Camelot

I'm not sure why I woke up early on Saturday but I did, and was frustratingly unable to fall back asleep. So I got up and fed the rather insistent kittens and popped in Henry & June and curled up in my recliner with my crocheting. About two hours later, I crawled up the stairs and on top of my husband and demanded breakfast, and by the time I got back to my movie and recliner and crocheting, my blood sugar was down to nothing and M was fussing at me for waiting so long to procure myself some sustenance. So altogether, a rather successful morning.

I think it was around 1:00 when we finally headed to mom's. I hadn't been there since I first got sick, which means I haven't visited Granddad in two weeks. [Insert guilt here.] And what a difference those weeks made. Granddad (or, as my cousin "Big Joe" likes to put it: GRAAAAND-DAD! shot off like two separate but equally important proclamations) had become bed-ridden, the recently virile man curled on a bed in his pajamas with a tube in his nose. But still, he looked surprisingly good and was in lovely spirits. He had the good fortune of no longer knowing who the president is, but could tell you with authority when Opening Day is. Thank God he knows the important stuff. I'm not 100% sure he knew who I was right away, but that's not the important stuff. Not now, anyway.

Don't let it be forgot

After our visit (where I helped myself to any treat I could find and went through the mail and refused to open my own drinks, so some things are the same at Grandma's house), we spent the rest of the day at mom's. She's doing better emotionally than I thought she'd be, but worse financially, and I'm reassuring myself that in the end it balances out to not bad overall. My story is the exact opposite but I have a vacation planned, so I'm hoping I'm not bad overall, but am not entirely convinced.

That once there was a spot

Sunday was the yearly women's outing for the ladies on M's side of the family, which means me, M's mother, his aunt, his younger cousin, her mother-in-law, and typically whoever M's other cousin is shagging at the time. But M's cousin is no longer shagging the Christmas Ticket Recipient, so M got to go. Let me tell you, Lou Diamond Phillips is no Broadway caliber singer, and the story was told with no sympathetic characters, so the play was a bit of a disappointment and seeing it then having dinner afterwards took my entire Sunday.

For one brief, shining moment

Nonetheless, the theme of having high ideals that seem to resonate for a moment before being lost wasn't lost on me. It's the story of my life: hoping for the best but always bracing for the worst. It's the story of Granddad's, though he managed to sustain high ideals longer than I ever could, and only loses it with his failing body. And at the same time, it becomes my story again, rising from my own ashes, Lady Lazarus, a phoenix, rising and falling and rising again.

That was known as Camelot.

Catching Up

What have I been up to since my last post? About 101.8.

I've been sick for a few weeks now. Not strep, flu, bronchitis, pneumonia or anything else anyone can specify. I've taken two trips to Patient First, where I've had cultures taken from my throat, nostrils, blood, and urine and I've been poked at, peered at, x-rayed, and subject to whatever else they can do. "Wait it out" is all they can say. I've blown my nose so much the skin on my nose and upper lip is stiff and brittle and so raw that anything I put on there stings terribly. I'm feeling a little better today. I'm not sure if that's saying much, but I hope it's a start.

Work has been crazy. I can't decide if I can't keep up because it's so much or because I don't have the energy to keep up lately. I want to hit the "reset" button that makes my house clean and my grocery shopping done and my work caught up so I can move forward with a simple, organized life. I haven't found that button yet, though. It's probably under a pile of laundry. Or one of my cats.

Score!

Okay, so my pick up was:

10 inch knitting needles in sizes 3, 4, 10
14 inch knitting needles in sizes 2, 2, 4, 5, 6, 6, 11
29 inch circular needles in sizes 5, 7 (old ones,,, check them out!)
7 inch double pointed needles in size 8 (set of four)
Crochet hooks in sizes 0, 0, E, E, J, J, K
An afghan hook in size J

Altogether, quite the stash of needles and hooks! I now have three size J hooks, but they are good to keep with your knitting in case you drop a stich, so there you have it. Now I need an organized place to store all of them...

The Shape of Things

It's been a long week. C is back from her two-week vacation, so I haven't had to get up early... and I haven't been. Work is driving me a little crazy, though some of it is getting better. One good thing I did was create a new spreadsheet with all of the functions in a project, the corresponding function codes and function costs, and spaces to enter approximate hours for any given project. Totals the cost for every function per phase, allowing us to do estimates a lot faster. I'll expect my comment from 'los to be "Jen Ryan = Girl Genius."

