Inspirational song: Songs from the Wood (Jethro Tull)
Time is running out to get the game table finished. The new campaign starts on Wednesday, and until this afternoon, I only had a few of the component pieces cut. I'd been sanding the rough reclaimed plywood, but that was all the progress I'd made. Mr S-P and T recognized that I was going to need help to get it all done in time. After they worked on T's new dedicated beer brewing station in his garage, getting plumbing set up for that, they came back here and gave me several hours of skilled labor. I couldn't have gotten as far as I did today without them.
The table has to be built in two sections. There's no way we could get it into the basement room otherwise, and it needs to be able to be taken apart and stacked out of the way when we don't want it set up. I'm still not sure when that would be yet, but I'm sure there will be a time when it's dismantled and set against the wall. We have one side completely cut now, and half assembled. The table skirt is in place, and the raised rails are almost ready to be glued on and screwed down. There will be cup holders and dice trays, enough for ten people (although there are currently nine who need to sit around this table), and it took all of us to get the cut-outs completed.
I bought a four-inch hole saw for the cup holders, knowing how hard it would be to get good circles with the jigsaw. The amount of time and effort saved made the investment worth it ten times over. The dice trays had to be done with the jigsaw, and it proved so difficult to get right, it made me even more glad for the hole saw. We used a spade bit to round the corners, and sawed along the lines to cut out the five by nine inch rectangles. Or rather, we tried to follow the lines. All three of us took stabs at it, and not one of us made perfectly straight lines where they were supposed to be. The plywood was thick and the saw blade pulled hard to the left, no matter who was steering it. I was left with no choice but to make a late-night run to Lowe's for a collection of large metal files. I sat in front of the TV for hours, through to the end of SNL, trying to perfect the cutouts. I did my best, but eventually I had to stop. I'll try a little more in the morning, and then it will be gluing time.
The hard brain work was done today. When next we can work on the other half of the table, it should go fairly quickly. It's just a matter of copying it all for the other side. Then my job will be to prime and paint and set it up downstairs. This is one of the biggest things I've designed, and I'm excited to have it finished and in use.
Saturday, August 31, 2019
Friday, August 30, 2019
Showdown
Inspirational song: I Believe (Book of Mormon)
Oh, right, we were overdue for another giant vet bill. After all, it has been a whole month since the last one. What was I thinking, feeling like we were probably bottomed out already, and going to see normalcy from here. That's not the way pet parenting works.
The Mr had taken the dogs to the cabin last night, intending to spend the night there and start work early this morning. He would have brought everyone home as the sun set tonight. Elsa had other plans. They arrived after dark yesterday, and hiked up the hill. The dogs know the way, so the Mr didn't feel like he needed to babysit them closely. They got settled in to bed, and Elsa started asking to go outside to potty. And then she did it again a little later, and again... Apparently no one got much sleep overnight. And she didn't always make it outside. As the sun came up, the Mr found a mess on her bed too, but oddly, it didn't smell (which was why he didn't know she did it until he saw it). She drank water compulsively, and was super wobbly. She even pitched forward into her water bowl once. So he packed everything back up and headed back down the hill before he even had coffee. She was okay on the drive home, and when they went to the vet early this afternoon, she was as chipper as she could be. More than an hour and more than $500 later, it was determined that she ate mushrooms on the way up the mountain in the dark. So she's fine. Just expensive.
When I went out yesterday, to my doctor and errands, I noticed that the car claimed it was still over 90 degrees outside, but it sure didn't feel like it. The air felt gentle and cool. I could tell fall is getting close. Tonight, my biggest indicator of season change has arrived: it was the Rocky Mountain Showdown, the first football game of the CU/CSU season. In fact, as I type now, it's still on, for another minute of game time. There were two rain delays, so it didn't kick off until almost 9 tonight. Neighbor T came over, wearing a green Rams shirt, while I greeted him at the door in a gray Buffs shirt from last year's homecoming game. If our houses were connected, I'd probably get us some of those "house divided" split color t-shirts to wear. Honestly, I probably would anyway, since we have open-door policies and practically live together most of the time. We promised not to be mad at each other no matter which team won. By 11:30, when CU went up something like 45-31, we looked at each other and decided to go our separate ways and watch the end of the game from our respective beds. It was a fun game to watch, but man, we were exhausted by the end of it.
Now that this rivalry game is over, I can go back to cheering from a distance for CSU. I feel like they're our beloved cousins for whom I wish the best, but no way can the Buffs let up the gas at the annual family reunion competition. In return for our good-natured game viewing tonight, I can sit with T and cheer full-throated for the Chiefs at every game except when they play the Broncos. T and I are so happy football season has arrived. It heralds the beginning of fall, which is easily the best of all the seasons. I don't need pumpkin spice to tell me the good times have begun. I have football and stew. This is the time of year I live for.
Oh, right, we were overdue for another giant vet bill. After all, it has been a whole month since the last one. What was I thinking, feeling like we were probably bottomed out already, and going to see normalcy from here. That's not the way pet parenting works.
The Mr had taken the dogs to the cabin last night, intending to spend the night there and start work early this morning. He would have brought everyone home as the sun set tonight. Elsa had other plans. They arrived after dark yesterday, and hiked up the hill. The dogs know the way, so the Mr didn't feel like he needed to babysit them closely. They got settled in to bed, and Elsa started asking to go outside to potty. And then she did it again a little later, and again... Apparently no one got much sleep overnight. And she didn't always make it outside. As the sun came up, the Mr found a mess on her bed too, but oddly, it didn't smell (which was why he didn't know she did it until he saw it). She drank water compulsively, and was super wobbly. She even pitched forward into her water bowl once. So he packed everything back up and headed back down the hill before he even had coffee. She was okay on the drive home, and when they went to the vet early this afternoon, she was as chipper as she could be. More than an hour and more than $500 later, it was determined that she ate mushrooms on the way up the mountain in the dark. So she's fine. Just expensive.
When I went out yesterday, to my doctor and errands, I noticed that the car claimed it was still over 90 degrees outside, but it sure didn't feel like it. The air felt gentle and cool. I could tell fall is getting close. Tonight, my biggest indicator of season change has arrived: it was the Rocky Mountain Showdown, the first football game of the CU/CSU season. In fact, as I type now, it's still on, for another minute of game time. There were two rain delays, so it didn't kick off until almost 9 tonight. Neighbor T came over, wearing a green Rams shirt, while I greeted him at the door in a gray Buffs shirt from last year's homecoming game. If our houses were connected, I'd probably get us some of those "house divided" split color t-shirts to wear. Honestly, I probably would anyway, since we have open-door policies and practically live together most of the time. We promised not to be mad at each other no matter which team won. By 11:30, when CU went up something like 45-31, we looked at each other and decided to go our separate ways and watch the end of the game from our respective beds. It was a fun game to watch, but man, we were exhausted by the end of it.
Now that this rivalry game is over, I can go back to cheering from a distance for CSU. I feel like they're our beloved cousins for whom I wish the best, but no way can the Buffs let up the gas at the annual family reunion competition. In return for our good-natured game viewing tonight, I can sit with T and cheer full-throated for the Chiefs at every game except when they play the Broncos. T and I are so happy football season has arrived. It heralds the beginning of fall, which is easily the best of all the seasons. I don't need pumpkin spice to tell me the good times have begun. I have football and stew. This is the time of year I live for.
Thursday, August 29, 2019
Check Up
Inspirational song: Sandy (Grease)
It took until this morning for the epic referral saga to sort itself out. Not that the doctor's office called me to let me know there was still some doubt about the process. It wasn't until I arrived at 2:15 this afternoon that I learned that it was still in the air until mid-morning. I cannot imagine what the hold up was. I've been going to this same rheumatologist for three and a half years. Whatever.
It was so reassuring to finally be admitted through the magic door to see the actual medical staff, after all that meshugas. I hadn't gotten to see my favorite doctor since April, before the surgery. She saw me in my knitted cap said, "What happened? Last I heard you were just going to have radiation!" I gave her the whole story, including the good news that the rough treatment is over and the port was out (she could probably see the white bandage peeping out through the neckline of my shirt). We also reviewed all the medications I was supposed to be taking, if I hadn't just kind of stopped everything altogether while swallowing pills was too hard. Now that I've switched primary care docs, I felt okay getting a second opinion on all the supplements I'd been on. She gave me her blessing to stop a whole lot of things that didn't have a great deal of documentation for whether they were effective for lupus. I believe the way I phrased it was that I was happy not to spend a lot of money on expensive pee, for all the good some of the supplements were doing me. I'm back down to a total of like seven pills a day (including two that are twice a day). I'm not sure what I'll do with all that free time, not having to take so many things. It almost feels like being young and healthy again.
I'm healing well from having the port removed. It is so much easier than the implantation. I'm trying to leave it alone, especially when the incision itches, but it is impossible to be still and delicate any more. I had way too much of that. It's time to DO THINGS. ALL THE THINGS. I picked up some coarse grit sandpaper on the way to the doctor's office, so that I could spend this afternoon and evening working on the game table I'm making. I bet I'm not technically allowed to move quite so enthusiastically, but I have too much to get done before next Wednesday. I sanded the fool out of the side rails, and it felt great to be doing something useful. I'm going to focus much of the next few days on this, and it's going to be glorious.
It took until this morning for the epic referral saga to sort itself out. Not that the doctor's office called me to let me know there was still some doubt about the process. It wasn't until I arrived at 2:15 this afternoon that I learned that it was still in the air until mid-morning. I cannot imagine what the hold up was. I've been going to this same rheumatologist for three and a half years. Whatever.
It was so reassuring to finally be admitted through the magic door to see the actual medical staff, after all that meshugas. I hadn't gotten to see my favorite doctor since April, before the surgery. She saw me in my knitted cap said, "What happened? Last I heard you were just going to have radiation!" I gave her the whole story, including the good news that the rough treatment is over and the port was out (she could probably see the white bandage peeping out through the neckline of my shirt). We also reviewed all the medications I was supposed to be taking, if I hadn't just kind of stopped everything altogether while swallowing pills was too hard. Now that I've switched primary care docs, I felt okay getting a second opinion on all the supplements I'd been on. She gave me her blessing to stop a whole lot of things that didn't have a great deal of documentation for whether they were effective for lupus. I believe the way I phrased it was that I was happy not to spend a lot of money on expensive pee, for all the good some of the supplements were doing me. I'm back down to a total of like seven pills a day (including two that are twice a day). I'm not sure what I'll do with all that free time, not having to take so many things. It almost feels like being young and healthy again.
I'm healing well from having the port removed. It is so much easier than the implantation. I'm trying to leave it alone, especially when the incision itches, but it is impossible to be still and delicate any more. I had way too much of that. It's time to DO THINGS. ALL THE THINGS. I picked up some coarse grit sandpaper on the way to the doctor's office, so that I could spend this afternoon and evening working on the game table I'm making. I bet I'm not technically allowed to move quite so enthusiastically, but I have too much to get done before next Wednesday. I sanded the fool out of the side rails, and it felt great to be doing something useful. I'm going to focus much of the next few days on this, and it's going to be glorious.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Normalcy
Inspirational song: Bron-Y-Aur Stomp (Led Zeppelin)
They told me as I was getting my post-procedure instructions to take it easy for a few days. Apparently I didn't listen. I was ready to race neck-or-nothin' today. I had a house to clean and food to plan. I missed being able to cook for the gang, and I was determined to play well out of my current league to accomplish it. I had my kid come over to help mid-day, and she was of great value, but that didn't stop me from over-doing everything I did. We made a crust-less peach cobbler with the dreamy Palisade peaches that I buy every year from my Rotary group. And even though it was a hot day today, I have moved on to stews and soups season. We made two versions of boerenkool stamppot, a Dutch stew-slash-porridge that is made with potatoes and greens. For the vegetarian version, it was just potatoes, kale, and carrots, made with a cream base and my daughter's heavy spice hand. (I didn't see everything she put in there, but I saw a lot of chili powder, cumin, and I think turmeric?) For the meat eaters, we had the same vegetable base, with polska kielbasa cut up and sauteed in chopped bacon and onions. My seasonings were tamer, to accommodate my sensitive stomach, so it was bay, marjoram, celery seed, and coriander. Both versions were popular with the gang, as was dessert. I'm so happy that my summer of weakness is over, and my ability to feed the masses has returned.
The room downstairs hasn't been finished yet. It was just as we left it when we shuffled all the furniture around and vacuumed it three or four times over. The gang didn't seem to mind. Today was hot, and the upstairs was stuffy when everyone arrived at 7. We took our dinner downstairs, and it suddenly wasn't too warm for stew. I still have a long way to go to assemble the table I'm making, so that we can all sit in a unified space. There were people on the floor, one person (the DM) pacing around, and others perched where they could find seating. I told the nurses I have a table to construct, and they forbid me from getting back to it too quickly. How many days do I have to wait to be allowed to start on it? Maybe if I just use a hand sander instead of the belt sander tomorrow, I can ease into it.
I had about three hours of real energy before one of my breakers blew. I was in the middle of driving to the grocery store to get the potatoes and kale when I just melted down. I've been trying to power through it ever since. It worked after a fashion, but now my brain is fried and I'm wondering how I'm going to get through tomorrow. It is going to be a challenge.
Also, I forgot to take pictures today. Was too busy.
They told me as I was getting my post-procedure instructions to take it easy for a few days. Apparently I didn't listen. I was ready to race neck-or-nothin' today. I had a house to clean and food to plan. I missed being able to cook for the gang, and I was determined to play well out of my current league to accomplish it. I had my kid come over to help mid-day, and she was of great value, but that didn't stop me from over-doing everything I did. We made a crust-less peach cobbler with the dreamy Palisade peaches that I buy every year from my Rotary group. And even though it was a hot day today, I have moved on to stews and soups season. We made two versions of boerenkool stamppot, a Dutch stew-slash-porridge that is made with potatoes and greens. For the vegetarian version, it was just potatoes, kale, and carrots, made with a cream base and my daughter's heavy spice hand. (I didn't see everything she put in there, but I saw a lot of chili powder, cumin, and I think turmeric?) For the meat eaters, we had the same vegetable base, with polska kielbasa cut up and sauteed in chopped bacon and onions. My seasonings were tamer, to accommodate my sensitive stomach, so it was bay, marjoram, celery seed, and coriander. Both versions were popular with the gang, as was dessert. I'm so happy that my summer of weakness is over, and my ability to feed the masses has returned.
