tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16582048509902921152024-03-19T08:57:58.884-04:00Saying Nothing at AllHeatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-79490125499844983952014-02-25T09:36:00.004-05:002014-02-25T09:36:51.894-05:00Almost a year...<i>Tuesday, February 25, 2014</i><br />
<br />
This Friday, it will have been a year since Gery died. What I thought was the worst day of my life wasn't - that was actually his funeral, which was March 4, 2013. I still don't have the right words to describe the feelings. I love(d) him, but we were having problems. I can say now that I'm pretty sure they were symptoms of his brain tumor. That doesn't make it hurt less that in the second half of our marriage, I felt like we should be separating and divorcing and that we were staying together out of comfort, habit, and the promises we'd made to God and each other and to Sarah.<br />
<br />
I am still, at times, desperately sad and lonely. I am also, at times, able to forget that I am a widow and the mother of a fatherless child. Sometimes Sarah talks about Gery and I'm so happy she has those memories - things they did together, things he made for her, places we went together as a family. Sometimes, she's a very normal 5 (almost 6) year old, and she says things like, "This line is so long that I wish I was dead like Daddy," and I don't know how to respond. She's 5. She knows death. But she's 5 and in her world, nothing is forever. She says forever but she doesn't know that it means he is never. coming. back. Never. Never again. There will be no new memories. And I fear that she'll forget him, and so even though it still hurts a lot to talk about him, I do so that she can remember him. If not through her eyes, through mine.<br />
<br />
I'm kind of bouncing around like a pinball. (Pinball analogies? That's what I do now? I was always annoyed by the time the pinball machines took up. I wanted him to do things for and with me and (later) Sarah.) I moved across the state but I'm homesick and want to go back. But I don't want to go back to our house. I want to go to Erie. The next minute, I want to go to somewhere else. What I think I'm missing is that there is no place where I will feel comfortable in my own skin. I've been able to grow where I was planted in every other circumstance in my life, but (to follow the metaphor) my roots have been torn off and my leaves are shredded.<br />
<br />
Talk about your terrible writing. I'm a pinball and a plant? Sooner or later I'll be able to write well again, too.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-87502572768076952732013-11-26T21:13:00.003-05:002013-11-26T21:13:35.266-05:00Nine months.<i>November 26, 2013</i><br />
<br />
Ten months ago today, Gery had his seizure. Nine months ago on Thursday, he died. Thursday is Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday. It means so much to me because (long story short) my mother and two of my brothers (she was pregnant with the youngest) and I ran away from my father in Georgia and arrived in Pittsburgh on Thanksgiving Day. We were met by my favorite aunt and came to live with my grandmother. I had no idea then how very dangerous our lives had become or how dangerous the running away was, but I did understand three days on a bus, followed by baths and clean clothes and a lot of food.<br />
<br />
It mattered to me to have my family together on Thanksgiving. Gery and I hosted Thanksgiving dinner for the past 8 years. This year, we're not. Obviously. One of my brothers can't come. Two of them will be there. "There," though, is not my house. We're going to my inlaws' for dinner.<br />
<br />
This is no longer my favorite holiday. I don't know that I have a favorite anything anymore. Everywhere I go, I feel like I'm on the outside. I'm an extra. An odd number at the table. I drive myself and I leave alone. Nobody holds my hand, except Sarah, and even that is fading because she is a very big girl.<br />
<br />
I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be an outsider or an odd number. I'd rather skip it all. I'm not handling this well and I am irritating even myself because I can't snap out of it. I can't fix it. I feel like I'm whining constantly. Who wants to hear how sad and lonely I am when they're in love? Pregnant? Shiny new baby? Happy family of four on a beautiful snow covered Christmas card? I'm none of those things and I'm bitter.<br />
<br />
The things I wanted and dreamed about and planned will never happen. I'm grieving the loss of my own life as much as I'm grieving the loss of Gery's. People tell me they think I'm strong, that I've handled this with grace. Maybe I have. Maybe the reality is that I haven't handled anything and here I am facing what I've ignored, which is that I am alone. It is extremely tempting to isolate myself further because I cannot believe that anyone would want to be around me right now.<br />
<br />
I wish I could end this on some happy note, saying that I've realized something profound. I haven't. I'm depressed and sad and lonely and I'm struggling just to get up every morning. To provide any kind of life for Sarah. To connect to my family and friends when I want to close everyone out. I have hope that one day, if I keep trying, that I will feel like I'm in sync with this world again. Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-84586818221642483722013-11-08T21:52:00.003-05:002013-11-08T21:52:39.869-05:00Stop this Merry-go-Round! (I’m ready to get off.)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b>Monday, January 28, 2013</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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It was very strange, getting up in the morning after the sun
was up. Gery always left for work before me, but because neither of us were
going anywhere, we slept in. I took Sarah to daycare so I could make phone calls,
but I had to make Gery ride along with me because leaving him alone was just
too much to handle. Even for the half hour it would take, I couldn’t have
managed to leave him unsupervised after seeing him have those seizures. We went
in, I tried to briefly explain things to the director, but she had questions
and Gery had a lot to say. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I called the neurosurgeon to make an appointment. I was
transferred to the physician’s assistant who would come to handle absolutely
everything for me from Gery’s disability paperwork to my FMLA paperwork to labs
and prescriptions and coordination of his many, many evaluations and
appointments. She asked me to keep the phone by me so she could get back to me
with an appointment time. I assumed it would be a week or so, since Gery was going
to be seeing a big cheese. Wrong. The appointment was scheduled for the next
day. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I texted Gery’s parents and sisters to let them know, and
his mom said she would come along. I was grateful. My ability to understand all
this was limited (though I asked a lot of questions, did a lot of research, and
came to know much more than I ever thought possible), and she both knew the
right questions and was another set of ears to remember information. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>**Gery was not a reliable historian of the things that had
happened that brought us here, and he was still unable to move information from
short to long term memory. He was often confused and frustrated, and relied a
lot on me and the people he was with to answer simple questions. I came to the
point where I would not send him out with anyone who couldn’t keep him from
getting agitated. Immediate family and extremely close friends, yes. People who
could remember that he liked a steak burrito with hot salsa and no beans at Chipotle,
and not ask him what he wanted. It sounds so silly and simple now. Rearranging
deck chairs on the Titanic.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I called my office and his and spent a lot of time
setting up availability for us both to be off, but I don’t remember the details
of the conversations. I know I talked to friends from college, to extended
family members, and that when I went to talk to him about it, he was asleep. He
started napping all the time. He had apparently been falling asleep every day
after work – he would pick Sarah up, come home, and fall asleep. She didn’t
tell me until after he was gone. Not that it would have made a difference for
him; I wish I’d known that she was pretty much unsupervised for an hour every
afternoon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke him, made him ride along to pick Sarah up, and we
came home and I made dinner. A normal end to an extremely abnormal day. The
next day was even stranger. </div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-938651633166418922013-08-14T13:37:00.002-04:002013-08-14T13:37:43.006-04:00The smallest things hit the hardestThis weekend, Sarah and I went to a birthday party for a one year old. The one year old's dad is one of Gery's friends from school - probably elementary school, honestly - and they were sweet enough to invite us. As I watched this guy be an awesome dad, and watched another one of Gery's oldest friends be an awesome dad to his two year old, I thought that Sarah got cheated. Gery got cheated. These friends got cheated. They all should have been awesome dads together, doing regular things with their kids, grilling at birthday parties and having a beer together. And then I had to leave the party before I cried in front of people. <br />
