Steven Harper's Blog, page 69
January 7, 2018
Heat and Pain
When I went to Dr. L-- about the kidney pain I was having, he said he wasn't sure why I was having it. I shouldn't be having it at all--the stone embedded in my kidney wasn't blocking anything. I said I don't want to swallow daily doses of Norco. Was there anything to do?
"Try heat," he said.
Then the pain went away for a week. So I dropped the matter.
Now the pain is back and won't go away. It's been over a week and I'm still in low-level pain.
Today I braved the cold to make a trip to the store. I bought a small heating pad and put it in my office. I've been sitting with it pressed gently to my side for a couple hours now. I'm noticing any change in the pain, though the heat feels nice in the sub-zero weather.
I'll keep trying and see what happens. Meanwhile, I've had a kidney ultrasound and I sent the 24-hour urine thing to the lab. I'm seeing Dr. H-- on Wednesday. Hopefully he'll have some insight.
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"Try heat," he said.
Then the pain went away for a week. So I dropped the matter.
Now the pain is back and won't go away. It's been over a week and I'm still in low-level pain.
Today I braved the cold to make a trip to the store. I bought a small heating pad and put it in my office. I've been sitting with it pressed gently to my side for a couple hours now. I'm noticing any change in the pain, though the heat feels nice in the sub-zero weather.
I'll keep trying and see what happens. Meanwhile, I've had a kidney ultrasound and I sent the 24-hour urine thing to the lab. I'm seeing Dr. H-- on Wednesday. Hopefully he'll have some insight.
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The Handyman Cometh
Darwin and I aren't very good at handyman stuff. I do a number of small things, but larger jobs? Nope. Even some smaller jobs (like installing a towel rack) I'm not good at. I can teach a kid who can barely write a sentence to write an entire essay, and I can write a novel that will make you laugh and cry on alternate pages, but the tool stuff is beyond me. Darwin is the same.
We have two major projects--a sink pump in the basement, and installing a new shower curtain rod that hangs from the ceiling. The sink pump involves both water and electricity, and the shower curtain rod involves drilling into tile. Nope nope nope! So we called a handyman. His name is Kevin.
Kevin showed up today with a big toolbox, and I was only too happy to point him toward the basement. I teach the kids, Darwin handles the city, and Kevin handles the building repairs. It's how our society gets along!
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We have two major projects--a sink pump in the basement, and installing a new shower curtain rod that hangs from the ceiling. The sink pump involves both water and electricity, and the shower curtain rod involves drilling into tile. Nope nope nope! So we called a handyman. His name is Kevin.
Kevin showed up today with a big toolbox, and I was only too happy to point him toward the basement. I teach the kids, Darwin handles the city, and Kevin handles the building repairs. It's how our society gets along!
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January 5, 2018
The Unsubscribe Button of Doom
You know how it goes--you sign up for some service or other, and suddenly you're getting three and four and five emails a week that "showcase" more services. At the bottom of the email is the legally-required "unsubscribe" link that's supposed to get you off the list, but it's in three-point font and almost impossible to see, and if you're reading email on a phone, it's too small to click on with a finger. This is on purpose--if it's difficult or impossible to find the unsubscribe link, you won't go through the process.
And then, when you finally manage to click on said teeny-tiny link, you're directed to a page that says, "Update Your Information," and there are a whole series of ticky boxes: newsletters, offers, coupons, product updates, and more, more, more. If you want to get rid of the emails, you have to untick each box. This is also on purpose. They pretend to give you lots of choices and control, but what they're really doing is making it hard for you to get off the list.
And once you've done that, you're redirected to a survey page: "We're sorry to see you go. Please let us know why," followed by a series of reasons. Hidden in weensy type elsewhere on the page is the message, "You've been unsubscribed." Their concern is nothing of the kind. They're gathering information about you. (Close the window down. You don't need to answer.)
Once you leave this page, you're told, "Your new settings will take 10-14 days to take effect," meaning for the next two weeks, you'll still get inundated with emails. Of course, the 10-14 days is a lie. The computer can unsubscribe you instantly. But the company wants to keep you on the list for a couple more weeks in the hope you'll either resubscribe or, even better, buy something.
And then marketers complain that people use ad-blocking software on web sites and email filters to kill their emails and that it's hard to reach consumers.
Yeah? Be nicer, be polite, be tasteful, and most of all, DON'T BE A JERK. Then we consumers might listen to you.