The room downstairs hasn't been finished yet. It was just as we left it when we shuffled all the furniture around and vacuumed it three or four times over. The gang didn't seem to mind. Today was hot, and the upstairs was stuffy when everyone arrived at 7. We took our dinner downstairs, and it suddenly wasn't too warm for stew. I still have a long way to go to assemble the table I'm making, so that we can all sit in a unified space. There were people on the floor, one person (the DM) pacing around, and others perched where they could find seating. I told the nurses I have a table to construct, and they forbid me from getting back to it too quickly. How many days do I have to wait to be allowed to start on it? Maybe if I just use a hand sander instead of the belt sander tomorrow, I can ease into it.
I had about three hours of real energy before one of my breakers blew. I was in the middle of driving to the grocery store to get the potatoes and kale when I just melted down. I've been trying to power through it ever since. It worked after a fashion, but now my brain is fried and I'm wondering how I'm going to get through tomorrow. It is going to be a challenge.
Also, I forgot to take pictures today. Was too busy.
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
Over Easy
Inspirational song: Kick It Out (Heart)
Show time was 7 this morning. We were not on time. We came stumbling up to the outpatient check in desk at 7:10, apologizing. Thankfully, the hospital was not busy at that time of day, so there were no repercussions and no scolds. The IR surgery suite (um... interventional radiology?) was practically empty. At least no other patients but me were visible. There were boatloads of medical professionals. Nurses, interns, PAs... I don’t know the makeup, but there were probably six or seven people in blue scrubs at the desk when I arrived. They were also there when I was being wheeled back to the OR, stopping in the hallway before we went through the main doors, so I could hop off the bed and go to the bathroom with all kinds of wires and tubes hanging off of me. That felt very conspicuous, making that move in front of a crowd. Also, can I say that tidying up after going to the potty is quite a trick with an IV (disconnected from bag), taped on pulse-ox monitor, and all the cardiac monitor wires dangling in the way? I don’t know how I did it.
I am rarely such a baby before surgery or surgery-like procedures, but this morning I was needy. I had been so uncomfortable when the port was placed, I begged to be knocked out. They said they really wouldn’t do it, and besides, this is so quick it’s unnecessary. I made them swear to wrap me up like a mummy in warm blankets, and they followed through. They did pour an extra big shot of Benadryl in my IV, as we negotiated after they said no to standard sedation. I was under a body-sized drape for the procedure, with just a hole over the port, and between the Benadryl, warm blankets, and warm air under the drape, I relaxed enough that I caught myself snoring twice as I drifted in and out of awareness. They really were done before I knew it.
The nurses in that surgical suite know my daughter, and they had asked her a few times about me since the port placement. When I got there, before they put it together that this bald lady was her mom, my primary nurse said “when have I seen you recently?” I made the connection and said the port went in this May. They all said, was it just May? So quick! I assured them that the summer did not go quickly for everyone. Every hour was a week long for me. Just like last time, the assembled nurses were both professional and extremely friendly and approachable. I cannot stress enough how lucky I am to have fallen ill in this particular community. So many wonderful people working in the medical field here.
I was fine to get myself to and from the car after I was released (no wheelchair needed), but wow, I was not 100% myself. I sat in my chair at first, nodding off and kicking my neck uncomfortably. So I moved to the bed, to see whether I could sleep on my side yet. The answer to that was no, and I flopped onto my back, with a bit more snoring that I could hear even as I slept. I moved back to the living room, and still had to rest my eyes a few times. Those darling ladies took me seriously when I begged for Benadryl, I must say. I think Harvey was mocking me at the end of the day, sacked out at my feet, sleeping with his mouth open. “Dur dur dur... Look at me... I’m mom. (Snorrrrrre)”
At least that yucky port is out. Lidocaine has worn off, and the one picture I took post-op looks weird. But I’m happy as a girl can be.
Show time was 7 this morning. We were not on time. We came stumbling up to the outpatient check in desk at 7:10, apologizing. Thankfully, the hospital was not busy at that time of day, so there were no repercussions and no scolds. The IR surgery suite (um... interventional radiology?) was practically empty. At least no other patients but me were visible. There were boatloads of medical professionals. Nurses, interns, PAs... I don’t know the makeup, but there were probably six or seven people in blue scrubs at the desk when I arrived. They were also there when I was being wheeled back to the OR, stopping in the hallway before we went through the main doors, so I could hop off the bed and go to the bathroom with all kinds of wires and tubes hanging off of me. That felt very conspicuous, making that move in front of a crowd. Also, can I say that tidying up after going to the potty is quite a trick with an IV (disconnected from bag), taped on pulse-ox monitor, and all the cardiac monitor wires dangling in the way? I don’t know how I did it.
I am rarely such a baby before surgery or surgery-like procedures, but this morning I was needy. I had been so uncomfortable when the port was placed, I begged to be knocked out. They said they really wouldn’t do it, and besides, this is so quick it’s unnecessary. I made them swear to wrap me up like a mummy in warm blankets, and they followed through. They did pour an extra big shot of Benadryl in my IV, as we negotiated after they said no to standard sedation. I was under a body-sized drape for the procedure, with just a hole over the port, and between the Benadryl, warm blankets, and warm air under the drape, I relaxed enough that I caught myself snoring twice as I drifted in and out of awareness. They really were done before I knew it.
The nurses in that surgical suite know my daughter, and they had asked her a few times about me since the port placement. When I got there, before they put it together that this bald lady was her mom, my primary nurse said “when have I seen you recently?” I made the connection and said the port went in this May. They all said, was it just May? So quick! I assured them that the summer did not go quickly for everyone. Every hour was a week long for me. Just like last time, the assembled nurses were both professional and extremely friendly and approachable. I cannot stress enough how lucky I am to have fallen ill in this particular community. So many wonderful people working in the medical field here.
I was fine to get myself to and from the car after I was released (no wheelchair needed), but wow, I was not 100% myself. I sat in my chair at first, nodding off and kicking my neck uncomfortably. So I moved to the bed, to see whether I could sleep on my side yet. The answer to that was no, and I flopped onto my back, with a bit more snoring that I could hear even as I slept. I moved back to the living room, and still had to rest my eyes a few times. Those darling ladies took me seriously when I begged for Benadryl, I must say. I think Harvey was mocking me at the end of the day, sacked out at my feet, sleeping with his mouth open. “Dur dur dur... Look at me... I’m mom. (Snorrrrrre)”
At least that yucky port is out. Lidocaine has worn off, and the one picture I took post-op looks weird. But I’m happy as a girl can be.
Monday, August 26, 2019
Take It Out
Inspirational song: All Right (Christopher Cross)
The big rebound is gaining velocity. It took a solid hour early, early this morning for the desperation Zantac to make a difference in my system, but once it did, I was able to sleep deeply, all the way until 9 am. Once I woke, I practically vaulted out of bed, ready to be a real human. (Disclaimer: my version of waking with energy is very different than all y’all who don’t live with chronic illness.) I got a few things done, and left a few things for later. I’m learning to pace myself. I made it the whole day without noticeable backtracking. This is worth celebrating.
The way I shall celebrate breaking through the last down week will be getting up way earlier than usual tomorrow and going back to the hospital to have my port removed. My show time is 7, and unless there is a schedule goof like last time, I should be released before 11. I won’t be allowed to do a whole lot of stuff during the rest of the day, because I will have just had a tube removed from my jugular vein, and I am pretty sure there is a fair bit of scar tissue that makes this a delicate procedure. I also have begged them not to let me be as wide awake as I was last time. The operating room was seriously frigid, and the table they put me on was hard as a rock. I shook the whole time. But they said it takes only half an hour, start to finish, so they don’t do full sedation. Damn.
I know it was incredibly useful, this port, but I have hated it from the moment it went in. I can’t wait to get it out. It gives me the heebie jeebies all the time, especially when I’m trying to sleep on my side and it gets tugged. It stopped actually hurting after about three weeks, but I never stopped feeling it, even when I wasn’t thinking about it. Removing it will be a huge symbol of putting chemo behind me, and I rejoice that the day is almost upon me when it goes away.
The big rebound is gaining velocity. It took a solid hour early, early this morning for the desperation Zantac to make a difference in my system, but once it did, I was able to sleep deeply, all the way until 9 am. Once I woke, I practically vaulted out of bed, ready to be a real human. (Disclaimer: my version of waking with energy is very different than all y’all who don’t live with chronic illness.) I got a few things done, and left a few things for later. I’m learning to pace myself. I made it the whole day without noticeable backtracking. This is worth celebrating.
The way I shall celebrate breaking through the last down week will be getting up way earlier than usual tomorrow and going back to the hospital to have my port removed. My show time is 7, and unless there is a schedule goof like last time, I should be released before 11. I won’t be allowed to do a whole lot of stuff during the rest of the day, because I will have just had a tube removed from my jugular vein, and I am pretty sure there is a fair bit of scar tissue that makes this a delicate procedure. I also have begged them not to let me be as wide awake as I was last time. The operating room was seriously frigid, and the table they put me on was hard as a rock. I shook the whole time. But they said it takes only half an hour, start to finish, so they don’t do full sedation. Damn.
I know it was incredibly useful, this port, but I have hated it from the moment it went in. I can’t wait to get it out. It gives me the heebie jeebies all the time, especially when I’m trying to sleep on my side and it gets tugged. It stopped actually hurting after about three weeks, but I never stopped feeling it, even when I wasn’t thinking about it. Removing it will be a huge symbol of putting chemo behind me, and I rejoice that the day is almost upon me when it goes away.
Not Basic
Inspirational song: The Reflex (Duran Duran)
I've been sitting, half-reclined in bed for hours, lying horribly to myself. I keep thinking that the acid stomach will eventually dissipate, that water will dilute it, that it's just a matter of time like everything else. Nope. It's eating me alive just like it has been most of the summer. My entire system has been off balance, and I'm experiencing discomforts that I had convinced myself I had conquered years ago. I started taking acid reducers when I was a teenager. By the time I was a freshman in college, I was making Woody Allen type self-deprecating jokes about how much Tagamet I took. By the time I was in my 30s, I started looking for changes in my diet I could make to stop doing this. For the last decade, doctors have been trying to throw Zantac and Prilosec at me and I have am so over it, I completely refuse to take them.
At least, I had managed to refuse them until I went into this hard core treatment this summer. The acid stomach and accompanying reflux is wearing me down. I miss a lot of sleep, which sounds weird to say from a woman who has spend most of the last three months in bed. But really, as I type this paragraph, it is almost 1:15 in the morning, and I have been here for over two hours waiting for the heartburn to let up just enough for me to think clearly to blog. It never gave up. It doesn't matter if I eat or don't eat, if the food I choose is bland, spicy, acidic, or basic. When my older daughter was here, she convinced me to take antacid tablets, and left me her glovebox bottle of them. I've taken several over the last few days, to no avail. The acid just gets stronger. So just now, I got up and dug through the remnants of drugs that have moved with me a couple of times, and took a Zantac. (Yes, it was expired. Lay off, I was desperate.) If I'm lucky, it will chill things out enough that I can sleep by about 2 am or so.
I had a little more energy today, enough to have a wonderful morning chat with my bestie who was down for the weekend with her kids. She was here for about two hours over early morning coffee, long enough to drive home how much I have missed her. But that was as much as I could do for quite a while. I kept trying to walk around the house, inside and out. I made myself eggs for breakfast, which turned out to be quite an effort. I kept trying to talk to the Man as he pulled weeds and mowed the lawn. But when he told me all I had to do was mark the plywood for the table and he and T would go ahead and cut it for me while they were doing table saw work, I discovered how little energy I really had. Or maybe it was strength, more accurately. I couldn't hold both the tape measure and the pen. I couldn't hold the square flat against the wood to run the pen down it. I fumbled and shook and staggered. I had to give up and trust that the short line I had drawn before I dropped everything would serve as enough of a guide for them to cut what I wanted. They took over and did the muscle and finesse work I couldn't, and now I have to wait and hope I'm strong enough to run a belt sander by myself soon.
Fifteen minutes into the Zantac, and I'm still waiting. Maybe I'll stop and see what's on YouTube. That Pottery Throw Down it keeps suggesting is pretty interesting. It should see me through until dawn, if the Zantac never works.
I've been sitting, half-reclined in bed for hours, lying horribly to myself. I keep thinking that the acid stomach will eventually dissipate, that water will dilute it, that it's just a matter of time like everything else. Nope. It's eating me alive just like it has been most of the summer. My entire system has been off balance, and I'm experiencing discomforts that I had convinced myself I had conquered years ago. I started taking acid reducers when I was a teenager. By the time I was a freshman in college, I was making Woody Allen type self-deprecating jokes about how much Tagamet I took. By the time I was in my 30s, I started looking for changes in my diet I could make to stop doing this. For the last decade, doctors have been trying to throw Zantac and Prilosec at me and I have am so over it, I completely refuse to take them.
At least, I had managed to refuse them until I went into this hard core treatment this summer. The acid stomach and accompanying reflux is wearing me down. I miss a lot of sleep, which sounds weird to say from a woman who has spend most of the last three months in bed. But really, as I type this paragraph, it is almost 1:15 in the morning, and I have been here for over two hours waiting for the heartburn to let up just enough for me to think clearly to blog. It never gave up. It doesn't matter if I eat or don't eat, if the food I choose is bland, spicy, acidic, or basic. When my older daughter was here, she convinced me to take antacid tablets, and left me her glovebox bottle of them. I've taken several over the last few days, to no avail. The acid just gets stronger. So just now, I got up and dug through the remnants of drugs that have moved with me a couple of times, and took a Zantac. (Yes, it was expired. Lay off, I was desperate.) If I'm lucky, it will chill things out enough that I can sleep by about 2 am or so.
I had a little more energy today, enough to have a wonderful morning chat with my bestie who was down for the weekend with her kids. She was here for about two hours over early morning coffee, long enough to drive home how much I have missed her. But that was as much as I could do for quite a while. I kept trying to walk around the house, inside and out. I made myself eggs for breakfast, which turned out to be quite an effort. I kept trying to talk to the Man as he pulled weeds and mowed the lawn. But when he told me all I had to do was mark the plywood for the table and he and T would go ahead and cut it for me while they were doing table saw work, I discovered how little energy I really had. Or maybe it was strength, more accurately. I couldn't hold both the tape measure and the pen. I couldn't hold the square flat against the wood to run the pen down it. I fumbled and shook and staggered. I had to give up and trust that the short line I had drawn before I dropped everything would serve as enough of a guide for them to cut what I wanted. They took over and did the muscle and finesse work I couldn't, and now I have to wait and hope I'm strong enough to run a belt sander by myself soon.
