him enough for everything he did.

So ... I woke up this morning and actually felt halfway normal.  I had energy.  I felt sore ... but good.  I could get out of bed myself ... I could stand up and sit down unassisted ... and I was able to go ten hours between pain pills.  I felt strong ... I felt invincible.

However, as I've been getting stronger, Stoney has been getting sicker.  The DayQuil and Mucinex  supplies in our house are sharply in decline.   And so this morning I thought, "I can make us breakfast!"  It wasn't just a randomly passing thought ... it was an imperative.  Stoney is sick ... he has done everything for me since Wednesday afternoon ... I am making Sunday breakfast for us!

So I shuffled into the kitchen.   I baked a few biscuits ... made a pan of maple bacon ... scrambled a few eggs ... and put them together to make breakfast sliders.  Were they good?  I don't know .. my taste buds are still completely out of whack and nothing tastes right.  My biscuit was warm ... it was edible.  That's about the most I can hope for at this point.

Stoney's fever is down ... so that's a good thing, although he's still coughing and snoggily.  My stomach muscles ache from making breakfast ... you'd think I was doing pushups instead of moving a pan of biscuits from one spot to another.

Time for another nap ... and hopefully it won't be so long between posts next time.

Monday, March 02, 2015

More and More and More and More ...


In grade school, I had a teacher who would be instantly infuriated whenever she heard a student say, "I'm starving."

"Are you starving?" she would begin. "Are you really? Do you know what starving even means?" she would continue as we would cringe and pray that the floor would swallow us whole. "Children in Africa are starving. YOU, however ..." and at this point she would coldly look us up and down with the kind of look which instantaneously spawns eating disorders ... "You MIGHT be peckish.  At best.  But you are no where near starving."

Since meeting this teacher, I have always been keenly aware of hyperbole ... fixedly aware of exaggeration.

I say this to make it perfectly clear ... that when I say, "I am exhausted ..." I mean that I am literally, by definition, completely and utterly exhausted.

I spent last week alternating between feeling like I needed to sit down and have a good cry ... and wanting to curl up in our big, comfy bed and sleep for 24 hours straight.  We went from a perfectly stable, quiet life ... to the wheels falling off the train.  My train is now sitting in a field, miles away from tracks of any kind.

After an ER trip that confirmed the hernia in my stomach, Stoney and I went to the surgeon's office to learn about treatment and recovery options.  It was the first time he'd accompanied me to a doctor's appointment ... and it was both new ... and wonderfully comforting.  We left the office with a tentative surgery date and a plan.  He'd already scheduled PTO in March so he could stay home and watch the NCAA tournament ... now I'd just be a (hopefully) small part of those plans.

We parted with a kiss in the frosty parking garage and I headed off to work, happily believing that things were well in hand.  Less than two hours later, I got a text from my aunt.  My mom had fallen and hurt her ankle.  They were on their way to the ER.  I asked if I should meet them ... and she said Mom said no ... wait until after work.  Okay ... mom fell and sprained her ankle.  This is a manageable calamity.

An hour passed before I texted my aunt again.  Were they in a room yet?  Had mom been x-rayed?  My aunt sent a short, cryptic text.  It said something about them being in the back, mom getting an IV and, what concerned me most, that she was "finally" being given a shot of morphine.  My chest tightened with panic.  Morphine?  For a sprained ankle?  What was going on?

What was going on was a lot more than a sprain.

Mom fell ... and managed to not only break all three bones in her ankle ... she dislocated the bone.  She was in excruciating pain and the foot was hanging there ... loose.  I drove to the hospital and sat by her side while we waited for the orthopedic specialist.  Her ankle was as big as a softball ... and approximately the same hue as an eggplant.  The morphine wasn't helping and she was nauseous from the pain.

The specialist pulled me outside mom's room and told me privately that, due to her age, she couldn't just have the bone set normally.  He said, when treating younger people, they would usually just set the bone and let the patient "scream it out" ... but the risk was too high that mom would go into shock from the pain.

So ... I was asked to take a walk.  I sat in the waiting room while they knocked her out.  They gave her Propofol, reset the bone back in the socket, and put a cast on her leg ... all in the smallest emergency room cubicle imaginable.