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And then, when you finally manage to click on said teeny-tiny link, you're directed to a page that says, "Update Your Information," and there are a whole series of ticky boxes: newsletters, offers, coupons, product updates, and more, more, more. If you want to get rid of the emails, you have to untick each box. This is also on purpose. They pretend to give you lots of choices and control, but what they're really doing is making it hard for you to get off the list.
And once you've done that, you're redirected to a survey page: "We're sorry to see you go. Please let us know why," followed by a series of reasons. Hidden in weensy type elsewhere on the page is the message, "You've been unsubscribed." Their concern is nothing of the kind. They're gathering information about you. (Close the window down. You don't need to answer.)
Once you leave this page, you're told, "Your new settings will take 10-14 days to take effect," meaning for the next two weeks, you'll still get inundated with emails. Of course, the 10-14 days is a lie. The computer can unsubscribe you instantly. But the company wants to keep you on the list for a couple more weeks in the hope you'll either resubscribe or, even better, buy something.
And then marketers complain that people use ad-blocking software on web sites and email filters to kill their emails and that it's hard to reach consumers.
Yeah? Be nicer, be polite, be tasteful, and most of all, DON'T BE A JERK. Then we consumers might listen to you.
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January 4, 2018
The Continuing Kidney Chronicle
It ain't over until the kidney stone sings.
A while ago, I went in to see yet another urologist, Dr. H---. There's nothing wrong with Dr. L--, who I like quite a lot, but Dr. L-- is an hour away and Dr. H-- is much, much closer. I made the appointment solely to establish myself as a patient with Dr. H--. I know that eventually I'm going to have to see someone about the continuing kidney stone crap, and it's a lot easier to see someone you're established with than it is to get in when you're new. In point of fact, it had taken more than a month to get a new patient appointment with Dr. H--.
And then the pain started up.
To recap: after having four painful operations in the space of two months, Dr. L-- declared me =almost= stone free. I still have one stone in each kidney, but both are lodged in the tissue and Dr. L-- said he can't remove them without damaging my kidneys. However, they aren't blocking anything, so they're just something we have to keep an eye on. I was having twinge-y pain in my left kidney, and Dr. L-- said he had no idea why this was. The x-rays and scans showed no blockage. Perhaps it was just an after-effect of all the operations. The pain wasn't debilitating, and it always died away, so it didn't seem any big deal. Okay. I made a new patient appointment with Dr. H-- in order to get started with him.
About three days before this appointment, the pain came back and settled in. Rather than twinge at me and go away, the pain dug in and stayed. And stayed. And stayed. It was (is) like a nagging, nasty itch that never recedes. On a scale of 1-10, the pain never went higher than 3 or 4, but it also never went lower than 1. Ibuprofen didn't dent it. Norco helped, but I don't like taking that steadily. I keep hoping it would go away, but it never quite does. Additionally, when I go to the bathroom I can feel in it my left side, as if the ghost of a stent were in there.
With this in mind, I went in to see Dr. H--. He looked over my records and my charts and agreed that the stones shouldn't be causing a problem but they bore watching. I told him about the pain, and he said we should investigate further. He ordered a new x-ray and an ultra-sound for me, along with a 24-hour urine collection for testing. And we made a follow-up appointment for late January.
A 24-hour urine collection kit has to be ordered from a lab, which sends it in the mail. When I got home, I called them. The next day, I went over to the hospital with the x-ray and ultra-sound orders. The x-ray was in-and-out quick, but it turns out you have to call a special number to make an ultra-sound appointment. I did this, and fortunately got an appointment for Friday (tomorrow) after work. I have to drink 24 ounces of water an hour beforehand.
Meanwhile, though, the pain continues. It's always ALWAYS there. This makes my life difficult in a number of ways. I mean, it's PAIN, and it never ever lets up. As I've observed before in this blog, constant pain is tiring. And Norco, for all that it's an opiate, keeps me awake for some reason, so when I give in and take it, I can't actually sleep. So it's either pain and fitful sleep or no pain without any sleep. (Seriously--I can't even doze on the stuff, so if I take it before bed, I'm awake until it wears off.)
Today I couldn't stand it any longer. I called Dr. H--'s office and asked if they had any openings for earlier. They did, and set me up for one this coming Wednesday.
Tomorrow I'll do the urine collection and the ultra-sound. I hope they can figure this out.
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A while ago, I went in to see yet another urologist, Dr. H---. There's nothing wrong with Dr. L--, who I like quite a lot, but Dr. L-- is an hour away and Dr. H-- is much, much closer. I made the appointment solely to establish myself as a patient with Dr. H--. I know that eventually I'm going to have to see someone about the continuing kidney stone crap, and it's a lot easier to see someone you're established with than it is to get in when you're new. In point of fact, it had taken more than a month to get a new patient appointment with Dr. H--.