<br />
Today I took Sarah to Kindergarten orientation. I took her to daycare, went to work for a few hours, and went back and picked her up to go over to the school. I planned to go back to work. That didn't happen. <br />
<br />
She is more than ready academically. She's more than ready socially, with one exception - the obvious. Sometimes she cries when she separates from me. That never happened before Gery died, and I'm pretty sure it's a direct correlation. She did not cry today. In fact, when her teacher called her name, she jumped up and ran to the front of the room and got in line with her classmates, and walked out to go to her classroom without a second look at me. I'm proud. It seems like THAT should be a moment that makes me tear up, but really, that's what I want for her. The ability to go forward into a sort of unknown situation and be cheerful about it. <br />
<br />
All of orientation was fine. I met her teacher afterward, introduced myself, said that Sarah was very excited for school and that I needed her to know that Sarah's dad had died several months ago. That Sarah has bad days, and on those days, if she asks for me, I'd appreciate a call or an email letting me know. All fine. I didn't cry, my voice didn't crack, I didn't even feel that sick feeling that comes sometimes.<br />
<br />
But then as we were getting in the car, Sarah said her stomach hurt. Terribly. Awfully. So bad that she thought I should probably call work and ask to stay home all afternoon, and that I should probably take her to lunch to make it feel better. Then, she very quietly asked me to take her to her Daddy's grave. She needed to talk to him. So I took her to lunch, and then we went to his grave. She hopped out of the car and said, "Daddy, I went to your school today. My teacher knew you when you were kids together. She said you were funny. I miss you and love you!" and she hopped back in the car.<br />
<br />
On the way home, she asked me why all the other graves have stones and why Daddy's grass is so green. I explained that his grass is green because it's newer than the other grass, and that I haven't gotten his stone yet because I don't know what to do about it. She wanted to know what goes on the stone, and I said, "His name, the day he was born, and the day he died," so then she wanted to know what day he died. Then she asked what time. And then she wanted to know how I knew what time it was, and I said, "Because I was there with him, baby. Grandma and I held his hands, and Aunt Megan and Grandpap were there too." Her last question is the one that did me in. Usually I can get through and cry later, but this one finished me off. "Did you want to be there?" and I said, "There's nowhere else I could have been." Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-52592490974965075282013-07-31T21:02:00.001-04:002013-07-31T22:35:36.339-04:00Post-ictal family dinner<b>Sunday, January 27, 2013</b><br />
<br />
<i>***Post-ictal is a word I learned from the paramedics who assessed and transported Gery to the hospital. It means the period immediately following a seizure in which the brain is still recovering. I'm using a little poetic license because it's usually not more than an hour unless the seizure was very large (and Gery had a series of large seizures). </i><br />
<br />
Family dinner was and is a staple of our lives - every Sunday, we have
dinner together. We talk about the things that happened that week, we
have inside jokes, we catch up on each others' lives, we have wine, we
eat off of each others' plates, we yell, we argue, we love each other
and I can't quite capture the essence of it other than to say it can be
the best and worst part of my week. Nobody holds you accountable like
the people who love and know you best. <i> </i><br />
<br />
We walked into Gery's parents' house together like we'd done so many times before. Sarah exploded through the door because she had a lot to say to her grandparents, her aunts, and her cousins. She had gone sled riding on a big hill, ridden in the back of a pickup truck, slept in a sleeping bag... her weekend had been amazing.<br />
<br />
I knew there would be meatloaf. It was Gery's favorite. Mine is okay, but nothing compares to his mom's. I haven't eaten meatloaf since he died. He seemed a little confused and kind of awkward, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do or say. I was relieved, honestly. I had gotten him to his mom, a nurse with a lot of experience and education, and I had done it without further incident. For a couple hours, I was not in charge. I did have some of the answers, though, even though we all had many more questions than answers. All I really knew was that I would call the neurosurgeon on Monday, and that I wasn't going to work because I didn't know what to do with Gery. He couldn't be alone, and he couldn't drive, and he was still easily confused and very quickly tired - so I was off work to make a plan. <br />
<br />
I wish I could give details of the conversation, or of the questions, or of Gery's reactions, but the whole thing is a blur to me. I was so physically and emotionally exhausted (though I had no idea that I was at the very beginning of what I would end up being able to handle and stand up to) that I just checked out and let someone else pay attention and take care of him until it was time to go home. <br />
<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-77709029884764643262013-07-29T21:07:00.005-04:002013-07-29T21:07:36.101-04:00The long drive home<b>Sunday, January 27, 2013</b><br />
<br />
Once the decision had been made that Gery needed to come to Pittsburgh (again, something we were both happy about because we got to go home), they moved pretty quickly in releasing him from the hospital, giving me prescriptions to fill and phone numbers to call, and sending us on our way.<br />
<br />
The friends who had picked Sarah up from me right after Gery seized came and visited, brought us breakfast and me some sinfully delicious sweet coffee concoction that did a lot to perk me up and restore my sense of balance ("When in doubt, have dessert," is a pretty good description of my life's philosophy), and made me promise to keep them updated. My brothers brought Sarah to the outside of the hospital with perfect timing to keep her from seeing her daddy in the hospital, because at that point I was still concerned with her not knowing too much. And we hit the road for a drive I made every other weekend for 3 years, then monthly for the next 5 years, and only recently was able to do again. Erie to Eighty Four. We were going directly to Gery's parents' house so that they could see and touch him and know he was okay, and so we could talk about the plans from here. I knew that of all the things that would come next, I could not do any of it on my own, and that I didn't have to.<br />
<br />
But I cried after Gery and Sarah fell asleep. I cried from Edinboro to the split (and only those of us who have made this drive know what I mean - it's about an hour and a half). Big silent tears rolling down my face as I thought about the possible outcomes. None of them were good. While the neurosurgeon in Erie had said the tumor was "on" Gery's brain and led Gery to believe it was between his dura mater and his skull, I had googled "hemangipericytoma" and the name of the neurosurgeon he'd been referred to. The neurosurgeon was the chief of neuro for all of UPMC, and the tumor was rare and not much was known about it. And it was in the center of his brain according to the MRI images we'd been shown, not between his skull and dura mater. But we were in the car, heading home. <br />
<br />
Later I would know that his anti-seizure medication levels were subclinical, meaning he could have had another seizure at any time. Later I would understand that I had been given just enough information that if he were to have another emergency, I would be able to make the first responders understand that he was medically fragile. Later I would be angry that I had been put in the position of being responsible for things I didn't understand yet. But at that moment, I was just sad and scared, and determined that I would do whatever he needed me to do. I would be whomever he needed me to be. <br />
<br />
And then he woke up and he wanted to know how much longer. What? How could he not know this? He went to college in Erie and he made the drive just as often as I had, and since my family was there and his was in Eighty Four, we'd made this drive together many, many times. How could he not know we were just 45 minutes from his parents' house? He was the one who knew every sign and landmark in every place he'd ever been. He was the one with the map of the world in his head. I need GPS, but Gery knew every place and how to get home from there. <br />
<br />
I said, "45 minutes," and he went back to sleep, and he didn't wake up until we were on his parents' road. <br />