One nice thing is that I'm finally moving into the living room a bit. I've been in this house for nearly five years, so it's time I get comfortable in it, especially with the economy being what it is. Anyway, I have a canvas bag next to the couch, and I keep my knitting, crocheting, current book, and whatever else in it. All nice and neat and welcoming for me to settle in on the couch and occupy myself. I've started a crocheted t-shirt (Cupcake), starting with the lower back and working my way up:



and am trying to get an average of two rows done per night. I'm still knitting the knits and purling the purls on my scarf, which may be done in time for next winter. Or not. Either way, I'm likely to move on to increases and decreases, then start another pattern, with less purling.


I'm also VERY excited because someone in Bel Air emailed me saying she has crochet hooks and knitting needles she can Freecycle to me. We're going to grab them after lunch, and at some point, I'll likely list out my new treasures, although only C will really care. Especially now that she can teach me to knit "in the round." I am ALL ABOUT learning to make socks. You should check out her blog, Pink Lady Knits... she's made some very lovely stuff.

This morning we got up and went to the DMV so I could renew my license, we are packing up to head to Bel Air, then are going to James Joyce to celebrate VJ's birthday around 8. Headed to Mom's tomorrow. Back to work Monday.

Thank you for waiting for me

Spring Forward

Sunday, Angel woke me up early, and I spent the first two hours of my day reading, surfing the Net, and starting a new crochet project. When M got up, we did the usual breakfast at Panera, then headed down to Mom's. All the way there, I commented every time I saw a robin, and wondered when I could start scouting for "groundchucks."

Mom and the boys are doing well. Granddad looked a little more tired, walked a little more slowly, but seemed to be in good spirits. He and Grandma went to C&J's for dinner, where I hear Grandma fell and broke her ankle. Today, he has a walker and she has a wheelchair. I bet that makes getting a cup of coffee a lot of fun.

C & VJ are back in town, so I got to sleep in this morning. Work was relatively quiet (though three of the troops went home sick... hopefully not from me!) and I got home around 7pm, not too bad for me. AND IT WAS STILL LIGHT OUTSIDE!! As much as I dislike winter, it really makes me appreciate spring.

M made dinner while I did a few rows on Cupcake, we ate, I chatted with mom a bit, and now it's bedtime.

Samedi, jusqu'ici

I slept in a bit, braved an egg scrambled with asparagus, showered and got dressed. We had to go to Patient First so I could give another urine sample, and to CVS to pick up my prescriptions (and shampoo, and mascara, since we were there anyway...). We finished watching The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which I thought was wonderful. I should get the book; I'm sure that will be even better.

I managed some mashed potatoes, and later made pita chips (from homemade pita bread) and a white bean dip, though I didn't eat dinner. We played Scrabble down to the last seven or so tiles, and I got lucky enough to beat M:

and now he is reading while update my blog. I need to update my Ravelry blog as well, with my latest crochet projects. I finished Sweet Pea (and wore it to work on Thursday):

I'm very happy with it; it was a quick project, and though the yarn was an inexpensive acrylic/soy blend, it's soft and comforting.

And of course, there is Chanson en Crochet, which my mom finished a while ago, much to my delight:

She claims it doesn't look as good as it did in the pattern's pictures, but I think it is uniqe and gorgeous. It's made with Cascade 220 wool, is snug and still smells like my mommy. :)

I haven't decided what to do next, but will keep you posted. In the meantime... sweet dreams.

Burning with Fever

Whenever I am not feeling well, or am perhaps have some horrendous condition such as a hangnail, I like to put the back to my hand to my forehead and in my Best Dramatic Actress manner, ask whether I am burning with fever. Starting Wednesday, the answer was yes.

I knew something was off when I woke up, though I couldn't articulate what. But I needed to lay back down after the exhaustion of brushing my teeth. But I got dressed and headed to the S residence anyway.

When I got there, The Boy had made a mess in the living room. I bypassed it, fed the kids, sat down for a bit, changed everyone's water, sat down a bit, gave the cats their wet food, then drug a chair to the dishwasher to empty it. Then I crawled upstairs, threw myself across the foot of the bed, called M to come rescue me, called The Boss to let him know I wasn't coming in, hauled The Boy in bed with me, and passed out.

M got there about 90 minutes later, walked The Boy, cleaned up the mess, and helped me with the kids' meds. I diligently left my daily note, grabbed a plastic bag (by then, nausea had set in) and let M hustle me to his car.

By the time we were out of the neighborhood, I was thrashing about, screaming about being hot and that my extremities were numb, rolled down the window, attempted to climb out, then fell into M and whimpered the rest of the way home. I think I was conscious 15 minutes out of every hour the rest of the day.

