I can't even imagine...

Olga's house made the news. Click on the picture to enlarge it. I can't believe it. I'm so incredibly grateful they got out alive.

Olga herself is in the ICU on a ventilator after sustaining airway burns from smoke inhalation. She's doing okay overall, I saw her today, but it was horrible seeing my friend that way. 

We're all pretty shaken up by this. Sparrow said she was nauseated and shaky all day yesterday. I slept four hours and dreamed of fires and houses of which I couldn't find my way out (and skeletons, oddly). Today I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach for most of the day (it was a tough day for a lot of reasons). And the department announced that she's not taking visitors, but when I left today I promised her I'd visit tomorrow, and now I don't know what to do.

This is awful.

And I shouldn't have looked that article up right before I went to bed...

The long and the short of it

So, last week, when I heard that my cousin wasn't doing so well, I made plans in my head. Who was going to cover for me, what I needed to reschedule at work, who was going to check up on my mom and dad while I was gone, what would need to happen if they wanted to go with, what arrangements needed to be made so I could represent the family in a difficult time. And I had a plan. Alls I needed, though, of course, was....a plan.

So here's something I know about myself: I'm not as proactive as I might seem. I'm actually very reactive - and though I may come up in advance with alternate scenarios of how to deal with various permutations of what "might" happen, I rarely act until I have something to which I can react. So although by the time I got the news of her actual passing I had three (hundred) possible scenarios lined up for the various dates and times they could hold the services...my family actually had to, you know, tell me what I was doing. Which contingency to activate.

As it turns out, they had some difficulty getting my cousin's body released to the out-of-state funeral home (I was thinking about this yesterday. I can't even begin to figure that one out. It's not like they can just strap her in the car and go...), so we didn't have actual plans until this afternoon. The funeral is Wednesday. Okay, I thought, check. Commence with plan for Wednesday!

Until, of course, my other cousin, her brother, called me and said, "Don't come."

I...huh?

And then my uncle texted and was like, "You shouldn't go."

Um.

Both of them, I think, were looking out for me. My cousin's point was that I had my hands full and should use my time to come at a happier occasion (like an upcoming wedding, he suggested. To which I haven't been invited, actually...). He's not wrong - my cup definitely runneth over right now (Happy first day of fellowship! Here's our policy on bereavement leave). But...later isn't really the point....

And so I polled my coworkers. I argued with my parents. I felt confused and abandoned. And then I did what I should've done in the very first place - I emailed my deceased cousin's oldest daughter - who, frankly, also seems to have an interest in healing this rift in the family - and I said, "What is it that *you* want me to do?"

She said, "Come be with us."

And so go I shall.

Done.

It also didn't help that today - my very first day of fellowship!! - I rounded with the pedi neurology team. Whoa. That was...devastating. In the middle of rounds we got called to do a brain death exam on a four year old who'd been found floating in a pool. EMS and the ER had apparently worked on this kid for over an hour to get any signs of life back.

We walked into the patient's room, right, and there, amidst multiple IV lines, tubes, wires, fluids running with life-maintaining meds, there in this chaos was one of the most beautiful, sweet little cherubs I'd ever seen in my life. Who was, very clearly from the moment I walked through the door, merely a shell. What the family describes as a vibrant, friendly, personable and loving child was simply gone. There was just nothingness. And my heart broke.

Life and death...it always amazes me. One expects trumpets, fanfare, a glowing ball of light, something, right? But in truth, the line is remarkably blurry. You're alive; you're dead. It's a process, usually. What is that moment of crossing over? Does it happen at physiologic death? Brain death? Some time before or after either of those? Where is that innocent little soul tonight?

Suckage

My cousin died last night.

It wasn't totally unexpected. She lost a hard-fought battle with ovarian cancer. But she just went into hospice Friday. We weren't expecting it to happen quite this fast (although, my family does this. My grandfather did the same thing. Had dialysis one day, decided the next to stop dialysis and enter hospice, died the next night).

This. Sucks.

She was only 56. She has two kids, 20 and 24.