And then the pain started up.
To recap: after having four painful operations in the space of two months, Dr. L-- declared me =almost= stone free. I still have one stone in each kidney, but both are lodged in the tissue and Dr. L-- said he can't remove them without damaging my kidneys. However, they aren't blocking anything, so they're just something we have to keep an eye on. I was having twinge-y pain in my left kidney, and Dr. L-- said he had no idea why this was. The x-rays and scans showed no blockage. Perhaps it was just an after-effect of all the operations. The pain wasn't debilitating, and it always died away, so it didn't seem any big deal. Okay. I made a new patient appointment with Dr. H-- in order to get started with him.
About three days before this appointment, the pain came back and settled in. Rather than twinge at me and go away, the pain dug in and stayed. And stayed. And stayed. It was (is) like a nagging, nasty itch that never recedes. On a scale of 1-10, the pain never went higher than 3 or 4, but it also never went lower than 1. Ibuprofen didn't dent it. Norco helped, but I don't like taking that steadily. I keep hoping it would go away, but it never quite does. Additionally, when I go to the bathroom I can feel in it my left side, as if the ghost of a stent were in there.
With this in mind, I went in to see Dr. H--. He looked over my records and my charts and agreed that the stones shouldn't be causing a problem but they bore watching. I told him about the pain, and he said we should investigate further. He ordered a new x-ray and an ultra-sound for me, along with a 24-hour urine collection for testing. And we made a follow-up appointment for late January.
A 24-hour urine collection kit has to be ordered from a lab, which sends it in the mail. When I got home, I called them. The next day, I went over to the hospital with the x-ray and ultra-sound orders. The x-ray was in-and-out quick, but it turns out you have to call a special number to make an ultra-sound appointment. I did this, and fortunately got an appointment for Friday (tomorrow) after work. I have to drink 24 ounces of water an hour beforehand.
Meanwhile, though, the pain continues. It's always ALWAYS there. This makes my life difficult in a number of ways. I mean, it's PAIN, and it never ever lets up. As I've observed before in this blog, constant pain is tiring. And Norco, for all that it's an opiate, keeps me awake for some reason, so when I give in and take it, I can't actually sleep. So it's either pain and fitful sleep or no pain without any sleep. (Seriously--I can't even doze on the stuff, so if I take it before bed, I'm awake until it wears off.)
Today I couldn't stand it any longer. I called Dr. H--'s office and asked if they had any openings for earlier. They did, and set me up for one this coming Wednesday.
Tomorrow I'll do the urine collection and the ultra-sound. I hope they can figure this out.
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January 1, 2018
Da Food: Ratatouille
Today to start up our new vegetarian diet I put ratatouille (French vegetable stew) into the Crock pot. I gave away the last remaining pieces of meat in the freezer.
We'll see how this goes...
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We'll see how this goes...
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Ending the Meds
The psychiatrist I'm seeing put me on Zoloft and Buspirone to ease the depression and anxiety, respectively. He also wrote me an as-needed scrip for Xanax.
I was wary of the Zoloft. Its biggest side-effect is sexual dysfunction. The psychiatrist reassured me. "Less than a quarter of people have that problem," he said, "and among those who do, most of them get function back in a couple-three weeks, after their body chemistry adjusts."
I dutifully took the Zoloft. About three weeks in, I hit a nasty, fast-and-furious die off in both my sex drive and ability to function. Oh, I was upset. And angry. These operations had stolen away nearly everything good and pleasant in my life, and now I was losing this? No. Fuck no.
I did more reading about the drug. As the psychiatrist had said, sexual function often returned, but it would take up to a month--and that was =if= it was going to return. It might not. The only way to find out would be to stay on the drug and wait.
No. Fuck no.
Was the depression better? A little. Was it because the Zoloft was working, or because I was working hard with a therapist and getting more distance from the gut-wrenching trauma? There was no way to know. It definitely didn't justify sexual dysfunction. The dysfunction made more upset than I'd been originally. I'd rather deal with anxiety and depression.
I tossed the Zoloft, and a couple days later, function returned, albeit partially. A couple days after that, full function returned.
