Now that I'm living in "cardio-land" there are apparently things I need to get used to. Unfortunately for me, my sister (the cardio nurse) failed to warn me about one of them.
Let's go back in time for a bit. As you all may remember, it's been a rough little while. My friend Sonda was diagnosed with melanoma back around Thanksgiving. They found it by the fact that she had tumors in her brain - which is never, ever, E-V-E-R good news.
While we always want to have positive thoughts, and we always want everyone to get well from everything, the fact is that they never found the original melanoma and by the time they discovered the brain tumors, it was already at Stage IV. Was I going to be the black cloud in all this? Not on your life. I wanted her to get better, even while the logical part of me was thinking, "No, that's not really going to be how this ends...." A bunch of us supported her and her mom - taking care of the yarn shop, providing dinners, writing notes, making a wonderful afghan...just being there when she needed it.
Sometime in March, my friend Bill sent a note to a select few of us at work: he had Stage IV melanoma and it was in his spine, lungs and stomach. Again....the Angel of Logic entered my brain and while I sent notes and offered prayers, I also saw this like you'd see a freight train coming in the dark of night.
Both of these people were within a year of my age. I'm 54.
I saw Sonda (for what ended up being the last time) on May 14. I had an appointment with my dermatologist on May 16 and ended up having a "pre-cancerous lesion" frozen off my forehead.
On May 17, I had my first large attack of a-fib. I called Hubby, who came and got me; he's a former EMT and I knew something was up when he tried 3 places and couldn't find a pulse. So off we go to the nearest hospital. I ended up in the ER and had a subsequent overnight hospital stay. It took 13 hours for my heart to convert back to a normal rhythm. Now that I knew what I was looking for, I can tell you that this has been happening for a little while. However, when I mentioned it to a couple of doctors, they told me, "You know, as you go into menopause..." (that's a whole other blog post about how much I hate that blanket statement!!) I found out that my grandma (maternal side) had this condition and was on medication for most of my life for it. I came home on the 18th, and my mom called the 19th to tell me that Sonda had died.
I sang at her funeral on May 22. I had two different diagnostic tests that week also, and a change in medication (because you don't often get it right the first time).
My friend Sue and I did the Avon Walk on June 2 - only 10.2 miles, but as I told Sue: Really? You're going to beat yourself up because we didn't finish? And I'm out of the hospital not even 2 weeks ago??? How many other people didn't do anything AT ALL??
On Monday, June 4, the cardiac event monitor goes nuts at 3 a.m. and Hubby listens, saying, "Oh, wow...this is really different." Off we go again. I can now cross "peeing in a bedpan" off my bucket list. Twice. This time, however, it only took 3 or 4 hours for my heart to convert. They still kept me overnight, because if it went back into a-fib, I was scheduled for a "reboot" (cardiac conversion). Another cardiologist from the same practice came in, said, "That Rx you're on sucks" and changed me over to another one. Plus a blood thinner. I look like my dogs have used me as a chew toy. They haven't, by the way.
On Tuesday, June 5, I find out that my friend Roxy's sister died from pancreatic cancer (we knew she'd been sick, but she was so young...) and my friend Bill had died.
I come home; I took a week off work to adjust to the new meds and try to just wrap my head around the new routine I have, particularly regarding the timing of the meds. I thought I was doing ok.
Except that this past weekend, I noticed I was having a little trouble breathing. I called my sister, and she indicated that I'd been on the new meds for 2 weeks already and if I had been inclined to a reaction, it would've happened earlier. It felt "croup"-like, so I did what any mom my age would do: boiled water, stuck my head over the steaming pot and inhaled. Also, I larded myself up with Vick's Vapo-Rub and dug out the foam wedge. I was able to sleep that way. Until Monday. I drove to work, even though something felt "off." But the cardiac monitor was silent, so I figured maybe it was just that I was tired - maybe PMS-ing or who-knew-what. I got the mail and drove to the office. But I never made it. I drove home because my brain was screaming. I mean SCREAMING at me. And it was saying:
"I can't breathe. I. Can't. Breathe..."
I got in the door, said to Hubby, "Something's wrong." We had a short debate about "Quick Care" versus ER...and ultimately the ER was the choice because given the fact that I was having trouble breathing and I had a newly-diagnosed heart condition, I was going to get sent there anyway.
Got to the ER. I told them, "I don't know what's happening; I feel like my windpipe is strangling me, I can't catch my breath and I don't know whether I need a good cry, I'm having a panic attack or there's another thing wrong with me." I sing. Normally my lung function is pretty darned good and usually above-average. They did a bunch of tests. The doc comes in, puzzled. I was breathing. Just fine. Oxygen saturation at 100%. But yet when I talked, it was like I had to speak on an exhale just to get the words out. So he decided to rule out a blood clot - which apparently can happen even if you are on blood thinners - who knew?? I had a VQ test because I'm horribly allergic to IVP dye (I stop breathing, and thanks - I was having enough trouble).
I'm now hooked up to O2 and waiting for the results of the test - while the ER tech says my EKG is perfectly normal. The test comes back telling my doc that I have "crystal clear" lungs.
The doc says, "You are probably correct. You've had a panic attack." And he made a point, lest I feel like a total idiot: at least now I can know for sure that there are no clots and that's one less thing to worry about. I gave him the Reader's Digest timeline of what was going on and he said, "Yep...You do seem a little overwhelmed." I walked out with a low doze of xanax and the suggestion that I talk to someone to get some good perspective.
After Hubby calls my sister to reassure her that I'm ok, she says, "Ok. One of the nurses here told me that's very common with cardiac patients." Really? Thanks, sis. Though to give her her due, she's new there. They never worried much about panic attacks with cardiac ICU patients....
I'm worried about a lot of stuff. I guess I shoved it down too far because I'm always "in control. Ask anyone. They'll tell you and so will I.
Except that I'm not. And by all that's human, I probably need to really really recognize that it's ok that I get the cosmic 2x4 across the head every once in a while. I mean, look: Mother Nature has provided us with duplicates of everything. Even the tendon that they used in my hand surgery a few years ago? It's a "spare" because each of your forearms has TWO of them. Two eyes. Two ears. Two lungs. Etc.
But only ONE heart. And ONE brain. My seemingly nonchalant acceptance of this new reality in truth wasn't acceptance. It was "deal with it and move on." That's a good life skill, but every so often, you really do need a good cry. Honestly, I haven't cried yet about Sonda and Bill. I haven't truly dealt with this heart thing. One part of my brain is scared witless that they're "taking away" the cardiac event monitor in another week. What will happen? Will I really be able to trust my own self to know what's wrong? Can I function on just my brain's recognition of a problem, or am I replacing my own good sense and knowledge of my body with a dependency on a device. Which, by the way, is causing my skin to break out in welts because I don't like the adhesive on the pads...
Hubby, bless his heart, asks me constantly (or at least it seems like that to me): "Are you ok?" Because he says I don't tell him. I try to deal with it. Because I always have. I've dealt with an alcoholic parent. I've dealt with being the "mom" to my siblings. I've dealt with putting myself through college. I've dealt with moving nearly 1,000 miles from home. I've dealt with a broken marriage and trying to raise 2 kids on my own. I've dealt with putting together a blended family. Community responsibilities that are part of my job. A job which is great, but which doesn't allow me the normal "weekend" -- which may seem silly, but try to work a constant schedule where you don't have 2 days to recharge yourself. I'm not saying my job brought this on. I just got the sucky end of the gene pool stick.
My kids were scared stiff and we had the "why didn't you notify me first?" discussion...wherein we noted that one of the kids works in a hazardous job and really - do you want me worrying about what YOU will worry about when I tell you??? After I told Kid #1 it was a panic attack, he said, "That doesn't happen to you." Well, I guess a whack on the head from the Mortality Fairy has a way of making you think. Forcing you to think, actually. To reevaluate. To reassess. To learn new tools to cope.
I've made an appointment with someone to talk to. I've talked to others who've given me some very good common-sense tools. Perhaps the prescription is helping me realize that if it ever gets really bad again, I can have this avenue of escape. The pills aren't my idea of a long-term solution, but I'm realistic enough to know that it's ok in the short-term.
I've done what I can. I've been able in a decent way to have a lighter schedule at least for the summer. What I guess I'm saying is that I've got a new appreciation for realizing that I do not have to be the one in charge. It's ok to just "be" sometimes. For the control-freak in me, this is a huge adjustment. I have to just keep breathing. After all, I could always breathe. I just needed to know that.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
This Wasn't on the Bucket List...
This will require some 'splainin'... About 2 weeks ago, I ended up in the ER after keeling over at work. After a 2-day stay in the hospital, I was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. I saw a cardiologist and was given some meds.
After a follow-up visit, the cardio changed the meds and told me I could go ahead and do the Avon Walk, "as long as you're not stupid." Which I wasn't. I did 10.2 miles and that was enough.
And that's a different blog post.
So I also got as a lovely take-home present, a 30-day cardiac monitor. This past Monday, it went off at 3:14 a.m. Twice. Hubby listened, and said, "oh, wow, this is different." So off we trotted to the ER again. The second med apparently didn't work.
On my first ER visit, it took almost 12 hours for my heart (thanks to an IV) to convert back. On this visit (I just got home yesterday), it only took 3. Otherwise, I was facing a "cardioversion" or in my words: a reboot...
So now I'm on med #3, and hoping that this works for now. In the end, I'm looking at an atrial ablation earlier than I had originally though.
But here's the weird part. In the ER, I really, REALLY had to go to the bathroom; which they weren't going to let me do because I was dizzy from the heart stuff. So this ER tech walks in. I thought "It's a good thing I'm laying down." He looked exactly like my nephew AND had the same name. We know it's not, because it's a different last name.
He hands me this bedpan which looks like a small dustpan. Well. This is TMI, but when I have to go to the bathroom, I usually have more substantial results than this little dustpan thingie. So of course it overflowed... The young man was very professional and was able to get me all cleaned up without embarassment.
But then it happened again. With a "full-sized" bedpan that looked maybe like a small pasta bowl. Whaaaaaaaaaaat??????? Who invented these things??? Obviously a man. So again.... "my cup runneth over." And again, full change.
My cute little ER tech said, "Oh well, now you can cross 'peeing in a bedpan' off your bucket list." As I chuckled, I mentioned that I hadn't realized it was on my bucket list, but as long as it's something I'd never done before, I suppose it works out.
So far, the meds are doing ok. The at-home monitor was silent last night, and I'm smart enough this time to have taken a week off work to adjust to the new meds, as "dizziness" is the first "common side effect" and thanks, but I'd rather be at home if I'm going to keel over.
Aside from the fact that it took them five hours (yes, five hours) to discharge me, and I kind of look like I've been mauled by my dogs because of bruising, the hospital people couldn't have been nicer. It's just that I hope this all gets resolved, because this is two ER visits in as many weeks.
The first bill already came in at over $11,000... no, that isn't what caused the second visit! So I can't imagine my insurance company will be happy about a second visit so soon, but there's not much I can do about it. It's not like I can wait it out, since the worst thing that can happen with a-fib is a stroke or a clot heading somewhere else like lung or kidney. Thanks, but I can skip that, and my insurance company can do its job since I've been relatively healthy for so many years.
There's actually no snappy conclusion this time. It's "wait and see" till I see the doc and then we go from there.
After a follow-up visit, the cardio changed the meds and told me I could go ahead and do the Avon Walk, "as long as you're not stupid." Which I wasn't. I did 10.2 miles and that was enough.
And that's a different blog post.
So I also got as a lovely take-home present, a 30-day cardiac monitor. This past Monday, it went off at 3:14 a.m. Twice. Hubby listened, and said, "oh, wow, this is different." So off we trotted to the ER again. The second med apparently didn't work.
On my first ER visit, it took almost 12 hours for my heart (thanks to an IV) to convert back. On this visit (I just got home yesterday), it only took 3. Otherwise, I was facing a "cardioversion" or in my words: a reboot...
So now I'm on med #3, and hoping that this works for now. In the end, I'm looking at an atrial ablation earlier than I had originally though.
But here's the weird part. In the ER, I really, REALLY had to go to the bathroom; which they weren't going to let me do because I was dizzy from the heart stuff. So this ER tech walks in. I thought "It's a good thing I'm laying down." He looked exactly like my nephew AND had the same name. We know it's not, because it's a different last name.
He hands me this bedpan which looks like a small dustpan. Well. This is TMI, but when I have to go to the bathroom, I usually have more substantial results than this little dustpan thingie. So of course it overflowed... The young man was very professional and was able to get me all cleaned up without embarassment.