<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-18796351264751991612013-07-28T16:14:00.000-04:002013-07-28T16:14:10.642-04:00Five months<b>Sunday, July 28, 2013</b> <br />
<br />
In five months, you can be halfway done gestating a baby. It's almost two seasons long. It's not quite anything, five months. And yet, five months feels like five minutes and five years at the same time. <br />
<br />
Gery died five months ago today. I didn't do anything to commemorate it. I hate going to his grave. That hole in the ground has nothing to do with who he was and everything to do with what isn't possible anymore and I hate it there. I don't go to church anymore. I went to Easter Mass and sat there and sobbed the entire time because all I could see was Gery's casket in the front of the church and all I could feel was how I'd had to be held up by Gery's dad, my brothers, the firemen, and Gery's fraternity brothers. At every moment, I had to be held up. And instead of remembering that we were married there, that we were in his sister's wedding together while I was pregnant with Sarah there, that Sarah was baptized there, that both our niece and nephew were baptized there... all I feel is the crushing sadness of a life we no longer share. Not the joy of new beginnings but the pain of an early ending. It's not sharp anymore. It's just a piece of me. It's dulled and so have I. <br />
<br />
I cleaned his things out of the closet and put them in the basement. Not today, that would have been too much. But I did it because I needed the space for the shopping spree I've been on for the past five months. Four, really. I was numb and paralyzed for all of March. Sarah's wardrobe is similarly expanded. It's a rebellion, really. Gery was the most frugal person I've ever known. His friends used to call him "tighter than two coats of paint." And I have so many new clothes, new furniture, new paint in the living room and plans to paint everywhere else, new, new, new. Anything I have that's a memory does not get worn anymore. A black dress that I loved and wore constantly? I wore it to a wedding and there's a picture of us. I wore it to a Christmas party and I'm wearing it in our last family picture. And I wore it to his funeral. I will never wear it again, but it hangs there. It's a symbol. One day I'll be able to put it away or give it away and I'll know on that day that I am normal. <br />
<br />
On a daily basis, I'm fine. I know I'm fine because I get up every day, I get Sarah up, I get us both ready to face the world, and I show the world what it wants to see. It wants to see that a 31 year old widow isn't going to shut down and hide and so I don't. I don't take the medications that I have so readily available to me. I don't want to do that because I understand complicated grief and I know that my grief is not complicated. We didn't have "unfinished business," unless you count the next 50 years that we should have shared. I said everything I needed to say to him and the last thing I know for sure he heard from me is, "I love you," because I was sitting there talking to him when he came out of the first surgery and he was conscious and coherent (which is a story for another day). I don't need counseling. This is how it's supposed to be for someone like me. It will get better because it has to. <br />
<br />
In a lot of ways, it's already better. I'm no longer paralyzed. I don't cry very much, and when I do, it's not for hours. I have continued to spend a lot of time with his family and I'm spending more time with mine. I'm lucky enough to have friends who knew and loved him and want to stay in touch with me. I'm also lucky enough to have friends who did not know him, were indifferent to him, and love me for who I was before and who I am now and it's not painful for them to see me be different than I was then. I know when it hurts people to see me and I try not to do that to them. <br />
<br />
And so. Five months. It's not that long, but it's forever. <br />
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-74984193866419190012013-07-27T23:31:00.000-04:002013-07-27T23:31:29.545-04:00The day everything started to change, part 3You may want to read <a href="http://sayingnothingatall.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-day-when-everything-started-to.html">part 1</a> and <a href="http://sayingnothingatall.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-day-everything-started-to-change.html">part 2</a> first.<br />
<br />
<b>Saturday, January 26, 2013, continued </b><br />
<br />
Gery was admitted to UPMC Hamot in Erie and moved to a regular room. At this point, he seemed pretty normal, except that he kept asking me the same questions over and over again. He wanted to know which hospital we were in, and why we were in Erie. Where Sarah was and who she was with. He wanted to know what happened, and when I told him, he wanted to know if the car was fine. He wanted to know if I'd called his parents, and if I'd canceled the hotel room and dinner reservations. Then he'd watch tv for a little bit, and start the cycle of questions over again. <br />
<br />
A neurosurgeon came in and pretty excitedly explained that Gery had "a mass" on his brain. He specifically said "on," and not "in," and I didn't realize then that I was being snowed in order to get us out of Erie and back to Pittsburgh. He showed us digital MRI images and said that with contrast, the mass "lit up like a Christmas tree," and that preliminarily, he thought it was either a meningioma (most likely benign) or a hemangipericytoma (most likely malignant). He gave me a name and number for a neurosurgeon at UPMC Presby to call on Monday. He talked about Gery's tumor being "interesting" and maybe that there could be research about it since it was pretty rare, especially in a 34 year old man. <br />
<br />
A neurologist came in and talked about Gery's seizure history (febrile seizures as a toddler and nothing until now) and about the medication he would be taking. They put me in charge, basically. I felt pretty confident that I had everything under control. When they said I'd be driving him home on Sunday, I thought that things could not be that bad. If it were terrible, they'd put him in an ambulance, right? Not send him in the car with me with a referral to make a phone call.<br />
<br />
Through all of this, Gery was making inappropriate jokes and comments. He told a nurse in the ER that she had "nice tits, but her roots needed done," which was true but out of character for him. He told me that I looked like hell and I should go wash my face and fix my makeup (thanks, honey!). In retrospect, he'd been heading this way for a few years and it wasn't until this day that it became obvious that he wasn't just being a jackass. My socially awkward, nerdy, pinball machine and train set loving, electrical engineer of a husband had become the kind of guy that makes everyone cringe because he's so far over the line. <br />
<br />
I took a picture of the MRI image and sent it to Gery's mom. I wanted her to see it so that she could tell me everything was going to be okay. She did not tell me that. She said she loved us and keep her updated. <br />
<br />
Several friends stopped by the hospital to take care of me, and I will be FOREVER grateful. I forgot to eat, to drink, to do anything but try to get the information from the doctors and send it to Gery's mom to be my backup memory, and keep Gery from being agitated. My brothers still had Sarah, and people brought me dinner, brought me coffee, brought me snacks and magazines, and made sure that I paid a little attention to keeping myself under control. You guys are the best. <br />
<br />
About 4am, it all hit me. I was pretty sure he was asleep, and I was in the chair next to his bed, and I just absolutely lost it. We were in Erie, two and a half hours from home, on a last-ditch effort family vacation to save our marriage and our family, and I just knew he was going to die young. That I had chosen the very best dad for my very special little girl, and she wasn't going to have him dance with her at her wedding. That we were never going to get the chance to fix what was wrong with us because even if he lived, I would be his caretaker. I was absolutely terrified and shaking and sobbing, and he said, "Hey, come here. Don't cry like that." I reached over and held his hand, and he asked me to get in bed with him. I didn't want to because of all of the lines and monitors, but somehow we made it work, and I cried myself to sleep in bed with him. Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-46333963174268384242013-05-18T21:49:00.000-04:002013-05-18T21:49:13.846-04:00I am ready to start writing again. I think. The last time I wrote anything for this, I was going in to see Gery, and he was conscious. He was very sick, but conscious, and he knew who I was and who his parents were.<br />
<br />
Four days after I wrote that, he died. <br />
<br />
I'm going to try to save all of my memories of that time for Sarah. For myself, too, but for her. She turned five years old one month ago, and if I don't keep Gery alive for her, she won't have clear memories of him. But if I do, she'll have memories and she won't know what is her memory and what I told her or showed her through pictures and videos of the life we used to have. <br />