Meanwhile, I was still taking to Buspirone for anxiety. I was fine on it, and the anxiety wasn't as bad. (Was this because of the meds, because of me, or both? No way to know.) Then one day I got a really bad dizzy spell. "Really bad" as in "couldn't stand upright." The spell faded, and I wrote it off. Later that evening, I got another equally bad spell. Now I connected it with taking my meds. I did some checking and discovered a major side-effect of Buspirone is dizziness. The dizziness was so debilitating that I wouldn't be able to drive or work. It lasted well over an hour, which meant while I was on Buspirone, I wouldn't be able to work. But why was it making me dizzy NOW? I'd been on it for a few weeks. No way to know.
I discontinued the Buspirone, relying now solely on Xanax.
I reported all this to the psychiatrist at my next follow-up visit. He agreed that I shouldn't take either med and offered to put me on a different anti-depressive, one that absolutely doesn't cause sexual dysfunction. (Why, I wondered, didn't he just start with that one?) Unfortunately, it would take three or four weeks to start working, and it wouldn't pick up where the Zoloft had left off. I ultimately turned this down. How would I know if I was getting better? If the depression faded or ended, I wouldn't know if it was time and therapy or drugs. If I went off the drugs and the depression came back, I'd have to live with the depression until the drugs started working again.
So I said no. If things get really bad, I'll think about the other anti-depressant.
I still need the Xanax, about every other day or so.
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I was wary of the Zoloft. Its biggest side-effect is sexual dysfunction. The psychiatrist reassured me. "Less than a quarter of people have that problem," he said, "and among those who do, most of them get function back in a couple-three weeks, after their body chemistry adjusts."
I dutifully took the Zoloft. About three weeks in, I hit a nasty, fast-and-furious die off in both my sex drive and ability to function. Oh, I was upset. And angry. These operations had stolen away nearly everything good and pleasant in my life, and now I was losing this? No. Fuck no.
I did more reading about the drug. As the psychiatrist had said, sexual function often returned, but it would take up to a month--and that was =if= it was going to return. It might not. The only way to find out would be to stay on the drug and wait.
No. Fuck no.
Was the depression better? A little. Was it because the Zoloft was working, or because I was working hard with a therapist and getting more distance from the gut-wrenching trauma? There was no way to know. It definitely didn't justify sexual dysfunction. The dysfunction made more upset than I'd been originally. I'd rather deal with anxiety and depression.
I tossed the Zoloft, and a couple days later, function returned, albeit partially. A couple days after that, full function returned.
Meanwhile, I was still taking to Buspirone for anxiety. I was fine on it, and the anxiety wasn't as bad. (Was this because of the meds, because of me, or both? No way to know.) Then one day I got a really bad dizzy spell. "Really bad" as in "couldn't stand upright." The spell faded, and I wrote it off. Later that evening, I got another equally bad spell. Now I connected it with taking my meds. I did some checking and discovered a major side-effect of Buspirone is dizziness. The dizziness was so debilitating that I wouldn't be able to drive or work. It lasted well over an hour, which meant while I was on Buspirone, I wouldn't be able to work. But why was it making me dizzy NOW? I'd been on it for a few weeks. No way to know.
I discontinued the Buspirone, relying now solely on Xanax.
I reported all this to the psychiatrist at my next follow-up visit. He agreed that I shouldn't take either med and offered to put me on a different anti-depressive, one that absolutely doesn't cause sexual dysfunction. (Why, I wondered, didn't he just start with that one?) Unfortunately, it would take three or four weeks to start working, and it wouldn't pick up where the Zoloft had left off. I ultimately turned this down. How would I know if I was getting better? If the depression faded or ended, I wouldn't know if it was time and therapy or drugs. If I went off the drugs and the depression came back, I'd have to live with the depression until the drugs started working again.
So I said no. If things get really bad, I'll think about the other anti-depressant.
I still need the Xanax, about every other day or so.
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Corey's Spot
Yesterday I moved Corey upstairs to a corner of the dining room, near the window. This is a major improvement. Before this, he was downstairs in the exercise room, and if I wanted to play, I had to wind my way through the entire house--down the hall, through the kitchen, down the basement stairs, through the basement great room (turning on lights as I went) and into the exercise room. It wasn't easy to sit down and play a song or two for fun, so my playing slacked off. Then I went into the hospital, and the entire kidney stone wiped out my life. I stopped playing entirely.
Moving Corey was an attempt to get my life back. With him upstairs within easy reach, I can play a little bit or do serious practicing any time I want, and it's harder to put it off.
But Corey was dusty and even had a fleck of what looked like mold on him. I made up some soapy water and cleaned him until he shined, then checked the tuning. I also put stick-on pads under the feet of my music stand and my harp stool so they wouldn't scratch the floor. I played for quite a while, and it was a nice thing.