Her surgery is day after tomorrow ... two weeks to the day before mine.  They are putting a plate on the ankle to hold the bones together.  It took two days ... but she finally agreed to move in with her brother and sister-in-law until she can put weight on her foot.  It was a rough 48 hours for all of us ... very little food ... even less sleep.

As if all this drama wasn't enough, we think Stoney might have torn his meniscus moving things out of the house.  His knee has been causing him a lot of pain and his doctor is having him take medicine, wear a brace, and ice his knee regularly.  When it rains ... it pours.

So ... if I don't write a lot here in the near future, it's because I'm balancing my time between my job, working on my house, checking my mom's apartment, and checking on her.  I slept a lot this weekend ... but it wasn't enough.  I feel like I could sleep right now.   Is there such a thing as trauma-induced narcolepsy?  Can someone look into this?  I would ... but I'm too busy teaching myself how to sleep with my eyes open ...


Monday, February 23, 2015

The Cookie Correlation ...


I love cookies ... but then, who doesn't love cookies?  Everyone with a pulse loves cookies.  So that should've been our first clue that there was a problem ...

I've been having problems eating for the last week or two.  My stomach just hurts.  It hurts when I eat or when I drink.  Anytime I reach anything near "full," I feel achy and bad.  One night last week, Stoney and I decided to have popcorn ... but after I popped one bag, I gave the bowl to him and passed on any for me.  Just smelling it made me nauseous.

Then came the red flag.  It's Girl Scout Cookie season ... and, even though we're trying to lose weight, you just can't pass up on something that comes around once a year.  So last Thursday, Stoney stood up and said, "I'm getting myself a couple cookies.  Do you want me to get you some?"  I shook my head no.  "How about one cookie?  Wouldn't you like one cookie?"  "No thank you."

Red flag.

I don't turn down cookies ... especially Girl Scout Lemonades.  Cookies are a sign that God loves us and wants us to be happy.  So we should've known something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

Friday night, I was getting ready for bed ... and I felt a lump.  It was above my belly button ... to the right an inch or two.  It was hard.   So I went to Stoney and said, "This is going to sound crazy ... but feel this."  The left side of my belly was soft as usual ... but the right side was hard and painful.  He said he could feel it ... and told me to call the doctor.

Well, it was Friday night.  What are you going to do?  I didn't think my life was in danger ... so I waited to call the doctor's office until they opened on Monday morning.  All weekend my stomach hurt ... and by Sunday, when I took a shower, I could look down and see a rise on the right side of my abdomen.

I called my kidney specialist this morning ... who told me to call my primary doctor since they didn't believe a cyst would get that big.  I called my primary doctor ... who told me that even if they could fit me in, I needed to get a CT scan and I needed it quick.  They said, at best, they wouldn't be able to get me scanned for a few days ... and if I could see and feel the lump?  I needed to go to the ER immediately.

I drove over to the emergency room and Stoney met me in the parking lot.  They took blood and did a CT scan ... and then we sat.  We sat for almost six hours.  Now keep in mind that we hadn't had breakfast ... we hadn't had lunch ... and the nurse said I couldn't have food or water ... I couldn't have  anything until the results were back.  So we sat there.  Tired and worried and starving.   We heard the nurse call down to radiology every 20 minutes ... with no positive results.

And so as we sat there, I began to get punch drunk and irrational.  I wanted a chicken sandwich.  I wanted Stoney to go to the cafeteria and smuggle me up a chicken sandwich.  I wanted him to go to the cafeteria, buy a chicken sandwich, put it in his cheeks like a chipmunk, and bring me a chicken sandwich.   I wanted him to sneak down to the cafeteria with me and get me a chicken sandwich.  He said no to all these options ... but did sneak me a couple ice chips just to keep me from attempting a violent coup, which I was threatening if that damned blood pressure cuff went off one more time.

In the end, I have a Supra Umbilical Hernia.  It's not life threatening ... just uncomfortable.  They sent my results to a surgeon ... and I have to call him in a day or two to see what he thinks about the images.  He'll decide if this is something we need to fix immediately ... or if we can wait and see.  I don't want surgery ... however, I can't lie ... the stomach hurting thing is getting old.

We'll see.  At the moment?  I'm just tired.  I came home and took a two hour nap ... and I'm still tired.  The hospital says my kidney function is down to 18% ... although the calculator I use said 20%.  So I don't know if the fatigue is from the low function ... or stress ... or the lack of chicken sandwich.