Fifteen minutes into the Zantac, and I'm still waiting. Maybe I'll stop and see what's on YouTube. That Pottery Throw Down it keeps suggesting is pretty interesting. It should see me through until dawn, if the Zantac never works.
Saturday, August 24, 2019
Put the Transmission in D
Inspirational song: Love Is a Battlefield (Pat Benatar)
Things picked up steam as the day rolled on. I’m not at 100% yet, but I’m not at zero anymore either. I’m too smart to get up and pretend everything is normal and I can race around again. But I’m able to carry on conversations without getting breathless and I’m alert enough to sort out mildly complex planning issues. Big win.
I don’t know where to place most of the credit for the improvement over the course of the day. Could be what I said had to happen, just wait until my bone marrow started cranking out white blood cells again. Could also have been boosted when, in the middle of a conversation with my foster daughter, I realized it had been almost a month since I took my twice-weekly mega dose of prescription vitamin D. I got up mid-sentence and grabbed it from the medicine cabinet. I have a long way to go to get back on regular meds, but this could help me a little in the short term.
I was blessed with lots of company in various types of connections. Foster daughter stayed until mid-afternoon, and was a tremendous help with things like feeding me, getting me water, doing dishes, and vacuuming. Plus, she was just very pleasant company. One of my long-time Colorado friends popped in for a few minutes in between appointments, and that was a lovely interlude. I was supposed to meet up with an old friend I’ve known since at least 8th grade, but she was having vehicle problems, and we are hoping to reschedule for tomorrow. And then, out of the blue, one of my BFFs who just moved out of state this summer called to say she had brought her kids down for a whirlwind visit with all of their besties before school starts, and it was short notice but could she drop in for coffee early tomorrow morning. My answer was “of course,” and I immediately set an alarm for so early even the cats won’t be demanding breakfast yet. It’s still kind of exhausting but damn, if being the belle of the ball doesn’t feel good right about now.
My final visitors of the day were my daughter and later her husband who came to give her a ride home. We have a new D&D campaign starting in a little over a week, and they hadn’t even made up their characters yet. My daughter’s has a big secret that only I and her dad know, so she spent hours with us tonight, rolling up stats and figuring out how certain mechanics will work. I’m doubly glad I spent all those hours during my down time watching YouTube videos, because I was able to come up with the right questions to ask for how to make her abilities fit into the rule structure, and I had the vocabulary to explain to her what certain attributes and skills meant in plain English. She desperately wants to give the secret away, and when her husband arrived I had to encourage her to hold out just a week and a half more. I kind of think she’ll give it away before then, but it is so incredibly unique, I can’t blame her for wanting to brag.
I guess if I’m having coffee at dawn, it’s time to put away the rule books spread across my lap and go to bed. Alfred will appreciate it. He’s wanted that lap for hours and it was too crowded for him. I've been getting lots of accusing stares over it.
Things picked up steam as the day rolled on. I’m not at 100% yet, but I’m not at zero anymore either. I’m too smart to get up and pretend everything is normal and I can race around again. But I’m able to carry on conversations without getting breathless and I’m alert enough to sort out mildly complex planning issues. Big win.
I don’t know where to place most of the credit for the improvement over the course of the day. Could be what I said had to happen, just wait until my bone marrow started cranking out white blood cells again. Could also have been boosted when, in the middle of a conversation with my foster daughter, I realized it had been almost a month since I took my twice-weekly mega dose of prescription vitamin D. I got up mid-sentence and grabbed it from the medicine cabinet. I have a long way to go to get back on regular meds, but this could help me a little in the short term.
I was blessed with lots of company in various types of connections. Foster daughter stayed until mid-afternoon, and was a tremendous help with things like feeding me, getting me water, doing dishes, and vacuuming. Plus, she was just very pleasant company. One of my long-time Colorado friends popped in for a few minutes in between appointments, and that was a lovely interlude. I was supposed to meet up with an old friend I’ve known since at least 8th grade, but she was having vehicle problems, and we are hoping to reschedule for tomorrow. And then, out of the blue, one of my BFFs who just moved out of state this summer called to say she had brought her kids down for a whirlwind visit with all of their besties before school starts, and it was short notice but could she drop in for coffee early tomorrow morning. My answer was “of course,” and I immediately set an alarm for so early even the cats won’t be demanding breakfast yet. It’s still kind of exhausting but damn, if being the belle of the ball doesn’t feel good right about now.
My final visitors of the day were my daughter and later her husband who came to give her a ride home. We have a new D&D campaign starting in a little over a week, and they hadn’t even made up their characters yet. My daughter’s has a big secret that only I and her dad know, so she spent hours with us tonight, rolling up stats and figuring out how certain mechanics will work. I’m doubly glad I spent all those hours during my down time watching YouTube videos, because I was able to come up with the right questions to ask for how to make her abilities fit into the rule structure, and I had the vocabulary to explain to her what certain attributes and skills meant in plain English. She desperately wants to give the secret away, and when her husband arrived I had to encourage her to hold out just a week and a half more. I kind of think she’ll give it away before then, but it is so incredibly unique, I can’t blame her for wanting to brag.
I guess if I’m having coffee at dawn, it’s time to put away the rule books spread across my lap and go to bed. Alfred will appreciate it. He’s wanted that lap for hours and it was too crowded for him. I've been getting lots of accusing stares over it.
Friday, August 23, 2019
Sleepover
Inspirational song: Fool on the Hill (The Beatles)
See, Mom, I'm not totally alone. I got it covered. I've had several members of the friends group check in on me, and I even have a buddy (foster daughter) spending the night. It's a good thing she's here, too. We were invited next door to T's to have fajitas (I actually ate!!) and watch a movie. I sat in a corner of the couch the entire night, through a whole movie and three half hour online shows, having my food and water delivered to me. When I got up to go home, I was tired by the time we made it to the door. Halfway home, in my dark front yard, I suddenly realized how long the walk was (late 1950s development -- these houses are not actually far apart), and got a little scared about how far I still had to go to get to my bed. She stayed with me until I was all the way in, rather than getting her overnight bag out of the car, and it was probably a good thing. Wow, that was hard work, moving from T's couch to my bed.
A lot of the nausea that has plagued me this week has started to pass, as of late this afternoon, but the lack of energy is still a problem, obviously. I'm confident that by the middle of next week I'll be perky again, but I'm not expecting much out of myself until then. I have multiple people stopping in to check on me tomorrow, and I hope none of them are offended by a dirty house. I will not even contemplate cleaning for a few days yet. It's so hard, knowing that feeling good is just a few days away, but I still just have to sit and wait while this nonsense takes up space. I got a taste of the good life at the end of last cycle, when my whole body woke up and wanted to work to burn energy, rather than sit very still and conserve it. I want that again, and waiting for it is awful.
See, Mom, I'm not totally alone. I got it covered. I've had several members of the friends group check in on me, and I even have a buddy (foster daughter) spending the night. It's a good thing she's here, too. We were invited next door to T's to have fajitas (I actually ate!!) and watch a movie. I sat in a corner of the couch the entire night, through a whole movie and three half hour online shows, having my food and water delivered to me. When I got up to go home, I was tired by the time we made it to the door. Halfway home, in my dark front yard, I suddenly realized how long the walk was (late 1950s development -- these houses are not actually far apart), and got a little scared about how far I still had to go to get to my bed. She stayed with me until I was all the way in, rather than getting her overnight bag out of the car, and it was probably a good thing. Wow, that was hard work, moving from T's couch to my bed.
A lot of the nausea that has plagued me this week has started to pass, as of late this afternoon, but the lack of energy is still a problem, obviously. I'm confident that by the middle of next week I'll be perky again, but I'm not expecting much out of myself until then. I have multiple people stopping in to check on me tomorrow, and I hope none of them are offended by a dirty house. I will not even contemplate cleaning for a few days yet. It's so hard, knowing that feeling good is just a few days away, but I still just have to sit and wait while this nonsense takes up space. I got a taste of the good life at the end of last cycle, when my whole body woke up and wanted to work to burn energy, rather than sit very still and conserve it. I want that again, and waiting for it is awful.
Thursday, August 22, 2019
I Swear
Inspirational song: I Can Feel Your Heartbeat (The Partridge Family)
The series of expletive-laden laments I’ve made out loud to no one over the last fourteen hours has been impressive. Mostly I’m just letting out how sore and tired I am, but I’m also a little frustrated at some things that are going wrong. If I let one of those statements slip here, the rest of this post would read like Dennis Hopper’s script in Blue Velvet. It would just be repeating the most cathartic of swear words over and over and over until my fingers got tired. The shorthand is that I feel really effing weak today.
I didn’t feel great this morning, but I got up and showered and dressed to drive the 45 minutes to Thornton anyway. I had to sit a lot during the dressing process. I checked my phone repeatedly during that time, and no one called. Not once. So we left and drove to the doctors office. My phone is paired with the car, and again, it did not ring. When we parked at the office building, I looked, and there was a voice mail (and no missed call). They didn’t say that they didn’t get my referral in time, but they really didn’t have to. I went inside and talked it over with the receptionist. She rescheduled me for a week from today, which was decently prompt, and was as pleasant as she could be for not being responsible for any of the mess. The bright side: a woman came in as I was wrapping up, saying this was the first time seeing Dr G at this location, and she got lost and was late for her 9:45 appointment. I told her she was in luck, that my 10:15 slot just opened up and I was glad to leave it for her.
We stopped at Costco on the way home, to grab a few of the things we go through in bulk, and I spent most of that trip learning where I could find places to sit while I waited for the Man. (In order: couches on display on the way in, a dining room set with a view of the freezer aisles, the bathroom, and the benches in the food court. I’ve never sat so much in a Costco before.)
I still had a half a spoon left to pick up my Palisade peach order from Rotary, stopping at the former club president’s bank on the way home. And that was it. I have been done ever since. I’ve managed to wash my sheets, because oh, god, I had to, but my bed is only half remade. My fingertips hurt too much to tighten the fitted sheets or pull on pillowcases. My body is too weak to do the thing where you fling the sheets and blankets up in the air to spread them. And every time I try to get a little closer to done my heartbeat becomes fast and thready, and I feel terrible. My stomach keeps getting upset, for all that I have a clue how to help it. I’m pretty sure I’m going neutropenic like three weeks ago, but since I burned up all my good NOT having a doctor visit today, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow and see how I feel. The antibiotics they gave me before were more precautionary in case I encountered something that would give me an infection. The cancer sites I referenced said there isn’t much of a treatment for neutropenia otherwise. They just wait for your bone marrow to wake back up and start pumping out white blood cells again. Last time I rebounded strongly, but I was definitely weak for three or four days waiting for it. I’m looking at another weekend alone, while the Mr takes the dogs to the cabin for extended work time. I’ve put out a call to the friends to check on me, especially Friday night and Saturday day. I think I’m covered. If something goes wrong, expect that the in-person swear content of my communications will significantly increase.
No pictures. Too tired. Use your imagination.
The series of expletive-laden laments I’ve made out loud to no one over the last fourteen hours has been impressive. Mostly I’m just letting out how sore and tired I am, but I’m also a little frustrated at some things that are going wrong. If I let one of those statements slip here, the rest of this post would read like Dennis Hopper’s script in Blue Velvet. It would just be repeating the most cathartic of swear words over and over and over until my fingers got tired. The shorthand is that I feel really effing weak today.
I didn’t feel great this morning, but I got up and showered and dressed to drive the 45 minutes to Thornton anyway. I had to sit a lot during the dressing process. I checked my phone repeatedly during that time, and no one called. Not once. So we left and drove to the doctors office. My phone is paired with the car, and again, it did not ring. When we parked at the office building, I looked, and there was a voice mail (and no missed call). They didn’t say that they didn’t get my referral in time, but they really didn’t have to. I went inside and talked it over with the receptionist. She rescheduled me for a week from today, which was decently prompt, and was as pleasant as she could be for not being responsible for any of the mess. The bright side: a woman came in as I was wrapping up, saying this was the first time seeing Dr G at this location, and she got lost and was late for her 9:45 appointment. I told her she was in luck, that my 10:15 slot just opened up and I was glad to leave it for her.
We stopped at Costco on the way home, to grab a few of the things we go through in bulk, and I spent most of that trip learning where I could find places to sit while I waited for the Man. (In order: couches on display on the way in, a dining room set with a view of the freezer aisles, the bathroom, and the benches in the food court. I’ve never sat so much in a Costco before.)
I still had a half a spoon left to pick up my Palisade peach order from Rotary, stopping at the former club president’s bank on the way home. And that was it. I have been done ever since. I’ve managed to wash my sheets, because oh, god, I had to, but my bed is only half remade. My fingertips hurt too much to tighten the fitted sheets or pull on pillowcases. My body is too weak to do the thing where you fling the sheets and blankets up in the air to spread them. And every time I try to get a little closer to done my heartbeat becomes fast and thready, and I feel terrible. My stomach keeps getting upset, for all that I have a clue how to help it. I’m pretty sure I’m going neutropenic like three weeks ago, but since I burned up all my good NOT having a doctor visit today, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow and see how I feel. The antibiotics they gave me before were more precautionary in case I encountered something that would give me an infection. The cancer sites I referenced said there isn’t much of a treatment for neutropenia otherwise. They just wait for your bone marrow to wake back up and start pumping out white blood cells again. Last time I rebounded strongly, but I was definitely weak for three or four days waiting for it. I’m looking at another weekend alone, while the Mr takes the dogs to the cabin for extended work time. I’ve put out a call to the friends to check on me, especially Friday night and Saturday day. I think I’m covered. If something goes wrong, expect that the in-person swear content of my communications will significantly increase.
No pictures. Too tired. Use your imagination.
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
Back In Business
Inspirational song: Taking Care of Business (Bachman-Turner Overdrive)
My days of hiding from real life are coming to an end. I still had to be very stingy with my units of energy (whether you call them spoons or spell slots or whatever), but I had to be a big girl and get back on the phone to sort my crap out. I’m supposed to see my rheumatologist for the first time since the surgery, and in the time since I saw her last, my primary care doctor retired, and I got a new one. I called her office on Friday, and asked whether I had already sent over a referral, which I thought I had. They said no, they didn’t have it, and they would call to request it. I clearly explained that I would be down this week, and they needed to handle it without me. So I made myself follow up today. They said they didn’t have the referral, and could I call my doctor. So I did that. Her assistant said she had gotten multiple calls from them, and she had sent both the referral and the clinical notes they demanded. So I called back to talk to the specific person she interacted with. This woman literally contradicted every single thing she told me, multiple times over. Yes, we have the referral. No we don’t have a referral. Yes, I need clinical notes. No, she already sent them. I seriously don’t know where I stand. I also explained to her what I am going through this week, and told her rather frankly, look, I need a nap right now. If I have to reschedule, why don’t you call me, rather than expecting me to work it on my end. I’m kind of done with her.