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Moving Corey was an attempt to get my life back. With him upstairs within easy reach, I can play a little bit or do serious practicing any time I want, and it's harder to put it off.
But Corey was dusty and even had a fleck of what looked like mold on him. I made up some soapy water and cleaned him until he shined, then checked the tuning. I also put stick-on pads under the feet of my music stand and my harp stool so they wouldn't scratch the floor. I played for quite a while, and it was a nice thing.
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December 31, 2017
Not Quite New Year's
"So what are we doing for New Year's Eve?" Darwin asked me.
I gave him a hard look. "We can do whatever you want."
"Great! How about a poker tournament with pizza and--"
I held up a hand. "By 'whatever you want,' I mean, 'You do all the planning, cooking, setup, and cleaning.' I handled Christmas for 25 people over three days. I'm done! Done done done!"
Darwin has many, many wonderful qualities and talents, but planning parties isn't one of them. He tried, but everything fell through, leaving us alone on New Year's Eve. I was, frankly, relieved. The quiet was so nice!
We decided to go out for supper. (Max was at his mother's.) I plumped for a steak house, since this was the last day we'd be able to eat meat. But when we arrived at said steak house (at 4:30 in the afternoon, I might add), we found an hour's wait for a table. So we left. After some trial and error--and more error--we finally ended up at Johnny Carino's. They do serve steak, which is what I wanted. Darwin opted for chicken Marsala.
When I ordered a Coke to drink, the server informed me they were out of Coke. (!) I allotted that Cherry Coke would be an acceptable substitute. I ordered a New York strip, medium. The server returned to say they were out of that, too, but I could have a different cut with mushroom sauce. "Medium, please," I sighed.
The steak arrived. It was buried in an avalanche of Gorgonzola mushroom sauce. It was also so rare, it was mooing. I don't like rare steak, especially an low-quality cut, so I sent it back. This time the manager brought it out. The steak was fine, but by now the potatoes and vegetables had gone cold. Sigh.
Darwin and I had every reason to be upset with these continual stumbles, but we decided to laugh about them instead. "The whole point to me isn't the food anyway," Darwin said. "It's to come here, and sit with you, and watch the people."
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I gave him a hard look. "We can do whatever you want."
"Great! How about a poker tournament with pizza and--"
I held up a hand. "By 'whatever you want,' I mean, 'You do all the planning, cooking, setup, and cleaning.' I handled Christmas for 25 people over three days. I'm done! Done done done!"
Darwin has many, many wonderful qualities and talents, but planning parties isn't one of them. He tried, but everything fell through, leaving us alone on New Year's Eve. I was, frankly, relieved. The quiet was so nice!
We decided to go out for supper. (Max was at his mother's.) I plumped for a steak house, since this was the last day we'd be able to eat meat. But when we arrived at said steak house (at 4:30 in the afternoon, I might add), we found an hour's wait for a table. So we left. After some trial and error--and more error--we finally ended up at Johnny Carino's. They do serve steak, which is what I wanted. Darwin opted for chicken Marsala.
When I ordered a Coke to drink, the server informed me they were out of Coke. (!) I allotted that Cherry Coke would be an acceptable substitute. I ordered a New York strip, medium. The server returned to say they were out of that, too, but I could have a different cut with mushroom sauce. "Medium, please," I sighed.
The steak arrived. It was buried in an avalanche of Gorgonzola mushroom sauce. It was also so rare, it was mooing. I don't like rare steak, especially an low-quality cut, so I sent it back. This time the manager brought it out. The steak was fine, but by now the potatoes and vegetables had gone cold. Sigh.
Darwin and I had every reason to be upset with these continual stumbles, but we decided to laugh about them instead. "The whole point to me isn't the food anyway," Darwin said. "It's to come here, and sit with you, and watch the people."
In the end, I chanced dessert. I've come to enjoy dessert wine with a final treat, and was hoping for a glass of cherry or raspberry, but all they had was a Riesling made from peaches. I ordered it along with cannoli. This part of the meal, at least, was perfect. The creamy chocolate-ricotta of the cannoli complemented the peach wine to perfection.
Earlier that day, I'd created an order for our weekly groceries, so we stopped at the store to pick them up. (I love the "we shop for you" system.) It was our first load of veggie-based foods for the new diet!
The rest of the evening was spent quietly. At last, I pointed out to Darwin that it was five minutes to midnight. He opened a bottle of sparkling grape juice, and we toasted the incoming year with it, sealed with a kiss. Or three.