And here's the other thing. She and my mom - my mom, who also has cancer. Don't think that's escaped me - haven't spoken in years. It's a long and complicated story, as these things always are. She wasn't perfect, but, who of us is? They both played a part in the estrangement, obviously. But, now, there's no fixing it. There's no changing things. There's no closure.

It just sucks. The whole thing is awful, and unfortunate. It just serves as a reminder that one can never take things for granted. That this life is ephemeral, and we can all be snatched away at any moment.

And it hit home really hard that my mom has late stage cancer. I can't handle thinking about that for too long right now.

Honestly, I'm having a really hard time with a lot of this. I've been scattered and irritable all day. I spent some time with my folks, and actually got a few things from my every day life taken care of. I've talked electronically to a bunch of family members. I stressed out over weird things and laughed at things that weren't especially funny.

I also snarked pretty hard at a friend of mine, which ended in one of us picking a fight with the other (although I'm not entirely sure who started it). He had enough sense to press pause on the argument, came back at me several hours later and was like, what can I do? I told him I was displacing, apologized.

I hate it when people get to see the crazy. I try so hard to keep it under wraps.

Needs more weekend

Oh, I really, really do.

So I worked last weekend, right? Which makes this weekend even more important. Because I haven't had one in way too long. My big plan for the weekend, of course, was to clean out my apartment and start packing.

Yeah, that didn't exactly work.

I can't tolerate the apartment.

A, I'm just completely overwhelmed by the task. The place is a mess. There's stuff strewn everywhere from both the chaos of my life prior to going back to Chicago and the chaos that's been my life since. There's actually not that much to do, but, it's enough that in the stressed-out state that I currently am, it seems like an insurmountable task.

Which, frankly, is in part informed by B: the...something. Pollen? Dust? Dog hair? Cockroach nastiness? Probably a combination of everything.

I discovered yesterday, of course, I'm wretchedly allergic to the apartment.

I spent about four hours there yesterday, and left with a running nose, itching like a fiend, and was all red and blotchy. It was....not at all awesome.

I seriously don't know how I'm going to get this done...

Such a day

Today was not the best one we've had. My mom's knees hurt, her strength wasn't as good, her attitude sagging a little bit. Plus my dad is now admitted to the hospital. He, however, is feeling a lot better after two units of blood.

I? Am just tired. My own spirits took a little bit of a hit today. I didn't sleep well last night. I'm starting to feel a little caregiver fatigue, I suppose, although I'd describe it more as feeling the weight of my life right now.

But I did make it out to a party at Helga's tonight, which was a really good time. It was nice to be around my friends again. But I definitely pooped out early... especially for me....!

Couldn't make this shit up

Things that have significantly complicated my last 36 hours:
- My father is now in the hospital. He's two floors up from my mother. He developed a small bowel obstruction overnight (a kink in his intestines, basically), so left the house in an ambulance this am. At least they're in the same place now. But I feel like a ping-pong ball.
- People who do not call me back.
- My mom's cousin is dying of ovarian cancer. You know, the cousin she doesn't speak to. This news has really upset her, and so of course I now feel guilty for telling her.
- There are so many things about the next week that are so far up in the air I can't even tell you.
- The plan for the move this weekend has changed no less than eleven times.
- My relatives. That's all I'm saying about it.
- My mom has this friend who's all pissed at me for moving my mother. Is she going to take care of my mom? Make sure she has 24 hour supervision, makes sure she's safe and up in the morning and dressed for bed at night? Ferries her to doctors appointments and makes sure she's taking her complicated pre-chemo med regimen? Is she going to get my dad to all of his various appointments? Is she going to make sure they're meeting people at the Senior Living resort complex? No. No she is not. Thus? She can bite me.
- I apparently had to give my apartment complex 60 days notice before I could leave. Because not renewing my lease 60 days before it was due apparently wasn't enough.
- Work kind of screwed me over yesterday as far as my position next year.

