A Hospital Visit

Last night Sis and I headed to the hospital where her dad is recovering from surgery for throat cancer. It is such a helpless feeling to see someone fight cancer. I was glad that Sis and I could bring him some books and movies to keep him busy as he makes his recovery. I think Sis is taking this a lot harder than she puts on. My older kids lost both their grandmas to cancer and have seen their grandpa fight it and lose his bladder because of it. Sis has seen the effects of cancer from a young age, and is scared for her dad. It is such a horrible disease.

I really wish my kid's dad (I prefer to call him that rather than my "ex") wasn't having to deal with it at all. He was in good spirits despite not being able to talk (due to a tracheotomy) and was writing comments and questions to us like crazy. I had to tease him a bit about his deplorable penmanship, and his sense of humor was definitely still intact!

I told him the story of my dad's surgery in August (which we laugh about now, but was very trying at the time). Dad woke up in ICU "confused and combative", and because of that they had to put restraints on him. Well then he thought he had been kidnapped and was being held hostage, so that when my sister came to visit he was cursing out the nurses and yelling to my sister to call 911, and get his nephew to bring guns. At one point 3 nurses had to hold him down. As dad recovered we told him a bit of what he went through as he didn't remember anything. He'll say that he feels terrible that he'd cursed out the nurses, but he really likes hearing the part about how 3 nurses (one of them a male) had to hold him down and how they commented on how strong he was! He's pretty proud that at 78 he could give them a "run for their money"!

I know seeing Sis really cheered her dad up, and he's recovering faster than they predicted, so we're just praying that things keep getting better for him.

My little preemie nephew is at the same hospital, so we got a chance to visit him as well. He's now in the NICU "Step Down" nursery where they're not nearly so strict about visitors, so Sis was able to see him for the first time. He's doing so well that he may be able to come home on Sunday. Here's a photo of him saying "Hi"

Can you tell I'm crazy about him? In fact I may be known forever more as the "crazy auntie"

Sometimes Life Gets in the Way of Blogging

I've been a little MIA this week, just because of busy-ness (as opposed to business, I guess).

I started back rehearsing with my old troupe on Tuesday night. We will be performing at our local American Cancer Society's Relay for Life at the end of April. After watching other troupes perform at Rakkasah I am now inspired to re-vamp our old choreographies and "kick it up a notch" plus start working on some new ones. Luckily my troupe mates are into it too.

Suey got skunked. Not enough to make her really stinky, in fact by the end of the day we couldn't even smell it on her, but it was enough to bring the smell into the house and onto the carpets. I got down on my hands and knees and sniffed every foot of our bedroom carpet (not my finest hour, I'll admit) and couldn't smell skunk in any particular spot, but our room reeked of it. I've been using a lot of odor neutralizer and I think I finally got it to go away, well either that or we're just used to it now!

The funny thing about skunk smell is that when it's fresh on the dog like that it doesn't smell like skunk at first (and yes unfortunately I do have experience with this). It smells more like burnt rubber or something. It takes a few minutes for the smell to take on the traditional skunkiness. I think that Suey ran in from getting hit, and rubbed it off on our carpet while we were still wandering around wondering where that burning smell was coming from. But the good news--skunks are a sure sign of spring!

Thursday I spent time in Natalie's class helping the kids dye eggs for today's hunt which I'll be going to help out with as well. It was funny that to some kids dying eggs seemed a little foreign. They weren't sure what to do, whereas others were old hands and even knew about dipping them in one color then in another for different effects. Some didn't really get the concept of the egg being fragile and would plop it into the dye with a thud. There were plenty of dyed finger tips, including mine (and a few cracked eggs as well!)

Then there was the kids' Open House night-a night I always look forward to...we were one of the first there and one of the last to leave. We had to go to the book fair, then visit the girls' classrooms, then we visited the first grade classes so Nat could see what she's in for next year, then we visited nearly all the other classes. Since all my kids have gone to this little school, I know almost all the teachers and they like to know what Cam and Sis are up to now, and the girls just like to be social like their dad.

It struck me that I've had all of my kids go through the same kindergarten room. Each year I've volunteered in the classroom and each year was a lot like the others. The same little projects like the sunflowers in the fall, pandas at Chinese New Year, and portraits of Martin Luther King Jr. I'm very much a veteran of tempura paint and glue sticks. I will miss it now that my last one is finishing up her year.

I'm finishing up my week with last minute preparations for Easter. It's so early this year! I really am not ready yet. I haven't even bought eggs to dye yet. Tomorrow we'll be busy with that, and I know it will be a fun weekend.

The Next Best Thing to Chocolate

That's right, Rice Krispie treats are my 2nd choice to the brown stuff.

I just made a batch because I can't seem to get enough sugar in my system. I've been tearing the house apart eating anything sugar-laden, putting mini chocolate chips on everything, finishing a box of chocolate wafers, and then eying the marshmallows and Rice Krispies, produced a pan of these goodies.

I've also been very fatigued and wanting to throttle anyone who dares to even look at me twice. Hmmm....this happens every month and it's not until the headache kicks in do I remember...Oh yeah, PMS! You would think I'd catch on after 30 years....Although, I must admit that the symptoms seem to be getting worse as I get older. I pity my family for having to put up with me during this time of the month!