After almost two whole months, we are just now to the stage of selecting flooring for the condo restoration. Between multiple insurance companies, an HOA that moves at a glacial pace, and all the testing that ServePro had to do (asbestos? In a condo built in the 80s!?), we are probably going to miss September rent too. (My account is completely empty now. It’s gonna be fun.) To choose flooring, the Mr had to drive all the way down to a warehouse in Englewood, south of Denver. So convenient. Obviously, I wasn’t about to go with him, so I had to try to guess from photos what color the options were. I was uptight about it at first, but once we exchanged a barrage of texts, and the lighting and colors changed in every single picture, I got over myself. I told the Mr to use his best judgment, and all I want is for it to just be done. I'm pretty sure it will be fine. The main thing is that there will be a dry floor with neither water nor mold on it. Whatever it takes, I'd just like it to be ready to rent out. I'm kind of done with this process too.
Maybe I need to work on my attitude tonight. I'm waiting for my first actual meal since Sunday, and if the rice spaghetti will ever cook (it takes a long time), I'll have some decent nutrition. It might realign me a little, so I can get back to other business.
My days of hiding from real life are coming to an end. I still had to be very stingy with my units of energy (whether you call them spoons or spell slots or whatever), but I had to be a big girl and get back on the phone to sort my crap out. I’m supposed to see my rheumatologist for the first time since the surgery, and in the time since I saw her last, my primary care doctor retired, and I got a new one. I called her office on Friday, and asked whether I had already sent over a referral, which I thought I had. They said no, they didn’t have it, and they would call to request it. I clearly explained that I would be down this week, and they needed to handle it without me. So I made myself follow up today. They said they didn’t have the referral, and could I call my doctor. So I did that. Her assistant said she had gotten multiple calls from them, and she had sent both the referral and the clinical notes they demanded. So I called back to talk to the specific person she interacted with. This woman literally contradicted every single thing she told me, multiple times over. Yes, we have the referral. No we don’t have a referral. Yes, I need clinical notes. No, she already sent them. I seriously don’t know where I stand. I also explained to her what I am going through this week, and told her rather frankly, look, I need a nap right now. If I have to reschedule, why don’t you call me, rather than expecting me to work it on my end. I’m kind of done with her.
After almost two whole months, we are just now to the stage of selecting flooring for the condo restoration. Between multiple insurance companies, an HOA that moves at a glacial pace, and all the testing that ServePro had to do (asbestos? In a condo built in the 80s!?), we are probably going to miss September rent too. (My account is completely empty now. It’s gonna be fun.) To choose flooring, the Mr had to drive all the way down to a warehouse in Englewood, south of Denver. So convenient. Obviously, I wasn’t about to go with him, so I had to try to guess from photos what color the options were. I was uptight about it at first, but once we exchanged a barrage of texts, and the lighting and colors changed in every single picture, I got over myself. I told the Mr to use his best judgment, and all I want is for it to just be done. I'm pretty sure it will be fine. The main thing is that there will be a dry floor with neither water nor mold on it. Whatever it takes, I'd just like it to be ready to rent out. I'm kind of done with this process too.
Maybe I need to work on my attitude tonight. I'm waiting for my first actual meal since Sunday, and if the rice spaghetti will ever cook (it takes a long time), I'll have some decent nutrition. It might realign me a little, so I can get back to other business.
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
Goal Achieved
Inspirational song: Splish Splash (Bobby Darin)
When one expects to spend an entire day in bed, it doesn’t take much to exceed expectations. Yesterday was as bad as I thought it would be. Today has been slightly better. Yes, everything still hurts, and yes, I lay down the whole day. But my digestive situation has been far better than previous cycles, and as long as I don’t attempt to eat, I expect it to stay that way. I can tolerate noise, so I had the companionship of the television while the Mr was out of the house all day (since school is back in session). I was able to set a shoot-for-the-moon goal for today, and darned if I didn’t achieve it.
I was getting as stinky as you can imagine, staying in bed, in the same nightgown and underwear for 48 hours. All I wanted to do today was get a bath. No, check that. I wanted a shower, but standing that long wasn’t going to happen. I thought I could do it mid-day, but I blew all my energy by walking a giant piece of Athena fluff from where it sat in the tub to the kitchen trash. I had to lie down for hours after that. It was almost six at night before I could try again. My perseverance paid off. I’m clean, wearing fresh jammies, and my attitude has improved. It’s all I could want at this stage.
The animals were less thrilled with me. As the afternoon wore on, and their regular dinner time came and went, they didn’t respect my answers that I wasn’t capable of feeding them. I got a few terrible pictures of them stomping on my bed, angry that I didn’t jump up and fix dinner. Look, kids, one goal at a time. Let’s talk on Thursday about fitting you into my very busy schedule.
When one expects to spend an entire day in bed, it doesn’t take much to exceed expectations. Yesterday was as bad as I thought it would be. Today has been slightly better. Yes, everything still hurts, and yes, I lay down the whole day. But my digestive situation has been far better than previous cycles, and as long as I don’t attempt to eat, I expect it to stay that way. I can tolerate noise, so I had the companionship of the television while the Mr was out of the house all day (since school is back in session). I was able to set a shoot-for-the-moon goal for today, and darned if I didn’t achieve it.
I was getting as stinky as you can imagine, staying in bed, in the same nightgown and underwear for 48 hours. All I wanted to do today was get a bath. No, check that. I wanted a shower, but standing that long wasn’t going to happen. I thought I could do it mid-day, but I blew all my energy by walking a giant piece of Athena fluff from where it sat in the tub to the kitchen trash. I had to lie down for hours after that. It was almost six at night before I could try again. My perseverance paid off. I’m clean, wearing fresh jammies, and my attitude has improved. It’s all I could want at this stage.
The animals were less thrilled with me. As the afternoon wore on, and their regular dinner time came and went, they didn’t respect my answers that I wasn’t capable of feeding them. I got a few terrible pictures of them stomping on my bed, angry that I didn’t jump up and fix dinner. Look, kids, one goal at a time. Let’s talk on Thursday about fitting you into my very busy schedule.
Monday, August 19, 2019
A Room Full of Nope
Inspirational song: White Room (Cream)
I didn't want to be right, but I was. Day Four is just as bad as it has been on the other three cycles. I've stayed in bed all day, feeling every single cell in my body, and they are all screaming at me. Everything hurts. I have zero energy. The best I can say is that I was sort of awake through most of it. I turned on the loud a/c and the tv and just let the noise go. A South Park binge might not have been the best choice for a sick room, but I didn't care. I just needed sound. I got a little local news and football too. And now I just want my head to stop hurting long enough to actually sleep through the night.
I was going to share an observation about how my body is taking this latest round of sickness, but I'll be nice and spare you. I'll leave with a picture of my view for the whole day.
I didn't want to be right, but I was. Day Four is just as bad as it has been on the other three cycles. I've stayed in bed all day, feeling every single cell in my body, and they are all screaming at me. Everything hurts. I have zero energy. The best I can say is that I was sort of awake through most of it. I turned on the loud a/c and the tv and just let the noise go. A South Park binge might not have been the best choice for a sick room, but I didn't care. I just needed sound. I got a little local news and football too. And now I just want my head to stop hurting long enough to actually sleep through the night.
I was going to share an observation about how my body is taking this latest round of sickness, but I'll be nice and spare you. I'll leave with a picture of my view for the whole day.
Sunday, August 18, 2019
Almost Time
Inspirational song: Something’s Coming (Barbra Streisand)
It’s getting close now—the last down week. I’ve been careful with myself all day. I did eat breakfast (another peaches and cottage cheese day). I really hope I ate it early enough that it stays down if life goes sideways for me tonight. I’m planning ahead for the next two days, knowing how awful it can be. I waited until late afternoon to shower, in case I can’t do it tomorrow (I haven’t showered on day four yet). I took a nap as my limbs started to feel heavy and weak. And now my cheeks have bright red spots on them (kind of vertical lines), my head is starting to hurt, and the taste in my mouth is just starting to change. I’ve made it all the way to regular bedtime without anything truly horrible, and I kind of want to shut everything off and hope I get one more night of normal sleep.
Instead, I’m daring fate to hurt me. Since my shower, I’ve been sitting on my bed in jammies, watching and endless stream of YouTube videos on tv, letting the algorithm choose my path. For two hours I’ve been stuck on a silly man from California who cooks gluten free and vegan. I’m actually considering trying some of the things he has made, but I’ll have to wait a week or two. I can’t believe my stomach has stayed as settled as it has watching food for this long. I don’t expect it to last much longer.
I’ve been cuddled all day by the cats. They either are just taking advantage of me being still all day, or they recognize I’m starting to feel bad again. Either way, I appreciate their efforts. But now it’s time for me to slide farther into the bed, nudging Athena out of my way. Mean mommy is starting to feel worse.
It’s getting close now—the last down week. I’ve been careful with myself all day. I did eat breakfast (another peaches and cottage cheese day). I really hope I ate it early enough that it stays down if life goes sideways for me tonight. I’m planning ahead for the next two days, knowing how awful it can be. I waited until late afternoon to shower, in case I can’t do it tomorrow (I haven’t showered on day four yet). I took a nap as my limbs started to feel heavy and weak. And now my cheeks have bright red spots on them (kind of vertical lines), my head is starting to hurt, and the taste in my mouth is just starting to change. I’ve made it all the way to regular bedtime without anything truly horrible, and I kind of want to shut everything off and hope I get one more night of normal sleep.
Instead, I’m daring fate to hurt me. Since my shower, I’ve been sitting on my bed in jammies, watching and endless stream of YouTube videos on tv, letting the algorithm choose my path. For two hours I’ve been stuck on a silly man from California who cooks gluten free and vegan. I’m actually considering trying some of the things he has made, but I’ll have to wait a week or two. I can’t believe my stomach has stayed as settled as it has watching food for this long. I don’t expect it to last much longer.
I’ve been cuddled all day by the cats. They either are just taking advantage of me being still all day, or they recognize I’m starting to feel bad again. Either way, I appreciate their efforts. But now it’s time for me to slide farther into the bed, nudging Athena out of my way. Mean mommy is starting to feel worse.
Saturday, August 17, 2019
Cat Accounts
Inspirational song: The Year of the Cat (Al Stewart)
When I first joined Twitter, with the idea that I'd use it to promote this blog (spoiler: I didn't), I mostly followed comedians, actors, and people I actually know in person. Then a few years later, the world freaked out and I did too, and I followed a ton of politicians, pundits, and journalists. Then that freaked me out even more, so I started following cat and dog accounts, and now I'm much happier. I've cheered when the city council didn't move a community garden in some town in England where I've never been, but several stray cats are cared for by the local gardeners. I've offered support when a cat from Warwick University campus got hit by a car, and had very similar injuries to my dog Speed Bump, and I promised that he healed and led a long, glorious life of climbing mountains. I've shared silly Thoughts of Dog that cheered me up on days I really needed it. (And thanks to that account, I have developed a lingering fascination with the Skittle under the fridge, just like the dog. I wonder whatever happened to it.) I keep adding new accounts to follow, and healing emotionally with every pretty cat and dog picture.
Today, all the English cat accounts I follow (of which there are many, and I don't quite know how I ended up with all of them) started tagging their photos with Black Cat Appreciation Day. I thought, hey, I have a couple of those. I tried to get new pictures of Jackie and Athena to tweet out, and every single time I snuck up on them with a camera, they caught me and moved. I managed to get one picture of the two of them, and Jackie was trying to blur herself like a photo of Bigfoot. She always does. Still, I will share it, because it was the best I could do.
Some of the chemo sickness has already started, a little early this time. Yesterday, I ate compulsively, with what I think was a side effect of the oral steroids I had to take. I just couldn't throw enough food in my face hole, all day. I regretted it overnight, when the heartburn was worse than I can remember it for decades, even counting in the previous cycles over the summer. My daughter left me a bottle of store-brand tums, and I have been chewing them up at night. By around two this afternoon, I realized I skipped eating altogether, and I tried to get a little something in me. Peaches and cottage cheese went down okay, but nothing else was possible. Late tonight, I tried to eat some Hippeas (chickpea cheetoes) and ice cream, and they just brought back the heartburn. I expect to eat nothing or next to it tomorrow through Wednesday. I feel a little better now that the Neulasta is off of my arm, and I've started to wonder if having that little catheter in me for 26 hours is so irritating in the same way that my one attempt at acupuncture was. (Doc later told me that my extreme discomfort and anxiety was because lupus doesn't play nice with acupuncture, and I should never try it again.) I'm still dreading tomorrow's onset of the digestive distress, and wondering whether it will wait until night time, as we've talked about going up to Rocky Mountain National Park tomorrow. That might be best left until a couple weeks from now, when I'm picking up steam, not losing it.
It's late now. Maybe I could go back to Twitter one last time, to check in on all those adorable cats and dogs, to put myself to sleep with happy thoughts. I'm going to need lots of those over the next four or five days.
When I first joined Twitter, with the idea that I'd use it to promote this blog (spoiler: I didn't), I mostly followed comedians, actors, and people I actually know in person. Then a few years later, the world freaked out and I did too, and I followed a ton of politicians, pundits, and journalists. Then that freaked me out even more, so I started following cat and dog accounts, and now I'm much happier. I've cheered when the city council didn't move a community garden in some town in England where I've never been, but several stray cats are cared for by the local gardeners. I've offered support when a cat from Warwick University campus got hit by a car, and had very similar injuries to my dog Speed Bump, and I promised that he healed and led a long, glorious life of climbing mountains. I've shared silly Thoughts of Dog that cheered me up on days I really needed it. (And thanks to that account, I have developed a lingering fascination with the Skittle under the fridge, just like the dog. I wonder whatever happened to it.) I keep adding new accounts to follow, and healing emotionally with every pretty cat and dog picture.
Today, all the English cat accounts I follow (of which there are many, and I don't quite know how I ended up with all of them) started tagging their photos with Black Cat Appreciation Day. I thought, hey, I have a couple of those. I tried to get new pictures of Jackie and Athena to tweet out, and every single time I snuck up on them with a camera, they caught me and moved. I managed to get one picture of the two of them, and Jackie was trying to blur herself like a photo of Bigfoot. She always does. Still, I will share it, because it was the best I could do.