<br />
The brief update on me is that some days are great, some days are terrible, and most days are somewhere in between. Sarah talks about him almost constantly. So does my niece (at least with me), who is 8 months younger than Sarah is. She was called Tuna Roll back when everyone had code names on here, but I haven't talked to her parents about putting her real name out on the internet, so she will remain Tuna Roll for now. We miss him. I miss him. There are so many things that he did, that he knew, that he made happen for us - just his existence made our lives whole and we're not whole right now. I don't know if I ever will be again. I don't mean to make it sound like I live a bleak, sad existence. I do not; I have family and friends who fill my days and my heart with joy. I just used to have a husband who was my partner in all things and now I don't. <br />
<br />
So... the memories. The short story is that Gery had pulmonary emboli (embolisms? there were multiple and the spell-check doesn't like emboli) and then he got pneumonia. His heart failed. They did a lot of things to try to save him, but it didn't work, and in the very end I asked them to make him comfort measures only, which is fancy hospital language for "PLEASE LEAVE HIM ALONE," which was what I had wanted to scream for days. As much as I wanted him to get better, there was no Gery left by the time I said that. He had had two brain surgeries,had a hemorrhagic stroke, had a piece of his skull removed to allow his brain to swell, had a surgery to place a filter in a vein to try to stop further pulmonary emboli from forming, his heart had stopped five times, and his brain had been assaulted and deprived of oxygen so much, so often, and for so long that he was never going to be anything he wanted to be. <br />
<br />
The only instructions that he had given me, and I had to push so hard to get just these, was that he wanted to live. If he couldn't be himself, he did not want to be fed and watered and turned to the sun. So when that was all that was left, I had to tell them to leave him alone. I thought it would be hard. But I knew when it was time for me to be the person I'd promised to be for him - all of that better or worse, sickness and health stuff. I stood by him (literally and figuratively) until the very end. I held his hand. I kissed him. If there's a way that people who are in that situation can possibly know how much they are loved, he knew. <br />
<br />
And with that, I've said enough for one night. I'll be back because it's good for me to write and it's good for me to preserve this, painful though it is. <br />
<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-63155323452900045612013-02-24T09:10:00.002-05:002013-02-24T09:10:35.678-05:00The day everything started to change, part 2You may want to read <a href="http://sayingnothingatall.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-day-when-everything-started-to.html">part 1</a> first. <br />
<br />
<em>Today's update</em>: Gery is having trouble maintaining his blood pressure and respiratory rate. He has pulmonary embolisms and is on blood thinners, which carries a risk of more bleeding in his brain, but his lungs need to be functional to make his brain functional. Gery is DEFINITELY more awake and aware, and he has the capacity to move his right side. Yesterday, when I walked around to his right hand, it was laying on the pillow, clenched in a fist with only his middle finger extended. He is unhappy, and while I don't want him unhappy, I am so glad to see that my stubborn fighter of a husband is there. He calms down when I sit with him, and I'm just waiting to be allowed back in now - the nurses usually ask me to leave for shift change.<br />
<h4>
Saturday, January 26, 2013, continued</h4>
As the ambulance arrived, so did our friends who were picking Sarah up, so I took her over to their car with her car seat and coat, and wished my friends luck. As it turned out, Sarah was totally happy and fine with them until my brothers got to the Children's Museum to be with them, and once they were there, she had a blast.<br />
<br />
Gery, on the other hand, was agitated and frustrated and starting to become a little defiant to the paramedics. Since he was conscious and capable of moving, they wanted him to stand up out of the car. He seemed to think he was being pulled over, and kept saying, "I already gave it to you," and "I'm not getting out for any f***ing Australians." I finally said to him, "You're not in trouble, they just need to see what's underneath you," and he stood up. I've never seen two men move so quickly - they had Gery on the stretcher and restrained in seconds. I know it was for his own protection, in case he had another seizure or were to become physically aggressive. <br />
<br />
The ambulance then sat there for about 15 minutes. During that time, an emergency response truck from the ambulance service came, too, driven by my brother's boss. My brother is an EMT in Erie, though he wasn't working that day. My brother's boss explained that even though we were a few blocks from the hospital, they were giving Gery some Ativan and assessing his mental state. Later I was told that he gave the correct latitude and longitude for Erie in response to the wrong question (he didn't answer "Do you know where you are?" with that). He says he doesn't know the latitude and longitude for Erie. <br />
<br />
Finally, the ambulance moved and when I started following it, I thought the car was shaking really badly. I was sure I needed a tire and an alignment. The car turned out to be fine and I was the one shaking. When I arrived at the hospital, of course, I couldn't just go in with Gery. I had to do his registration paperwork and wait for him to be settled into a room. My brother (the EMT) arrived at the hospital to be with me at about the same time my other two brothers were arriving at the Children's Museum to be with Sarah, and while I was waiting to be let in to Gery's room, I called his parents' house to let them know. <br />
<br />
At this point, I was certain that he had diabetes and had a seizure related to blood sugar. He's a big guy, diabetes runs in his family, and he had been irritable and complaining of short term headaches that were intense and didn't respond to anything but went away in seconds to minutes. Diabetes totally made sense. But my first question to the ER doctor was, "What's his blood sugar?" and when she told me, it wasn't high or low enough to have caused a seizure. I said that, and she said, "That's why he's going to CT next." (This is a trend that has continued. I am always a step or two ahead, mentally, than the doctors are telling me to be. Gery's neurosurgeon laughs at me a little bit but humors me, and I appreciate it.)<br />
<br />
After Gery's CT, the ER doctor came in and said that there was something "interesting" (a word I have come to hate) on the films and that neurosurgery and neurology would be in to talk to us, but he would be admitted to the hospital for the night and we would be "sent to Pittsburgh," which made me laugh and say, "I do want to go home, so that's good!" <br />
<br />
Gery remembers none of this. He remembers the odd smell and then he was in the regular room at the hospital. Nothing of the ambulance or ER, and most of the hospital is fuzzy and vague for him. <br />
<br />
TO BE CONTINUED (again)... I get to go in with Gery now!Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-28178392850920903432013-02-23T07:12:00.000-05:002013-02-23T07:19:06.282-05:00The day when everything started to changeI know I haven't blogged in a few years, but it's time to re-activate. Life is dramatically different than it was even just a month ago, and certainly different than the last time I wrote.<br />
<br />
My baby Llama is not a baby anymore - she'll be five years old in six weeks. Her real name is Sarah.<br />
<br />
My sweet husband, Bucket, is in ICU after surgery to resect a brain tumor and complications. His real name is Gery. And I'm going to tell the story here, because as much as I love texting (and I do love texting!) I am spending more time texting than time with him or with Sarah. Time is the one thing I have never had enough of and now it's even more precious than ever before.<br />
<br />
I'll start at the beginning, tell chunks of it as I have time, and update daily or close to daily. <br />
<h4>
Saturday, January 26, 2013</h4>
Gery and I took Sarah to gymnastics and got in the car (my new car - the first I'd ever bought for myself with financing) for a quick weekend trip to Erie. The Thursday before, we'd decided to go up, visit the Children's Museum with friends, take my brothers to dinner, stay at a new hotel with a lake view, and I would go out to the bars for a few hours with my high school and college friends while Gery and Sarah swam around in the fancy hotel pool and bounced on the fancy hotel beds. What can I say? We're easily pleased.<br />
<br />
We got close to Erie and stopped for lunch at McDonald's. We bribed Sarah to finish her chicken nuggets with the promise of getting to play with her friend Claire-Bear at the Children's Museum in a few minutes. Everything seemed okay, even in retrospect.<br />
