I'm goin' to Disney World again and stuff I never thought I'd do

Never was I going to be one of those Disney vacationers. Never.

I'd never change my hair color

I'd never post a picture of myself in a questionable ... bathing suit.

Never ignore my youngest because he was being whiney, never be desperate for a break from my own mother, never buy a smart phone, never forget (and barely be bothered about it) a medical appointment for the eldest, never look forward to an empty nest, never find chocolate more irresistible than my husband.

Never thought I'd dislike my own children (of course I don't mean you dear, the other ones) even for just a day or two.

Never thought I'd be one of those pushy moms (although I'm not saying I should be surprised).

Never thought that in my 50's I'd still worry about who likes me enough to respond right away to emails or texts. And never thought I'd be texting -even after all the teenagers were doing it I didn't think I would.

 Never thought I'd still want to be popular (because if they don't respond what does that mean?). 

I didn't think my yard would ever get this overgrown or my basement this cluttered...again.

I didn't think my mother would live this long at that some of my friends would not.

... maybe I just didn't think... think so.

Peace out

I don't think the gray on the beard is so noticeable in this shot. Until now that I've said it. Now you are thinking, oh, that's not blond or lighting. You probably still haven't noticed the chest hair is gray too... until now. Still the unfairness of it all is he really doesn't have gray hair on the top of his head. Neither of them do.
 A few years ago at a preschool event (so, it was a few more than a few) my mother-in-law suddenly reached over and tapped my head and demanded, "What is this?" It was the gray roots growing out (right in the center of my forehead*).  Mean while, there I was suddenly yanked from the life of all the other moms (young) back to reality (old).
 The words make you notice. We are just one month into our 3 month turn of not being grandma-caretakers but every few days a friend will ask, often with a little hesitation, "How's your mom?" (I tend to assume the hesitation translates, "Is she still alive?") The answer is, other than, "She's still alive," that I'm not sure and I'm trying to keep it that way. But thank you for reminding me. The thing is, I tend to have kind friends. And while I prefer them to the sort who don't care about one's life I'm trying to pretend right now my mom is not my life. For 24 years I have had the same feeling about, the "How's your son?" query. If you have a child with those oh so special needs you begin to notice the special inflection on the "how". If you want advice on how as a friend to show your concern ...I have none because if no one asked, or acknowledged this wasn't just your usual, "hey, how're the kids?" I'd be offended too.
 In case you did the math, I'm not including 5 of the eldest's 29 years. That's because since around the last set of shunt revisions everyone knew that either things were stable or I'd be emailing everybody. With the 96 year old they don't assume stability (smart friends).
 In conclusion: I can touch-up my gray hair , I can even use a side part to hide it nicely (my own comb-over) but there is no escaping that it's there. Just don't point it out on the sailboat -and don't tell my mother-in-law I told that story on her.

*if asked for a bed time story my mother was notorious for replying, "There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the center of her forehead. And when she was good she was very very good and when she was bad she was horrid." I was convinced this was written just for me. And now I think it caused the gray...

time travels

When I wrote my "about me" it was all about the "phase" (women love this word) I was passing through. Except I think I forgot I was only passing through it. We do that. We think it's who rather than where we are. Mind you the crutches and the wheelchairs are still here, and on occasion we've added oxygen tanks and syringes and things too fierce to mention. On the other hand the car-seat seems long gone and (for now) there are no more teenagers. In fact even when I wrote that "about me" there wasn't much left of teenagers.

 Now I surely know this is a phase. This one is flying by as surely as the airshow they were watching. Already my little guy left the  teddy bear he had carefully dressed in an aviator costume in the van. But I knew it was there.

 And I know where the handle bars are for the toilet when/if my mom comes back in September. The way I have always known summer will end, That at least hasn't changed.

 Now I have to get busy calling around for a new neurosurgeon because the one we saw for 29 years (that only sounds like a long time) has moved to Germany. I was going to ask the neurologist today but the little guy woke us up at 5am and then went back to sleep and the subject of the appointment can't actually get ready to get out the door in less than 30 minutes* so I had to beg for a new appointment after we all slept in.  Oh, ....maybe it isn't a phase.

* if you think this is because he is slow try getting dressed and leg braces on sometime when you have to do it all on the floor because you can't stand on 2 legs much less one and OK you are also a little bit obsessive about folding everything perfectly. I personally seem to approach this as a new revelation everyday.

All in a row in the medical time zone

 Why do we want all our ducks in a row?

 So last week we had 2 medical false alarms. One more false than the other and one genuine alarm but slightly removed. Followed immediately by an offspring's breaking up with his girlfriend. This also may have been a false alarm but I'm not entirely sure yet- all I know is that while I really don't care for getting older I have no desire to be young again. Once was enough thank-you.