2017 was a dreadful year for me, and I'm glad to see it go. I'm hoping 2018 will be better!
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The Holiday Report, 2017
Back around Thanksgiving, my family and I were working out where we'd meet for Christmas. I said, "Our house." My and Darwin's house is specially built for entertaining, and I like having people over to use it just for that purpose. Darwin, with his tendency toward introversion, has to be coaxed or blackmailed into agreeing. Sometimes I just announce an event is happening, and Darwin can help, follow, or just get out of the way.
Some discussion as to the date arose, and we finally settled on Christmas Eve, a Sunday.
A bit later, I came across Darwin hanging up his phone. "My family is all set," he announced. "They'll be there on Christmas Eve."
Oops. I'd had it in mind that we'd have my family over on Christmas Eve and Darwin's on Christmas Day. But Darwin thought we were having EVERYONE over on Christmas Eve. The list came to 25 people!
Well, what are you going to do?
I did some counting with chairs and tables (including our small collection of folding tables) and realized we'd have exactly enough spots for everyone to have dinner. Whew!
For two days before Christmas Eve, I did nothing but food. One day was Shopping Day. I bought two hams! Twenty pounds of potatoes! Ten pounds of yams! A pound of carrots! Various other foods, I foisted off on guests--salad, rolls and butter, chips and dip, baked beans, and so on. The day before, I prepped potatoes and yams (peeling, washing, and putting into cold salted water overnight). I made gourmet macaroni and cheese. I hauled holiday dish sets out of the basement and washed them. I set up the buffet area. It was a whirlwind!
On the big day itself, I got the hams into the roaster and put the potatoes on to boil. The mac and cheese went into the oven to finish. I glazed the baby carrots. I oversaw the setup of tables and chairs (which involved moving some furniture into temporary storage in the office). People began to arrive from both sides of the family, and I put them to work with setup. Presents piled up under the tree. At last, dinner was done. ready for eating at 2:00 PM sharp, just as promised. ("How did you learn to do all this, Steven?" my mother asked. "I watched you when I was little," I said. "You're more organized than I ever was!" she replied.)
We had Darwin's sister Cindy and her husband Don and their grown children Nicholas and Brie (who each brought a girl/boyfriend). We had Darwin's son Shane and his girlfriend Marian and, of course, our grandson Noah. We had my brother Paul, his grandson Cody, my sister Bethany and her husband Bill. We had my mother Penny and her husband Gene. As a nice surprise, my ex in-laws Melva and Roger were able to come, and we were all happy to see them! Melva's health has kept her from hosting holidays, and often keeps her from participating at all, so it was a fine thing to have her there.
But Sasha and Aran weren't here.
Aran had to work Christmas Eve until 5:30, and ohhhh, he was upset at the news. There was no way out of it, either. Worse, he was bringing Sasha with him. I got him calmed down and told him that our family was used to this kind of thing. Nurses and medical technicians and doctors often have to work on holidays, and no one minded when someone was late. This mollified him.
And then came the blizzard. Just as we sat down to eat, the snow poured down from the sky. And not cheerful, happy snow. This was cold, driven, wipe-you-out-on-the-highway snow. You could hardly see through it. I called Aran and left a message on his voice mail to call me the moment he got out of work. He did.
"Hey, Dad!" he said before I could say anything. "I'm just leaving work and I'm going to get Sasha, and we'll come right up. I know to drive slowly and stay in the right-hand lane."
"Aran," I began.
"We're both looking forward to seeing everyone and eating lots of good food," he continued, twisting my chest. "And we have presents to bring, too. We're--"
"Buddy," I interrupted, "I need you to listen for a moment. A lot of people up here arrived really late because the roads are so bad. Uncle Paul was almost in an accident, and there's an accident just up the road from us right now. [This was true--we could see it from the front windows.] We don't want you to drive up in this weather. It's just too dangerous."
"Oh."
I felt awful. Aran had so much been looking forward to coming up and bringing Sasha, and I had to kill that for him.
"We'll get you up here tomorrow, after the roads clear a little. Mom and I will come down in my car, then she'll drive you and Sasha in your car up here, since you don't have much experience driving in snow. Okay?"
Silence. "Oh. Okay." He actually sounded a little relieved. "I'll wait until morning then."
The evening was a fine, fine party. My new recipe (I try one every year) was Snowball Punch, which is champagne, vanilla ice cream, seltzer water, and orange liqueur. It was fantastic! But its kick was disguised by the ice cream, so you had to drink carefully.