But then it happened again. With a "full-sized" bedpan that looked maybe like a small pasta bowl. Whaaaaaaaaaaat??????? Who invented these things??? Obviously a man. So again.... "my cup runneth over." And again, full change.
My cute little ER tech said, "Oh well, now you can cross 'peeing in a bedpan' off your bucket list." As I chuckled, I mentioned that I hadn't realized it was on my bucket list, but as long as it's something I'd never done before, I suppose it works out.
So far, the meds are doing ok. The at-home monitor was silent last night, and I'm smart enough this time to have taken a week off work to adjust to the new meds, as "dizziness" is the first "common side effect" and thanks, but I'd rather be at home if I'm going to keel over.
Aside from the fact that it took them five hours (yes, five hours) to discharge me, and I kind of look like I've been mauled by my dogs because of bruising, the hospital people couldn't have been nicer. It's just that I hope this all gets resolved, because this is two ER visits in as many weeks.
The first bill already came in at over $11,000... no, that isn't what caused the second visit! So I can't imagine my insurance company will be happy about a second visit so soon, but there's not much I can do about it. It's not like I can wait it out, since the worst thing that can happen with a-fib is a stroke or a clot heading somewhere else like lung or kidney. Thanks, but I can skip that, and my insurance company can do its job since I've been relatively healthy for so many years.
There's actually no snappy conclusion this time. It's "wait and see" till I see the doc and then we go from there.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
It was a quiet weekend...
...which is exactly what I needed! Thankfully, we had a short class on Friday night (the only one all summer! Yay!) and no classes on Saturday. So I actually had a 4-day weekend.
I spent most of it kind of recovering from the prior week's crappiness. And then I kind of blew it Sunday. Oh well; that's what I get, I suppose!
Anyway, Hubby and I did get some errands done and we got the dogs' memorial garden done, and also I got a "new" patio set. Sort of.
Let me explain. We're not really "patio" people; but Hubby made me this lovely patio out of paver bricks because we do plant a lot of things in pots and it was a pain in the rear to keep moving them out of the way of the lawnmower. And it also gives us a path to the vehicles, AND then makes it easier to shovel.
So. We have these cheap-o white plastic chairs which get stored every winter. They're what? Eight bucks each? And I've been kind of thinking about maybe new chairs. We looked at Target and found some nice mesh ones for about $25 each. That's $100 for 4 chairs. Instead, I suggested to Hubby that we paint our plastic ones.
Here's an idea of the patio set-up. Yes, those are maple trees in the pots. Long story, but my sister will be getting several of them for her very large yard, and we'll be creating a "maple grove" for her. In the pots with mesh are some fuschia which were going well till the squirrels got to the dirt and probably several of the bulbs! And behind all of that is our garden. That large clump of green in the middle is all of the peas we planted.
This is "before." The chairs were scrubbed. They just looked awful. I did buy cushions last year at the end of the year, and they're rusty orange - really pretty. So I suggested a bright blue paint. Don't laugh. Wait....
Here's the process. We got Rust-O-Leum spray paint. It was kind of a hoot because we went through the self-checker at Home Depot and before Hubby could finalize the transaction, he had to show an ID for the spray paint! He was a little befuddled and I assured the checker that he WAS over 21! I guess it's proof that you don't have malicious intent for the spray paint if you have no idea that you need to be carded to purchase it!
So he got the painting done and because it was a lovely day, it all dried nicely.
The paint is just gorgeous. And while I haven't put the cushions out yet, I think it'll really perk up the back yard. We have very good luck with plants. And we have a 30-foot maple tree! So we have lots of shade to enjoy and if it's breezy, not too many bugs.
After he got done, we arranged the chairs. You can't see the bright yellow begonias we hung from the maple tree, but just let me assure you it's gorgeous. I can't wait for more time off to just sit there and listen to the birds. Next on our list is a bubbler for the small bird bath. Unfortunately, we tossed our wooden wishing well that our next door neighbor made for us. It fell apart and even our neighbor told us it was time to pitch it.
Here's a shot of the memorial garden. Of course, I got grief because I put my beleaguered and worn out Cubs gnome there (he's hiding behind St. Francis). Hubby wanted to know if the "memorial" was for the Cubs or for the dogs... Hmpfh.
We have 3 memorial stones, one for each of our girls, and a stone which says: "If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever." Also, note a goldleaf plant, also protected from the evil squirrels. The gazing ball is new; it's a gorgeous gradient of purple/blue/gold. And "Mortimer Moose-ter" is alongside the A/C but he may be moving somewhere else. Not sure yet. I might even put in some impatiens if I think it needs more color. I have time.
And here's the final view of the back yard. For about $11.00 we have a "new" patio set, and once Hubby finishes painting the two side tables, we'll be set. I figure it'll give us one more year - maybe two - with the current furniture, and I figure that it just makes sense to be a little cautious at this point.
Check out the "miniature" rose that somehow survived the winter behind the one chair! It's bigger than some of our floribundas in the front yard!
I suppose I should confess that, like an idiot, I went out on a bike ride Sunday, the hottest and most humid day of the holiday weekend...Yes, it was a shaded path; yes, we rode slowly.
And yes, I got home and was VERY dizzy - from the heat + humidty + new heart meds. Ok, feel free to call me stupid. And no, I did not tell my mother. My sister said it was just the heat. And yes, SHE told me I was stupid. (sigh)
Our ultimate goal is to fence it all in so that the dogs have a spot to run and we can just sit there with them. It'll happen. Sometime soon, one step at a time. One day, maybe I'll be able to take my tea out there, sit in the morning or late afternoon, and knit or read. Can't wait!
I spent most of it kind of recovering from the prior week's crappiness. And then I kind of blew it Sunday. Oh well; that's what I get, I suppose!
Anyway, Hubby and I did get some errands done and we got the dogs' memorial garden done, and also I got a "new" patio set. Sort of.
Let me explain. We're not really "patio" people; but Hubby made me this lovely patio out of paver bricks because we do plant a lot of things in pots and it was a pain in the rear to keep moving them out of the way of the lawnmower. And it also gives us a path to the vehicles, AND then makes it easier to shovel.
So. We have these cheap-o white plastic chairs which get stored every winter. They're what? Eight bucks each? And I've been kind of thinking about maybe new chairs. We looked at Target and found some nice mesh ones for about $25 each. That's $100 for 4 chairs. Instead, I suggested to Hubby that we paint our plastic ones. Here's an idea of the patio set-up. Yes, those are maple trees in the pots. Long story, but my sister will be getting several of them for her very large yard, and we'll be creating a "maple grove" for her. In the pots with mesh are some fuschia which were going well till the squirrels got to the dirt and probably several of the bulbs! And behind all of that is our garden. That large clump of green in the middle is all of the peas we planted.
This is "before." The chairs were scrubbed. They just looked awful. I did buy cushions last year at the end of the year, and they're rusty orange - really pretty. So I suggested a bright blue paint. Don't laugh. Wait....
Here's the process. We got Rust-O-Leum spray paint. It was kind of a hoot because we went through the self-checker at Home Depot and before Hubby could finalize the transaction, he had to show an ID for the spray paint! He was a little befuddled and I assured the checker that he WAS over 21! I guess it's proof that you don't have malicious intent for the spray paint if you have no idea that you need to be carded to purchase it!
The paint is just gorgeous. And while I haven't put the cushions out yet, I think it'll really perk up the back yard. We have very good luck with plants. And we have a 30-foot maple tree! So we have lots of shade to enjoy and if it's breezy, not too many bugs.
After he got done, we arranged the chairs. You can't see the bright yellow begonias we hung from the maple tree, but just let me assure you it's gorgeous. I can't wait for more time off to just sit there and listen to the birds. Next on our list is a bubbler for the small bird bath. Unfortunately, we tossed our wooden wishing well that our next door neighbor made for us. It fell apart and even our neighbor told us it was time to pitch it.
We have 3 memorial stones, one for each of our girls, and a stone which says: "If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever." Also, note a goldleaf plant, also protected from the evil squirrels. The gazing ball is new; it's a gorgeous gradient of purple/blue/gold. And "Mortimer Moose-ter" is alongside the A/C but he may be moving somewhere else. Not sure yet. I might even put in some impatiens if I think it needs more color. I have time.
Check out the "miniature" rose that somehow survived the winter behind the one chair! It's bigger than some of our floribundas in the front yard!
I suppose I should confess that, like an idiot, I went out on a bike ride Sunday, the hottest and most humid day of the holiday weekend...Yes, it was a shaded path; yes, we rode slowly.
And yes, I got home and was VERY dizzy - from the heat + humidty + new heart meds. Ok, feel free to call me stupid. And no, I did not tell my mother. My sister said it was just the heat. And yes, SHE told me I was stupid. (sigh)
Our ultimate goal is to fence it all in so that the dogs have a spot to run and we can just sit there with them. It'll happen. Sometime soon, one step at a time. One day, maybe I'll be able to take my tea out there, sit in the morning or late afternoon, and knit or read. Can't wait!
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Cold Hard Look at Mortality...
This past week was --- horrible.
As you may remember, my friend Sonda has been dealing with Stage IV melanoma. We knew that it was just a matter of time. The last time I saw her was on Monday, May 14, and I knew I wouldn't be back there.
On this past Wednesday, I had a skin check. The first one since 2009 -- so as my Public Service Announcement to you: PLEASE GET AN ANNUAL SKIN CHECK, particularly if you've had at least 1 "bad sunburn" in your lifetime.
At that appointment I had a pre-cancerous spot frozen off. That certainly put things in perspective for me. I used to use sunscreen, but was "lax" about it. Not anymore. I'm going full-bore on the sunscreen. Period. Thanks to Sonda and that little freezing incident? I don't want to be the next one on our list with that cancer.
This past Thursday, I woke up feeling "something's not right." So I've been on this metabolism diet where the first eight weeks, you severely limit your carbs.
I've lost 10 lbs. and I feel better, though I'm bored with the limited stuff you get to eat, particularly since now, I'm missing the fruit.
Anway, I thought, "I wonder if this is related to this diet?" and then I just ate a light breakfast and went off to work. It got worse. I felt dizzy. I thought, "Hmmmmm, seizure??" Nope. I scared the bejeebies out of our cleaner, who thought I was having a heart attack.
And actually, at one point, I thought that might exactly be the case. So I called Hubby and said, "Come get me; there's something wrong." By this time I was having a little trouble thinking and if I lifted my head off the desk, the room spun.
I got down on the floor at one point and did "legs up the wall" just because I thought, well, if I faint, the legs up the wall will at least shove the blood back where it needs to be. But at that point, (and this gets weird) I felt my chest "waving." I seriously heard wooshing and felt my chest go in waves across from shoulder to shoulder. Got down off the wall pretty quickly and back up in my chair. I couldn't find my pulse, but I figured by that time, I was confused... I popped an aspirin while waiting for Hubby.
He comes in, HE looks for my pulse. In three places. Mind you, he's a former EMT. Even he couldn't find it, and he was worried because I wasn't making sense. So off we went to the closest hospital.
Giving them credit; it's not my first choice of facility, but when you're in that shape, you go for the closest place. My symptoms were: dizzy, couldn't talk straight, couldn't find a pulse, pale. I was not clammy, in pain or short of breath. In fact, I was doing quite a lot of deep breathing, which calmed me down, but confounded the medical folks.
They slapped a 12-lead EKG on me and everyone stood there, going, "Ohhhhhhh, ok...." Which, I may say, was NOT comforting! The only comforting thing was that I was in a hospital and I hoped to God that I was somewhere where they'd figure out what was going on.
I spent 8 hours in the ER. I apparently have a variety of atrial fibrillation. It took them six hours to get my heart under control (not out of a-fib, just not beating out of my chest), and that included an IV and watching to make sure I was not going to have a stroke -- apparently one of the biggest things you can have happen with untreated a-fib.
Hubby called my mom, who wisely did NOT come out to visit. I saw a cardiologist who said that if the IV didn't help resolve the heart into sinus rhythm, they'd do a "cardiac conversion" - which in my mind meant a "re-boot." Keep breathing. Keep breathing....
I finally got into a room, the heart rate was somewhere near 98 or so, and I felt "human" again; I was able to talk, I was thirsty as all heck, and tired. Hubby sat with me for a while and then left to go take care of everything at home. I was staying; that was it.