Some of the chemo sickness has already started, a little early this time. Yesterday, I ate compulsively, with what I think was a side effect of the oral steroids I had to take. I just couldn't throw enough food in my face hole, all day. I regretted it overnight, when the heartburn was worse than I can remember it for decades, even counting in the previous cycles over the summer. My daughter left me a bottle of store-brand tums, and I have been chewing them up at night. By around two this afternoon, I realized I skipped eating altogether, and I tried to get a little something in me. Peaches and cottage cheese went down okay, but nothing else was possible. Late tonight, I tried to eat some Hippeas (chickpea cheetoes) and ice cream, and they just brought back the heartburn. I expect to eat nothing or next to it tomorrow through Wednesday. I feel a little better now that the Neulasta is off of my arm, and I've started to wonder if having that little catheter in me for 26 hours is so irritating in the same way that my one attempt at acupuncture was. (Doc later told me that my extreme discomfort and anxiety was because lupus doesn't play nice with acupuncture, and I should never try it again.) I'm still dreading tomorrow's onset of the digestive distress, and wondering whether it will wait until night time, as we've talked about going up to Rocky Mountain National Park tomorrow. That might be best left until a couple weeks from now, when I'm picking up steam, not losing it.
It's late now. Maybe I could go back to Twitter one last time, to check in on all those adorable cats and dogs, to put myself to sleep with happy thoughts. I'm going to need lots of those over the next four or five days.
Friday, August 16, 2019
Bang a Gong
Inspirational song: I'm Free (The Who)
When I graduated high school, back in the wild days of the 80s, and my friends asked me to sign their yearbooks, I wrote the exact same thing in all of them. I wrote out the full lyrics to the song "I'm Free." I wasn't so much celebrating the end of my K-12 days as I was looking forward to moving to Colorado for college and getting out of what I then called "Amohalko," or Oklahoma spelled backwards. I've since developed a healthy dose of nostalgia for those days, but I'm still quite happy with my choices to move my life to Colorado at age 17.
I was chipper this morning when I got out of bed. I don't mean I had a ton of energy. That never happens. But I pushed past my usual soreness, put my good mood in the driver's seat, and immediately started making breakfast for me and the Mr. I wasn't about to show up on my last chemo treatment feeling groggy and starved. I made bacon and scrambled eggs and grits (just for me -- he never learned to like grits in all those years in the South). I had a cup of coffee, and played on my iPad over my meal, absolutely unable to remove the smile from my face. I have waited three months to get to this point. It's a fraction of what friends of mine have had to endure, but it was quite enough for me. It cost me my hair, and I was happy to let 20 pounds of fat go along with it (although the way it left was rough.) I dealt with a lot of pain, terrible taste in my mouth, fatigue, constant cough, and dangerously severe neutropenia. It taught me a lot of lessons, about being good to myself, being more understanding when I hear friends and acquaintances are going through cancer treatments, and discovering my limits and strengths. I'm ready not to feel like a burden to my immediate family. I want to get back to feeling capable again.
I got dropped off at the cancer center on time, and then the Mr went shopping in his usual haunts, finding reclaimed redwood for his cabin deck. I was okay with being alone for most of the infusion. The first thing they give you is Benadryl, and it makes you sleepy for the first hour or so. I tried to read, going over details for my next D&D character, and looking up symbols to use for an art project I'd like to get to in a few weeks. Instead, the Wi-Fi was lacking, and I just curled up under the pretty quilt my dad sent me, and I let my eyes blink for extended periods. I never totally fell asleep, but I was truly loopy. It went quickly, and they were already switching me to the last bag before I started texting my husband and child, letting them know my schedule. The Mr showed up when there was about 1/3 of the last drug left, and my daughter arrived when the IV machine started beeping that it was empty. Perfect timing.
They tidied me up to go home. The nurse was the type who just reached in and yanked the giant needle out of my port without warning. No, don't think bad things. I actually thanked her for not giving me a countdown, so I wasn't tense when the needle came out. I prefer it that way. Then, I packed up my bag while I waited for the Neulasta to snap the catheter into my arm (and it hurt this time, which was weird). Then we went to ring the gong. My daughter was there to take video, but she took it portrait style, not landscape. So from that angle, me in my tight yoga pants, I looked like an apple on toothpicks. I was going to post it online, but I haven't worked up the nerve yet. At the same time, the Mr took a still photo, from the waist up, and I'll put that on here. I thanked the nurses present for being fantastic humans, and then I walked out grinning.
I'm done. I'm free! And when I got home, they called from the outpatient surgery department to set up my appointment to remove the port. It comes out in a week and a half. They don't expect to give me any more treatments. There's a guy on Twitter who has a Friday tradition of asking everyone to name one good thing that happened to them this week. Of course I celebrated completing chemo. So happy to finally announce that!
When I graduated high school, back in the wild days of the 80s, and my friends asked me to sign their yearbooks, I wrote the exact same thing in all of them. I wrote out the full lyrics to the song "I'm Free." I wasn't so much celebrating the end of my K-12 days as I was looking forward to moving to Colorado for college and getting out of what I then called "Amohalko," or Oklahoma spelled backwards. I've since developed a healthy dose of nostalgia for those days, but I'm still quite happy with my choices to move my life to Colorado at age 17.
I was chipper this morning when I got out of bed. I don't mean I had a ton of energy. That never happens. But I pushed past my usual soreness, put my good mood in the driver's seat, and immediately started making breakfast for me and the Mr. I wasn't about to show up on my last chemo treatment feeling groggy and starved. I made bacon and scrambled eggs and grits (just for me -- he never learned to like grits in all those years in the South). I had a cup of coffee, and played on my iPad over my meal, absolutely unable to remove the smile from my face. I have waited three months to get to this point. It's a fraction of what friends of mine have had to endure, but it was quite enough for me. It cost me my hair, and I was happy to let 20 pounds of fat go along with it (although the way it left was rough.) I dealt with a lot of pain, terrible taste in my mouth, fatigue, constant cough, and dangerously severe neutropenia. It taught me a lot of lessons, about being good to myself, being more understanding when I hear friends and acquaintances are going through cancer treatments, and discovering my limits and strengths. I'm ready not to feel like a burden to my immediate family. I want to get back to feeling capable again.
I got dropped off at the cancer center on time, and then the Mr went shopping in his usual haunts, finding reclaimed redwood for his cabin deck. I was okay with being alone for most of the infusion. The first thing they give you is Benadryl, and it makes you sleepy for the first hour or so. I tried to read, going over details for my next D&D character, and looking up symbols to use for an art project I'd like to get to in a few weeks. Instead, the Wi-Fi was lacking, and I just curled up under the pretty quilt my dad sent me, and I let my eyes blink for extended periods. I never totally fell asleep, but I was truly loopy. It went quickly, and they were already switching me to the last bag before I started texting my husband and child, letting them know my schedule. The Mr showed up when there was about 1/3 of the last drug left, and my daughter arrived when the IV machine started beeping that it was empty. Perfect timing.
They tidied me up to go home. The nurse was the type who just reached in and yanked the giant needle out of my port without warning. No, don't think bad things. I actually thanked her for not giving me a countdown, so I wasn't tense when the needle came out. I prefer it that way. Then, I packed up my bag while I waited for the Neulasta to snap the catheter into my arm (and it hurt this time, which was weird). Then we went to ring the gong. My daughter was there to take video, but she took it portrait style, not landscape. So from that angle, me in my tight yoga pants, I looked like an apple on toothpicks. I was going to post it online, but I haven't worked up the nerve yet. At the same time, the Mr took a still photo, from the waist up, and I'll put that on here. I thanked the nurses present for being fantastic humans, and then I walked out grinning.
I'm done. I'm free! And when I got home, they called from the outpatient surgery department to set up my appointment to remove the port. It comes out in a week and a half. They don't expect to give me any more treatments. There's a guy on Twitter who has a Friday tradition of asking everyone to name one good thing that happened to them this week. Of course I celebrated completing chemo. So happy to finally announce that!
Thursday, August 15, 2019
The Night Before
Inspirational song: Tomorrow (Annie)
Not sure I’ll sleep much tonight, for two solid reasons. One, I needed another long, deep nap this afternoon, after getting blood drawn (a life-long problem), and being out in the sun in the middle of the day. Two, tomorrow is the last treatment, and I haven’t yet packed my bag. I have special things to take with me for this final round: toys from my older daughter, the flower bracelet from my younger one, and the quilt that my dad had made for me. I’ve also picked out which hat to wear, from a second set of them hand-knitted by my sister-in-law. I’m so ready to get this over with. I don’t want to feel yucky from Sunday through most of next week, but that’s part of the deal. And from there, improvement will be steady.
My visit with the doctor went well. She said my bloodwork looked great, even considering where it was two weeks ago. She and the nurse both remarked how I was the kind of person who would get very sick, but bounce back quickly and strongly. I didn’t say it, but that might be the lupus talking. I asked some key questions, like how soon can I get this annoying port out of my chest. She assured me it can come out right away. We don’t expect to do any more rounds, so she sent the referral over for an appointment to cut it out. I also asked how soon to expect my hair to come back. That answer was six to eight weeks for stubbly hair, which perfectly matches my goal of having some hair by my birthday. Doc shared that her own mother’s hair grew back both thick and curly. I asked how long it stayed that way, and she said it was a permanent change. That makes two people I know of who I’ve been told kept their cancer curls, and two who I’ve observed but haven’t asked what their hair was like before. I’m really looking forward to discovering what mine will do. Almost guaranteed: salt and pepper, heavy on the salt.
I went to Lowe’s this morning, with my foster son-in-law and his bigger vehicle. I decided that it would be more work than it was worth to use the chippy reclaimed plywood for the base of my table. I bought a thinner sheet of a better grade, to minimize sanding and weight. I also got wood screws, paint, wood glue, and most importantly, a 4 inch hole saw. There will be ten cup holders around this big monster, and there was no way I could survive making those with a jigsaw. I’m pretty sure the trip around Lowe’s, loading the car in the sun, and forgetting to eat until well after noon on a blood draw day was what led to my extreme nap. So here I am, done blogging, so I can go pack my chemo bag. Watch for me tomorrow, ringing the “last treatment” bell!
Not sure I’ll sleep much tonight, for two solid reasons. One, I needed another long, deep nap this afternoon, after getting blood drawn (a life-long problem), and being out in the sun in the middle of the day. Two, tomorrow is the last treatment, and I haven’t yet packed my bag. I have special things to take with me for this final round: toys from my older daughter, the flower bracelet from my younger one, and the quilt that my dad had made for me. I’ve also picked out which hat to wear, from a second set of them hand-knitted by my sister-in-law. I’m so ready to get this over with. I don’t want to feel yucky from Sunday through most of next week, but that’s part of the deal. And from there, improvement will be steady.
My visit with the doctor went well. She said my bloodwork looked great, even considering where it was two weeks ago. She and the nurse both remarked how I was the kind of person who would get very sick, but bounce back quickly and strongly. I didn’t say it, but that might be the lupus talking. I asked some key questions, like how soon can I get this annoying port out of my chest. She assured me it can come out right away. We don’t expect to do any more rounds, so she sent the referral over for an appointment to cut it out. I also asked how soon to expect my hair to come back. That answer was six to eight weeks for stubbly hair, which perfectly matches my goal of having some hair by my birthday. Doc shared that her own mother’s hair grew back both thick and curly. I asked how long it stayed that way, and she said it was a permanent change. That makes two people I know of who I’ve been told kept their cancer curls, and two who I’ve observed but haven’t asked what their hair was like before. I’m really looking forward to discovering what mine will do. Almost guaranteed: salt and pepper, heavy on the salt.
I went to Lowe’s this morning, with my foster son-in-law and his bigger vehicle. I decided that it would be more work than it was worth to use the chippy reclaimed plywood for the base of my table. I bought a thinner sheet of a better grade, to minimize sanding and weight. I also got wood screws, paint, wood glue, and most importantly, a 4 inch hole saw. There will be ten cup holders around this big monster, and there was no way I could survive making those with a jigsaw. I’m pretty sure the trip around Lowe’s, loading the car in the sun, and forgetting to eat until well after noon on a blood draw day was what led to my extreme nap. So here I am, done blogging, so I can go pack my chemo bag. Watch for me tomorrow, ringing the “last treatment” bell!
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
Distracted by Food
Inspirational song: Cannibal Surf Babe (Marillion)
Whenever one needs to lure a cat inside from the yard, the most reliable way to get the cat's attention is to rattle a cup of the cat's dry food. At least, that's what works best for the kids around here, who are only fed a small amount twice a day, rather than left with full bowls round the clock. (The only way to keep Jackie from getting so fat she splits her britches.) Sometimes our boys who jump the fence wander far enough away that they don't hear the rattling of crunchies, or maybe they just find the internal fortitude to ignore us, because being out is so much fun. The latter probably explains why Harvey was out for hours yesterday, refusing to show up before I left for Rotary. He was flopping around on the front porch when I drove up afterwards, showing off while the Mr took his picture.
Before we went to Costco yesterday, the Mr picked two giant zucchini from the garden. They were each about as big around as my calf, and nearly as long. I offered to fry one of them in tempura batter for lunch today, and I grabbed a pack of chicken tenders to go with them while I was going to be standing over hot oil anyway. I was supposed to conserve my energy to clean house before the D&D group came over to do character development for the next campaign. Instead, I wore myself out frying food for an hour, making enough that there is a large Tupperware in the fridge packed solid with leftovers. (Yes, I know, fried foods make terrible leftovers, but I'm heading into a tough food week, and the Mr is not that picky.)
I tried to convince myself to clean up the oily mess mid afternoon, but instead, I lay down across the foot of my bed, and fell asleep under a fuzzy blanket. My room wasn't even that cool, but I was just tired enough to be chilled. I woke after 5, and didn't get up and moving until almost 6. I probably only got up at all because I remembered that I was supposed to be in charge of feeding dogs and cats while the Mr was attending back-to-school events. Groggy, I went outside, and found Elsa contently chewing on a large beef bone she had been given in the last day. I heard nothing from Murray, and I peeked under the canopy of the chokecherry tree to discover the back gate was standing open about 45 degrees. Pushing down panic, I dashed out to the alley and looked up and down. There was Murray, well north of T's fence, sitting on his butt in the alley. His legs were filthy from bouncing around on the asphalt, and he was obviously ready for dinner. He didn't argue about coming back to our yard. It did take a while, however, because I can't lift him, and he hates it when I try. But he made it, and I was able to feed him and everyone else shortly after.