Many presents were exchanged. I gave my sister a number of horse-themed presents, including a delightful and touching abstract sculpture of a horse leaning over a woman's shoulder. Bethany loved it.
Eventually, the partiers left. Shane, Mary, and Noah stayed overnight--the roads were too awful for them to drive with the baby. Kala stayed as well.
In the morning, I made pancakes and ham for everyone, then drove with Kala down to Ypsilanti. We switched cars around and got the boys back up to our house, where there was more food and more presents. Everyone stayed so long, I realized we'd need dinner. I speed-thawed a pork loin from the freezer, rubbed it with spices, and roasted it whole in the oven with mashed potatoes, a fruit salad, and fresh bread.
And then the Epic Cleanup began. No matter how hard you try to clean as you go, at a huge function, you can't keep up. The work took two hours! But at last everything was cleaned up, and everyone had gone home.
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Some discussion as to the date arose, and we finally settled on Christmas Eve, a Sunday.
A bit later, I came across Darwin hanging up his phone. "My family is all set," he announced. "They'll be there on Christmas Eve."
Oops. I'd had it in mind that we'd have my family over on Christmas Eve and Darwin's on Christmas Day. But Darwin thought we were having EVERYONE over on Christmas Eve. The list came to 25 people!
Well, what are you going to do?
I did some counting with chairs and tables (including our small collection of folding tables) and realized we'd have exactly enough spots for everyone to have dinner. Whew!
For two days before Christmas Eve, I did nothing but food. One day was Shopping Day. I bought two hams! Twenty pounds of potatoes! Ten pounds of yams! A pound of carrots! Various other foods, I foisted off on guests--salad, rolls and butter, chips and dip, baked beans, and so on. The day before, I prepped potatoes and yams (peeling, washing, and putting into cold salted water overnight). I made gourmet macaroni and cheese. I hauled holiday dish sets out of the basement and washed them. I set up the buffet area. It was a whirlwind!
On the big day itself, I got the hams into the roaster and put the potatoes on to boil. The mac and cheese went into the oven to finish. I glazed the baby carrots. I oversaw the setup of tables and chairs (which involved moving some furniture into temporary storage in the office). People began to arrive from both sides of the family, and I put them to work with setup. Presents piled up under the tree. At last, dinner was done. ready for eating at 2:00 PM sharp, just as promised. ("How did you learn to do all this, Steven?" my mother asked. "I watched you when I was little," I said. "You're more organized than I ever was!" she replied.)
We had Darwin's sister Cindy and her husband Don and their grown children Nicholas and Brie (who each brought a girl/boyfriend). We had Darwin's son Shane and his girlfriend Marian and, of course, our grandson Noah. We had my brother Paul, his grandson Cody, my sister Bethany and her husband Bill. We had my mother Penny and her husband Gene. As a nice surprise, my ex in-laws Melva and Roger were able to come, and we were all happy to see them! Melva's health has kept her from hosting holidays, and often keeps her from participating at all, so it was a fine thing to have her there.
But Sasha and Aran weren't here.
Aran had to work Christmas Eve until 5:30, and ohhhh, he was upset at the news. There was no way out of it, either. Worse, he was bringing Sasha with him. I got him calmed down and told him that our family was used to this kind of thing. Nurses and medical technicians and doctors often have to work on holidays, and no one minded when someone was late. This mollified him.
And then came the blizzard. Just as we sat down to eat, the snow poured down from the sky. And not cheerful, happy snow. This was cold, driven, wipe-you-out-on-the-highway snow. You could hardly see through it. I called Aran and left a message on his voice mail to call me the moment he got out of work. He did.
"Hey, Dad!" he said before I could say anything. "I'm just leaving work and I'm going to get Sasha, and we'll come right up. I know to drive slowly and stay in the right-hand lane."
"Aran," I began.
"We're both looking forward to seeing everyone and eating lots of good food," he continued, twisting my chest. "And we have presents to bring, too. We're--"
"Buddy," I interrupted, "I need you to listen for a moment. A lot of people up here arrived really late because the roads are so bad. Uncle Paul was almost in an accident, and there's an accident just up the road from us right now. [This was true--we could see it from the front windows.] We don't want you to drive up in this weather. It's just too dangerous."
"Oh."
I felt awful. Aran had so much been looking forward to coming up and bringing Sasha, and I had to kill that for him.
"We'll get you up here tomorrow, after the roads clear a little. Mom and I will come down in my car, then she'll drive you and Sasha in your car up here, since you don't have much experience driving in snow. Okay?"