That and our friends spending their week in a hospital reminded me of all the time zone changes involved in crises. There is a special time zone for ERs and hospitals. And a special time flow- but  "flow" makes it sound somewhat linear and it definitely is not. It's not just that the people who work in a hospital mean something else entirely by words like "soon" and "8AM rounds" or "lunchtime" or "morning" than people do outside the hospital. It's that crisis mode changes time itself for the patient and immediate family (defined as the ones who are immediately at the hospital with them). Days of the week cease to exist, mealtime had no meaning, the calendar hanging on the refrigerator loses all functionality. It feels odd when people not in crisis mode remind you of some event in their time zone.On the plus side my to do lists dissolve and I kinda like that mealtimes are no longer the order of the day. In crisis/medical mode I no longer worry about who will eat what when - my usual mom (and daughter) pre-occupation. On the negative side I gained 10 pounds last time my son's shunt caused a prolonged medical adventure. Still, it was nice not to think about house work for a while - until the crisis was over and the calendar glared at me and the  pile of laundry pushed through to my consciousness again.

 I ponder all this because we were only almost in crisis mode. So I had no good excuse for wanting to throw out the lists, and the cooking, and the laundry, and the work schedule last week. It was only a feeling that since my friends, and my sister and mother, and for a little while a son or two, were there I must be in crisis-time too. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? How can I be sitting around the pool, or drinking wine or thinking about grading or (more likely) doing absolutely nothing, when people I love are not?  I wasn't sure how all week. But I'm working on it.

Also these are geese, not ducks at all.

It's not all about me... except in my blog

....maybe not even then. So we have all our own craziness but our friends all have normal, not crazy lives. We tell them about our crazy medical adventures while they sail and kayak with us. They have a nice normal dog and their children are all smart and good looking. That is the way it is supposed to be. I am not supposed to be waiting to hear how their emergency triple by pass went. And I most definitely am not supposed to be thinking I'm glad we didn't know about the 99% blockage last weekend while we were floating around the creek. That would have made it hard to relax.
   But this is my blog after all. I have tried to pray unselfish prayers but in the end I have to justify my totally selfish fear of losing someone who we depend on to come and play with us at my mother's river side relic and never complain about the bugs or heat or sketchy plumbing (in fact helps to fix said plumbing) with the knowledge that if he is still around for us he will conveniently still be around for like his wife (aka the supplier of books and cross-stitching support for our kids) and his kids. So I'm not being totally selfish. Not totally. Also my husband can't sleep waiting for recovery news so I'm thinking of him too. I wonder how their dog is doing? She can't be happy either. See? I don't just think of me.

arrgh... but we're all fine now.

 Look, if you straighten out the horizon in this picture it only gets tiltier. Like my life...  Grandma went to the other daughter last Wednesday - still without the injections she needed, but it wasn't my fight. Not wanting to do without a fight I called Robert's Oxygen to pick up the auxillary tank (big, heavy, ugly and dangerous) and they said, "No." -they preferred to leave it here. I said, "No." They said, finally, they could pick it up - but if they did they wouldn't redeliver another tank later. I questioned their ethics and asked for the policy in writing. They said they'd pick it up. They changed their mind(s). I called to say I would leave it on the road with a large sign saying Roberts won't pick this up, followed by letters about their ethics. I was bluffing. They hung up on me. I called another number. They said they'd pick it up in a few days. I said you'll find it on the front porch. OK. I know...but I'll be dang-gummed if I will be Roberts' unpaid storage facility. Plus everytime I see it I wonder if my mom will make it back and I think of all the ERs and ICU's and hospital rooms with all their oxygen and all of my life spent maintaining medical stuff and I become extremely self-pitying. Can you imagine? Me? Self pitying? Sad, but true.

  Speaking of which when we returned from the sailing trip the eldest child (that term is so inappropriate) informed us of chest pains that had been constant and worsening all weekend. The neurosurgeon did not call back. Our friendly neighborhood (well, at least same county) nurse came and listened to his chest to rule out something respiratory so at close enough to midnight my exhausted husband headed to the ER. Given that the shunt drains into the heart this was not an over-reaction. The ER ruled out the shunt with xrays, then found bloodwork evidence of a possible pulmonary embolism - ruled that out with a CT scan, then admitted for a cardiac stress test. Meanwhile the good dad slept 3 hours in the car and then stayed all day waiting for the cardiac test which was done promptly the moment he left the hospital to get some lunch. Everything was ruled out but muscle sprain and home again with naproxen.
   Now if there was no shunt this would have been our first guess and there would have been no ER trip, but as, recently reminded, shunts can kill when malfunctioning so you do what you have to do. I supported the effort by texting people and feeling sorry for myself pretty much all day. It was exhausting.

Oh, and the neurosurgeon, who has been the neurosurgeon for almost 30 years now, called back at 8;30 am and said it "shouldn't" be the shunt and glad we got to talk because he wanted to tell us that this happened to be his last day practicing medicine in the U.S. because he was flying to Germany (today) to start a new job. He'd send us the medical records. He had no real suggestion for another doctor until pressed. So long and thanks for all the fish.