So, I spent Thursday night in the hospital *not* sleeping. I swear. Every 2 hours or so: check BP, check temp, draw blood... And even about 1:30 a.m. someone came into my room to unlock the supply closet and get what must've been the ONLY one of whatever they took on the entire Telemetry floor?!? About 2 a.m. I actually felt my heart go back to sinus rhythm, which was pretty creepy.
About that time, the alarm went off on the IV, so they came to take it out. My sister said it probably was so loud that it "scared" my heart into behaving!
I now have a cardiologist, new meds and some follow-up work to do.
And on Friday, when I got home, I got the news that my friend Sonda had passed away. I'm sad because she's literally a year older than me. I'm sad because her death was, in many respects, preventable. She was a blonde, freckled sun-bunny...and we're both old enough to have lived through our teens in the "oil and bake" times. Baby oil + iodine = a REALLY cute tan. I'm serious.
No longer. Neutrogena SPF 50 is now my friend.
So. I had promised Sonda to sing at her funeral. One of the side effects of the Rx they have me on is shortness of breath. I had Hubby sing with me, and I was actually happy it was just one song.
I'm having "I'm mortal" thoughts. I'm 54 years old. I'm told that a-fib or "flutters" can be part of menopause. (Really? It's not bad enough that I've had periods since age 11, have given birth 2x and have had 2 miscarriages, now have hot flashes PLUS cramps and am "overdue" to stop having periods? You gotta hand me HEART problems?)
My sister told me: (a) I have a "genius" cardio; and (b) that my grandma had this type of problem 'forever' and she never converted over - it was managed with medication. Well. That's nice to know. My dad had heart problems but whatever he had, required an internal defibrillator unit, which is *not* the treatment for a-fib.
And I'm the healthy one! I don't smoke or drink...heck, I don't even cuss! It's laughable. However, I was talking with my brother because my mom said "he looks like death" -- only to find out that he's been able to lose thirty pounds by adjusting his diet and swimming almost every day of the week. I'm so thrilled for him! And I'm on my way with my own 10-lb. loss.
I'm set for the Avon Walk, though I do have to have another cortisone shot in my heel. We'll rehab the foot AFTER the walk. Swear.
I want to put a picture of my friend here. It's one taken after the cancer was found; but just know that she was a joy to know. She was a talented knitter, designer, and just a person who could do anything she set her mind to. She was a diplomat of the first order, having the ability to get a very diverse group of people to all get along, at least while she was around. I'll miss her for many reasons. But I'll carry a bit of her with me wherever I go and whatever I do.
Rest in peace, my friend. I can't say anything more. I hope you heard our song and that it helped.
As you may remember, my friend Sonda has been dealing with Stage IV melanoma. We knew that it was just a matter of time. The last time I saw her was on Monday, May 14, and I knew I wouldn't be back there.
On this past Wednesday, I had a skin check. The first one since 2009 -- so as my Public Service Announcement to you: PLEASE GET AN ANNUAL SKIN CHECK, particularly if you've had at least 1 "bad sunburn" in your lifetime.
At that appointment I had a pre-cancerous spot frozen off. That certainly put things in perspective for me. I used to use sunscreen, but was "lax" about it. Not anymore. I'm going full-bore on the sunscreen. Period. Thanks to Sonda and that little freezing incident? I don't want to be the next one on our list with that cancer.
This past Thursday, I woke up feeling "something's not right." So I've been on this metabolism diet where the first eight weeks, you severely limit your carbs.
I've lost 10 lbs. and I feel better, though I'm bored with the limited stuff you get to eat, particularly since now, I'm missing the fruit.
Anway, I thought, "I wonder if this is related to this diet?" and then I just ate a light breakfast and went off to work. It got worse. I felt dizzy. I thought, "Hmmmmm, seizure??" Nope. I scared the bejeebies out of our cleaner, who thought I was having a heart attack.
And actually, at one point, I thought that might exactly be the case. So I called Hubby and said, "Come get me; there's something wrong." By this time I was having a little trouble thinking and if I lifted my head off the desk, the room spun.
I got down on the floor at one point and did "legs up the wall" just because I thought, well, if I faint, the legs up the wall will at least shove the blood back where it needs to be. But at that point, (and this gets weird) I felt my chest "waving." I seriously heard wooshing and felt my chest go in waves across from shoulder to shoulder. Got down off the wall pretty quickly and back up in my chair. I couldn't find my pulse, but I figured by that time, I was confused... I popped an aspirin while waiting for Hubby.
He comes in, HE looks for my pulse. In three places. Mind you, he's a former EMT. Even he couldn't find it, and he was worried because I wasn't making sense. So off we went to the closest hospital.
Giving them credit; it's not my first choice of facility, but when you're in that shape, you go for the closest place. My symptoms were: dizzy, couldn't talk straight, couldn't find a pulse, pale. I was not clammy, in pain or short of breath. In fact, I was doing quite a lot of deep breathing, which calmed me down, but confounded the medical folks.
They slapped a 12-lead EKG on me and everyone stood there, going, "Ohhhhhhh, ok...." Which, I may say, was NOT comforting! The only comforting thing was that I was in a hospital and I hoped to God that I was somewhere where they'd figure out what was going on.
I spent 8 hours in the ER. I apparently have a variety of atrial fibrillation. It took them six hours to get my heart under control (not out of a-fib, just not beating out of my chest), and that included an IV and watching to make sure I was not going to have a stroke -- apparently one of the biggest things you can have happen with untreated a-fib.
Hubby called my mom, who wisely did NOT come out to visit. I saw a cardiologist who said that if the IV didn't help resolve the heart into sinus rhythm, they'd do a "cardiac conversion" - which in my mind meant a "re-boot." Keep breathing. Keep breathing....
I finally got into a room, the heart rate was somewhere near 98 or so, and I felt "human" again; I was able to talk, I was thirsty as all heck, and tired. Hubby sat with me for a while and then left to go take care of everything at home. I was staying; that was it.
So, I spent Thursday night in the hospital *not* sleeping. I swear. Every 2 hours or so: check BP, check temp, draw blood... And even about 1:30 a.m. someone came into my room to unlock the supply closet and get what must've been the ONLY one of whatever they took on the entire Telemetry floor?!? About 2 a.m. I actually felt my heart go back to sinus rhythm, which was pretty creepy.
About that time, the alarm went off on the IV, so they came to take it out. My sister said it probably was so loud that it "scared" my heart into behaving!
I now have a cardiologist, new meds and some follow-up work to do.
And on Friday, when I got home, I got the news that my friend Sonda had passed away. I'm sad because she's literally a year older than me. I'm sad because her death was, in many respects, preventable. She was a blonde, freckled sun-bunny...and we're both old enough to have lived through our teens in the "oil and bake" times. Baby oil + iodine = a REALLY cute tan. I'm serious.
No longer. Neutrogena SPF 50 is now my friend.
So. I had promised Sonda to sing at her funeral. One of the side effects of the Rx they have me on is shortness of breath. I had Hubby sing with me, and I was actually happy it was just one song.
I'm having "I'm mortal" thoughts. I'm 54 years old. I'm told that a-fib or "flutters" can be part of menopause. (Really? It's not bad enough that I've had periods since age 11, have given birth 2x and have had 2 miscarriages, now have hot flashes PLUS cramps and am "overdue" to stop having periods? You gotta hand me HEART problems?)
My sister told me: (a) I have a "genius" cardio; and (b) that my grandma had this type of problem 'forever' and she never converted over - it was managed with medication. Well. That's nice to know. My dad had heart problems but whatever he had, required an internal defibrillator unit, which is *not* the treatment for a-fib.
And I'm the healthy one! I don't smoke or drink...heck, I don't even cuss! It's laughable. However, I was talking with my brother because my mom said "he looks like death" -- only to find out that he's been able to lose thirty pounds by adjusting his diet and swimming almost every day of the week. I'm so thrilled for him! And I'm on my way with my own 10-lb. loss.
I'm set for the Avon Walk, though I do have to have another cortisone shot in my heel. We'll rehab the foot AFTER the walk. Swear.
I want to put a picture of my friend here. It's one taken after the cancer was found; but just know that she was a joy to know. She was a talented knitter, designer, and just a person who could do anything she set her mind to. She was a diplomat of the first order, having the ability to get a very diverse group of people to all get along, at least while she was around. I'll miss her for many reasons. But I'll carry a bit of her with me wherever I go and whatever I do. Rest in peace, my friend. I can't say anything more. I hope you heard our song and that it helped.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Weirdness is Getting Weirder...
Life has been very weird lately. The confluence of events is very odd and I'm beginning to wonder more and more.
Not about my own sanity. But about the fact that I may very well be the only sane person left in the room!
I have two friends who are suffering with melanoma. Two. One male, one female. The female is now in Hospice care, and we know how this is going to end. The male is "not doing well" - which is kind of what I expected because he found out very late in the game, after it had spread.
So the male, I'm in contact with via "How are you" and "I'm praying for you" notes because we work together. We're friends but in a professional capacity. He was my professor and now that I work at the university, he has classes in my facility, so we're "work friends" and he's one of my favorite instructors.
The female I'm closer to on the basis of "being a friend." We hold totally opposite political beliefs, she's a smoker and a "we love to camp in the summer" person, who is a total sun-bunny. I'm a vehement anti-smoker, a liberal-Birkenstock-wearing-tree-hugger, hates-to-camp kind of person. I'm pale. I go from pale to "burned" in about 20 minutes WITH sunscreen!
But we bonded in a true friendship where we honor our differences. And I cherish that. We are the same age. I'm sad that I'm losing a friend at my own age.
That being said, she owned the yarn shop where I used to hang out. I actually still hang out there, because the new owner is a nice woman keeping up the yarn community that my friend started. And she's running a small business...I'd rather buy my yarn and other knitting stuff there - giving a local business run by a woman my dollars, instead of a big-box (which also has crappy yarns, but I digress).
There are a group of knitters, who lately I've begun referring to as "The Knot-Heads" because at least one of them (maybe two) is displaying an enormous amount of immaturity. Yes, we all mourn differently. We all have that right, based upon what we've grown up with, our personalities and how we handle life's curveballs.
But this gal ("Audrey") is taking the "it's all about MEEEEEEEEEEE" thing so far that I'm ready to just scream. There's another person in the group who is very verbal and outgoing to the point of also kind of being a "me, me, me" person, but deep down, "Jessica" has a heart of gold and will do whatever she thinks will help you. My friend is in Hospice, for God's sake. She doesn't need a "friend" who is determined to out-mourn the rest of us. Nice phrase, huh? Well, it describes a person who is determined to be the one who cries the most, gets hysterical the most, inserts herself in the family's way the most....all the while actually doing nothing for anyone except creating chaos.
Which is the last thing this family needs. Do I always agree with what my friend's husband has done and the decisions they've made? Nope.
Is it my duty or right to say so? Nope. Nope. N-O-P-E. Absolutely frickin' not. I don't care if they brought in a witch doctor to do a rain dance and hang seaweed and entrails around her bed. Well, I care, but the point is, it's not my decision and not my place to tell them what to do.
So, "Audrey," one of the "Knot-Heads" has decided that she's in charge. And my friend's mom is so focused on what's in front of her -- her daughter dying -- that she can't see what's going on with this person. She's also a perennial "everyone is a nice person" kind of gal, till you cross her. My object is to make sure she doesn't have to be crossed, because let's face it -- your kid dying trumps just about anything else that happens to anyone else. In other words, "Audrey" has no right to impose herself in this situation with anyone. "Audrey" needs to grow up and get over herself. Fast.
"Audrey" got mad at me because I went over to visit. She won't, however, confront me. She'll leave others to do this - which I found out by phone calls (lots of them) from "Jessica." Which really doesn't bother me. Squeal away, kiddo. Knock your socks off. One thing I've learned is to "act like a duck" and let it roll off your back. If it won't materially hurt me, why do I waste my energy on this?
I was talking to my mom, though, because she's friends with the mom in this situation.... like a 30+ year friendship. My mom, even though she drives me insane sometimes, is a great anchor. She totally will handle your situation; talk you through it; hand you tissues.... and then after it's all over, will fall apart. I'm pretty much a carbon copy of that. I'll handle what you toss at me; I'll do everything except hold your head while you barf (because I'm a community barfer); give you advice if you want it, or just hold your hand if you need that; and then when it's over, I'm done and I fall apart.
So, I've been asked by "Jessica" to come with her when she visits our friend this coming Monday. "Audrey" is peeved (to put it mildly) and "may just run out there Friday." I felt compelled to talk to my mom because I'm at a loss; not that I don't know how to handle it, because I know how *I* want to handle it. But I wanted some advice from my mom on whether to do anything or how to do it without overstepping into the bounds of the family.