<br />
As we were getting off the Bayfront Highway onto State Street, I gave Sarah a piece of gum and offered Gery one. He said, "No, that smells like... disgusting. Like solvents and... garbage!" and put down the window to try and get the smell out of the car. I thought he was being ridiculous. Gum? Seriously? It's the same gum I always have in my purse.<br />
<br />
I don't know why, but a few seconds later, I asked him if he felt okay. If he wanted to pull over and let me drive. He didn't answer me. As we passed UPMC Hamot, I asked him if he needed to go to the emergency room. He didn't answer me. I didn't think his not answering was that strange, because Gery just does not answer questions that he thinks don't deserve answers. He passed some parking spots right in front of the Children's Museum, and I got a little snippy and asked him why. He didn't answer that. He turned right and came to a red light and stopped. We were the first car at the light.<br />
<br />
The light didn't change. Gery jammed on the gas, completely floored it, and I looked at him angrily, about to yell at him for screwing around. He was having a seizure. I grabbed the wheel as I realized we were rocketing through a busy (for downtown Erie) intersection against the light, against traffic, and toward pedestrians and buildings. I don't recall saying anything, but when Sarah re-enacted it at school, she had the passenger saying, "You need to give me the wheel. You are having a seizure. You're okay. You need to give me the wheel," very calmly over and over. I was absolutely panicked. I thought we were going to die, all three of us, in a terrible car accident in Erie.<br />
<br />
I remembered, somehow, that Gery had told me several times that if I turned the key off, I would lose what little control I had of the car, so shift it in to neutral and try to steer. That's what I did. The engine was still racing because his foot was still jammed on the gas pedal, but it wasn't making the car go faster. As the car slowed, I steered it into a pile of snow (thanks, Erie, for not plowing side streets!) and it stopped. I put it in park as Gery stopped seizing. But he didn't start breathing. I got out of the car and went around to the driver's side to put the seat back and do CPR. My car is too nice and has electric seats, so it took forever to get the seat to recline. He started having a second seizure, and I thought, "Well, you can't seize if you're dead," and took Gery's phone out of his pocket to call 911.<br />
<br />
I gave the dispatcher the wrong street. Forgive me, I haven't lived in Erie for 10 years. Gery stopped seizing and started puking yellow foam on himself. I got off the phone with 911 and looked in to reassure Sarah that everything would be okay. Gery started seizing again. I heard the ambulance one block up and called back to 911 to report that I was one block north, but I could not remember the street names. (I was on Fifth Street, so that shouldn't have been difficult for me).<br />
<br />
In the middle of all this, my friends texted me to say they were running late and would be at the Children's Museum in a few minutes and I called back to say we would not make it at all. They came and picked Sarah up, took her with them, and between them and my brothers, Sarah still had a sweet little vacation weekend. She did not come to the hospital except to leave with us on Sunday morning, and she never came inside. <br />
<br />
When Gery stopped seizing for the third time, his eyes came to the front. He looked at me and I said, "You had a seizure. Don't even worry about it, you're going to be fine," and he took my hand and kissed it, then said a bunch of sounds that were not words. He clearly thought he said something, though, so rather than upset him further, I said, "I know." The ambulance arrived.<br />
<br />
TO BE CONTINUED... Sarah's up and getting in the bathtub. Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-65511530366297138392011-01-27T08:28:00.003-05:002011-01-27T08:32:08.481-05:00Llama's vocabulary"Case it up" : Zip my jacket<br />"No tae-bo there" : These shoes are velcro<br />"Sue-mah-nah" : Banana<br /><br />When applying for jobs (I've had three interviews and I'm going to another one tomorrow, I have two offers and I'm hoping for at least one more), I'm going to start adding "two-year-old" to my languages spoken.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-67694231488515103722011-01-26T17:13:00.002-05:002011-01-26T17:24:25.438-05:00My word is my bond, okay?In an email earlier today, I told Sirius XM that I would never recommend them to anyone and would tell anyone who asked me that I had problems. You haven't asked, but I'm telling.<br /><br />We bought a new car on September 16. It's a GM and it came with a free three-month trial of XM radio. The trial expired on December 16, and XM called our house daily with offers that got better and better, until on December 22, I agreed to a 5-month contract for $22.15. They took my credit card information, but I said I did not want to be auto-charged at the end of the 5-months. The gentleman said that they would send a bill, then, and not charge my card.<br /><br />The bill came, I wrote a check (to be fair, Bucket wrote the check) and paid it. Then the credit card bill came and it was charged also. I called Sirius XM's customer care number and asked for the credit card charge to be reversed. They said it would take 7-10 days. <br /><br />On the 11th day, I checked my credit card online and it had not been refunded. I called the number again, and the woman who I spoke with said that it would take another 7-10 days from that call. I asked her how my card was charged immediately but it would take this long to refund the money. She said, "That's how ev-er-y-thing works," in this sing-songy voice that I use to talk to Llama when she's being particularly toddler-ish and I'm frustrated.<br /><br />I said, "That's fine, you can cancel my account altogether and refund me the balance of the contract." She put me on hold and came back and gave me a refund amount of $39.76, which would be processed by check in 3-4 weeks. The service was terminated within 5 minutes of my pulling the car out of the garage, so the kill signal was sent immediately.<br /><br />I emailed Sirius XM using the link on the website to advise them that I was frustrated because they process the charges and the kill signals immediately, but refunds take so long. Also, I loved my satellite radio. Bucket has a receiver in his car that I got him when Howard Stern went to Sirius in 200... 5? Whenever. Long time ago. We've been customers for years. They offered me nothing, and continued to reiterate that the refund would take 3-4 weeks. <br /><br />Bucket's contract is up in March, and guess what we aren't going to need anymore? Sirius XM radio. At this point, I would not even activate the free trial if we were to replace his car with a GM vehicle, that's how frustrated I am. You cannot tell me that it takes 3-4 weeks to process a refund when it took minutes for them to double bill me. <br /><br />That is all. This is the most public forum I have, so there it is. Don't get Sirius XM unless you want to be double billed, treated like an idiot, and frustrated beyond belief.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-22974710385806989522011-01-24T12:51:00.002-05:002011-01-24T12:54:59.717-05:00An important lesson from my Llama."Mama, you don't sing with me." <br /><br />She has moved on from singing with me and she now sings solo. She has a set list that includes the alphabet and "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep," but her lyrics about the sheep are a little confused. I tried to sing along and help her, and she advised me that it would be best if I kept my musical genius to myself. <br /><br />"Baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, black sheep,<br />Any any wool?<br />Yes, sir, yes, sir,<br />Three bags full.<br />One for my master,<br />One for my lame (<span style="font-style: italic;">is that supposed to be me?</span>)<br />Baa, baa, black sheep,<br />Any any wool?"<br /><br />That's where it ends. There's also a new letter called "em-en-em-en-o."Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-39895555877809115572011-01-15T21:42:00.004-05:002011-01-15T22:06:03.571-05:00Following up... And random thoughts.So, I alluded last week to having "fallen and busted my leg all up." What I did was sprain my ankle, tearing one ligament completely and partially tearing another. I get to go to physical therapy three times a week for a month, and then decide on whether I'd like some surgery or not. This must be the reason I'm unemployed!<br /><br />You know how I said wine was one of my reasons to be happy? Well, I started Weight Watchers, so the wine consumption is drastically decreased. I figured that since I can't run my three 5Ks that I had planned (I should be able to run two, but I'm pretty sure I won't be running in March), I should probably do something else to keep my fitness momentum going. I'm not quite the biggest that I have ever been - that was at my wedding, the opposite of what everyone else in the world does - but I'm getting there and I don't like it. I'm almost to the end of my first week, and Bucket would like to get involved. That's saying something.