Let The Games Begin

My legs are annoying. They have a mind of their own at night. I'm pooped, I lay down to drift off to sleep, and then my legs decide they haven't had enough action for the day and start in. They try to leave the bed and get up. They try kicking their way out of the covers. They try inventing new yoga poses for my toes. They basically really tick me off.

This doesn't happen every night, but often enough. I've noticed my legs are more likely to want to become independent of my body if I'm a bit overtired. Of course this is truly counterproductive, because I want to sleep but my legs keep waking me up, which makes me more tired, which makes my legs want to take advantage of me even more. It's a vicious circle to say the least.

The other night the toes on my right foot kept flexing. I would feel the muscles in my calf begin to tighten and then it would move down to my foot where my toes would all of a sudden have the urge to flee from one another. Very strange indeed.

The first time I ever noticed this phenomenon with my legs was when I was pregnant the first time around. I called it "stretchy legs" as it felt like I needed to stretch, but no amount of stretching helped. It only happened rarely then, but during my last 2 pregnancies it was very intense. Pregnancy really seemed to make it more extreme.

Only in the last few years has it gotten attention and been given a name: Restless Leg Syndrome. I was usually met with a blank stare when I would mention it to my doctors, so at least now I have a name for it and even a commercial product to reference. It definitely seems to get worse the older I get so eventually I'll probably have to look into treating it with medication.

Until then I will have my nights when it will be me and my legs-two separate beings in a fight over sleep vs. activity, rest vs. exertion, stillness vs. motion. Yeah, if I could kick their butt I would, but you can already see the conundrum that presents!

My Thermostat is Broken

I'm freezing. My husband is toasty. I sleep in full flannel jammies under our comforter and an extra blanket that is only on my side of the bed. My husband sleeps in his undies with the sheet over him. My favorite number on the thermostat is 74, his is 67.

It's starting already. Every year we go through this. Me being cold, him being warm, me sneaking the thermostat up, him complaining and plunging it back down to indoor refrigeration temperatures.

I can't help it if I'm always cold. Heck, I even wear sweaters and long sleeves in the summer. It's not easy being constantly chilly. I wish I could get some sympathy around here.

My favorite thing is to be alone in the car and to crank the heat up to scorch. It's like driving around in my own personal sauna. It's all the better if the sun is shining directly in on me. Maybe I'm some sort of reptilian freak that needs the warmth of the sun to function.

It's really not even winter yet, and it's been unseasonably warm around here, but you'll still find me in at least 2 layers. Around the house. When winter arrives it will be my standard 3 layers for indoor comfort. You'll also find me in my usual spot. Perched right in front of our heater so that I can absorb as much hot air as possible as it blows out.

Yes, being me in the winter isn't easy. I really think my inner thermostat must be broken. Brrrrrr. Going to get my flannels on now and curl up in a ball under the blankies!

Good Night Nurse!

So I was out helping take care of Dad this weekend who is recovering from bladder cancer surgery. They took his bladder out so now he has an ostomy bag. Apparently they took out his sense of modesty as well, which must be housed near the bladder in the human body.

I'm sure giving Dad a modestectomy was a minor mistake they made during the surgery and they thought we wouldn't notice that his modesty was now gone. But we did. Dad doesn't care who sees his stuff now. He just wanders around in an open robe and nothing else. He also has the habit of dragging along a big bag of urine with him. Eventually he could use his ostomy pouch which can be hidden under clothing, but for now he likes the heavy duty, industrial sized bag, because it doesn't need to be emptied but once a day. You've heard of people who seem to have a bladder the size of a watermelon and never have to pee? Well this bag is the medical version of that. It's very convenient for those who don't want the hassle of using the restroom, but for the rest of us it can be a bit distracting during meals and polite conversation.

It was my intention to go out and be of help; do laundry, fix meals, clean house, and keep an eye on Dad, giving my sister a much needed break. The first thing Dad wants to do is take a shower. Mind you this is his first shower in 6 weeks. He's pretty determined about it, and Tracy and Dave have already installed the needed equipment in the shower for him. I ask if he needs help, as it is clear to me now that I've already seen everything so I might as well help him wash it too. He declines, and on one hand I'm thinking that's good, because he needs to become independent. On the other hand it scares me to death that with the combination of soap, water, and his unstable physical condition at the moment, he'll hurt himself. He heads for the bathroom and I listen to every sound coming from behind the door. For the next 11 1/2 minutes I'm a nervous wreck. If he slips I'll feel terrible for not insisting on helping him. Finally I hear the water shut off and hear him shuttle off to his bedroom. All is well. Thank you Lord.

Then he calls out for me. So I rush back to the bedroom and he tells me not to go in the bathroom. What kind of doom awaits I can only imagine, but then he explains that he had forgotten to put the shower curtain inside the tub and got water on the floor and didn't want me to go in there for fear I would slip. He'd just as soon wait for the water to evaporate rather than put me out, but I tell him it's no problem and go start the clean up.

Well, he got quite a bit of water on the floor. A good 1/2 inch or so over the entire floor, plus the counter, the mirror, the toilet paper and the unsuspecting box of Kleenex also saw what a hand held shower head is capable of when it's not being restrained behind a curtain. It was quite a sight, and how he made it out of the shower and waded through the wetness on the linoleum without killing himself will be one of life's perpetual mysteries.

Oh, and I think your modesty regenerates. It must, because women lose theirs all the time during childbirth, but somehow it comes back. Here's hoping Dad's modesty is on the return. Soon.