When T came over for Wednesday game night, he had a gift for us for taking care of his and his girlfriend's dogs while they were on vacation in California. We had texted him a photo of one of my t-shirts from college that I thought was long-since lost, but I found when we cleaned out the basement last week. I had a shirt from the old days at CU, when they celebrated Alferd Packer days in April (before they switched to celebrating 4/20 instead). This one was a drawing of Alferd Packer, the first convicted cannibal in US history, flipping a hand in a cast iron skillet, with the phrase "Alferd Packer supports disarmament" on the back. (My favorite had a version of the odd quote that was attributed to the judge in his case, but probably wasn't accurate on any level: "There was only seven dimmycrats in all of Hinsdale County, and you, you man-eating son of a bitch, you et five of 'em!" That one came out before I arrived at CU, so I never owned it.) So when T saw a game called "Donner Dinner Party," he decided we absolutely had to have it. I don't know when we will play it for the first time, but I'm going to demand that we play a round of it on April 18 next year.
Whenever one needs to lure a cat inside from the yard, the most reliable way to get the cat's attention is to rattle a cup of the cat's dry food. At least, that's what works best for the kids around here, who are only fed a small amount twice a day, rather than left with full bowls round the clock. (The only way to keep Jackie from getting so fat she splits her britches.) Sometimes our boys who jump the fence wander far enough away that they don't hear the rattling of crunchies, or maybe they just find the internal fortitude to ignore us, because being out is so much fun. The latter probably explains why Harvey was out for hours yesterday, refusing to show up before I left for Rotary. He was flopping around on the front porch when I drove up afterwards, showing off while the Mr took his picture.
Before we went to Costco yesterday, the Mr picked two giant zucchini from the garden. They were each about as big around as my calf, and nearly as long. I offered to fry one of them in tempura batter for lunch today, and I grabbed a pack of chicken tenders to go with them while I was going to be standing over hot oil anyway. I was supposed to conserve my energy to clean house before the D&D group came over to do character development for the next campaign. Instead, I wore myself out frying food for an hour, making enough that there is a large Tupperware in the fridge packed solid with leftovers. (Yes, I know, fried foods make terrible leftovers, but I'm heading into a tough food week, and the Mr is not that picky.)
I tried to convince myself to clean up the oily mess mid afternoon, but instead, I lay down across the foot of my bed, and fell asleep under a fuzzy blanket. My room wasn't even that cool, but I was just tired enough to be chilled. I woke after 5, and didn't get up and moving until almost 6. I probably only got up at all because I remembered that I was supposed to be in charge of feeding dogs and cats while the Mr was attending back-to-school events. Groggy, I went outside, and found Elsa contently chewing on a large beef bone she had been given in the last day. I heard nothing from Murray, and I peeked under the canopy of the chokecherry tree to discover the back gate was standing open about 45 degrees. Pushing down panic, I dashed out to the alley and looked up and down. There was Murray, well north of T's fence, sitting on his butt in the alley. His legs were filthy from bouncing around on the asphalt, and he was obviously ready for dinner. He didn't argue about coming back to our yard. It did take a while, however, because I can't lift him, and he hates it when I try. But he made it, and I was able to feed him and everyone else shortly after.
When T came over for Wednesday game night, he had a gift for us for taking care of his and his girlfriend's dogs while they were on vacation in California. We had texted him a photo of one of my t-shirts from college that I thought was long-since lost, but I found when we cleaned out the basement last week. I had a shirt from the old days at CU, when they celebrated Alferd Packer days in April (before they switched to celebrating 4/20 instead). This one was a drawing of Alferd Packer, the first convicted cannibal in US history, flipping a hand in a cast iron skillet, with the phrase "Alferd Packer supports disarmament" on the back. (My favorite had a version of the odd quote that was attributed to the judge in his case, but probably wasn't accurate on any level: "There was only seven dimmycrats in all of Hinsdale County, and you, you man-eating son of a bitch, you et five of 'em!" That one came out before I arrived at CU, so I never owned it.) So when T saw a game called "Donner Dinner Party," he decided we absolutely had to have it. I don't know when we will play it for the first time, but I'm going to demand that we play a round of it on April 18 next year.
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
Restraint
Inspirational song: The Waiting (Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers)
Two more days of prep time to go. I'm so ready for that last treatment, not that I'm eager to feel bad. I just want to get it over with. The end is so close I can taste it. (Or maybe I'm just happy that I can taste anything. Those last few days at the end of a cycle feel like normal life, and I treasure them.) I made it to Rotary, to see my good friends, and it was fantastic to be in a crowd again. I'll miss the monthly social next week, but that should be the last time for the foreseeable future. That group is really good for my emotional health, and I got a huge boost to that today.
We were running out of the most important staples we depend on around here (half and half, coffee, sugar, butter, and non-bleach detergent booster), so it was the perfect time to go to Costco. The Mr needed to order tires for his dedicated Lyft car, so we split up at the front. I slowly walked every single aisle, a few of them twice, while I waited. I collected the things we really needed, including retrieving two of the last three available 40+ pound bags of cat litter from the floor. (I had no business lifting them, but I was all alone for too long to be willing to wait.) By the time we met back up, half an hour later (major SNAFU with the tire center), I'd worn blisters into my heels and strained both hip flexors from trying to turn a full cart with 85 pounds of cat litter at the front end for too long. But even with the exhaustion that brought, I was glad to be out and about. Plus, I'm kind of proud of myself for showing restraint. I walked past food that I knew we just didn't need, and things we didn't need right now. I gave up walking ahead by the time I hit the produce section. I still floated slowly around in circles, like I was on a raft on a lazy river, past avocados, peaches, lemons, and multi-colored bell peppers, all of which I'd love to have acquired today. But I know I'm not going to eat at all from Sunday through about Thursday, and all that produce would just rot in my fridge. Look at me, not consigning giant containers of potatoes, carrots, and strawberries to a gruesome fate! I'm learning. It is a slow process, but I'm learning.
Two more days of prep time to go. I'm so ready for that last treatment, not that I'm eager to feel bad. I just want to get it over with. The end is so close I can taste it. (Or maybe I'm just happy that I can taste anything. Those last few days at the end of a cycle feel like normal life, and I treasure them.) I made it to Rotary, to see my good friends, and it was fantastic to be in a crowd again. I'll miss the monthly social next week, but that should be the last time for the foreseeable future. That group is really good for my emotional health, and I got a huge boost to that today.
We were running out of the most important staples we depend on around here (half and half, coffee, sugar, butter, and non-bleach detergent booster), so it was the perfect time to go to Costco. The Mr needed to order tires for his dedicated Lyft car, so we split up at the front. I slowly walked every single aisle, a few of them twice, while I waited. I collected the things we really needed, including retrieving two of the last three available 40+ pound bags of cat litter from the floor. (I had no business lifting them, but I was all alone for too long to be willing to wait.) By the time we met back up, half an hour later (major SNAFU with the tire center), I'd worn blisters into my heels and strained both hip flexors from trying to turn a full cart with 85 pounds of cat litter at the front end for too long. But even with the exhaustion that brought, I was glad to be out and about. Plus, I'm kind of proud of myself for showing restraint. I walked past food that I knew we just didn't need, and things we didn't need right now. I gave up walking ahead by the time I hit the produce section. I still floated slowly around in circles, like I was on a raft on a lazy river, past avocados, peaches, lemons, and multi-colored bell peppers, all of which I'd love to have acquired today. But I know I'm not going to eat at all from Sunday through about Thursday, and all that produce would just rot in my fridge. Look at me, not consigning giant containers of potatoes, carrots, and strawberries to a gruesome fate! I'm learning. It is a slow process, but I'm learning.
Monday, August 12, 2019
One More to Go
Inspirational song: The Final Countdown (Europe)
I probably shouldn't have allowed this day to get away from me. I only have four days before the last cycle starts. Next week could be anything, from as bad as the first down week to barely different than normal, but chances are I will be getting absolutely zero accomplished. I have a lot of short-term goals, and the best I could do in my limited available time was a little online research on prices and wash a few dishes. I learned that where to buy some of the materials for my D&D table will be the fabric store, not the craft store. I read reviews on a certain type of paint. I decided that regardless of the crappy condition of the reclaimed plywood, it's still a better value than buying fancy new wood. (Okay, yes, I'm going to have to sand the fool out of it, and I'm debating whether I can get away with spackle instead of wood filler since I'm planning on painting it, not staining it.) I studied the stack of wood outside, trying to gauge how much work will be involved in prying off the tongue-and-groove planks off of it. I think that part will be manageable, but actually picking up the heavy panels to work on will be impossible without help. I want to get started before my time runs out, but how?
Overall, I'm kind of amazed how dramatically I have rebounded since this cycle's down week. I still have a lingering cough that is uncomfortable, but otherwise, I'm feeling strong. For the first time in at least two years, maybe three, I feel like starting exercising again, just for fun. For fun! I don't have a whole lot of stamina yet, but I'm making time throughout the day to activate my muscles, however briefly. I'm sad that there's still one more cycle to go through, to interrupt this period of optimism and movement. I'm torn between fearing it will erase all my gains, and wanting to just get it over with so I can have true recovery.
I wonder how long the effects will last, once the last cycle is done, before my body completely shakes it off. Will I have hair by October, or will I be bald through Thanksgiving? How many months before the thin spaces in my eyelash lines regrow? I've probably lost all the weight I'm going to from being sick, but once I feel like walking long distances again, will I lose more, and will it go quickly or no? And possibly, the two most important questions, when will I feel like reading again, and when will I want to go back to work? Those two are intertwined. I knew there was a serious problem when I stopped having the focus to read even light fiction, and when I couldn't focus on a simple continuing education class quiz, on topics I had just had explained to me while I took notes. (That day was doubly embarrassing, because it was my boss who was leading the class, and I sat directly in front of him, paying attention, but when I looked at the words on the quiz, I couldn't read them to save my life.) I'm ready to have my brain back. That's the part I miss the most.
I'll try not to overwork myself this week, but I'm definitely feeling impatient for it all to end. I'm ready to be me again, after years of wondering who this alien was, piloting around my meat popsicle. There may be some permanent changes, but as long as the general trend is toward becoming myself again, I'll be happy.
I probably shouldn't have allowed this day to get away from me. I only have four days before the last cycle starts. Next week could be anything, from as bad as the first down week to barely different than normal, but chances are I will be getting absolutely zero accomplished. I have a lot of short-term goals, and the best I could do in my limited available time was a little online research on prices and wash a few dishes. I learned that where to buy some of the materials for my D&D table will be the fabric store, not the craft store. I read reviews on a certain type of paint. I decided that regardless of the crappy condition of the reclaimed plywood, it's still a better value than buying fancy new wood. (Okay, yes, I'm going to have to sand the fool out of it, and I'm debating whether I can get away with spackle instead of wood filler since I'm planning on painting it, not staining it.) I studied the stack of wood outside, trying to gauge how much work will be involved in prying off the tongue-and-groove planks off of it. I think that part will be manageable, but actually picking up the heavy panels to work on will be impossible without help. I want to get started before my time runs out, but how?
Overall, I'm kind of amazed how dramatically I have rebounded since this cycle's down week. I still have a lingering cough that is uncomfortable, but otherwise, I'm feeling strong. For the first time in at least two years, maybe three, I feel like starting exercising again, just for fun. For fun! I don't have a whole lot of stamina yet, but I'm making time throughout the day to activate my muscles, however briefly. I'm sad that there's still one more cycle to go through, to interrupt this period of optimism and movement. I'm torn between fearing it will erase all my gains, and wanting to just get it over with so I can have true recovery.
I wonder how long the effects will last, once the last cycle is done, before my body completely shakes it off. Will I have hair by October, or will I be bald through Thanksgiving? How many months before the thin spaces in my eyelash lines regrow? I've probably lost all the weight I'm going to from being sick, but once I feel like walking long distances again, will I lose more, and will it go quickly or no? And possibly, the two most important questions, when will I feel like reading again, and when will I want to go back to work? Those two are intertwined. I knew there was a serious problem when I stopped having the focus to read even light fiction, and when I couldn't focus on a simple continuing education class quiz, on topics I had just had explained to me while I took notes. (That day was doubly embarrassing, because it was my boss who was leading the class, and I sat directly in front of him, paying attention, but when I looked at the words on the quiz, I couldn't read them to save my life.) I'm ready to have my brain back. That's the part I miss the most.
I'll try not to overwork myself this week, but I'm definitely feeling impatient for it all to end. I'm ready to be me again, after years of wondering who this alien was, piloting around my meat popsicle. There may be some permanent changes, but as long as the general trend is toward becoming myself again, I'll be happy.
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Custom Build
Inspirational song: Welcome to My Nightmare (Alice Cooper)
The boys went up to the mountain cabin again today. Their goals were to haul up as many of the cement piers and deck boards as they could, plus to continue construction of the deck support frame. They succeeded in both efforts, despite bands of rain and taking along our dogs. I heard both of them complain multiple times once they were home how tiring it was hauling a wheelbarrow full of concrete piers (two or three at a time) up the long way to the cabin. The long way was the original path, which is half a mile compared to the short way which is a third. The original path was a slower climb, but it was steady uphill the whole way to the clearing just above the cabin. The newer path, that we used all last year, gained almost all of its elevation in the first 300 yards, with a brutal grade, before it levels out to a gentle incline most of the rest of the way.
On the way home, T was exhausted and absolutely starving, in the extreme way a man in his 30s often is after a day of climbing, hauling, and construction. He was hangry, more accurately. So when they drove through the residential mountain roads home, and a horse escaped his pasture almost directly in front of them, of course T was cranky that Mr S-P had to pull over and coerce the horse back behind his fence. I learned that not long after that, he stopped the truck again, backed up, and shooed a bird out of the road. T was flabbergasted that they had to stop and tend to so many animals before they could go home and get dinner. I admit, I was laughing a little too hard at this, telling him he's recreating my life for the last three decades. As long as I've known Mr S-P, we had to stop and rescue animals from the road. T and his girlfriend couldn't believe it at first that once we even stopped to convince a rattlesnake to clear the road near Calico Ghost Town in the high desert of California. However, they had no trouble believing he'd swerve on the interstate to avoid hitting butterflies. I had endless stories to tell, but for the sake of brevity, I only shared two or three.
While the guys were gone, I got started on my D&D table design. I struggled to imagine how to make it collapsible yesterday, while I was clearing out the theater room. Today, I started with notebook paper and a tape measure, and having something to make notes on made all the difference in the world. I have most of the kinks worked out completely, and just a few new wrinkles left, like how to make the two sections of table join securely enough that no one could snap the joint by leaning on it. I found some videos of people making their own, and it helped me considerably in my own unique design. I am on the right path now. I'm proud of what I've done on my own to design the custom table. Still gonna need a partner to help me with the table saw, though. There's no way around that.