All of those things are possible ... well, except for the chicken sandwich bit.  On the drive back, Stoney stopped at McDonald's and brought home the ultimate get-well food ... chicken nuggets.   So my chicken craving has been assuaged.   I'm going to snuggle with him while he watches the Sportyball Combine ... I'm going to read my new book ... and I'm going to try to not worry about the future.  It's worked out alright so far.


Friday, February 20, 2015

Mega Winterpocalyps Snowmaggedon Killstorm 2015 ...


So Stoney and I were having a discussion this morning about how we all have this inherent tendency to mis-remember our childhoods.  We have these epic memories of events ... and the majority of these memories are inaccurate at best ... and Victoria Jackson-esque crazy at worst.

Everyone exaggerates the past.  I'm guilty of it.

Like take yesterday morning.  We were watching the morning news while an annoyingly perky anchor was listing off school closings.  I looked at the list scrolling by on the television and said, "What a bunch of bullshit.  I sure as hell didn't get a day off school just because it was cold."

Is that true?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I went to a rural school that relied on school buses to deliver ninety-five percent of the student body.  So if the wind chill was 20 below?  We probably got the day off.  Maybe.  Fuck, if I know.

What I do know is that I have memories that I know are faulty.  I'll give you one as an example.

When I was about three, my Mom was raising me alone while my Dad was in Viet Nam.  It was winter and we lived in a rental home that didn't have a driveway or garage.  We had to park on the street ... which wasn't a problem until it snowed.  And we live in Illinois so it snowed.  A lot.

So one day, Mom needed to go shovel the walk ... so she could then attempt to shovel the car out.  She couldn't leave me alone in the house because I had a habit of eating sticks of butter if I wasn't being watched continuously.  (Note:  Don't ask ... I liked butter.  My mom spent two years finding sticks of butter with tiny teeth prints on them.  I was a three year old with a high probability of atherosclerosis in my future.)

Aaaaanyway ...

She bundled me up and we went outside.  She shoveled a couple feet of space off the walk ... and then put a two step step-stool on the cement.  She brought me down and told me, "Stand on this step stool.  That way you can watch what I'm doing.  Whatever you do, do not leave this step-stool."

She shoveled.  I watched ... probably day dreaming about delicious, un-guarded sticks of butter.  When I got the most marvelous idea.  I climbed to the top of the step-stool ... and ... I jumped.

I jumped into the snow drift ... snow filled the air ... and I immediately sank down until the drift until the snow was higher than my head.  I started shrieking like a three year old, butter-junkie, banshee ... and my mother, I imagine after considering for a split-second how much easier her life would be if she just left me and my poor life choices in the goddamned drift, came and rescued me.

Now my memory of this day is how much fucking snow there was.  It was over my head.  Snow was everywhere ... as far as I could see.   There was so much snow that I almost drowned in it.

But that's not true, is it?

I was three years old.  It probably snowed what?  A foot or two?  After all, I didn't just jump into the snow ... I jumped into a drift.  So even though I'm sure it was an enormous pain in the ass for my mom to shovel all that snow with a butter-burgling toddler trying to commit hare-kari ... this wasn't a storm of the century for Christ's sake.

My point is that memories are faulty.   There wasn't that much snow that day.   Things haven't changed that much for most of us.  There are, statistically speaking, about as many snow days now as there were twenty years ago.  And it's okay to bitch about the cold ... because we basically live on the outskirts of the the Snow Miser's asshole over here ... but try not to make the past quite so epic.  Because it wasn't.

I need you
I need you
More than anyone, darlin'
You know that I have from the start
So build me up
Build me up
Buttercup
Don't break my heart

The Foundations -
Build Me Up Buttercup

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Today's Pet Peeve ... Pennies ... Again ...


I hate pennies.  I hate pennies with an illogical hate that most people reserve for things like world hunger and elder abuse.  I hate pennies.  I don't understand why they exist.  How are pennies still a thing?

Did you know there used to be half pennies?   Because there were things that cost less than a penny.

"Here you go, that will be two and a half cents."
"Thank you, my good man ... here is three cents."
"Thank you, good sir, and here is your half penny in change."

That was a thing.  I get that.