<br /><br />My little Llamacita was ready to watch the Miss America pageant with me tonight, but she didn't make it past the first elimination. She danced to "Dynamite," by Taio Cruz, with the contestants, and then she proclaimed it "Boring," and asked to go to bed. I know that pageants (excuse me, scholarship contests) aren't exactly the preferred viewing for preschoolers these days, but I have fond memories of watching the talent portions with my mom and my grandma. Imagine my surprise when I found that the talent portion would not be aired! I guess it's a good thing that Llama was too tired to stay up. She spent all of her energy cheering for the Steelers. She wore her jersey three times this week because I didn't have the energy to argue with her about it, and she wears a shirt under it, so... it was okay, right? <span style="font-style: italic;">Edited: Apparently ten contestants get to show their talents. The first one started playing Chopsticks. I'm not even kidding.</span><br /><br />Llama and Tuna Roll are taking gymnastics together, and that is a sight to behold. Llama does not follow directions, because she only wants to jump on the trampoline and dance with ribbons. Tuna Roll does not want to come out from under her daddy's chair for the first half of class, and then she only wants to jump on the trampoline and dance with ribbons. We've been reassured that all new students act this way for the first couple months. I guess I'm paying for the experience of watching her not listen to someone else. It is not refreshing. Of course, she loves it and talks about it all week, so she will remain in gymnastics. I love her enthusiasm, and the class is at a cheer gym... look at what I've become! From a band geek to a potential cheer mom!?<br /><br />I have a lot of unorganized thoughts about princesses, fairies, gymnastics and cheering, pageants, and socially enforced gender roles and how much I wanted everything to be gender neutral around her as a baby so she would CHOOSE her way. Yeah, she chose sparkles, pink, fairy wings and wands. But she also chooses dump trucks, excavators, backhoes and sandboxes, and she regularly approaches Bucket and me with her fists up and asks us if we want to fight her. If nothing else, she's well balanced. And aggressive.<br /><br />Until such time as I have another thought that's too long for Facebook or Twitter... Good night!Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-89141346373174003042011-01-09T22:28:00.002-05:002011-01-09T22:33:47.086-05:002011: Not our best year so far.At this time last year, we were in Disney World. It was much preferable to what I've done so far this year, which is get a lot of rejection letters from companies to which I've applied for jobs, and fall and bust my leg all up. <br /><br />But lo! There are many reasons why I'm happy. Behold:<br /><br />1. My little Llama calls me "Mamacita." And I call her Llamacita, even though Llama certainly isn't her real name. She makes me laugh every single day, sometimes at the last possible second before I get super angry with her. Three looms large, and I've heard "Terrible Twos... Torrential Threes... F-ing Fours." <br /><br />2. Wine.<br /><br />Okay, I'm out of reasons. But now that I'm fairly immobile, have graduated with my M.Ed, and am unemployed (but Llama goes to daycare three days each week so that we can keep her spot and she can continue to see other people and be less feral, more social)... I have nothing to do but apply for jobs, stalk people on Facebook, obsessively read newspapers online, and blog. Ha!Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-12206403442813061212010-10-16T21:49:00.002-04:002010-10-16T22:12:39.728-04:00Love is a verb.I have spent a lot of time trying to decide how to write this particular post. The title came to me in the middle of an eight-hour long drive, but the words have been elusive. <br /><br />September 20 was Bucket's birthday. It was also the day that he left Pittsburgh for the state of Indiana, near Chicago, for work. He was gone for almost three weeks, and each night it got harder and harder for Llama. She's a daddy's girl, almost without exception, and she was missing him. For the first few nights, I handed my cell phone to her and she talked to him on the phone. She started waking up in the middle of the night, crying and asking me to get her daddy. <br /><br />Bucket went and bought a webcam. My laptop has one built in. For the next week, we used Google's video chat (super simple and already set up because we both have Gmail accounts), and that helped a bit because they could see each other. But it got harder and harder for us to coordinate the chats because of his work schedule, her bedtime schedule, and the one-hour time difference. On the first night we missed one, Llama got up in the middle of the night, crying and asking me to get her daddy. On the second night we missed one, the same thing happened, only it was worse because she was hitting me and telling me that I wasn't her daddy, and begging me to go get him. <br /><br />I had a free weekend, with nothing going on (a rare thing). I have a brand new car. What was stopping me from taking her to Indiana? It would be the longest drive I'd ever done alone, but I seemed to be one of the only people who was NOT concerned by that. Llama has puked in or on the way to Erie (PA), Sandusky (OH), Orlando (FL), Annapolis (MD), and many other places. But the seats are leather and she's washable. I determined that we would leave on Friday afternoon, after I was done with my internship hours, and drive through the evening and arrive about midnight. <br /><br />The next day my cell phone leapt out of my pocket and into the toilet of doom. I frantically stuck my hand in a vessel of my own urine to save it, but it was not to be saved. Would I make this drive without a cell phone? No. I paid an obscene amount of money to replace it with a clone. The clone is even purple like the old one was. <br /><br />My internship supervisor, upon learning of my plan, advised me to just take the day off on Friday and drive during the day. Oddly, she doesn't even know about my inability to drive safely at night. So we set off on our journey. Llama knew that we were going to Indiana and that her daddy was in Indiana, but I don't think her brain made the connection that we would see him there. <br /><br />The drive was uneventful. I sent Bucket pictures from my (new, uncontaminated) cell phone at every stop so that he could see our progress. We arrived at Bucket's hotel and went swimming while we waited for him. We were the only people in the pool, and it seemed like we were the only people to use it in a long time. Llama has this neat little lifejacket/arm floaty thing and it keeps her pretty independent in a swimming pool. She's never more than an arm's length away from me, but she does not like to be constrained. She paddled around for almost an hour. <br /><br />We went back upstairs, showered and cleaned up, got out some books and puzzles and played for a while, and then Bucket sent me a text that he was almost there. His room was directly over the entrance to the hotel, which was excellent for this next part. I put Llama in the window as he pulled into the parking lot. She was happy, looking at cars and telling me what color they were. And then he got out of his rental car. Llama could not contain herself - her excitement and joy were just too big. She was jumping and saying, "My daddy! My daddy is here! Look, it's my daddy!" and then he looked up and waved to her. I was in tears over how happy I had managed to make her, and we went out to meet the elevator. She was wiggling and jumping and laughing, and she kept patting his face and hugging him and saying, "My daddy." It was one of the best moments of my life, and it had nothing to do with me.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-37042962517217335802010-09-26T12:55:00.002-04:002010-09-26T13:01:55.049-04:00Another "Llama in church" story, and a song.So I keep trying to take Llama to church. Mostly because I like church, it used to help me find peace and meaning in my life. Taking Llama mostly helps me find anger and embarrassment, but I keep trying.<br /><br />Today, Father B was praying over the Eucharist, and Llama apparently thought it should be her turn to speak. "Make him stop talking now, okay?" <br /><br />At least my mother-in-law says that Llama isn't as difficult in church as her father was. Llama looked cute, anyway. And on the way there, she was joyful about getting to go to church. She seems to like it, even if she doesn't quite get the whole "sitting quietly" concept.<br /><br />Now for the song. Llama was singing to me this morning because she was awake and I was mostly not awake, but we were snuggled in bed together since we're on our own right now. (Bucket's away for work.) "Rock a bye baby, little baby, little baby. You are so cute. I will rock you and rock you and rock you... all fall DOWN!"Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-30197328433793250452010-09-19T21:37:00.003-04:002010-09-19T21:54:47.360-04:00Tidbits from LlamaLlama is all about writing her name lately. She can't write it herself, she wants me to do it.