Silence. "Oh. Okay." He actually sounded a little relieved. "I'll wait until morning then."
The evening was a fine, fine party. My new recipe (I try one every year) was Snowball Punch, which is champagne, vanilla ice cream, seltzer water, and orange liqueur. It was fantastic! But its kick was disguised by the ice cream, so you had to drink carefully.
Many presents were exchanged. I gave my sister a number of horse-themed presents, including a delightful and touching abstract sculpture of a horse leaning over a woman's shoulder. Bethany loved it.
Eventually, the partiers left. Shane, Mary, and Noah stayed overnight--the roads were too awful for them to drive with the baby. Kala stayed as well.
In the morning, I made pancakes and ham for everyone, then drove with Kala down to Ypsilanti. We switched cars around and got the boys back up to our house, where there was more food and more presents. Everyone stayed so long, I realized we'd need dinner. I speed-thawed a pork loin from the freezer, rubbed it with spices, and roasted it whole in the oven with mashed potatoes, a fruit salad, and fresh bread.
And then the Epic Cleanup began. No matter how hard you try to clean as you go, at a huge function, you can't keep up. The work took two hours! But at last everything was cleaned up, and everyone had gone home.
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Lack of Blogging
I haven't blogged much in the last month. Partly it's the depression. Well, it's all the depression. It takes a great deal of energy just to keep the required stuff going. However, the depression is getting under control, freeing me to . . . well, take my life back. Some things I've done lately toward this end include:
--moving Corey upstairs into the dining room, which will allow me (get me) to play more often instead of weaving my way through the maze in our basement to a dark, damp room to play
--forcing myself to write some fiction, falling on my old adage, "write it even if it's crap, and fix it later"
--forcing myself to write every day, a habit I haven't had to invoke in years--I usually operate with a weekly word goal instead of a daily must write system because my habits are so ingrained, I can always get the prose done by deadline. Until the hospital took the words away. Pain, fear, and depression kept me away from the keyboard for months and months, and advanced habits died. Now I'm using old habits to get me going again.
--going on medications, including Zoloft and Xanax and another anxiety med that I can never remember the name for, except Zoloft . . . well, more about that in another blog
--forcing myself to run at least six days out of seven. A second goal is to run at speed for 20 minutes, and then I can quit or continue. Often I run for 30. I've been doing this pretty well, though it helps not to have a stent chewing up my insides.
--attending weekly sessions with a counselor. There's a lot more going on to this constant anxiety than fear of pain and doctors. I know what it is, and my counselor THINKS he knows what it is. Eventually, I'll get around to telling him the reality doesn't match the story I've led him to believe, but it'll take a while. I've tried saying the reality to myself aloud when I'm alone, and I can't quite do it. So when I know someone else is listening . . .
--changing my diet to cut out meat, which will help me lose weight and give me a greater feeling of control in my life
--blogging more often. My blog is half my personal diary and half my conversation with whoever wants to take part. I need to continue the contact.
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--moving Corey upstairs into the dining room, which will allow me (get me) to play more often instead of weaving my way through the maze in our basement to a dark, damp room to play
--forcing myself to write some fiction, falling on my old adage, "write it even if it's crap, and fix it later"
--forcing myself to write every day, a habit I haven't had to invoke in years--I usually operate with a weekly word goal instead of a daily must write system because my habits are so ingrained, I can always get the prose done by deadline. Until the hospital took the words away. Pain, fear, and depression kept me away from the keyboard for months and months, and advanced habits died. Now I'm using old habits to get me going again.
--going on medications, including Zoloft and Xanax and another anxiety med that I can never remember the name for, except Zoloft . . . well, more about that in another blog
--forcing myself to run at least six days out of seven. A second goal is to run at speed for 20 minutes, and then I can quit or continue. Often I run for 30. I've been doing this pretty well, though it helps not to have a stent chewing up my insides.
--attending weekly sessions with a counselor. There's a lot more going on to this constant anxiety than fear of pain and doctors. I know what it is, and my counselor THINKS he knows what it is. Eventually, I'll get around to telling him the reality doesn't match the story I've led him to believe, but it'll take a while. I've tried saying the reality to myself aloud when I'm alone, and I can't quite do it. So when I know someone else is listening . . .
--changing my diet to cut out meat, which will help me lose weight and give me a greater feeling of control in my life
--blogging more often. My blog is half my personal diary and half my conversation with whoever wants to take part. I need to continue the contact.
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