Thursday, of course, I tried going to work. I made it until about 4pm.

Friday, of course, I tried going to work again. I made it until 3:30. M was lying in wait when I got home, ready to drag me to Patient First.

My Patient First experience was ... well, it was memorable. I was blessed by the presence of a young black nurse in training who called me "baby" and made me think of angels. I was cursed by getting the one doctor there who has the bedside manner of a starving hyena. They took my weight, height, blood pressure, temperature, urine; they looked in my eyes, ears, throat, listened to my breathing and my heart, and couldn't figure out what may be wrong with me. So a blood test it was.

(Let me pause to confess that I'm a fainter. I am a bit anemic and a lot squeamish. I don't do having my blood drawn. I barely tolerate having my blood pressure taken. Heaven help me when I get old, or if I ever really get sick.)

M was outside the door of my room when an older Filipino gentleman walked in with the sample tray. Terrified at this point, I warned him of the above. In a calm, quiet voice he told me he'd take good care of me, and gently guided me to lay down. His age was impossible for me to guess, and his serene look calmed me. He had me make a fist, tapped the crook of my arm, wiped the area, and while gently murmuring to me, inserted the needle. And for once, it was like nothing. No repeated jabs, no wiggling around for my uncooperative veins, just a tiny prick and his baby soft hands opening my fist. When it was over, he made sure I felt okay (and I did... mildly dizzy but no faintness) and my thanks was as pure as a child's. He smiled, and I was heartbroken he had to leave my side. His spirit reminded me of my granddad; they are nothing alike but both have an unmistakeable purity of spirit.

When my angel/nurse and doctor came back in the room, I whispered, I like him. He reminds me of my grandfather. My doctor scoffed and asked, "What? Is your grandfather Filipino?" I spent the rest of my exam with tears rolling down my cheeks. When the doctor left the room, I told the nurse about Granddad, and she told me she had just lost her uncle the same way: lung cancer that had spread to the brain. And she hugged me, patting my back and petting my hair, calling me baby and telling me everything would be okay.

Thus strengthened, as soon as the doctor came back in, I asked whether I was contageous and told him about Granddad and how important it is for me to be able to see him. Visibly taken aback, he assured me that I couldn't infect anyone via casual contact, answered my other questions, then left the room to write up my diagnosis, prescriptions, and release papers. All in all, the most exhausing medical visit I've ever endured, and I've endured some interesting ones.

I'm glad to report that the fever is only smoldering today, a tiny bit.

Heartbroken

Another late Monday night at work. My weekend was sweet. And bitter. Friday evening, I worked late, and got a call from Mom while I was starting my car. Bad news. I told her I was almost home; she told me Granddad's diagnosis. A month to live.

Saturday, I spent most of the day at home.

M was, as he always is, strong and quiet. I was, as I always am, unpredictable.

But he pulled me off of the couch towards the end of the day, and took me to Ann Taylor Loft and Taco Fiesta and Whole Foods, placing me back in the world in some of my favorite places. We went home and watched part of The New World but agreed it was trying too hard for poignancy and packaged it back up in its little red Netflix envelope. At least I finished my shawl.

Sunday morning we did the usual Panera breakfast. I treated myself to a pineapple upside down mini bundt and forgot to charge my Panera card. I also spend the majority of breakfast and the ride to mom's with my nose pressed in The Glass Castle, which I had started right around the time M was putting on his coat.

Mom's house was, of course, empty when we arrived... they were all across the street and Grandma's. So we went over there, and piled in the living room along with Aunt S and Uncle B and Aunt C and Uncle J and Mom and B and G and Grandma. And Granddad.

He looked good. He looked as fit and healthy as an 84-year-old man could hope to be. And he was, of course, in good humor. We all were... thank heavens I had missed the tearful day before. We visited for a while then filed out when it was declared time for Granddad's nap. His hugs felt the same as they always had, though his usual notification to M that he had better take care of me felt more imperative than it had before. To me and M, anyway.

Then, back to mom's where I threw the football with B for a while, and talked for a while, and read for a while. We had some leftovers from yesterday's visitors and M had his turn throwing the ball around. I left with Chanson en Crochet in tote (I'll post a picture soon) and my book nearly done.

We visited the S children for not quite an hour, then I tried reading by the map light of M's car down the bumpy city roads, and read at home while eating a sandwich and then was tossed in a warm tub with my book. I finished it in pjs, on the couch.

So another long day at work today, and one scheduled for tomorrow. Wednesday shouldn't be too bad. I'm getting through my days, heartbroken and healing at the same time.