My mom is going to talk to her friend and just give her a head's up because she also believes that "Audrey" is a person who has no boundaries and that the family is the ultimate arbiter of how they handle this journey. Nobody else.
I've told my mom, "Please make your friend understand: I don't care if they all call me and vent on me. It's better to do it to me than to your friend!! She doesn't need this." But what I don't want is to have her friend think that I'm an instigator of the school-girl crap. I believe she knows me well enough, so I don't think that'll be an issue. I also think my mom's in a better position to let her friend know that there may be drama. I think "forewarned is forearmed" in this case.
I hate this crap. I'm devastated that I know two people who're suffering with this awful cancer. I've actually made a dermatologist appointment for myself - which may be a good thing, if I'm more aware...but it's scary. And I really don't want to have to be the only sane person in the room.
But I think that if you are that person, you just are. You just have to deal with it, I guess, and you have to realize that maybe this is your gift to the family. Your presence is calming, hopefully, and you are doing something useful. I've never been a "weeper and moaner" and I can't see myself doing that now.
I'll hold it together. I'll help do what I need to do. But I'll still want to smack "Audrey" (and really, "Jessica" too because please........ everyone grow up!). I'm telling' ya. If you're gonna be the only sane person in the room, you have to cultivate a great poker face. I'm still working on that!
Not about my own sanity. But about the fact that I may very well be the only sane person left in the room!
I have two friends who are suffering with melanoma. Two. One male, one female. The female is now in Hospice care, and we know how this is going to end. The male is "not doing well" - which is kind of what I expected because he found out very late in the game, after it had spread.
So the male, I'm in contact with via "How are you" and "I'm praying for you" notes because we work together. We're friends but in a professional capacity. He was my professor and now that I work at the university, he has classes in my facility, so we're "work friends" and he's one of my favorite instructors.
The female I'm closer to on the basis of "being a friend." We hold totally opposite political beliefs, she's a smoker and a "we love to camp in the summer" person, who is a total sun-bunny. I'm a vehement anti-smoker, a liberal-Birkenstock-wearing-tree-hugger, hates-to-camp kind of person. I'm pale. I go from pale to "burned" in about 20 minutes WITH sunscreen!
But we bonded in a true friendship where we honor our differences. And I cherish that. We are the same age. I'm sad that I'm losing a friend at my own age.
That being said, she owned the yarn shop where I used to hang out. I actually still hang out there, because the new owner is a nice woman keeping up the yarn community that my friend started. And she's running a small business...I'd rather buy my yarn and other knitting stuff there - giving a local business run by a woman my dollars, instead of a big-box (which also has crappy yarns, but I digress).
There are a group of knitters, who lately I've begun referring to as "The Knot-Heads" because at least one of them (maybe two) is displaying an enormous amount of immaturity. Yes, we all mourn differently. We all have that right, based upon what we've grown up with, our personalities and how we handle life's curveballs.
But this gal ("Audrey") is taking the "it's all about MEEEEEEEEEEE" thing so far that I'm ready to just scream. There's another person in the group who is very verbal and outgoing to the point of also kind of being a "me, me, me" person, but deep down, "Jessica" has a heart of gold and will do whatever she thinks will help you. My friend is in Hospice, for God's sake. She doesn't need a "friend" who is determined to out-mourn the rest of us. Nice phrase, huh? Well, it describes a person who is determined to be the one who cries the most, gets hysterical the most, inserts herself in the family's way the most....all the while actually doing nothing for anyone except creating chaos.
Which is the last thing this family needs. Do I always agree with what my friend's husband has done and the decisions they've made? Nope.
Is it my duty or right to say so? Nope. Nope. N-O-P-E. Absolutely frickin' not. I don't care if they brought in a witch doctor to do a rain dance and hang seaweed and entrails around her bed. Well, I care, but the point is, it's not my decision and not my place to tell them what to do.
So, "Audrey," one of the "Knot-Heads" has decided that she's in charge. And my friend's mom is so focused on what's in front of her -- her daughter dying -- that she can't see what's going on with this person. She's also a perennial "everyone is a nice person" kind of gal, till you cross her. My object is to make sure she doesn't have to be crossed, because let's face it -- your kid dying trumps just about anything else that happens to anyone else. In other words, "Audrey" has no right to impose herself in this situation with anyone. "Audrey" needs to grow up and get over herself. Fast.
"Audrey" got mad at me because I went over to visit. She won't, however, confront me. She'll leave others to do this - which I found out by phone calls (lots of them) from "Jessica." Which really doesn't bother me. Squeal away, kiddo. Knock your socks off. One thing I've learned is to "act like a duck" and let it roll off your back. If it won't materially hurt me, why do I waste my energy on this?
I was talking to my mom, though, because she's friends with the mom in this situation.... like a 30+ year friendship. My mom, even though she drives me insane sometimes, is a great anchor. She totally will handle your situation; talk you through it; hand you tissues.... and then after it's all over, will fall apart. I'm pretty much a carbon copy of that. I'll handle what you toss at me; I'll do everything except hold your head while you barf (because I'm a community barfer); give you advice if you want it, or just hold your hand if you need that; and then when it's over, I'm done and I fall apart.
So, I've been asked by "Jessica" to come with her when she visits our friend this coming Monday. "Audrey" is peeved (to put it mildly) and "may just run out there Friday." I felt compelled to talk to my mom because I'm at a loss; not that I don't know how to handle it, because I know how *I* want to handle it. But I wanted some advice from my mom on whether to do anything or how to do it without overstepping into the bounds of the family.
My mom is going to talk to her friend and just give her a head's up because she also believes that "Audrey" is a person who has no boundaries and that the family is the ultimate arbiter of how they handle this journey. Nobody else.
I've told my mom, "Please make your friend understand: I don't care if they all call me and vent on me. It's better to do it to me than to your friend!! She doesn't need this." But what I don't want is to have her friend think that I'm an instigator of the school-girl crap. I believe she knows me well enough, so I don't think that'll be an issue. I also think my mom's in a better position to let her friend know that there may be drama. I think "forewarned is forearmed" in this case.
I hate this crap. I'm devastated that I know two people who're suffering with this awful cancer. I've actually made a dermatologist appointment for myself - which may be a good thing, if I'm more aware...but it's scary. And I really don't want to have to be the only sane person in the room.
But I think that if you are that person, you just are. You just have to deal with it, I guess, and you have to realize that maybe this is your gift to the family. Your presence is calming, hopefully, and you are doing something useful. I've never been a "weeper and moaner" and I can't see myself doing that now.
I'll hold it together. I'll help do what I need to do. But I'll still want to smack "Audrey" (and really, "Jessica" too because please........ everyone grow up!). I'm telling' ya. If you're gonna be the only sane person in the room, you have to cultivate a great poker face. I'm still working on that!
Monday, April 30, 2012
Monday Musings....
It's Monday and it's raining and I haven't blogged for a while and there are several things to cover. So...........
1. My friend Jan and her family are mourning the death of her nephew Christopher, USN. He was a demolitions expert in Afghanistan. He and his entire group were killed when an IED exploded under his humvee. Christopher not only shares a name with one of my kids, but he's the same age. I am still trying to wrap my head around this because if my kid had been inclined to join the military (and he's not), this could've been me writing this message. I grieve with her because this young man sounds like a lovely person; I never met him, but he has a close-knit family and community who are mourning the loss of yet another life in a war which has been fought since before Jesus.
When you pray or meditate or take quiet time or whatever you do, please spare a thought for those young people who have died in this senseless war and also for their families and communities.
2. My fantastic therapy dog and I have a new gig as a fill-in for the Child Advocacy Center. It's to help parents and children in the pre-interview room. I will not go into the interviews; it's not allowed, which is fine with me. But I think Tippi the Wonder-Dog will be a great fit there. When we went for an interview, everyone but one grumpy guard loved her.
3. Forty minutes of complete panic. Hubby calls and says, "I've lost my wallet." Yikes!! Called the doc's office; he runs to the doc, to the dog park, to the grocery store... Then Kid #2 calls and says he found it at home. Whewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!! Bullet dodged.
4. The carb detox is working fine; it's a good thing that I'm the kind of person who can eat the same thing over and over and over and.... wait, I'm talking myself out of this!! Anyway, it's getting easier to avoid the "white processed" stuff, though today I fell slightly off the wagon. (sigh) It happens.
5. I'm going to be calling my friend Sonda. Hospice is coming in to evaluate her this week. It's not looking good from a survival perspective, but Hospice is such a gift.
6. The conservatives who continually pound us over the head with "What the Founders wanted" and "no *^&% mandates" need to read history. I know it's hard, and there are some big words. However, even George WASHINGTON issued mandates for ship owners to buy insurance on their crew, and for longshoremen to have health insurance. Mandates, folks. We shouldn't make it a dirty word.
7. Just about done with a mala bag. I have a lovely clear quartz mala and it needs its own bag. I'm using some more of Sonda's blue hand-dyed yarn, which is what I used for my "quick winter hat" that does NOT slouch. I'm working on the i-cord now.
8. My foot hurts. There are less than 39 days left till the Avon 2-Day Walk; I've made my financial goal (yay!) but now my foot hurts. I think the plantar fasciitis is acting up. Lovely. Can I do the whole thing on my elliptical so it's all low-impact?? I didn't think so.
Gotta get used to this new blogger format. It's very strange.
1. My friend Jan and her family are mourning the death of her nephew Christopher, USN. He was a demolitions expert in Afghanistan. He and his entire group were killed when an IED exploded under his humvee. Christopher not only shares a name with one of my kids, but he's the same age. I am still trying to wrap my head around this because if my kid had been inclined to join the military (and he's not), this could've been me writing this message. I grieve with her because this young man sounds like a lovely person; I never met him, but he has a close-knit family and community who are mourning the loss of yet another life in a war which has been fought since before Jesus.
When you pray or meditate or take quiet time or whatever you do, please spare a thought for those young people who have died in this senseless war and also for their families and communities.
2. My fantastic therapy dog and I have a new gig as a fill-in for the Child Advocacy Center. It's to help parents and children in the pre-interview room. I will not go into the interviews; it's not allowed, which is fine with me. But I think Tippi the Wonder-Dog will be a great fit there. When we went for an interview, everyone but one grumpy guard loved her.
3. Forty minutes of complete panic. Hubby calls and says, "I've lost my wallet." Yikes!! Called the doc's office; he runs to the doc, to the dog park, to the grocery store... Then Kid #2 calls and says he found it at home. Whewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!! Bullet dodged.
4. The carb detox is working fine; it's a good thing that I'm the kind of person who can eat the same thing over and over and over and.... wait, I'm talking myself out of this!! Anyway, it's getting easier to avoid the "white processed" stuff, though today I fell slightly off the wagon. (sigh) It happens.
5. I'm going to be calling my friend Sonda. Hospice is coming in to evaluate her this week. It's not looking good from a survival perspective, but Hospice is such a gift.
6. The conservatives who continually pound us over the head with "What the Founders wanted" and "no *^&% mandates" need to read history. I know it's hard, and there are some big words. However, even George WASHINGTON issued mandates for ship owners to buy insurance on their crew, and for longshoremen to have health insurance. Mandates, folks. We shouldn't make it a dirty word.
7. Just about done with a mala bag. I have a lovely clear quartz mala and it needs its own bag. I'm using some more of Sonda's blue hand-dyed yarn, which is what I used for my "quick winter hat" that does NOT slouch. I'm working on the i-cord now.
8. My foot hurts. There are less than 39 days left till the Avon 2-Day Walk; I've made my financial goal (yay!) but now my foot hurts. I think the plantar fasciitis is acting up. Lovely. Can I do the whole thing on my elliptical so it's all low-impact?? I didn't think so.
Gotta get used to this new blogger format. It's very strange.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
RaNdOm thoughts...
Well, it's been insanely busy and I'm trying to do a million things at once. Of course you know how that'll turn out!
So, first off, I had a private lesson with my yoga instructor. I now have a lovely 15-minute routine for my back. Actually lots of core strengtheners. And I've managed to mostly stick to it daily!! Yay... But I'm also going to go back for a few more lessons, because she and I are also working on getting me ready for the Avon 2-Day Walk - and I've got nasty-tight hamstrings. Even 7 years of yoga haven't fixed that --- and it probably never will.