It's 2015.  Are we, as a society, not able to round up?  Seriously.  If I'm expected to pay five bucks for a grilled chicken sandwich, could we maybe not make it five bucks and seven cents?    Yes, I'm sure there was someone back in 1857 who said, "But we can't get rid of the half penny!  Do you realize how much those fuckers will over-charge us when they round up?"

Alright ... they wouldn't have said that.  They would've said, "Soft!  Wherefore should we forsake this coin?  Methinks our churlish foes will hoodwink us by our trusting nature!  They shall purloin our tuppence!"

Okay well ... that's ridiculous.  They wouldn't say that either.  I have no idea what anyone was saying in 1857.   But I do know what people in 2015 are saying.   Why the fuck do pennies still exist?

When Stoney is leaving for work and says, "Hey, hon?  I'm going to run by County Market on the way home.  Do we need anything?"  I don't say, "Um, sure. We need a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk ... oh, and can you pick up a jar of leeches?  I haven't been feeling very well lately?  I don't know ... I think my blood is thick or something?  Yeah, grab some leeches.  Extra strength leeches if they have them!"

Leeches were a thing.  Pennies were a thing.  

Basically, what I'm saying is ... for the love of all that is holy, stop giving me pennies.  They weigh a goddamn ton and I can't pick up my purse anymore.  Charge me a nickle and stop this copper-colored madness ...   

Penny lover, my love's on fire
Penny lover, you're my one desire
Tell me baby could this be true
That I could need someone, like I need you

Lionel Richie - Penny Lover

Friday, February 13, 2015

Even the Smallest Thing ...


It's weird to feel ... safe.   It's a completely alien feeling to realize ... it's okay to ask for help.  In fact, it's not just okay ... it's no big deal.  The only person who thinks it's a big deal ... is me.

I got home last night to find two dozen gorgeous roses on the coffee table.  Next to the roses were four, huge chocolate-covered strawberries ... and a beautiful card ... all early Valentine's Day gifts.  Tomorrow  afternoon, he's having Giordano's pizza delivered to our house ... a gift that's too extravagant ... but one that, honestly, I cannot wait to arrive!

And all these things are wonderful.  I appreciate every petal on every rose ... every bite of every strawberry ... every piece of sausage and each pound of cheese that's gonna be on that pizza.  I appreciate it all.  But that isn't what makes me love him.

What makes me love him is every little thing that he takes for granted.

He makes dinner most nights because he gets home from work first ... and I love him.  When I'm stressed and trying to work on getting my house ready to sell, he offers to do a load of my laundry ... and I love him.  He offers to run by the store and pick up gummy vitamins ... and I love him.  I love that he wakes me up so we can talk for a few minutes before he leaves for work in the morning.  I love that he lets me sleep in on the weekends.  I love that he warms the pancake syrup.

When we started, I didn't feel comfortable letting him do things for me.  I didn't invite him to go along most places because I always expected to hear him say "no."   But ... I'm better now. 

Yes, I still have irrational fears, which he teases me about.  Every time I take another step, I ask him if he wants to change his mind.  "They're delivering my piano tomorrow.  There's still time to change your mind."  "They're picking up the bed at my house tomorrow.  So ... I won't have a bed after tomorrow.  There's still time to change your mind."

He hasn't changed his mind. 

And I appreciate everything.

On a night when bad
Dreams become a screamer
When they're messin' with a dreamer
I can laugh it in the face
Twist and shout my way out
And wrap yourself around me
'Cause I ain't the way you found me
And I'll never be the same
Oh yeah
Well 'cause you
You make my dreams come true

Hall and Oats -
You Make My Dreams Come True

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Relax! It's Paid ...


So ... I paid my mortgage today.  

It's due on the 1st ... but, in my defense, my coupon book says something about paying before the 16th to avoid late charges. 

So ... I always make sure to pay it before the 16th.

Copacetic, right?

Wrong. 

I got a call today from my mortgage provider.  They were extremely unfriendly. 