Things that have made my last 36 hours significantly better:
- I have the best friends in the whole world.
- Claudia and Roo are tolerating the plan changing over and over and over (and over). And are still both willing to drive all the way to NC with us.
- Claud and I had a really, really nice dinner Sunday, which helped to put a lot of things into perspective ("Right. And that's why your parents can't stay here"). Last night my cousin Gina and I had dinner out and a very nice heart to heart.
- Today, after this whole drama with my dad and bouncing all around and getting told that I was incompetent at what I'm doing quite well, I came to Robin's and hung out with her and Luke. She even bought me cute comfy PJs while she was out at Kohl's. We had a lovely time and Luke decided my name was Aunt Cake. And so it is.
- Peng and I had a very awesome talk today. It's weird to be homesick when I'm technically home.
- Jer and Ali are going to come pack up my folks for the move later this week. Robin is probably coming too. My relatives will be annoyed because it's going to eat into their time with us. I'm not sure I care. I'll check to see if my mom does.
- People I work with have been awesome and supportive and wonderful.
- Even if work screwed me a bit, it's still less than the amount of screwage that could be contained in an hour at the Emerald Palace.
- I still have the world's best dog, even if I do miss her ridiculously.

So, on the whole, I guess it balances.

Pseudobulbar affect

Have I explained this yet? Forgive me if I have, my brain's on a little bit crooked these days.

Pseudobulbar affect is this thing that happens to people after strokes and certain brain injuries, wherein you rather lose the ability to modulate how you express your emotions. So whatever you feel, it just comes right out. My friend and local neurologist, the Pocket Narcissist, once described this quite aptly as "emotional incontinence." You feel it, out it comes - splat.

My mom has always been a tenderhearted soul, but now bursts into tears at least five times a day. It doesn't last long, and it's very sincere, which is sort of sweet. It tends to happen when people are nice to her more than when she's upset about something. When she's sad, or frustrated, she just looks really, really sad (enough that it frequently makes me want to cry).

But then, there's the other side of it, which is completely delightful. When she's happy, at times she gets downright giddy. A great example of this happened today, when my mom and I were working with the PT on skills to get her in and out of the car, which involves standing very close, facing each other. The physical therapist is this very tall, lanky, skinny girl, which is a notable contrast to my frame. My mother, of course, is short, and so when the PT and I switched places, I made the offhand comment to her that there may be a pretty big difference in how my mom fit together than they did, and the therapist (I heart her) is like, well, right, the boobs. I commented that, after all, it was my mom's fault that I had them, but regardless, I would try not to suffocate my mother.

This culminated, of course, in me trying to lift my mother out of the wheelchair and her not being able to help at all because she had suddenly collapsed into a fit of giggles when I bent over to help her.

It was hysterical.

It's also nice to be able to see my mom excited about things, stuff as simple as watching her play the Wii today (yep. As part of her rehab. Frickin' awesome) and being all smiles when she did a kickass job even though she was bowling with her right (weak) hand.

She's making a lot of progress. I was telling her this evening that, even though she was totally exhausted and felt like shit, I could see noticeable improvement in her function in her right hand and in her gait and balance since even this morning. She gave me this wide-eyed, exhausted but incredulous look and said, "really??" I was like, totally. Absolutely. And then she nodded and smiled and said, "Wow. I hope so."

It's been so hard on her, this whole endeavor. Not that it hasn't been hard on me, or my dad, or any of the three hundred family members and friends who've called, sent cards, or dropped in (you guys rick, by the way). But it's changed her whole self-identity. It's activated a lot of her issues and poked hard at a lot of sore spots. And tired, frustrated, and sad though she may at times be, she's met the challenge.

The silver lining of all of this is, of course, that it's been really nice to have this time with my folks. My mom and I make a really good team, but we've had a lot of experiences together I think she'd hoped we'd never have to deal with. It's afforded us a certain bond and intimacy, though, that's irreplaceable and completely worth it. Likewise, it's been nice to have breakfasts and dinners with my dad, time to problem solve and plot and plan together, to work on forging forward. And the support and kindness of my friends both local and distant is totally priceless.

There's a long road still ahead of us, of course. But we're starting out strong and we have a good network. You can't ask for much more than that.

dot dot dot...

So, yeah, maybe that last post wasn't so much a comma...