<br /><br />Llama: Write my name. (Hands me paper and a crayon.)<br />Me: (Carefully block printing each letter and saying them each out loud.)<br />Llama: Where is the Q?<br />Me: There is no Q in Llama.<br />Llama: Put a Q in it.<br />Me: Only bad parents put Qs where they don't belong.<br /><br />Llama: (Walking down the front stairs in the morning) I'm Biggie Talls!<br />Me: Do you even know who Biggie Smalls was?<br />Llama: It's me!<br /><br />(Singing in the back seat) "Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle star. Star star star star star. Up sky, up sky, up sky. Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle staaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!"<br /><br />Edited because I almost forgot this one:<br /><br />Bucket fixed one of the cars today and took it for a drive. Llama asked me 58 times where he went, and the first 57 times I answered her, I said, "He took the blue car for a ride to see if it's working." On number 58, I said, "He went to join the circus, he'll be back in a little bit." Upon his return, she said, "Hey, Dad! How was the circus?" He was mystified. I was more than a little amused.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-91480814676303236502010-08-22T13:09:00.004-04:002010-08-22T13:18:46.717-04:00"Only say the word and I shall be killed."There are two stories intertwined in this one post. I'll try to keep it from being confusing. <br /><br />We're Catholic, I might or might not have said that at some point before. Llama and I have just started going back to church since I finally feel like I can sit through a Mass without crying and making a fool of myself. This was our second week back, and Llama was in rare form. She has allergies or a cold (I can't tell yet), she was out too late last night and up too early this morning, and church is generally difficult for a 2 year old. So she was in full Llama effect. <br /><br />At one point, she threw her cup toward the back of the church. I didn't see where it went, and I'm pretty sure a very nice man either caught it or was hit with it. (He returned it to me, but I'll get to that.) I whispered, "That was a bad choice, now you have no juice." That was perhaps a bad choice on MY part, because in her anger at being juice-less, Llama ripped off her plastic necklace that she had chosen to wear and threw that too. <br /><br />At that point, I was remembering how Aunt Dots used to think that when we say, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you; but only say the word and I shall be healed," that we were saying, "...only say the word and I shall be killed." The fact that she continued to attend church and receive communion, believing all the while that she might at some point be killed as she approached the altar... well, faith is a strong and incredible thing, I'll just say that. <br /><br />I was very embarrassed by Llama's tantrum and throwing of possessions, and I was wishing that God might see fit to kill one of us, and I was hoping it would be me. However, the necklace and juice cup were returned to me, and I apologized and thanked the poor targets. I hid Llama's stuff from her so that she would have no further throwing opportunities. <br /><br />Mass progressed without incident until we were all offering each other peace, shaking hands and exchanging nice words. Llama took the opportunity to say, loudly, "WHERE MY JUICE CUP GO!?" How peaceful.<br /><br />Neither of us were killed approaching the altar. Clearly Llama is feeling more peaceful, because she fell asleep in the car and I couldn't even wake her up for lunch. I know she's still alive because she's snoring.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-32777229700925636012010-08-15T21:04:00.002-04:002010-08-15T21:28:02.020-04:00Oh, the places we've been...Well, welcome back to myself (again). I seem to have this nasty habit of living life and getting so involved in it that I forget to blog about it. And really, this is supposed to be the scrapbook/journal for Llama. However, as often happens, I currently have something to talk about that isn't open for discussion with a two-year-old, no matter how smart she may be. (And she is pretty smart, but that's for another day.) So, things we've seen or done this summer:<br /><br />1. Bucket wrecked his car. He was and is fine. We bought a new car yesterday. It's a 2010 Chevy Equinox and it's silver. It's very fancy. My 2005 Subaru Legacy was the first brand new car I'd ever driven, and now this is the second. Bucket is a very special kind of guy, and so I get the "new hotness," and he gets "old and busted." The Subaru isn't old and busted in any capacity, but it does get much better gas mileage. And it's small and fast, which are desirable characteristics on the highway and not so much in the pre-school dropoff line. <br /><br />2. Llama has TWO new cousins. They don't have secret blog names yet. The lucky parents are The Army Guy and Frenchy (a little girl born June 11) and Hawaiian Punch and iHusband (a little boy born August 4). I'm jealous.<br /><br />3. This is the reason I'm jealous, and also the thing I most need to write about. I had a miscarriage. It was the third miscarriage. I had one before Llama, one when she was nine months old, and one in July. It's kind of the reason I dropped off the map (this time). I still just don't know what to say, other than I know with every part of me that I am a good mom, a deserving mom, and I will eventually understand the reason why I can't seem to do "pregnant" well. I finally went back to church today. I hadn't been all summer - first because I was pregnant and sick, and then because I was just so sad and angry, and there was a healthy dose of guilt in there. The guilt was and is unfounded, but that doesn't make it go away. <br /><br />I have so much else to say, but apparently, I'm still not able to put it into real words. I'm not sure if that's because it's so hard for me to understand, or because I'm worried that putting this information out there will upset the people who read this who I love so very much, or what the reason might be. It's hard to even distinguish in my mind. I don't begrudge my sisters-in-law their gorgeous babies. I don't want to replace my Llama's baby times with new baby times. <br /><br />In fact, I wasn't even a good baby mama. I like sleeping and drinking alcohol and not wearing pads in my bra and not feeling like a slave to a little tiny thing. At one point during Llama's very tiny times, I was sitting there in the middle of the night, looking at her nursing, and she popped off and looked at me with her giant blue eyes... and I thought, "You were sent here to destroy me." And then I woke Bucket and made him take the baby, because I was clearly too tired and stressed to be in charge anymore. I'm adding that story to illustrate how very much I was not a glowing, happy, lovely new mom. <br /><br />I'm much better with a two-year-old. But I want her to have siblings with whom she can share all of the crazy. My brothers and I have shared experiences that have defined us and our relationships, and there is nobody who understands where you came from like someone who also came from that place. I'm not planning to be crazy or to introduce crazy or to even let Llama know what crazy is all about, except that THAT makes me crazy. Does that even make sense? Even "normal" families are crazy. Everyone has crazy and some people hide it better... but I want Llama to have someone to call and say, "What. the. fuck. is. Mom. talking. about!?!?!" and that person will be able to answer. Or not, and they'll commiserate about how batshit insane I am. <br /><br />But I also want another child because I'm meant to have more than one child. I hope. I think. I mean, I don't know for sure or anything, but I just don't see my car as only ever having one baby seat in it. We have a lot of love and a lot of crazy. We can and should share it with another person. <br /><br />I'm all over the map tonight. To recap: Bucket's car is gone and we have a new car. We have a new niece and a new nephew. Llama is an only child for now and I don't want it to stay that way, but it's not up to me and that's sad. <br /><br />Fin. <br /><br />PS: I say this all the time, but I have big plans for more posting. Ha.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-47854128691638917302010-05-25T19:49:00.002-04:002010-05-25T19:51:39.040-04:00Title needed.Today was a beautiful, sunny day, so my work friend and I decided to eat our lunches outside.<span style=""> </span>We were sunning ourselves, having one of those roundabout conversations that starts nowhere and ends on something interesting and possibly important.<span style=""> </span>I think it started with my statement that our school did a huge disservice by putting a parking lot on the riverfront property instead of something that would have a nice river view.<span style=""> </span>So she told me a story about a kid who got drunk on our campus and fell in the river and drowned.<span style=""> </span>(Cheerful, right?)<span style=""> </span>So then I told her a story about a kid in a wheelchair who froze to death on another state school’s campus closer to where I’m from.