The boys went up to the mountain cabin again today. Their goals were to haul up as many of the cement piers and deck boards as they could, plus to continue construction of the deck support frame. They succeeded in both efforts, despite bands of rain and taking along our dogs. I heard both of them complain multiple times once they were home how tiring it was hauling a wheelbarrow full of concrete piers (two or three at a time) up the long way to the cabin. The long way was the original path, which is half a mile compared to the short way which is a third. The original path was a slower climb, but it was steady uphill the whole way to the clearing just above the cabin. The newer path, that we used all last year, gained almost all of its elevation in the first 300 yards, with a brutal grade, before it levels out to a gentle incline most of the rest of the way.
On the way home, T was exhausted and absolutely starving, in the extreme way a man in his 30s often is after a day of climbing, hauling, and construction. He was hangry, more accurately. So when they drove through the residential mountain roads home, and a horse escaped his pasture almost directly in front of them, of course T was cranky that Mr S-P had to pull over and coerce the horse back behind his fence. I learned that not long after that, he stopped the truck again, backed up, and shooed a bird out of the road. T was flabbergasted that they had to stop and tend to so many animals before they could go home and get dinner. I admit, I was laughing a little too hard at this, telling him he's recreating my life for the last three decades. As long as I've known Mr S-P, we had to stop and rescue animals from the road. T and his girlfriend couldn't believe it at first that once we even stopped to convince a rattlesnake to clear the road near Calico Ghost Town in the high desert of California. However, they had no trouble believing he'd swerve on the interstate to avoid hitting butterflies. I had endless stories to tell, but for the sake of brevity, I only shared two or three.
While the guys were gone, I got started on my D&D table design. I struggled to imagine how to make it collapsible yesterday, while I was clearing out the theater room. Today, I started with notebook paper and a tape measure, and having something to make notes on made all the difference in the world. I have most of the kinks worked out completely, and just a few new wrinkles left, like how to make the two sections of table join securely enough that no one could snap the joint by leaning on it. I found some videos of people making their own, and it helped me considerably in my own unique design. I am on the right path now. I'm proud of what I've done on my own to design the custom table. Still gonna need a partner to help me with the table saw, though. There's no way around that.
Saturday, August 10, 2019
Phase One
Inspirational song: Don't Stop Me Now (Queen)
When we first moved into this house, we put a ton of effort into creating a home theater downstairs. We ripped out a yucky acoustic tile dropped ceiling and hard-wired a surround sound system in under a smooth drywall ceiling. We put in dimmable LED pot lights, and I chose a dark color for the walls ("Borscht"). We used the best, modestly-priced 2015 technology to run power cables and component connections through the walls to the TV. It took a few months to do everything we wanted, but for a while, it was a great hangout space. Then The Upheaval happened, and I tried to keep going down there while I was alone, but eventually I stopped. When the Mr moved back in, under what we thought was a temporary arrangement, we sort of kept using it as a theater-slash-family room, bingeing on TV shows and avoiding the temperature swings that are more common upstairs. But my health had taken a turn during his absence, and eventually the stairs became too much for me. I bought a TV for upstairs, and that became my primary video entertainment. I went through lupus flares, surgery recovery, and the fatigue that came with cancer (before and after diagnosis), and eventually I just watched TV from my bed rather than going down to the purpose-built room. Over time, too much furniture was stuffed into that space, and moving boxes were opened and never completely emptied, then left abandoned around the room. The cat box room was just down the hall from it, and a layer of the finest powder that cat litter could create touched every surface. The room was unloved.
Before we ever started playing D&D for real, we had thrown out the idea of offering that room for gaming to our kids. They lived in a tiny condo, and had a geeky sort of peer group (I say with fondness and motherly approval), and it seemed like a good way to get to see them. No one took us up on it at the time, and it became one of those great ideas that never survives the initial comment phase. When neighbor T came along two years later with his D&D starter kit and grand ideas of learning the game, we bounced around a lot. Sometimes we played here, sometimes at his house, and at least once at a specialty themed game parlor where they allowed groups to run games while they sold us overpriced beer and mead. As my treatment demanded it, we eventually started playing here all the time, so I didn't have to be sick in anyone else's bathroom. That's great for keeping me from getting overtired, but it wasn't great for keeping seven or eight people from massively overheating in my very small dining room.
If I had had the brain power and physical ability two months ago, before the heat of summer set in, I would have cleared out the basement sooner, and moved the games down there then. But until the last week, I could barely climb stairs once. Today, I was up and down them a half dozen times or more. (Slowly, to be sure.) My daughter came over, and together we dismantled the cat tower that no one uses anymore (she has an eight month old kitten who needs it more than my guys), and we moved a ton of furniture around. We vacuumed and sorted out a handful of recyclables, donation items, and trash, and found a few pieces of furniture that can go away forever. We tried multiple configurations of the room, never settling on the right layout, not once. Lucky for me, she tells me she is a manly man, so she did all the moving. Me, I took a lot of sit down breaks, and pretended I had the focus to sort stacks of papers. By the end of the night, we were both tired and sore, but the room was much cleaner and ready for the next phase of its development.
I'm going to build a big table downstairs, one that we can fit all of our players around. There's some scrap plywood in the back yard, and I can sand and paint it, and put legs on it. I need to work on designs, but I'd also like to put a rail around all the edges, where players can roll their dice and keep their drinks. We've talked about ripping out the carpet, that's now stained from spilled coffee and cat barf, and putting in as much of the bamboo planks from the condo that flooded in July as we can salvage. (Some will be too warped to use.) We need to do a bit of electronic work to get it prepped for D&D. We will work on connecting the TV to a computer or two, so that maps and symbols we need to know about can be broadcast to the party. Over time we'll rip our DVD collection to a hard drive and pack up all the physical discs (maybe get rid of them), to create more space. And if I can get agreement from all party members (not a sure thing), we will get a couple of inexpensive cameras and table mics to film and eventually publish to the internet our campaign, the one written and led by Mr S-P.
I'm excited to build the table, and I really have to get started on it ASAP. My next treatment is in six days, and I'd like to have the design and cutting done before then. I'll be doing most of it myself, except a little table saw work that I'll need a partner for. I'm already working on clever paint ideas, but I need to keep those secret until it's all done. I hope it looks nearly as good in real life as it is already becoming in my head.
When we first moved into this house, we put a ton of effort into creating a home theater downstairs. We ripped out a yucky acoustic tile dropped ceiling and hard-wired a surround sound system in under a smooth drywall ceiling. We put in dimmable LED pot lights, and I chose a dark color for the walls ("Borscht"). We used the best, modestly-priced 2015 technology to run power cables and component connections through the walls to the TV. It took a few months to do everything we wanted, but for a while, it was a great hangout space. Then The Upheaval happened, and I tried to keep going down there while I was alone, but eventually I stopped. When the Mr moved back in, under what we thought was a temporary arrangement, we sort of kept using it as a theater-slash-family room, bingeing on TV shows and avoiding the temperature swings that are more common upstairs. But my health had taken a turn during his absence, and eventually the stairs became too much for me. I bought a TV for upstairs, and that became my primary video entertainment. I went through lupus flares, surgery recovery, and the fatigue that came with cancer (before and after diagnosis), and eventually I just watched TV from my bed rather than going down to the purpose-built room. Over time, too much furniture was stuffed into that space, and moving boxes were opened and never completely emptied, then left abandoned around the room. The cat box room was just down the hall from it, and a layer of the finest powder that cat litter could create touched every surface. The room was unloved.
Before we ever started playing D&D for real, we had thrown out the idea of offering that room for gaming to our kids. They lived in a tiny condo, and had a geeky sort of peer group (I say with fondness and motherly approval), and it seemed like a good way to get to see them. No one took us up on it at the time, and it became one of those great ideas that never survives the initial comment phase. When neighbor T came along two years later with his D&D starter kit and grand ideas of learning the game, we bounced around a lot. Sometimes we played here, sometimes at his house, and at least once at a specialty themed game parlor where they allowed groups to run games while they sold us overpriced beer and mead. As my treatment demanded it, we eventually started playing here all the time, so I didn't have to be sick in anyone else's bathroom. That's great for keeping me from getting overtired, but it wasn't great for keeping seven or eight people from massively overheating in my very small dining room.
If I had had the brain power and physical ability two months ago, before the heat of summer set in, I would have cleared out the basement sooner, and moved the games down there then. But until the last week, I could barely climb stairs once. Today, I was up and down them a half dozen times or more. (Slowly, to be sure.) My daughter came over, and together we dismantled the cat tower that no one uses anymore (she has an eight month old kitten who needs it more than my guys), and we moved a ton of furniture around. We vacuumed and sorted out a handful of recyclables, donation items, and trash, and found a few pieces of furniture that can go away forever. We tried multiple configurations of the room, never settling on the right layout, not once. Lucky for me, she tells me she is a manly man, so she did all the moving. Me, I took a lot of sit down breaks, and pretended I had the focus to sort stacks of papers. By the end of the night, we were both tired and sore, but the room was much cleaner and ready for the next phase of its development.
I'm going to build a big table downstairs, one that we can fit all of our players around. There's some scrap plywood in the back yard, and I can sand and paint it, and put legs on it. I need to work on designs, but I'd also like to put a rail around all the edges, where players can roll their dice and keep their drinks. We've talked about ripping out the carpet, that's now stained from spilled coffee and cat barf, and putting in as much of the bamboo planks from the condo that flooded in July as we can salvage. (Some will be too warped to use.) We need to do a bit of electronic work to get it prepped for D&D. We will work on connecting the TV to a computer or two, so that maps and symbols we need to know about can be broadcast to the party. Over time we'll rip our DVD collection to a hard drive and pack up all the physical discs (maybe get rid of them), to create more space. And if I can get agreement from all party members (not a sure thing), we will get a couple of inexpensive cameras and table mics to film and eventually publish to the internet our campaign, the one written and led by Mr S-P.
I'm excited to build the table, and I really have to get started on it ASAP. My next treatment is in six days, and I'd like to have the design and cutting done before then. I'll be doing most of it myself, except a little table saw work that I'll need a partner for. I'm already working on clever paint ideas, but I need to keep those secret until it's all done. I hope it looks nearly as good in real life as it is already becoming in my head.
Friday, August 9, 2019
Tension
Inspirational song: Take It Easy (The Eagles)
For this entire summer, I've been given all the time and space I needed to go through this difficult medical journey. When I needed to rest, I rested, and no one said boo. I not only am grateful for the latitude, but I also feel a modicum of guilt that I'm the only one around here who got it. When my kids come over (from whatever distance), I've put them to work. They have cooked and cleaned, fetched and carried. Yet they have gotten off easy by virtue of not living here.
Mr S-P is plainly overworked by any metric one could apply. During the summer, while he wasn't teaching any classes, he has had to drive Lyft practically round the clock. He goes out in the morning for several hours, takes a break at home in the afternoon, and then goes out again at night, often well past midnight. I stay up late each night to write this blog, and it's rare that he's actually in the house when I'm doing it. When he's home, he has to take care of all the living souls around here, well more than just me. With two dogs, and until two weeks ago five cats (I still miss you, Rabbit), fish, lizards, and the wild birds and squirrels all expecting to be fed daily, he never gets to sleep late, even after driving until 1 or 2 in the morning. Murray sets the schedule, needing extensive care as a paraplegic dog who sleeps inside a locked door. If Mr S-P isn't mopping the garage floor at 7:30 in the morning, a miracle has happened. Add to all this taking care of me during down weeks, plus his cabin build and D&D campaign, and forget burning a candle at both ends. He's chucked that candle straight into a bonfire to be consumed all at once.
School starts up again next week, and he got no time to rest physically and mentally before diving into teaching two community college courses. This afternoon, when he came home after driving for at least five hours, he crashed in a two-hour nap, from which he dreamed he was doing yard work. He woke, realizing that he was actually supposed to be doing just that, but he was so tired, all he could do was run some errands, to get new belt sander belts, and start working on sanding the reclaimed lumber that goes up this weekend to the cabin. ("All," I said.) After dinner, he kept stressing out, finding wide open car windows when a severe thunderstorm rolled over, Murray laundry that failed to make it into the dryer, and other things that kept frustrating him, until he was so agitated he dropped and shattered a bowl when all he wanted to do was sit down with ice cream.
I feel terrible that he's under so much pressure. I'm feeling a little better this week, and am able to take care of myself, as well as take over some cooking and cleaning. I have yet to steer a car this cycle, so I won't pretend I could take over some of his driving. That's not possible. The best I can do is be a cheerleader, and encourage him to rest as much as time allows. I tried to persuade him not to go to the mountain yesterday, but to take a day off. When it hailed and rained on him, I was convinced I was right, but I tried not to needle him about it. That would have been unfair. And if this summer has been anything, it has been unfair quite enough, thank you.
For this entire summer, I've been given all the time and space I needed to go through this difficult medical journey. When I needed to rest, I rested, and no one said boo. I not only am grateful for the latitude, but I also feel a modicum of guilt that I'm the only one around here who got it. When my kids come over (from whatever distance), I've put them to work. They have cooked and cleaned, fetched and carried. Yet they have gotten off easy by virtue of not living here.
Mr S-P is plainly overworked by any metric one could apply. During the summer, while he wasn't teaching any classes, he has had to drive Lyft practically round the clock. He goes out in the morning for several hours, takes a break at home in the afternoon, and then goes out again at night, often well past midnight. I stay up late each night to write this blog, and it's rare that he's actually in the house when I'm doing it. When he's home, he has to take care of all the living souls around here, well more than just me. With two dogs, and until two weeks ago five cats (I still miss you, Rabbit), fish, lizards, and the wild birds and squirrels all expecting to be fed daily, he never gets to sleep late, even after driving until 1 or 2 in the morning. Murray sets the schedule, needing extensive care as a paraplegic dog who sleeps inside a locked door. If Mr S-P isn't mopping the garage floor at 7:30 in the morning, a miracle has happened. Add to all this taking care of me during down weeks, plus his cabin build and D&D campaign, and forget burning a candle at both ends. He's chucked that candle straight into a bonfire to be consumed all at once.