So here's where we're at. My mom had a stroke because she has breast cancer. She's had changes in her breast for two years, and because my mother, bless her heart, is the kind of person who figures if she just keeps going, everything will be fine, it's now decidedly not fine.

Yeah, yeah. I concede that her daughter may have a bit of that "just keep going" trait as well...

So, she had another small stroke last night, went back by ambulance, and is tonight in the ICU. She's actually doing fine, they can just monitor her blood pressure better in there than on the floor. We'll see what the recommendations are tomorrow...

And then there's the cancer we have to deal with.

Did I mention that my aunt in NC was also diagnosed with breast cancer earlier this year? I spend a lot of time dealing with that, too, although she's been doing really well lately. I'm hoping my mom will see that and feel better about what's coming.

Which is giant and huge and awful. But, if we just keep moving...

Meanwhile, I'm going to go get a mammo as soon as they'll let me.

Would like to reiterate....

Doctors are not evil.

We actually help people.

Especially when they come BEFORE things have reached catastrophic proportions.

And, also, the signs of stroke.

 I'm so tired...

But, I have to say - I have the world's best friends and family. Y'all have been so helpful. We had great visitors today. And more coming tomorrow. Crap, I'd better go to bed....

Today

sucked.

Tomorrow will be better. If only by sheer force of will alone.

Scary out there

So, I've always said, you can't shelter your kids from the world. To protect them, you have to stay with them, know where they're going, teach them how to protect themselves when they're not there. No child-safe internet blocker is ever going to work, because kids will find ways around everything.

They're kids. They're adaptive, and creative, and sneaky. It's what they do.

Things like this prove my point.

So, a friend commented on Facebook that she had to look up this thing she'd heard about called Chat Roulette. I, of course, tend to be curious about everything, and also, I have two adolescents therapy kids with whom I work closely (and, as I've discovered lately, I have to keep up with my 66 year old patient as well. But, I don't worry as much about her being preyed on. She's pretty sharp). Plus, I'm on the child unit, and headed into a child fellowship. I like to keep an eye on the landscape, know what's out there for them to get into.

The concept of this is kinda cool, right? You log on...well, not even that, because it's completely anonymous. You click a button, and you get matched up with a random stranger anywhere in the world. In one respect, this is awesome. I spent about 20 minutes wandering around, chatted briefly with some very nice people in France, and Australia, and elsewhere in the US. I talked for a bit with a nice man in China who's trying to improve his English. I got to use a little of my terrible French. The worst thing any of them said to me was that the one of the people in France told me I was old. I guess when you're 18... But in that aspect, it makes the world a little smaller, allows you to interact with people in other cultures, etc.

That, I recognize, is a tremendously idealistic view.

So, many of the people on this thing have webcams. I saw a lot of high school and college kids, who, yeah, kind of a vulnerable group. Especially considering some of the other things I managed to see on there. Wow. Not enough eye bleach in the world.


::sigh:: It's amazing. I'm guessing that wouldn't even be blocked at the hospital (whereas, you know, everything else is). The anonymity is superficially protective, but also disinhibiting. It perpetuates this idea that you can say or do or be anything you want, and not worry about it, when in fact you should worry about it quite a bit. Especially if your judgment isn't very good because, say, your frontal lobes aren't fully formed yet. There's no guarantee that the people on the site are over 16 (by clicking the button you agree that you're over 16. There isn't even a checky-box. Oh, yeah, that's gonna work...). Or aren't, say, serial killers and pedophiles. In fact, I'm guessing this would be a deviant Mecca in a way that Facebook or MySpace or any of the other sites we worry so much about never could.


Yeesh.


Now, admittedly, I'm a hypervigilant, socially suspicious psychiatrist with a trauma history. But, seriously, folks. The shit that's out there is scary. 

Margarita therapy

Today was, I think, one of the worst days on record. Oyyyyyyyy.....

But, fortunately, I had dinner with friends, and that helped a LOT. It's amazing what can be healed with chips and salsa and raucous laughter.

It reminds me how grateful I am to have the kind of people in my life that I have in such abundance.