This is a call to collect a debt.
You are?  Wow ... um ... okay.  Is this about my February mortgage payment?
Yes.  Why haven't you paid?
Because my coupon book says I have until the 16th.
It does ... but anytime after the 1st, it's late.
Oh ... okay.
Well, when are you going to pay?
Before the 16th.
Would you like to make the payment over the phone?
No.
Well how are you planning on paying?
On the website. Like I have been. Every month. For the last three years.
I can take your payment over the phone.
I prefer to make it on your website.
We also take payments by Western Union.
Um, is your website down?
No.
Okay, then I'll pay by website.
Alright. When?
Before the 16th.
Okay.  Will you be paying with income from your job?
Pardon me?
Your job. Will you be paying with income from your job?
Um ... how else would I pay?
Well, are you paying with a disability payment? Or a settlement?
How is any of that your business?
I'm just making sure that we get our money.
You always do. I don't understand why you're calling me.
Because it's after the 1st.
I've always paid sometime between the 1st and the 16th.  Look at my account.
I can't see your account, ma'am.
You can't?
No. This is a robo call center. Your name just came up.
Okay.
So, I have you down as making a promise to pay by the 16th.
Okay.
And you're going to pay by the 16th?
I always do.
Ma'am, you're late.
I'm not late ... it's the 12th.
Any day after the 1st is late.
I think we covered this.
Do you need assistance?  Illinois has a mortgage assistance program.
No.  I'm good.
And you're keeping the house?
No.  I'm going to sell it.
You are?  Okay, I'll make a note of that.
Okay.
Alright, and I have a promise from you to pay by the 16th?
(Bangs head on desk) ...

Jesus Christ.  I haven't had a collection call in years ... decades even ... and I sure wasn't expecting this one.  The money is in my account.  In fact, as soon as I hung up, I went to the website and made the mortgage payment.  I just have a bad habit of procrastinating.

Yes, I put it off ... but I always make sure to make the payment before the 16th so I don't accrue late charges.  Apparently that doesn't matter.  It's after the 1st.  So ... fine.  I'm taking steps to sell it ... in the meantime, I will stop procrastinating, and just pay the damned mortgage payment earlier.

I feel irritated.  And stupid.  But mostly irritated.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Presents and Presence ...


This weekend was the perfect blend of fun and relaxation ... combined with a healthy dose of sweat and hard work.  Sometimes work isn't so bad when you've just given yourself a day off.

Saturday, Stoney and I drove out to College One's house and we had our (very) belated family Christmas.  Miniature Moose couldn't join us ... she asked for the day off work but there were too many in line before her.  But thanks to the magic of Apple FaceTime, we were still together.

Idiot's Anonymous is walking!  She's using a cane and is getting around wonderfully.  I didn't get to talk with her as much as I'd like ... as soon as this damned house is done, life will get back to normal and we go can go to dinners and movies again.  I miss my normal life.

Anyhow ... back to the good times.  We spent the day snacking and opening presents ... just talking and laughing.  I played with Sophie and tried to rub as much glitter on their cat as possible.  It was a good day ... and I'm proud of all of us considering we've already scheduled the 2015 Christmas celebration ... so there's no chance of us being six weeks late this Christmas!

Sunday, it was back to work.  And I really have to thank Stoney for this ... because I was really dragging my feet.  I wanted to work on my house about as much as I wanted an ass beating.  I moped around the house ... making excuses, "I'll leave right after I eat something" ... "I'll leave right after this show" ... "I'll leave in another 15 minutes."  He finally got me going by promising to make us a dinner of grilled, BBQ chicken wings ... my all time favorite.  So ... begrudging ... I went.

And here's where I can't lie.  I went to my house and sat at the kitchen table ... primarily because that's literally the only place left to sit in the house ... and I played with my phone.  I sat there a good 20 minutes or so ... feeling sorry for myself.  When finally, my mood broke.  I started working.

Two or three hours later, I had everything moved downstairs.  The suitcase and three bags of clothing ... in the car.  The two old CPUs to be recycled ... in the car.  The two boxes of boxes and keepsakes I wanted are in the dining room.  The small bookcase is in the dining room as well.   I vacuumed the upstairs carpets and swept the twin's room.   The only things left is two or three tubs of photos that I need to sort and bring downstairs ... and with that, the upstairs will be completely done.

I came home to delicious, perfect, crispy, bbq chicken wings ... and, much more importantly, an abundance of hugs and love.  In the end, there's still a lot for me to do ... and a lot I'm going to have to pay someone else to do.  But it's progress.

Thank you Stoney for being patient with me when I'm dragging my feet and being unmotivated ... thank you College One and Mr. College One for hosting last weekend's activities ... and thank you girls for a very merry Christmas. 

I promise this house nonsense will be done soon ... and then I'm taking us all to lunch.