School starts up again next week, and he got no time to rest physically and mentally before diving into teaching two community college courses. This afternoon, when he came home after driving for at least five hours, he crashed in a two-hour nap, from which he dreamed he was doing yard work. He woke, realizing that he was actually supposed to be doing just that, but he was so tired, all he could do was run some errands, to get new belt sander belts, and start working on sanding the reclaimed lumber that goes up this weekend to the cabin. ("All," I said.) After dinner, he kept stressing out, finding wide open car windows when a severe thunderstorm rolled over, Murray laundry that failed to make it into the dryer, and other things that kept frustrating him, until he was so agitated he dropped and shattered a bowl when all he wanted to do was sit down with ice cream.
I feel terrible that he's under so much pressure. I'm feeling a little better this week, and am able to take care of myself, as well as take over some cooking and cleaning. I have yet to steer a car this cycle, so I won't pretend I could take over some of his driving. That's not possible. The best I can do is be a cheerleader, and encourage him to rest as much as time allows. I tried to persuade him not to go to the mountain yesterday, but to take a day off. When it hailed and rained on him, I was convinced I was right, but I tried not to needle him about it. That would have been unfair. And if this summer has been anything, it has been unfair quite enough, thank you.
Thursday, August 8, 2019
Miriam
Inspirational song: She's Always a Woman (Billy Joel)
Little things make me so happy these days. There was thick cloud cover most of the day, and a huge loop of monsoonal moisture streamed in from the Gulf. We never got anywhere near to the predicted high temperature, and a couple of small waves of rain rolled through. I never had to shut the windows to keep hot air out. It was just plain pleasant all day. At least, that's how it was down here in the flats. The man tried to go up to the mountain today, to haul up concrete piers for the deck and to get some prep work done before dragging our neighbor up on Sunday. It sprinkled on his way there, and about halfway up the trail, on the first trip up, it started to hail. From there to the cabin, it poured rain on him. Every time he tried to go out during a lull to do any sort of work, the skies dumped on him. He said it got so bad, he eventually just took a nap in the cabin. I suppose it's all how you look at a day like this. I would have loved to kick back and listen to the rain on the metal roof, with cool air blowing through the cabin. He would have loved to have gotten work done. Tomato/tomahto.
I had very few goals for the day. My main ambition was what the World's Okayest DM assigned me: to finish my character for the next D&D campaign. I've known who she would be for six months or more. I just dragged my feet on getting her statistics set in stone. I spent most of the day watching videos on character creation and digging through the rule book for details I never had to worry about with Gunda. I hadn't played a fighter type character in this edition of the rulebook yet, so I had a lot of things to dig up and research. It has also been many months since I read the online description of the race/species she will be, and I discovered I had not fully absorbed much of what I needed, while my brain was being hamstrung by cancer.
For the next campaign, I am playing an Amazon. I don't just mean a tall human who looks like Wonder Woman. I mean a whole new race of women who are a big step beyond that. Her name is Miriam, and she is close to seven feet tall. Her species matures as teenagers, but can live over 200 years, without the appearance of aging. She's incredibly strong and resilient, with a strong tendency towards bombastic charm. As a noble, she has chosen to become a paladin, a knight committed to upholding the law, leading and protecting others, and healing her compatriots as needed. She's a talented fighter, wielding a frightening double-bladed glaive that befits a woman of her stature. Her fine clothes and chain mail are of exquisite materials in black, white, and blue, and her shield is adorned with a blue infinity symbol, overlaid with the figure of a magpie. Her complexion is a deep olive, her eyes are leaf green, and her dark chestnut red hair curls into a short bob just below her jawline. She is strikingly beautiful, resembling a young Barbra Streisand, but her voice gets a bit like Madeline Kahn's when she's upset.
Miriam travels with three retainers--a squire, a valet, and a messenger. However, her messenger has recently run off to find her own way in the world. Miriam is feeling a keen sense of loss and is currently split between worrying about the girl and wondering how on earth she can find another who would be worthy to fill the vacancy left by the desertion. She has also attained an age where her biological clock has started ticking, and she's starting to have dreams of motherhood that alarm her during her waking hours. Her profession and lifestyle thousands of miles away from her own people do not allow for any possibility of a family at this point, and she's feeling stress over her conflicted emotions.
Little things make me so happy these days. There was thick cloud cover most of the day, and a huge loop of monsoonal moisture streamed in from the Gulf. We never got anywhere near to the predicted high temperature, and a couple of small waves of rain rolled through. I never had to shut the windows to keep hot air out. It was just plain pleasant all day. At least, that's how it was down here in the flats. The man tried to go up to the mountain today, to haul up concrete piers for the deck and to get some prep work done before dragging our neighbor up on Sunday. It sprinkled on his way there, and about halfway up the trail, on the first trip up, it started to hail. From there to the cabin, it poured rain on him. Every time he tried to go out during a lull to do any sort of work, the skies dumped on him. He said it got so bad, he eventually just took a nap in the cabin. I suppose it's all how you look at a day like this. I would have loved to kick back and listen to the rain on the metal roof, with cool air blowing through the cabin. He would have loved to have gotten work done. Tomato/tomahto.
I had very few goals for the day. My main ambition was what the World's Okayest DM assigned me: to finish my character for the next D&D campaign. I've known who she would be for six months or more. I just dragged my feet on getting her statistics set in stone. I spent most of the day watching videos on character creation and digging through the rule book for details I never had to worry about with Gunda. I hadn't played a fighter type character in this edition of the rulebook yet, so I had a lot of things to dig up and research. It has also been many months since I read the online description of the race/species she will be, and I discovered I had not fully absorbed much of what I needed, while my brain was being hamstrung by cancer.
For the next campaign, I am playing an Amazon. I don't just mean a tall human who looks like Wonder Woman. I mean a whole new race of women who are a big step beyond that. Her name is Miriam, and she is close to seven feet tall. Her species matures as teenagers, but can live over 200 years, without the appearance of aging. She's incredibly strong and resilient, with a strong tendency towards bombastic charm. As a noble, she has chosen to become a paladin, a knight committed to upholding the law, leading and protecting others, and healing her compatriots as needed. She's a talented fighter, wielding a frightening double-bladed glaive that befits a woman of her stature. Her fine clothes and chain mail are of exquisite materials in black, white, and blue, and her shield is adorned with a blue infinity symbol, overlaid with the figure of a magpie. Her complexion is a deep olive, her eyes are leaf green, and her dark chestnut red hair curls into a short bob just below her jawline. She is strikingly beautiful, resembling a young Barbra Streisand, but her voice gets a bit like Madeline Kahn's when she's upset.
Miriam travels with three retainers--a squire, a valet, and a messenger. However, her messenger has recently run off to find her own way in the world. Miriam is feeling a keen sense of loss and is currently split between worrying about the girl and wondering how on earth she can find another who would be worthy to fill the vacancy left by the desertion. She has also attained an age where her biological clock has started ticking, and she's starting to have dreams of motherhood that alarm her during her waking hours. Her profession and lifestyle thousands of miles away from her own people do not allow for any possibility of a family at this point, and she's feeling stress over her conflicted emotions.
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
Completion
Inspirational song: The End (The Doors)
Almost two full years of shenanigans have finally come to a close. When we started the campaign in late autumn two years ago, I was a little embarrassed about how excited I was to relive my high school days. I still had some misplaced lingering shame at my nerdy past. I feel like the whole world has changed, and now I can see it. D&D is no longer the purview of super nerds anymore. It has come out of the shadows, and it's big business. TV stars are open about how much fun they have playing. It's featured heavily in shows like Stranger Things, and I hear now there's a special edition of the game books in that show's honor. The internet has embraced it, and I've started watching people play it on YouTube, and I adore animated retellings of games. (For reals, check out Dingo Doodles. So charming!)
This was supposed to be a starter set. It was a simple campaign, in a book barely bigger than a pamphlet. It should have taken at most six months to finish. But the original players dropped out one by one, and we scrambled for people to take over the stock characters. When I joined, most of the originals were still playing, so I was allowed to bring in my own creation: a short, cranky gnome named Gunda, who was not quite as heavy as a big bag of dog food. She had a foul mouth, a bad attitude, and a distinct lack of common sense. But she was a crack shot with a crossbow, and she really loved setting crap on fire. We dragged in our foster daughter and foster son-in-law to take over as others dropped out, and eventually we roped in our old college roommate as well. The final incarnation of the party was much more emotionally invested than the originals, and we rode this nonsense out to the bitter end.
The end should have come long ago. If I am to be honest, much (and I stress MUCH) of the delay was thanks to the guy who joined right before I did. He played an elf druid named Sally of the Fields, and he was brilliant at totally derailing an entire week's progress. We had days when it took three evenings of play to get through four hours of game time. Most of the time it was funny, but it was often obnoxious too.
All good things must end, and tonight, we finally completed the campaign. The pre-printed characters had happy endings from the book. Sally and Gunda needed a little improvisation. It is really weird having it over. Those who played the stock characters were totally done with them, and ready to move on. Less so with Gunda and Sally. We loved the weirdos we created, and they will definitely show up again one day.
The next campaign is coming entirely from the mind of Mr S-P. He has been writing it since last winter. We were supposed to start back in March or April, but between the delays of finishing and my surgery and what-not, now we are hoping to start as soon as September. I have a few plans of my own, that involve setting up a whole new space, dedicated to this pursuit. More on that as my energy levels allow for home decorating. Until then, I have to focus on creating an Amazonian paladin who looks a bit like a young Barbra Streisand, with a much more judgmental attitude.
Almost two full years of shenanigans have finally come to a close. When we started the campaign in late autumn two years ago, I was a little embarrassed about how excited I was to relive my high school days. I still had some misplaced lingering shame at my nerdy past. I feel like the whole world has changed, and now I can see it. D&D is no longer the purview of super nerds anymore. It has come out of the shadows, and it's big business. TV stars are open about how much fun they have playing. It's featured heavily in shows like Stranger Things, and I hear now there's a special edition of the game books in that show's honor. The internet has embraced it, and I've started watching people play it on YouTube, and I adore animated retellings of games. (For reals, check out Dingo Doodles. So charming!)
This was supposed to be a starter set. It was a simple campaign, in a book barely bigger than a pamphlet. It should have taken at most six months to finish. But the original players dropped out one by one, and we scrambled for people to take over the stock characters. When I joined, most of the originals were still playing, so I was allowed to bring in my own creation: a short, cranky gnome named Gunda, who was not quite as heavy as a big bag of dog food. She had a foul mouth, a bad attitude, and a distinct lack of common sense. But she was a crack shot with a crossbow, and she really loved setting crap on fire. We dragged in our foster daughter and foster son-in-law to take over as others dropped out, and eventually we roped in our old college roommate as well. The final incarnation of the party was much more emotionally invested than the originals, and we rode this nonsense out to the bitter end.
The end should have come long ago. If I am to be honest, much (and I stress MUCH) of the delay was thanks to the guy who joined right before I did. He played an elf druid named Sally of the Fields, and he was brilliant at totally derailing an entire week's progress. We had days when it took three evenings of play to get through four hours of game time. Most of the time it was funny, but it was often obnoxious too.
All good things must end, and tonight, we finally completed the campaign. The pre-printed characters had happy endings from the book. Sally and Gunda needed a little improvisation. It is really weird having it over. Those who played the stock characters were totally done with them, and ready to move on. Less so with Gunda and Sally. We loved the weirdos we created, and they will definitely show up again one day.
The next campaign is coming entirely from the mind of Mr S-P. He has been writing it since last winter. We were supposed to start back in March or April, but between the delays of finishing and my surgery and what-not, now we are hoping to start as soon as September. I have a few plans of my own, that involve setting up a whole new space, dedicated to this pursuit. More on that as my energy levels allow for home decorating. Until then, I have to focus on creating an Amazonian paladin who looks a bit like a young Barbra Streisand, with a much more judgmental attitude.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
Not Ready
Inspirational song: Walking on the Sun (Smash Mouth)
After nearly two weeks of cowering under cover to avoid the sun and heat, and generally not being up to gadding about town, I wiped on a layer of sunscreen, grabbed a CU ball cap, and took my chance to change my scenery. I had skipped my regular Rotary meeting at lunch today, for not being mentally clear enough to drive myself there, nor energetic enough to climb the stairs from the parking lot. When a second opportunity to escape my hermit hideout came along, I seized it, even if it was just a trip to the big salvage lot in Boulder.
Because of the nature of the trip, we were in the truck, which has no a/c. It wasn’t too bad on the way there, with broken clouds and a highway breeze. By the time we parked, the entirety of Resource was as hot as the surface of the sun, and all clouds were gone. I had the stamina to see the rain barrel he had gone there to acquire, and then I lumbered directly to the warehouse to find a chair. I had been so pleased to be invited out of the house for fresh air, yet here I was, slumped on a pleather dining chair, blowing it.
The heat and UV light sucked all the good out of me. I was beyond tired when we got home, and more than a little loopy. I tried to sit in the hot tub and relax, but even that was short-lived. The water was too hot, and sitting on the side of the tub made me fearful of passing out and falling backwards on my head. I’ve made a ton of progress since my white blood cell count bottomed out last week, but I have miles to go. And the next two weeks (at least) will be in the 90s. Back to the hermit cave for me.
(Darn if I didn’t forget to take pictures today. I’ll work on that for tomorrow.)
After nearly two weeks of cowering under cover to avoid the sun and heat, and generally not being up to gadding about town, I wiped on a layer of sunscreen, grabbed a CU ball cap, and took my chance to change my scenery. I had skipped my regular Rotary meeting at lunch today, for not being mentally clear enough to drive myself there, nor energetic enough to climb the stairs from the parking lot. When a second opportunity to escape my hermit hideout came along, I seized it, even if it was just a trip to the big salvage lot in Boulder.
Because of the nature of the trip, we were in the truck, which has no a/c. It wasn’t too bad on the way there, with broken clouds and a highway breeze. By the time we parked, the entirety of Resource was as hot as the surface of the sun, and all clouds were gone. I had the stamina to see the rain barrel he had gone there to acquire, and then I lumbered directly to the warehouse to find a chair. I had been so pleased to be invited out of the house for fresh air, yet here I was, slumped on a pleather dining chair, blowing it.
The heat and UV light sucked all the good out of me. I was beyond tired when we got home, and more than a little loopy. I tried to sit in the hot tub and relax, but even that was short-lived. The water was too hot, and sitting on the side of the tub made me fearful of passing out and falling backwards on my head. I’ve made a ton of progress since my white blood cell count bottomed out last week, but I have miles to go. And the next two weeks (at least) will be in the 90s. Back to the hermit cave for me.
(Darn if I didn’t forget to take pictures today. I’ll work on that for tomorrow.)
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