A little less....something

Today was a very long day, starting with co-leading a med student small group about substance abuse, which was a good time, but necessitated me missing rounds. The workday was chaotic; I then went to the Bucks and read for a while before class. Tonight was my first Mindfulness and Psychoanalysis class.

The class? Is and will be awesome.

And includes a 15 minute mindfulness practice at each class.

That? Tonight? For me? SUCKED.

It somehow ended up feeling really unsafe, and turned in to one long pre-verbal flashback that extended through most of my drive home.

This was certainly not unrelated to part of today's chaos having to do with difficult discussions with patients with bad abuse histories. It also has to do, I think, with all of the hard work I've been doing in therapy over the last couple of years, and all of that somatic memory is more accessible now more than it probably ever has been in my entire adult life.

Which, frankly, sucks. In case I didn't mention the suckage.

But, it does tell me, this meditation thing is something I need to do more of.

Which will, undoubtedly, suck.

Sorrow

So, tonight, it's 10:15, and I'm sitting on my bed, being anxious, knitting, reading, and watching TV (yes, all at the same time). And I decided to go move things around in the still-isn't-unpacked office/spare room/whatever it is, with the idea of channeling some of that anxious energy so that maybe I could get to bed at a halfway decent hour (or, as it stands, not). And I came across a box. It was small, and unassuming, and taped up with that blue painter's tape. In it is the tiny little foot-high Christmas tree that my friend's mom sent to me when I was in college.

And then, I wept.

She died this past Wednesday. Patti was my friend Brett's mom, and of course my friend Robin's mother-in-law (as, Robin is married to Brett). I'd known her since I was 15, maybe 14. And over the past, gosh, I think 8 or 10 years, she battled with thyroid cancer, lymphoma, and melanoma. It was weird. It was horrible. And she was so incredibly strong through the whole thing.

When I was home last month, I really, really had wanted to go see her. But, it was looking like the end was upon us, and I didn't want to take away from their family time. I didn't want to intrude, you know? In retrospect, I so regret not asking for a ten-minute drop in. I thought about writing her a letter. But, in the end...I guess the week got away from me, and then I was back at work, being scattered and being wrapped up in my own life...until my cell phone rang at 9:30 Wednesday night. And when I saw Robin's number, at that time of night, I knew it could only mean one thing.

It's my personal belief that, in death, in what lies beyond this life, she knows what she meant to me. So tonight I decided that maybe it's still worthwhile to write that letter. Here it is.

Dear Patti,

I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am that I was able to have you in my life.

It's funny now to think about the first few times I visited the old house in Brookfield. I remember how festive the house always looked. I remember Brett's battleship grey room in such stark contrast to the rest of the house, the one splash of color in it being the stuffed Grumpy Bear on his dresser (a gift from Robin, before they were even officially dating, I think, because she thought it looked like him. She...well...she wasn't wrong). I think time I was over at the house was, of all things, for Reformation Day - we watched a black and white movie about Martin Luther. I still don't remember why I was invited to that, but I still remember the movie. And I remember sitting in the living room, with you, and Mr. P, and Brett, Robin, Amandah, and Kyle, and thinking...this is really nice. I'm Orthodox, of course, so I had no idea why this was a holiday, but I was just so grateful for the inclusion and the hospitality.

I have such great memories of the lake house. I remember the red white and blue room, covert discussions of unexpected visitors, and lying in bed in the loft at night and listening to Mr. P and Bianca snore in (dis)harmony. I have vivid memories of the thick green algae in the water and of jumping off the pier, of girl talk in the front of the pontoon boat while Brett and Mr. P manned the helm, of watching everyone tubing off the back of it, laughing hysterically even though we were chugging along in a pontoon boat while those show-offs zipped past us pulling waterskiers behind their speedboats. My very favorite were the nighttime cruises on the lake, looking at the fancy houses all aglow, the fireflies that twinkled on the banks like a million stars, and the whole universe that seemed to open up in the expanse of the night sky. I remember being in the kitchen, baking muffins for breakfast, and talking about the first cancer, the thyroid tumor, and being so impressed with your strength and optimism, although this would hardly be the first or last time that would happen.