Second, I did finish my MIL's mitts. Here's the picture, but they're not sewn up yet. Again, the Liberty Wool has pulled a stinky on me. These are from the same ball of wool. It's a good thing my MIL isn't picky.
And again, I love that the wool makes the chevron lace "pop." It's a cute mitt, takes probably a weekend's work if you do them straight through, and I will be trying to adapt this pattern to a skein of pale pink merino/silk that I have in my stash.
You can't have too many mitts, in this age of HVAC systems with minds of their own (as I sit here with sunshine and 66* outside, with the A/C blowing in my office).
Third, I have some really, really bad news. My friend Sonda, who owned the LYS where I re-learned how to knit and made some interesting friends, is now beyond treatment for her melanoma. They never found the original site; it's in her brain, and once it gets there, there's really not much to be optimistic about.
What's saddest for me is that we're the same age. It's not my first brush with death or death by cancer, but it's a friend who's my age, who's going to die well before her time. Her family was incredibly "up" about her chances, but when I was doing some research on the treatment, I came across the statement that all this treatment would do was "extend and potentially improve quality of life" but that it was "definitely not a cure." Obviously, I kept that bit of wisdom to myself. I'm not going to rain on anyone's parade.
The other stupid thing that's a result of this is that a couple of the "yarnies" (folks that would hang out at the store and knit - some of her regular customers) are now engaging in the totally ignorant spectacle of "who can mourn the most." Yeah, you read that right. "Who's known her longest? Who's spent the most time at the shop? Who was closest to her?" All that high-school crap that's totally useless and incredibly insensitive toward the family. One of them called me and told me "in confidence" that So-and-So is hysterical and can't cope, and yet she went over to Such-and-Such's house when she blah, blah, blah, blah.
STOP IT. For God's sake. A woman is dying far too young, and her family is in turmoil. When I last talked to Sonda's mom, I asked if she wanted visitors, and was answered with a quick, "No." And I assured her that I was totally cool with it. Which I am. This is SONDA'S journey. Not mine. Not even her family's. It's HERS. And she gets to call the shots. Nobody else. Period.
I can't begin to explain how mad this makes me. Grown women acting like hormonal teenagers, each with their own agenda to make the whole thing about THEM.
I am very sad that I'm going to lose a friend. We had different political views; we had different views on how to raise kids; we have husbands who are totally different (frankly, I'd have shot hers...) but we had common threads as women of the same age and as knitters. We could agree to disagree without too much trouble (wow - imagine that!) and be able to have reasonably respectful discussions, because the things we DID have in common made us realize how cool it was that we were friends in the first place!
The one high note of the past few days? Well, good old Tippi has done it again! We attended a "Stress Relief Week" event at our local college and Tippi was a hit as a therapy dog. Here she is with a couple of the students and a worker at the food court. We were interviewed by a student for the school's paper and the young man was quite skittish about Tippi.
Well, that's the kind of challenge Tippi likes! She sat on my left side, quietly, and the young man was talking away. Then, very gently, she insinuated herself between him and me, when he crouched down a bit. Soon, without him even realizing he was doing it, he was stroking her ears. He asked me, "So how does it work with a therapy dog?" I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "You're doing it right now! You're petting my dog when you really were reluctant to do it at first." He admitted that he "didn't really like dogs," but that "this is a dog I really do feel comfortable with." And there you have canine therapy in a nutshell. Tippi made yet another convert.
Here's another favorite shot. This was a young man who was missing his own dogs, and just after this, he and Tippi had a case of the "Zoomies" where she was scooting back and forth playing with him. After he was finished, he and I sat and talked. The student health coordinator just sat there nodding her head: "That is what I want to see!" she said. She wanted the kids to bond with the animals and start to talk.
Tippi was her usual well-mannered self, and I got to talk a lot about the responsibilities of a dog owner, how dogs enrich your life, and our rescue work. As well, we discussed her training and the various temperaments that made a good therapy dog.
They were so happy that the student health folks are going to talk about a "Tuesdays with Tippi" program to have her visit the campus on a regular basis just so the kids (and faculty and staff) have a furry friend to help them through the day.
Here's another shot that was a highlight. The girls just loved the time they spent with her and they asked me lots of questions about dog training. I love that we can impact the kids that way and I love that Tippi is my vehicle to do so.
Can't wait to see if "Tuesdays with Tippi" becomes a reality.
Sometimes, it's these bright moments that make me able to deal with the crappy moments.
So, first off, I had a private lesson with my yoga instructor. I now have a lovely 15-minute routine for my back. Actually lots of core strengtheners. And I've managed to mostly stick to it daily!! Yay... But I'm also going to go back for a few more lessons, because she and I are also working on getting me ready for the Avon 2-Day Walk - and I've got nasty-tight hamstrings. Even 7 years of yoga haven't fixed that --- and it probably never will.
And again, I love that the wool makes the chevron lace "pop." It's a cute mitt, takes probably a weekend's work if you do them straight through, and I will be trying to adapt this pattern to a skein of pale pink merino/silk that I have in my stash.
You can't have too many mitts, in this age of HVAC systems with minds of their own (as I sit here with sunshine and 66* outside, with the A/C blowing in my office).
Third, I have some really, really bad news. My friend Sonda, who owned the LYS where I re-learned how to knit and made some interesting friends, is now beyond treatment for her melanoma. They never found the original site; it's in her brain, and once it gets there, there's really not much to be optimistic about.
What's saddest for me is that we're the same age. It's not my first brush with death or death by cancer, but it's a friend who's my age, who's going to die well before her time. Her family was incredibly "up" about her chances, but when I was doing some research on the treatment, I came across the statement that all this treatment would do was "extend and potentially improve quality of life" but that it was "definitely not a cure." Obviously, I kept that bit of wisdom to myself. I'm not going to rain on anyone's parade.
The other stupid thing that's a result of this is that a couple of the "yarnies" (folks that would hang out at the store and knit - some of her regular customers) are now engaging in the totally ignorant spectacle of "who can mourn the most." Yeah, you read that right. "Who's known her longest? Who's spent the most time at the shop? Who was closest to her?" All that high-school crap that's totally useless and incredibly insensitive toward the family. One of them called me and told me "in confidence" that So-and-So is hysterical and can't cope, and yet she went over to Such-and-Such's house when she blah, blah, blah, blah.
STOP IT. For God's sake. A woman is dying far too young, and her family is in turmoil. When I last talked to Sonda's mom, I asked if she wanted visitors, and was answered with a quick, "No." And I assured her that I was totally cool with it. Which I am. This is SONDA'S journey. Not mine. Not even her family's. It's HERS. And she gets to call the shots. Nobody else. Period.
I can't begin to explain how mad this makes me. Grown women acting like hormonal teenagers, each with their own agenda to make the whole thing about THEM.
I am very sad that I'm going to lose a friend. We had different political views; we had different views on how to raise kids; we have husbands who are totally different (frankly, I'd have shot hers...) but we had common threads as women of the same age and as knitters. We could agree to disagree without too much trouble (wow - imagine that!) and be able to have reasonably respectful discussions, because the things we DID have in common made us realize how cool it was that we were friends in the first place!
Well, that's the kind of challenge Tippi likes! She sat on my left side, quietly, and the young man was talking away. Then, very gently, she insinuated herself between him and me, when he crouched down a bit. Soon, without him even realizing he was doing it, he was stroking her ears. He asked me, "So how does it work with a therapy dog?" I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "You're doing it right now! You're petting my dog when you really were reluctant to do it at first." He admitted that he "didn't really like dogs," but that "this is a dog I really do feel comfortable with." And there you have canine therapy in a nutshell. Tippi made yet another convert.
Tippi was her usual well-mannered self, and I got to talk a lot about the responsibilities of a dog owner, how dogs enrich your life, and our rescue work. As well, we discussed her training and the various temperaments that made a good therapy dog.
They were so happy that the student health folks are going to talk about a "Tuesdays with Tippi" program to have her visit the campus on a regular basis just so the kids (and faculty and staff) have a furry friend to help them through the day.
Can't wait to see if "Tuesdays with Tippi" becomes a reality.
Sometimes, it's these bright moments that make me able to deal with the crappy moments.
Monday, April 09, 2012
Today in History...And How It Hasn't Changed Much...
So today in 1939, an estimated 75,000 people were at the Lincoln Memorial to hear famed contralto Marian Anderson sing. Not to mention the millions who tuned in to their radios to hear her. She was supposed to sing at Constitution Hall, but the Daughters of the American Revolution nixed that.
Why?
Her crime was "singing while black."
Listen up: http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=marian+anderson+lincoln+memorial&mid=A8D8D918860874C5E948A8D8D918860874C5E948&view=detail&FORM=VIRE4
Tell me this doesn't send shivers up your spine. Don't listen to the "style" because she was very much a classicist and sometimes that turns people off. Listen to the tone. The purity of the notes. The gift from Heaven of that voice.
And then look at why she wasn't allowed in Constitution Hall. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt was so miffed at the DAR that she withdrew her own membership, and helped Anderson (along with FDR, of course!) to set up that concert at the Lincoln Memorial.
Marian Anderson was a fascinating woman. She was the first black woman to sing at Metropolitan Opera. She was an "accidental" civil rights activist. She had an amazing concert career.
And the reason I'm saying not much has changed is because of the recent decision to NOT bring the Trayvon Martin case to a Grand Jury. Yep. And Trayvon's only apparent crime was 'walking while black' - and George Zimmerman may very well get away with murder.
Yes, I'm sure there's more to the story. But the bald facts are that the "Stand Your Ground" Laws (a/k/a Stalk and Shoot) do not apply under this case. Zimmerman was told (on tape) to NOT pursue Martin. Yet he did. Begs the question of *who* gets to "stand your ground" - though the answer appears to be "the one with the gun."
So. Marian Anderson, celebrated contralto, can't sing, back in the late 30s. And Trayvon Martin dies in 2012. Because of skin color.
I thought we were better than this. Apparently, and sadly, I'm wrong.
Why?
Her crime was "singing while black."
Listen up: http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=marian+anderson+lincoln+memorial&mid=A8D8D918860874C5E948A8D8D918860874C5E948&view=detail&FORM=VIRE4
Tell me this doesn't send shivers up your spine. Don't listen to the "style" because she was very much a classicist and sometimes that turns people off. Listen to the tone. The purity of the notes. The gift from Heaven of that voice.
And then look at why she wasn't allowed in Constitution Hall. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt was so miffed at the DAR that she withdrew her own membership, and helped Anderson (along with FDR, of course!) to set up that concert at the Lincoln Memorial.
Marian Anderson was a fascinating woman. She was the first black woman to sing at Metropolitan Opera. She was an "accidental" civil rights activist. She had an amazing concert career.
And the reason I'm saying not much has changed is because of the recent decision to NOT bring the Trayvon Martin case to a Grand Jury. Yep. And Trayvon's only apparent crime was 'walking while black' - and George Zimmerman may very well get away with murder.
Yes, I'm sure there's more to the story. But the bald facts are that the "Stand Your Ground" Laws (a/k/a Stalk and Shoot) do not apply under this case. Zimmerman was told (on tape) to NOT pursue Martin. Yet he did. Begs the question of *who* gets to "stand your ground" - though the answer appears to be "the one with the gun."
So. Marian Anderson, celebrated contralto, can't sing, back in the late 30s. And Trayvon Martin dies in 2012. Because of skin color.
I thought we were better than this. Apparently, and sadly, I'm wrong.
Monday, April 02, 2012
Spring has Sprung...
In the midst of some sadness, spring has sprung. I went with my friend Susan to the Morton Arboretum. Susan is an avid, and I mean A-V-I-D birder and botanist. Down to knowing bird calls cold, and knowing the botanical name of most every plant we encountered. It was thoroughly cool to walk the arboretum with her.
Here are some of my shots. We were shooting all kinds of stuff and just enjoying a lovely afternoon. Friendships can really help you out. Even if you don't think they will, they do. Without trying too hard, which is the nicest part.
This is one of the first sights we saw as we entered the drive. Twin redbuds with a veritable ground covering of daffodils. I had to wait till the guy on the right walked away. He was shooting some mighty close-up shots of the daffodils. I only had the small camera. I wasn't sure if we were going to hike for a while, and the bigger (better) camera is a pain in the neck - literally - to haul around. Of course, if I had any sense, I'd have done what Susan did and brought a backpack. Oh well. Live and learn.
So dig the gorgeous daffodil. This was what was under those redbuds. I had those growing in my south garden. Except that the squirrels loved them. To eat.