<span style=""> </span>And then it turned to our discussion of how neither of our undergraduate schools ever canceled school for snow.<span style=""> </span>(I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.)<span style=""> </span>And THEN it turned to a discussion of driving in the snow even when roads are closed.<span style=""> </span>And then I said that a big part of why Bucket and I even have a relationship is because of a car accident I had.<span style=""> </span>After the story of that, she said I should write a book.<span style=""> </span>(See, I told you I was going somewhere.)<span style=""> </span>The book would be my memoirs… my crazy childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood.<span style=""> </span>But told through my skewed lens, and amusing.<span style=""> </span>Not “A Child Called It,” and not even “Running with Scissors.”<span style=""> </span>So now I need a title.<span style=""> </span>The current front-runner is, “You Won’t Die… But You’d Be Surprised What You Can Live Through.”<span style=""> </span>But that is still a little depressing, and it’s from “The Return of Jafar.”<span style=""> </span>I don’t think Disney wants their words attached to my life story.<span style=""> </span>Leave suggestions in the comments, and remember… funny!<p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So here’s the story I told her:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t get my drivers’ license until I was 18, because my mom didn’t want me on her car insurance.<span style=""> </span>I failed my test twice, and the examiner passed me on the third try… probably because he was tired of seeing me exceed the speed limit on Buffalo Road and make illegal left turns.<span style=""> </span>I spent the better part of one paycheck ($200) on a 1984 Oldsmobile Delta 88, and it was five colors.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t exactly love it, but it was a set of wheels and that meant freedom.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I drove that for a while, and then my mom’s boyfriend (we’ll call him Bob, because that’s his name, and I don’t protect the guilty) told me about a 1989 Ford Taurus that a guy was selling.<span style=""> </span>I spent the better part of a FEW paychecks on that one ($1000, a princely sum in the year 2000 for a college student with a part-time job) and it was perfection.<span style=""> </span>I love, love, loved that car.<span style=""> </span>I drove it all over creation and it was reliable and it had a good radio.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I met Bucket.<span style=""> </span>The car was not an issue because it worked perfectly.<span style=""> </span>(Bucket is a fixer of cars in addition to his other many talents, if you didn’t know that.)<span style=""> </span>I was on the way home from the mall one night, taking back roads because that’s what people where I’m from do.<span style=""> </span>The Wolf Man and my youngest brother (did I ever give that guy a code name??) were in the car with me.<span style=""> </span>A lady was tailgating me pretty heavily all the way, and at the second-to-last stop sign, she didn’t stop when I did.<span style=""> </span>I was on the phone with Bucket at the time that I got rear-ended because we were going on a date as soon as I went home and put on my new clothes.<span style=""> </span>I did not get to go on my date.<span style=""> </span>The car was totaled.<span style=""> </span>My heart was broken, but nothing else.<span style=""> </span>We were all fine, lest you think otherwise, except for some minor bumps and bruises and soreness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My mom didn’t want to help me rent a car (remember, I was 18 and you have to be 25 to rent a car) because… well, I don’t really know why.<span style=""> </span>Probably because she had Bob the boyfriend and he was all about not being a nice guy.<span style=""> </span>So that’s how Bucket and I got closer and closer – he would pick me up for a date, and then I could sleep over (just sleeping, you guys, I swear) and have a guaranteed ride to class the next morning.<span style=""> </span>Or he could take me home and I wouldn’t be able to get to school.<span style=""> </span>I’m ambitious and I always was, so I took that good deal and let Bucket take care of me.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When the insurance company gave me my check for the lovely Taurus ($1400, more than I’d paid!), Bob the boyfriend took it and came back with a silver 1985 Cadillac Sedan de Ville.<span style=""> </span>It was interesting to drive, and I took it in to Bucket so he could investigate why it was so interesting.<span style=""> </span>Plus, I was proud that I had wheels of my own again.<span style=""> </span>Bucket poked around and said, “Heather, this car is stolen.”<span style=""> </span>I disagreed with him, because… really, I’d given Bob $1400.<span style=""> </span>Surely he wouldn’t have gotten me a stolen car, right?<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wrong.<span style=""> </span>The back passenger window was plastic (not glass) and put in with bathtub silicone.<span style=""> </span>The glove box was missing.<span style=""> </span>And there was broken glass in the crevasses of the back seat.<span style=""> </span>PLUS, the thing didn’t run right.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t even get me a GOOD stolen car.<span style=""> </span>Just my luck.<span style=""> </span>But when I asked him for my money, or even some part of it, so that I could get a car honestly, he said, “It’s gone.”<span style=""> </span>So I continued to drive the car and crossed my fingers every time I went somewhere that I wouldn’t get pulled over and arrested.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It eventually died… on the way to my Speech Communications final.<span style=""> </span>I failed the final and the class, which was required for graduation, so I had to take it again.<span style=""> </span>Without this interesting set of circumstances, though, I think Bucket and I would have gone on a few more dates and he would have graduated without us ever “making it official.”<span style=""> </span>So thanks, lady who rear-ended me, and thanks, Bob.<span style=""> </span></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-28797519780260188972010-05-17T08:40:00.002-04:002010-05-17T08:43:13.020-04:00A Conversation with LlamaLlama: Belly hurts, kiss it.<br />Me: (kisses belly) You're probably hungry, let's get some food.<br />Llama: Frettist. (That means breakfast.)<br />Me: What do you want to eat?<br />Llama: Cakeys.<br />Me: Try again.<br />Llama: Pop Tarts? (All hopefully - they are a major treat here.)<br />Me: Sure.<br />Llama: And a beer.<br />Me: (Laughing.) Not until college, kiddo.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-87840518191266705352010-04-30T21:02:00.003-04:002010-04-30T21:11:35.237-04:00I realize that posting once a month is no way to keep readers interested.And now that my hellish semester is over, I can change that and go back to a minimum of weekly postings.<br /><br />Llama turned two, and she deserves an awesome post devoted only to her second birthday party, so that's coming.<br /><br />Aunt Dots is graduating, and she ALSO deserves an awesome post devoted only to her graduation festivities.<br /><br />Two gratuitous photos:<br /><br />Llama has outgrown her car seat. See how her head is over the top and the strap slots are below her shoulders?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-sjc1/hs370.snc3/23778_10150161522345644_880210643_12378756_1662660_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-sjc1/hs370.snc3/23778_10150161522345644_880210643_12378756_1662660_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />On April 22, which is Earth Day, I saw the Green Power Ranger on campus. My friend and I chased him down and took pictures with him. He asked for "a big thumbs up," so I complied.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/hs430.ash1/23778_10150162597905644_880210643_12401936_1535017_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 270px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/hs430.ash1/23778_10150162597905644_880210643_12401936_1535017_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I have a lot less to do this summer than I've had for the past four months, so I'll be showing up in your feed a lot more. :)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1658204850990292115.post-50968074028804137112010-03-31T08:20:00.002-04:002010-03-31T08:22:43.963-04:00A conversation with Llama(Llama is home sick. I'm home with her and she's starting to feel better, so I made an omelet for us for breakfast today. I was beating the eggs when this conversation happened.)<br /><br />Llama: Eggys! (pointing at the eggs)<br />Me: I'm going to make an omelet.<br />Llama: Om-tit?<br />Me: Omelet.<br />Llama: Om-a-bit?<br />Me: Omelet.<br />Llama: Eggs. <br /><br />Something tells me I'm in for a little trouble as time goes on.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03761026256090908354noreply@blogger.com2