I loved the day that I showed up at the school where you taught as part of an outreach program we did in medical school, and you hugged me in front of all your kids and told them what a special friend I was of yours. I know how much you loved to teach, and I credit you (at least in part) with inspiring your daughter in law (before she was). I've seen her in action and I can only hope my kids have such great educators. I know you taught long after you could've stopped, after the illness had started to become a significant burden on you...and I kind of understood it. Now, being older, being in a place where my work means a lot to me and the people whose lives I touch mean even more, I get it. I get the not wanting to give in, to let it win; not wanting to let it steal something that meant so much to you (and to the students you taught).

Some of my very favorite memories of my adolescence were from Senior Year. Robin and I made a decision that year to go to all of the away football games. We would stop for hot chocolate on the way, we would bundle up, and by the end of the first half I was usually sitting on Robin's feet to keep her toes warm. After the first couple of games, we started sitting with you and Amandah-with-an-h ("Hamanda?" I asked Robin), watching #64 on the field with his neatly tucked-in orange towel. I was a little nervous at first, but by the end of the season I found myself being really sorry it was ending. I had no idea back then just how much Robin and Brett - or you - would come to mean to me.

You were always festive, creative, crafty, but mostly I remember you as maternal. In kind of a different way than my own mother, neither better nor worse, a difference I could never quite verbalize. In the end, I carry some of that ineffable difference with me (You? Would have totally LOVED the Christmas wreath I made for our office door this year). And I have to tell you this - when, Freshman Year, you sent me that little Christmas tree, I cried. I felt so loved, and was so grateful that you would think of me. You might not have known it, but it was a time at which I really, really needed that.

I remember one night, when I was back in Illinois after my first attempt at residency, your family was in town, and you invited me over for dinner. They were hilarious, and they were good people. I had a really long conversation with your brother that evening, which you later joined, and I still hold that as being one of the formative experiences of my decision to go into Psychiatry. I remember, that evening, at a time when I was feeling pretty worn down and worthless, you telling me I would be back on my feet in no time and how proud you had always been of me. I can't quite remember why I'd been at your house the day before and managed to garner that invitation, but I remember feeling over those two days like I really got to know a part of you that I (albeit appropriately) never got to see as a kid - who you were as an adult, as a woman. (I'd always suspected that sassy sense of humor...)

Ultimately, I see you so strongly in Brett, in Robin, and in Baby Luke, who are so dear to me. Your children, your daughter-in-law, and your grandson are a powerful legacy - through them your light will continue to shine, your grace, kindness, compassion and generosity will continue to bloom. And I see your influence in myself, in Bianca, in Katie, in Alison, an influence that goes far beyond festive holiday plates and Katie's delight at being successfully crafty.

I wish, and I will never be able to express how much, that you hadn't left us so soon. This is one of those times that I find myself angry at the unfairness of having such a good person taken from us, at the suffering and trials that you had to endure to leave us prematurely. My relationship to God is such that I don't question His judgment or direct my anger at Him. Instead, I find myself holding it out to Him; I entrust to Him my sorrow, and pray that in time, He will lift it from all of us left behind.

We'll miss you, but I trust in the belief that you are in a place of lightness and relief. I hope that what comes next is extravagant in the joy and peace you find there. Keep an eye out for my Yiayia and my Aunt Eugenia - I think they're people you'd enjoy (and give my old dog Wolf a scratch behind the ears). Meanwhile, we'll do our best to honor your memory in the kindness, humor, and comfort we offer to others.

I love you, Patti Pumpkin.

Stopgap.

So, yesterday, I lost someone very special to me. And I sat down to write about what I was feeling, and discovered - I have simultaneously nothing, and too much, to say. What I did write was primarily a jumble of thoughts, memories, and sorrow.

So I'm going to wait, until this weekend, until I can say what it is that I really want to.

I'm really, really, really sad.

2009, précis

Massive Dumbassery

I? Am the worst friend. Ever.

Well, okay, maybe not ever. But I lost some big points tonight.