There were several areas of the arboretum that had been "naturalized" - where they took the bulbs and literally tossed them (well, ok, some landscape designer probably did a lot of it) and wherever they landed, they got planted. The garden has some lovely sections and we drove around most of them, just seeing what we could see. As it's still quite early, in spite of our winter-that-wasn't, the trees are only now starting to bud. But the wildflowers and spring bulbs are going crazy.
We didn't see a lot of wildlife. That was a little weird. We saw some bluebirds, robins, ducks and the like, but I can't remember even seeing a squirrel, much less anything else. Maybe that's a good thing, but on the other hand, even the lack of songbirds was a little odd. You'd expect some singing to be going on.
More of the arboretum's nature: a lovely reflection on one of the many small lakes. We saw that there were fish in there, and at least one turtle. But even with the gorgeous day, no amphibians were sunning on the rocks.
I wasn't sure which path we were going to take, so I did bring the walking poles; a good practice for my upcoming Avon 2-Day Walk for Breast Cancer (click the link if you'd like to donate!!).
We took a partial trail. Ran into a very helpful docent. We just missed the wildflower walk. However, the very helpful docent told us that the plant we were staring at and trying madly to find in the Peterson's (wildflower guide) was a trout lily. Well. I never. They were all over the place. Next to one, we found Dutchmen's Breeches.
So if you look at this picture, the flower on the top (note the spotted leaves) is the trout lily. It takes seven years to shoot up a second leaf and then the flower. Talk about persistence. Dutchmen's Breeches is the little string of flowers below. It's not a particularly great shot, because if you've ever really seen the Breeches, they really do look like skivvies on the laundry line!
We went quite a ways and then we saw it. The tree I had been oooooooh-ing and ahhhhhhhhhhhhh-ing over since Downton Abbey and possibly the last "Masterpiece" great British miniseries. And you don't see too many of these around, because we're a young nation. Here's the tree. Or, more appropriately The Tree. This tree would be perfectly at home in a Tim Burton film. Or a Hitchcock noir. Or anything Vincent Price did in his B-movie Horror phase. It must be HUNDREDS of years old. It's an old oak. An old, old, OLD oak. The thing was gorgeous. I couldn't get the most wonderful picture because the light was fading, but it was a magnificent tree. You can see how some of the branches on the left are just on the ground. The tree was just starting to bud, so you have the solid, stolid, strong and sure trunk and large branches. And the oh-so-delicate catkins as the tree buds. Just the most magnificent pale green lace draping the dark brown sturdy branches. Lovely.
Here's another one - of the elusive bluebird. You have to squint a bit, but he's there - in the middle of the shot. He was literally preening for us for a little bit. Morton has quite a few bluebird houses, and we saw at least one wood duck house on another pond.
We walked through a pine grove and saw some gorgeous false rue, some shell-like fungus and some deep red trillium. Here they are for your enjoyment.
If you get a chance this spring, get out. Get out and look at nature. Unplug. We saw a surprising number of people who were jogging on the paved pathways, plugged into their ear buds. Well, ok, the birds weren't going nuts. But please: unplug for your own safety and also to just absorb nature. You may not be buzzing about your playlist but Mother Nature has a playlist all her own. And it's very refreshing to listen to.
We plan to go in another couple of months. In the meantime, maybe Hubby and I will put the bikes on the truck and go out there. With 9 miles of roads, we can do a couple of turns quite easily. It's always nice to get out and enjoy the scenery. We have paniers on the bikes so we can also pack a lunch, since looking at me in spandex in a cafe would be distressing to normal humans!
No dogs are allowed at the arboretum. No joggers or bikers on the mulched paths. This leaves you free to enjoy nature as you like. When you like, since they're open every day of the year. Enjoy.
Just look at this pine grove. What do you think of when you see this? Me? I think of peace and quiet. Something we can all use in our lives.
 |
| Redbuds & Daffodils |
This is one of the first sights we saw as we entered the drive. Twin redbuds with a veritable ground covering of daffodils. I had to wait till the guy on the right walked away. He was shooting some mighty close-up shots of the daffodils. I only had the small camera. I wasn't sure if we were going to hike for a while, and the bigger (better) camera is a pain in the neck - literally - to haul around. Of course, if I had any sense, I'd have done what Susan did and brought a backpack. Oh well. Live and learn.
There were several areas of the arboretum that had been "naturalized" - where they took the bulbs and literally tossed them (well, ok, some landscape designer probably did a lot of it) and wherever they landed, they got planted. The garden has some lovely sections and we drove around most of them, just seeing what we could see. As it's still quite early, in spite of our winter-that-wasn't, the trees are only now starting to bud. But the wildflowers and spring bulbs are going crazy.
We didn't see a lot of wildlife. That was a little weird. We saw some bluebirds, robins, ducks and the like, but I can't remember even seeing a squirrel, much less anything else. Maybe that's a good thing, but on the other hand, even the lack of songbirds was a little odd. You'd expect some singing to be going on.
I wasn't sure which path we were going to take, so I did bring the walking poles; a good practice for my upcoming Avon 2-Day Walk for Breast Cancer (click the link if you'd like to donate!!).
So if you look at this picture, the flower on the top (note the spotted leaves) is the trout lily. It takes seven years to shoot up a second leaf and then the flower. Talk about persistence. Dutchmen's Breeches is the little string of flowers below. It's not a particularly great shot, because if you've ever really seen the Breeches, they really do look like skivvies on the laundry line!
We walked through a pine grove and saw some gorgeous false rue, some shell-like fungus and some deep red trillium. Here they are for your enjoyment.
 |
| Looking up thru pines |
 |
| False rue |
If you get a chance this spring, get out. Get out and look at nature. Unplug. We saw a surprising number of people who were jogging on the paved pathways, plugged into their ear buds. Well, ok, the birds weren't going nuts. But please: unplug for your own safety and also to just absorb nature. You may not be buzzing about your playlist but Mother Nature has a playlist all her own. And it's very refreshing to listen to.
 |
| Shell-shaped fungus |
 |
| Red trillium |
Thursday, March 29, 2012
The Finished Mitts
As I promised, here is the finished product. A pair of Liberty Wool "Chevron Lace Mitts" for your enjoyment. FYI, the spelling is correct. A "mitt" is a woman's glove that does not cover the fingers. I looked it up. And again, this is a free pattern. My LYS is doing a program where if you buy a certain yarn (they change up every time), you get a free pattern with it. I have yet to post this on Ravelry, but it'll happen eventually.
Here is a shot of the blocking on the right-hand mitt. OK, they're designed for "either hand" but since I have one wonky thumb, the one thumb hole is a little larger than the other. So there... You can see how the colors lay out. What I did wrong was that when I blocked mitt #2, I didn't measure them correctly. And also, per directions, you block after you sew them up. I blocked flat, which wouldn't make a difference had I measured them so that each flat mitt was equal.
I really like this chevron lace. I'm thinking I'm a "lace person" after all. The next shot shows the lace up close. It is quite subtle, and there's a definite "wrong" side to it. As you will see in the closer shot, the "right" side of the lacework shows the texture quite nicely. These would be equally as lovely in a solid color.
The other thing I might do if I do these again is that I'd make them a little longer. They hit right at my watch, just up my arm from the base of the wrist. They're very "square" and don't hug the wrist much; so if I made them a little longer, they'd be a tad warmer, I think. It's an easy fix.
I have some lovely alpaca/merino in a soft pink; this would be a nice pattern on which to experiment. What you can do to give your knits a little "shape" is to make a "waist" by knitting those rows on smaller needles. That way, you don't necessarily have to do decreases but it gives it a very subtle shape. I will probably try that with the pink yarn; it'll give it a little "snug" at the wrist. You could also do a plain knit mitt and do yarn overs for a couple of rows to make holes, and then run a ribbon through - that would also snug them up a bit, but I like the idea of the smaller needles so I don't go all girly on the ribbon. I have my standards!
Here is the "topside" view. Remember, now...this is Liberty Wool self patterning. These were knit from the same ball of yarn. Hubby took these shots this morning; I couldn't quite figure out how to take the pictures while wearing the mitts!! See how short they are? But this isn't bad; it's a good length for the summer and the A/C vent that's at the right side of my desk. I really feel it on days like today because it's sunny outside but the HVAC can't decide if it's spring or still a little chilly outside.
You can see the longer thumb hole on the left hand. This is the neat thing; you can kind of adjust where your thumbs are and even if you want the mitt a little shorter or farther up your palms, you do have a little wriggle room.
Here's the backside of the mitts. Notice, again, the color changes. The mitts are actually reversible - you can wear them on either hand. I like that, and I like that the Liberty Wool is superwash; I can dip these in some Woolite and lay them out to dry with maybe a little towel inside to help the drying along.
The stitch definition is really nice on this yarn. I'm not sure I'd do a whole sweater out of it -- maybe the solids, but definitely not the stripes! Or a cardigan, though...that would be nice if you had the striped yarn on the button band and collar? It could work. I just have to add that to my "Knitting Bucket List."
I have bought a pinks-and-greens yarn for my mother-in-law and I will try to finish hers (in size small) for Hubby's visit over Easter. I have no clue what the center of this pinks-and-greens ball holds; as you can see, the purple-to-grey ball went to taupe and red! Luckily, she's easy to please. As soon as I get a chance, I'll take pictures of the work-in-progress and you can see how they're coming along.
In the meantime, knit. It's good for your mind and your soul.
 |
| Blocking |
I really like this chevron lace. I'm thinking I'm a "lace person" after all. The next shot shows the lace up close. It is quite subtle, and there's a definite "wrong" side to it. As you will see in the closer shot, the "right" side of the lacework shows the texture quite nicely. These would be equally as lovely in a solid color.
 |
| Chevron Lace |
I have some lovely alpaca/merino in a soft pink; this would be a nice pattern on which to experiment. What you can do to give your knits a little "shape" is to make a "waist" by knitting those rows on smaller needles. That way, you don't necessarily have to do decreases but it gives it a very subtle shape. I will probably try that with the pink yarn; it'll give it a little "snug" at the wrist. You could also do a plain knit mitt and do yarn overs for a couple of rows to make holes, and then run a ribbon through - that would also snug them up a bit, but I like the idea of the smaller needles so I don't go all girly on the ribbon. I have my standards!
You can see the longer thumb hole on the left hand. This is the neat thing; you can kind of adjust where your thumbs are and even if you want the mitt a little shorter or farther up your palms, you do have a little wriggle room.
 |
| Bottom side |
The stitch definition is really nice on this yarn. I'm not sure I'd do a whole sweater out of it -- maybe the solids, but definitely not the stripes! Or a cardigan, though...that would be nice if you had the striped yarn on the button band and collar? It could work. I just have to add that to my "Knitting Bucket List."
I have bought a pinks-and-greens yarn for my mother-in-law and I will try to finish hers (in size small) for Hubby's visit over Easter. I have no clue what the center of this pinks-and-greens ball holds; as you can see, the purple-to-grey ball went to taupe and red! Luckily, she's easy to please. As soon as I get a chance, I'll take pictures of the work-in-progress and you can see how they're coming along.
In the meantime, knit. It's good for your mind and your soul.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Treyvon Martin...Consequences
So I'm a mom with 2 kids. Both boys. This case is bothering me on a number of levels, particularly since I live in Illinois, and am of the opinion that WE are the only state left with our heads screwed on correctly ... at least where "concealed carry" comes in! We are the only state left which doesn't authorize this, though the gun nuts are pushing really hard and I'm afraid that it'll eventually pass.
We do have a version of the "stand your ground" thing because if you shoot someone breaking into your house, it's usually considered "justified." You just can't carry your Glock to the local Jewel and blast away when someone steals your parking spot because you felt "threatened" when their car pulled in ahead of yours.
I'm truly not being ridiculous. This Zimmerman nut job was specifically told that he didn't need to follow the young Martin boy. Yet he continued to do so. And this story http://usnews.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/03/22/10808864-police-chief-receives-vote-of-no-confidence-over-handling-of-trayvon-martin-case has a line in there that says that the dispatcher's statement "Ok, you don't need to do that [follow him]..." was not a lawful order. 'Scuse me. The "neighborhood watch handbook" specifically states (in that same story and in bold print) that watch volunteers are not to follow or confront a suspect. They are merely to watch and report.
This story
comments about the many protests. Questions about why this guy wasn't arrested are flying fast as bullets. There are witnesses who are complaining that police literally didn't want to hear from them. The story would've faded until the national media got hold of it. Thank goodness. I was talking to my mom about this and she was bowled over. She didn't realize that Treyvon was shot IN FEBRUARY. It's nearly the end of March. It's reprehensible that it takes virtually a national protest to get this investigated, because apparently, all the police chief needed to do was hear "Oh, Stand Your Ground law" and he threw up his hands and said OK, we're done here. End of story. No further need to look anywhere else.
Is anyone else scared witless about this? This seriously means that in some states, you can be shot because someone else feels threatened by you. You don't even have to be doing anything.
Look, I'm a 54-year-old, silver-haired overweight white woman. I'm probably, overall, more of a threat to Zimmerman than Treyvon ever was. I'm menopausal, tired and really, really cranky. And I carry knitting needles. And a purse that weighs about 15 lbs. You don't want to mess with me.
All kidding aside, in some states, something I theoretically might do could theoretically make someone afraid and that person would have a perfect right to shoot me. Even though the most menacing thing I have in my purse are car keys and a small canister of mace (for loose dogs with no manners).
Apparently, Zimmerman didn't realize that black people do live in his gated community. He must not have heard that in a community meeting, huh?
Another reason this bothers me is because this young boy is merely guilty of "walking while black" - he was in the neighborhood visiting his girlfriend, whose father lives there. I listened to the 911 tapes last night. Zimmerman clearly has some sort of John Wayne fantasy or "superman" hero thing going on here. He was bound and determined to follow this kid, and did so in spite of being directed to discontinue.
Here's the biggest reason this bothers me. I have 2 boys. They wear hoodies. They're olive-skinned and in summertime have quite the tans, while me? I'm a pale Polish gal. They don't even look like me in the summertime, even though we share some facial features. They wear their pants a lot lower than I would like, in spite of repeated reminders. Yeah, there's a belt there, but still...my favorite phrase is, "I diapered it - I don't want to look at it now."
So. My darker-than-me kids might well be walking in a neighborhood at night, which they like to do. They walk and just socialize with friends (they're in their late and early 20s - several years apart), and often just walk to relieve stress. They have on hoodies and baggy pants. They could look "other" to someone who isn't familiar with them. And I have a serious nagging feeling that one of my kids could get shot for "walking with hoodie."
If this Martin boy was my kid, I don't know that I'd be as graceful as his parents are. I do know that I categorically would make sure Zimmerman never had another peaceful day as long as he lived. I'd also take on the entire police force and whatever passes for a State's Attorney in that town or county.
This boy is guilty of nothing. The man who felt threatened? Guilty of so many things; mainly stupidity and racism. And he's lawfully armed and dangerous. What a combination.
We do have a version of the "stand your ground" thing because if you shoot someone breaking into your house, it's usually considered "justified." You just can't carry your Glock to the local Jewel and blast away when someone steals your parking spot because you felt "threatened" when their car pulled in ahead of yours.
I'm truly not being ridiculous. This Zimmerman nut job was specifically told that he didn't need to follow the young Martin boy. Yet he continued to do so. And this story http://usnews.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/03/22/10808864-police-chief-receives-vote-of-no-confidence-over-handling-of-trayvon-martin-case has a line in there that says that the dispatcher's statement "Ok, you don't need to do that [follow him]..." was not a lawful order. 'Scuse me. The "neighborhood watch handbook" specifically states (in that same story and in bold print) that watch volunteers are not to follow or confront a suspect. They are merely to watch and report.
This story
comments about the many protests. Questions about why this guy wasn't arrested are flying fast as bullets. There are witnesses who are complaining that police literally didn't want to hear from them. The story would've faded until the national media got hold of it. Thank goodness. I was talking to my mom about this and she was bowled over. She didn't realize that Treyvon was shot IN FEBRUARY. It's nearly the end of March. It's reprehensible that it takes virtually a national protest to get this investigated, because apparently, all the police chief needed to do was hear "Oh, Stand Your Ground law" and he threw up his hands and said OK, we're done here. End of story. No further need to look anywhere else.
Is anyone else scared witless about this? This seriously means that in some states, you can be shot because someone else feels threatened by you. You don't even have to be doing anything.
Look, I'm a 54-year-old, silver-haired overweight white woman. I'm probably, overall, more of a threat to Zimmerman than Treyvon ever was. I'm menopausal, tired and really, really cranky. And I carry knitting needles. And a purse that weighs about 15 lbs. You don't want to mess with me.
All kidding aside, in some states, something I theoretically might do could theoretically make someone afraid and that person would have a perfect right to shoot me. Even though the most menacing thing I have in my purse are car keys and a small canister of mace (for loose dogs with no manners).
Apparently, Zimmerman didn't realize that black people do live in his gated community. He must not have heard that in a community meeting, huh?
Another reason this bothers me is because this young boy is merely guilty of "walking while black" - he was in the neighborhood visiting his girlfriend, whose father lives there. I listened to the 911 tapes last night. Zimmerman clearly has some sort of John Wayne fantasy or "superman" hero thing going on here. He was bound and determined to follow this kid, and did so in spite of being directed to discontinue.
Here's the biggest reason this bothers me. I have 2 boys. They wear hoodies. They're olive-skinned and in summertime have quite the tans, while me? I'm a pale Polish gal. They don't even look like me in the summertime, even though we share some facial features. They wear their pants a lot lower than I would like, in spite of repeated reminders. Yeah, there's a belt there, but still...my favorite phrase is, "I diapered it - I don't want to look at it now."
So. My darker-than-me kids might well be walking in a neighborhood at night, which they like to do. They walk and just socialize with friends (they're in their late and early 20s - several years apart), and often just walk to relieve stress. They have on hoodies and baggy pants. They could look "other" to someone who isn't familiar with them. And I have a serious nagging feeling that one of my kids could get shot for "walking with hoodie."
If this Martin boy was my kid, I don't know that I'd be as graceful as his parents are. I do know that I categorically would make sure Zimmerman never had another peaceful day as long as he lived. I'd also take on the entire police force and whatever passes for a State's Attorney in that town or county.
This boy is guilty of nothing. The man who felt threatened? Guilty of so many things; mainly stupidity and racism. And he's lawfully armed and dangerous. What a combination.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
You DIDN'T Vote? Well...
...then don't gag over your morning coffee to see that our city's tax referendum (increasing sales tax by 1%) passed.
Because YOU didn't vote.
...then don't sigh over your morning newspaper when you read that some politician with ethics charges pending against her actually won in her district.
Because YOU didn't vote.
...then don't scream at your TV at another round of endless presidential candidate bloviation via commercial since there's still no nominee for the opposing party.
Because YOU didn't vote.
...then don't complain to me about the local Park Board (and by the way: REALLY? Are those LIFE appointments???) because "your guy" didn't get in.
Because YOU didn't vote.
We had a primary day yesterday. I was up before the chickens because I chose to be an Election Judge; a job I take very seriously. It's exhausting work because you are stuck at the polling place from 5 a.m. till 7:30 p.m. (polls close at 7 p.m., but it takes about 1/2 hour for you to tear down and properly shut down the voting machines) and then I got to drive the supplies and the voter box back to the Clerk's Office. I got home about 8:30 p.m.
For this, in a few months, I'll get about $100. That's about $6.25 per hour. I certainly don't do this for the money, since I do have a full-time job. I do it because that's my way of getting involved.
And I can tell you, on a local level, involvement means getting in the voting booth.
Involvement STARTS well before that, however. Involvement means educating yourself about the issues. I can't number the people (mostly women - YIKES!) who glanced over at their husband's ballot application form to see what HE was doing before SHE checked off the box.
Let me explain that, lest you think they were voting in the same booth. In my county, you have a pre-signed "ballot application form" that we have at the polling place. That's that little alphabetical book we pull your "ticket" from. You filled out an application to get your voter's card.
In a primary in my state, you have 3 options: You can declare a party (Dem/Repub) or you can declare "non-partisan" but ONLY if there is a referendum issue on the ballot. So there are 3 check boxes: Democratic, Republican, Nonpartisan. If there is no referendum, you MUST declare a party, since Illinois doesn't have (nor will it likely have) an open primary.
So. If there is a referendum issue, educate yourself. Get to know the issue. Think about what you want to have happen. Then go vote.
Women, please use your own brain. If your husband wants to pick one type of ballot, you really do not need to go along with him. So if your vote cancels his out? Well, that's sometimes the way it works. That's the greatness of the process. Sometimes we run neck-and-neck because people are passionate about issues, and will vote on them. And there are winners and losers. So if you want to just vote for the referendum and Hubby wants to vote for political candidates, that's perfectly ok. If he wants to be a Republican this time, you can be a Democrat. The skies won't rain down frogs and locusts upon either of you.
The turnout in Illinois was abysmal. In the toilet. The lowest in years. People, there are other countries in which the population votes, but they are "told" how to vote. Oh, sure, Chavez gets a mandate...at the point of threats! WE get to vote for who and what we want. We get to determine, to a certain extent, what gets on the ballot by participating in your town's council or the like. At my polling place, we had 19% turnout. Sad. But if you don't vote, you don't get to complain about the outcome. It's your own darned fault. You have the right to vote; it's up to you to exercise it.
At any rate, involvement starts by educating yourself. Then it continues when you get your butt to the polls and cast your vote. If you want to get more involved, there are a number of local politicians and issues that would welcome your help. Find an issue about which you are passionate, and get involved.
And go vote.
Because YOU didn't vote.
...then don't sigh over your morning newspaper when you read that some politician with ethics charges pending against her actually won in her district.
Because YOU didn't vote.
...then don't scream at your TV at another round of endless presidential candidate bloviation via commercial since there's still no nominee for the opposing party.
Because YOU didn't vote.
...then don't complain to me about the local Park Board (and by the way: REALLY? Are those LIFE appointments???) because "your guy" didn't get in.
Because YOU didn't vote.
We had a primary day yesterday. I was up before the chickens because I chose to be an Election Judge; a job I take very seriously. It's exhausting work because you are stuck at the polling place from 5 a.m. till 7:30 p.m. (polls close at 7 p.m., but it takes about 1/2 hour for you to tear down and properly shut down the voting machines) and then I got to drive the supplies and the voter box back to the Clerk's Office. I got home about 8:30 p.m.
For this, in a few months, I'll get about $100. That's about $6.25 per hour. I certainly don't do this for the money, since I do have a full-time job. I do it because that's my way of getting involved.
And I can tell you, on a local level, involvement means getting in the voting booth.
Involvement STARTS well before that, however. Involvement means educating yourself about the issues. I can't number the people (mostly women - YIKES!) who glanced over at their husband's ballot application form to see what HE was doing before SHE checked off the box.
Let me explain that, lest you think they were voting in the same booth. In my county, you have a pre-signed "ballot application form" that we have at the polling place. That's that little alphabetical book we pull your "ticket" from. You filled out an application to get your voter's card.
In a primary in my state, you have 3 options: You can declare a party (Dem/Repub) or you can declare "non-partisan" but ONLY if there is a referendum issue on the ballot. So there are 3 check boxes: Democratic, Republican, Nonpartisan. If there is no referendum, you MUST declare a party, since Illinois doesn't have (nor will it likely have) an open primary.
So. If there is a referendum issue, educate yourself. Get to know the issue. Think about what you want to have happen. Then go vote.
Women, please use your own brain. If your husband wants to pick one type of ballot, you really do not need to go along with him. So if your vote cancels his out? Well, that's sometimes the way it works. That's the greatness of the process. Sometimes we run neck-and-neck because people are passionate about issues, and will vote on them. And there are winners and losers. So if you want to just vote for the referendum and Hubby wants to vote for political candidates, that's perfectly ok. If he wants to be a Republican this time, you can be a Democrat. The skies won't rain down frogs and locusts upon either of you.
The turnout in Illinois was abysmal. In the toilet. The lowest in years. People, there are other countries in which the population votes, but they are "told" how to vote. Oh, sure, Chavez gets a mandate...at the point of threats! WE get to vote for who and what we want. We get to determine, to a certain extent, what gets on the ballot by participating in your town's council or the like. At my polling place, we had 19% turnout. Sad. But if you don't vote, you don't get to complain about the outcome. It's your own darned fault. You have the right to vote; it's up to you to exercise it.
At any rate, involvement starts by educating yourself. Then it continues when you get your butt to the polls and cast your vote. If you want to get more involved, there are a number of local politicians and issues that would welcome your help. Find an issue about which you are passionate, and get involved.
And go vote.
Monday, March 19, 2012
A Husky-Sized Crater
Yesterday sucked.