Mike's dad passed this weekend, and Cleo, Sparrow, and one of our other coworkers drove down to GA for the funeral. And since I can't seem to get off the gero unit for more than a week anyway, I covered the Gero/ECT service today and tomorrow for Cleo. I'm covering the eating disorders unit next week for Mike, and then the following week (well, three days) for Sparrow. I don't mind the bouncing around, and I'm happy to help.

But it turned out to be this weird combination of a very strange day and a very slow day, for a bunch of reasons. So, okay, Mikaela wanders in to my office at the end of the day, and was like, can you leave a few minutes early? Want to grab coffee before my 5:30 appointment? I said, sure. Took my laptop so I could work at the Starbucks for a little while before I took care of something I had to do before I went back home. But then I get this call, and I've been really distractable all day anyway, and then I tried to get some work done and the software wouldn't cooperate, and I got all sorts of frustrated, and then I called back...and then I got upset...and so then I went home.

And I ate dinner, and snuggled my dog, and read Facebook, and continued to be upset, and then I get this text from Sparrow saying, hey, how's little Maxine?

And now I kind of hate myself.

Because you know that thing I was supposed to do after Starbucks? I was supposed to go let Maxinie out. Because her mom was two states away supporting a good friend of ours in a time of need. And then when I called and was like, oh my God, I totally flaked, I'll get back in the car right now and drive all the way back there and let her out, Sparrow was like, no way. If she poops on the floor, she poops on the floor, so be it. You leave your house, I'll smack you.

I suck.

And Maxine is getting one big ass Jumbone for Christmas....

Maybe tomorrow will be better. I'm about to write off this whole damn week.

Defenses.

Yeah, there's something going on. I'm fine, my folks are fine, Maggie's fine. I spent a long time tonight trying to compose a post, but I'm just so confused about the whole thing that I can't quite put it into words.

It's one of those occasions in which something is so unreal that I don't really know what to do with it. I keep saying, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, because, well, I am, but mostly because, there just aren't words. I keep trying not to tell people, because that's what I do, I just go on quietly when my life is falling apart. Actually, a number of bad things have happened to the people around me lately, and it's definitely taken its toll on me, but only a few close people know anything about it. I'm always "fine."

Truth is, I'm not sure I know how to let myself be not fine.

I got into a little tiff with Scott this morning. I walked in, ridiculously early, as always, and was bantering with him and Sonia for a while (they were the overnight call team). And we were talking about this patient we all know a little better than we'd like to, and he makes this sarcastic comment about a subject which is sort of a running thing between us. It was standard fare; we've debated this rather jocularly on multiple occasions. Unfortunately, this just happens to be the topic related to the recent badness in my life.

So today there was no joking or debating. Today there was me, sniping, which wasn't fair. He didn't know that today was not the day to confront that. But instead of "Not now, man," what came out was, "Oh, you can fucking bite me."

He dropped it, we moved on, things lightened. And I felt bad about this all day. So I texted him before I left work and was like, I'm sorry. Here's why I snapped at you this morning. In truth, it was maybe 10% of the reason I actually snapped at him, but that was the best explanation I could give. He was like, I didn't even think of it as a snap. Figured you were tired. Really sorry I went there, and about what happened.

My first thought about that was, great, I love that I'm even blowing this out of proportion, that I (as always) made the assumption it was as bad outside my head as it was inside, but apparently I can't even let that kind of stuff show very much. My second thought was, God, I so incredibly HATE that I told him. That I let him see even that tiny crack of vulnerable and crazy. Hate hate hate.

But, it is what it is. And what it is, is that I'm way too defended.

I know this about myself. I know why it's there, and I'm not sure how to make it not so.

So tomorrow, when I don't have to be up at 5am after another night of tossing and turning, I'll have more to say about this. Meanwhile, I have some unsettling dreams waiting for me...but that's pretty much the same as every night.

Needed

Queasy

This...makes me a little bit sick.

(Click here if the video won't load.)



Some days, it still amazes me, the degree of fucked up depravity that can go on in our world.

And yet...18 years later, what a blessing for this family, to have their daughter returned, alive, long after reasonable hope had faded.

Maybe, maybe, with some good intensive therapy, this poor woman and those young children can have something that resembles a somewhat normal life. But I can't even imagine how one would even start to get over that....