It's never a good thing when Hubby wakes me up and says, "River is in a bad way." I got up swiftly and went to the front room, where my beloved husky, River, was whining and crying in pain, trying to get up and dragging her left front leg - unable to put any pressure on it. Up and down, up and down, unable to be consoled, drooling gallons of saliva and crying so hard.
I tossed on some clothes, shooed away the Elkhounds, who were hovering around her and trying to figure out what was wrong. Hubby had brought the truck around the front; I grabbed her cushion and he lifted her up and took her out front.
Luckily, the emergency vet is about 10 miles away. I did everything I could to keep her quiet. She was in such pain that she pooped in the truck.
Let's go back a week. Monday, she had a 4-minute seizure. She already was being treated for Cushing's disease and glaucoma, and was tolerating the treatment well. She was 12 1/2 years old, and for an old dog with one eye and arthritis, she could be pretty sprightly when she wanted to be.
We got to the vet and they diagnosed a brachial nerve issue (those are the nerves coming off your spinal cord and at your shoulder). They sedated her to calm her and then gave her pain meds. We were told that she could probably come home after a few hours; they'd call us.
We called them; as one of the few emergency vets in the area, and yesterday being Sunday, they were very busy. Finally, Hubby got through and the vet talked to him. Not good. We asked Kid #2 if he wanted to come with us, and he said he'd rather stay home with the elkhounds.
We got there. After 7 hours, 2 doses of pain Rx and an IV because of all the saliva she lost (we were worried about dehydration), she was unable to get up, and had no pain reflex in her front legs.
We petted her, we cried, and we made the final decision, after talking to the vet. We were taken to a room and they carried her in so we could say our last farewells, pet her, hug her and tell her that we loved her and would miss her so much. After one final ear rub (she loved to have her ears rubbed), she was gone.
The funny thing among the sadness was that the vet asked us if we wanted some of her fur to take with us. I was covered in River's fur. I literally had gotten in the cage with her and was holding her and surrounding her with as much love as I could give, in between the tears.
River came to our family by way of a breeder who was downsizing her kennel. The breeder herself had had a stroke, and was trying to find homes for many of her retired show dogs. We went up "just to look" because we had just two weeks prior lost my heart-dog Topaz, a black-and-silver husky. I wasn't ready, but our then-elkhound Gracie had gone into such a depression that she refused to leave my side and wouldn't eat. So, we thought, "well, we'll see." She was the dog we took home.
Aside from her striking good looks, she was well-mannered and very mellow. She and Gracie worked out the "who's top dog" thing (it was River - Gracie was a great second-banana). They lived together till Gracie was 14 and we lost her to bladder cancer. River was 4 when we got her.
She was a show dog; she walked on a leash with her head held high, when she stopped, she "stacked" and that tail was a wave of grace that just was a beacon to anyone who saw her. Even the "I'm not much on dogs" people were charmed by her personality and those huge "bluer-than-Paul-Newman" eyes of hers.
She had a wicked-fast tongue and could wash your face or slobber up your glasses faster than you thought. She ran into the house, bounced onto the couch and probably figured she was right where she should be. I remember taking her for walks and she absolutely would not poop on a leash. That was for the kennel.
Finally, she got it into her head that she didn't have to "be in the ring" -- and proved it by pooping, on-leash, in the middle of the street. She looked so proud of herself.
At age 8, she contracted glaucoma. It came on so suddenly that by the time we got her to the vet, she had lost sight in her right eye. We made the decision to have a procedure done on her eye which halted further damage but kept the eye intact. As you can see, at about age 10 or so, she finally did get on the couch!
At age 9, she contracted Cushing's Disease, a disease of the adrenal glands. The treatment is essentially chemo. She was tolerating it well, aging gracefully as we brought in Tippi and Quinn, to add to our pack. She was still top dog and taught Quinn her "puppy manners." The Husky Paw of Pain was used till Quinn remembered that River was the boss, whether she liked it or not.
We noticed, in her 12th year, that she was slowing down. She slept more. She wanted shorter walks. She didn't want to play as much. But when given the opportunity to walk, she could keep up with the elkhounds and was often lead dog. And she loved her treats. Even with one eye, she could still catch a treat off her nose. That was her only trick; she was, after all, Queen of the House, and as such, wouldn't be bothered to shake hands or sit up or do any of those other things. She didn't even really bark or woo.
When she lost her sight, she was still energetic enough, and before we got Quinn, we were able to take River and Tippi to the dog park. Tippi knew instinctively to watch River's side. She guarded her from running into bushes and protected her from dogs coming up on her blind side. They had a good bond.
Watching Tippi's muscular running and then seeing River's graceful, powerful husky stride, you really saw the beauty of dogs in motion. That tail acted as a rudder, and signaled her joy at being able to run to her heart's content.
Surprisingly, she and Quinn also developed a bond. Quinn saw River as the mom she wanted. They snuggled together. Quinn liked to keep River in her sight, and when they slept, they often were next to each other or Quinn was touching River somewhere. And the ever-dignified River seemed to have picked up some elkhound habits, such as going "topsy-turvy" every so often when she napped! Never let it be said that they all didn't learn from one another!
At different points, it was the duty of the dogs to be in our way. One of River's favorite things was to be in the walkway - whichever walkway we were planning to use! She got the idea quickly to just not move. It was easier. At her size, I didn't want her standing up while we were walking over her. We have a La-Z-Boy couch, and the standard phrase was, "River's there" because she was long enough to bridge the gap between my knitting chair and the underside of the raised leg rest. That was probably her all-time-favorite spot to rest in. We always joked that her specialty as a watch dog was mainly as a tripping hazard!
After a while, we didn't take River to the park because she slowed down and quite frankly, there were some dogs whose owners didn't seem to socialize them, or who don't seem to care when their dogs are aggressive. With River being older, we didn't want to put her in a situation where an aggressive dog was in a position to corner her or cause her harm. She became a house-dog, and was doted upon by all of us.
When hubby would take the elkhounds on to the trail, he'd often toss a few treats at River; she knew they were coming. I regret that I didn't grab my camera last Tuesday... it was classic. A treat had slipped under the server, and there was River, head-and-shoulders under the server aiming to get that treat or tip over the furniture!
When people met her, the first thing they commented on were her eyes. The next thing was that she was so calm and friendly. Even my niece, one of those "I don't like big dogs" people, was captivated. She told me, "I want that dog." River just loved on her and made her feel as if she was the center of River's universe. And that's what she did to everyone. It was her duty to make you pet her. It was her joy to be adored. It was her job to make you notice her.
Monday's seizure was our first clue that our final decision would be sooner rather than later. She had some random trouble with her back legs during the week, which cleared itself up. But Sunday, it was not good. I have never heard her make that kind of noise and it went through me right to my heart.
Somehow, I had the number "14" in my head. Probably because that's how long Topaz lived, and we do take very good care of our dogs. But I guess River knew it was time. While I was in her crate at the vet's office, I got to smooch her on the nose before they sedated her. Actually, I'm not sure she knew, at that point, that I was even there. But I know.
I know that there's a husky-sized crater in our family. The elkhounds now know that she's not coming back. Tippi was very depressed this morning. Quinn watched Hubby take down River's crate, and then went and hid under my chair. It's very quiet in our house. For a dog who never made noise, River made an indelible impression and our family has changed for the better for having her a part of it. And we're now changed in sadness because she's no longer here.
Godspeed, River - I'll see you with Topaz and Gracie and we'll have a heck of a reunion!
It's never a good thing when Hubby wakes me up and says, "River is in a bad way." I got up swiftly and went to the front room, where my beloved husky, River, was whining and crying in pain, trying to get up and dragging her left front leg - unable to put any pressure on it. Up and down, up and down, unable to be consoled, drooling gallons of saliva and crying so hard.
I tossed on some clothes, shooed away the Elkhounds, who were hovering around her and trying to figure out what was wrong. Hubby had brought the truck around the front; I grabbed her cushion and he lifted her up and took her out front.
Luckily, the emergency vet is about 10 miles away. I did everything I could to keep her quiet. She was in such pain that she pooped in the truck.
Let's go back a week. Monday, she had a 4-minute seizure. She already was being treated for Cushing's disease and glaucoma, and was tolerating the treatment well. She was 12 1/2 years old, and for an old dog with one eye and arthritis, she could be pretty sprightly when she wanted to be.
We got to the vet and they diagnosed a brachial nerve issue (those are the nerves coming off your spinal cord and at your shoulder). They sedated her to calm her and then gave her pain meds. We were told that she could probably come home after a few hours; they'd call us.
We called them; as one of the few emergency vets in the area, and yesterday being Sunday, they were very busy. Finally, Hubby got through and the vet talked to him. Not good. We asked Kid #2 if he wanted to come with us, and he said he'd rather stay home with the elkhounds.
We got there. After 7 hours, 2 doses of pain Rx and an IV because of all the saliva she lost (we were worried about dehydration), she was unable to get up, and had no pain reflex in her front legs.
We petted her, we cried, and we made the final decision, after talking to the vet. We were taken to a room and they carried her in so we could say our last farewells, pet her, hug her and tell her that we loved her and would miss her so much. After one final ear rub (she loved to have her ears rubbed), she was gone.
The funny thing among the sadness was that the vet asked us if we wanted some of her fur to take with us. I was covered in River's fur. I literally had gotten in the cage with her and was holding her and surrounding her with as much love as I could give, in between the tears.
Aside from her striking good looks, she was well-mannered and very mellow. She and Gracie worked out the "who's top dog" thing (it was River - Gracie was a great second-banana). They lived together till Gracie was 14 and we lost her to bladder cancer. River was 4 when we got her.
 |
| (l-r) Gracie and River |
She had a wicked-fast tongue and could wash your face or slobber up your glasses faster than you thought. She ran into the house, bounced onto the couch and probably figured she was right where she should be. I remember taking her for walks and she absolutely would not poop on a leash. That was for the kennel.
Finally, she got it into her head that she didn't have to "be in the ring" -- and proved it by pooping, on-leash, in the middle of the street. She looked so proud of herself.
 |
| (l-r) Quinn, River & Tippi |
We noticed, in her 12th year, that she was slowing down. She slept more. She wanted shorter walks. She didn't want to play as much. But when given the opportunity to walk, she could keep up with the elkhounds and was often lead dog. And she loved her treats. Even with one eye, she could still catch a treat off her nose. That was her only trick; she was, after all, Queen of the House, and as such, wouldn't be bothered to shake hands or sit up or do any of those other things. She didn't even really bark or woo.
Watching Tippi's muscular running and then seeing River's graceful, powerful husky stride, you really saw the beauty of dogs in motion. That tail acted as a rudder, and signaled her joy at being able to run to her heart's content.
After a while, we didn't take River to the park because she slowed down and quite frankly, there were some dogs whose owners didn't seem to socialize them, or who don't seem to care when their dogs are aggressive. With River being older, we didn't want to put her in a situation where an aggressive dog was in a position to corner her or cause her harm. She became a house-dog, and was doted upon by all of us.
When hubby would take the elkhounds on to the trail, he'd often toss a few treats at River; she knew they were coming. I regret that I didn't grab my camera last Tuesday... it was classic. A treat had slipped under the server, and there was River, head-and-shoulders under the server aiming to get that treat or tip over the furniture!
When people met her, the first thing they commented on were her eyes. The next thing was that she was so calm and friendly. Even my niece, one of those "I don't like big dogs" people, was captivated. She told me, "I want that dog." River just loved on her and made her feel as if she was the center of River's universe. And that's what she did to everyone. It was her duty to make you pet her. It was her joy to be adored. It was her job to make you notice her.
Monday's seizure was our first clue that our final decision would be sooner rather than later. She had some random trouble with her back legs during the week, which cleared itself up. But Sunday, it was not good. I have never heard her make that kind of noise and it went through me right to my heart.
Somehow, I had the number "14" in my head. Probably because that's how long Topaz lived, and we do take very good care of our dogs. But I guess River knew it was time. While I was in her crate at the vet's office, I got to smooch her on the nose before they sedated her. Actually, I'm not sure she knew, at that point, that I was even there. But I know.
I know that there's a husky-sized crater in our family. The elkhounds now know that she's not coming back. Tippi was very depressed this morning. Quinn watched Hubby take down River's crate, and then went and hid under my chair. It's very quiet in our house. For a dog who never made noise, River made an indelible impression and our family has changed for the better for having her a part of it. And we're now changed in sadness because she's no longer here.
Godspeed, River - I'll see you with Topaz and Gracie and we'll have a heck of a reunion!
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