Feeling

It was recently pointed out to me that I hadn’t mentioned here the follow-up results of my testing and CT scan.  I guess it just didn’t seem right to even think about it since it was during the same week that Stephie passed away.  I just couldn’t try to be happy about my news, when it is the news we all wish had been her’s, too.

All is well.  No cancer.  No anything else, either.  All of the blood tests looking for rare clotting disorders that are currently known came up negative, so my hematologist thinks I have a rare disorder that just hasn’t been identified and named yet.  Many suggestions have been made that they name it after me, but who wants a disease named after them?  Not me.  Let them call it Wong’s Disease (that’s my doc).  I’m still waiting on having a park bench named after me.  Or maybe an overpass.  Nothing says success like a dirty, grey, graffiti-decorated, someone-died-under-there concrete overpass.  For generations to come, every hobo that pees there will think of me.

But I digress.

Certainly, you expected no less from me.

I had another leg scan as well, just to make sure that all that new metal in there was staying shinny.  The stents are open and flowing, and on a clear day you can get AM radio on them, but you have to put your ear to my bellybutton to listen, so we might need to become better acquainted first.

I am often asked how I am feeling.

Hmmmm.  Loaded question. 

My leg, well, it’s not the same.  I don’t limp much anymore, maybe at night a little, but a far cry from my wheelchair of only a few months ago.  My foot stays cold to the touch.  It aches and feels funny, all tingly and such, but I am learning to ignore it for the most part.  I am finding the value of keeping my mind an hands busy.

My bod… it is taking a long time to get my strength back.  I am like a dollarstore battery, good for a short job but not very powerful, and fizzles out quickly.  I am exercising with Kathy now most mornings, but I would say I am at about 60% - but determined!  One day, one limp-armed jumping jack at a time.

My heart… aw, geez.  I don’t know.  I am just still so grateful.  Grateful to be alive, grateful for this unbelievably gorgeous baby asleep beside me,  to be returning, in any form, to my life; to kissing my husband and hugging my kids, to singing and making art and nursing babies and wiping butts and noses.

But not a day passes that I don’t think about the people around me who have and are continuing to suffer.  I think of Steph and Kristi, both young mamas, both gone from their families.  I think of Lyn, gardening one morning, in the hospital the next, unable to speak or move from a massive stroke.  And Dale, who went to work last week and suffered a massive heart attack and never came-to before he passed a day or so later.  Of Dan, and Dave and Tyler, alone.  My heart aches, because I got to stay.  Isn’t that strange? 

Stranger still is that I find I seldom cry for myself anymore; for my frustrations and rough days, but I am brought to tears for others in a shallow instant.  I am a giant receptacle for the pain of others, a mirror for grief. 

I am feeling… life.  More color, more flavor, more heat and more cold.  I find myself just watching everything around me in awe, and for now I am just feeling it all.  

Dr. F.  Messaged me a pix of this poster the hospital put up of him. Apparently they used the text on the poster from a letter of appreciation I sent to the department chief telling of our gratitude for the amazing care Dr. F. Gave us. I will forever be grateful to this amazing man. 

Throwing Myself into My Work

When you make a painting you paint.

When you make a sculpture you sculpt.

When you make pottery, you throw.

I am getting ready for my 3^rd Open Studio Art Sale and Boutique.

Nov 30^th, Dec 6^th and Dec 7^th.

Details to come, but right now I am working on some nice little mugs and pots.  Tomorrow I will start the silk painted scarves, and I just finished about 40 jewelry items.  This year I am also making my own ceramic pendant and earring sets, each unique.  I am being joined by several artisans who will be offering their great handmades.  I hope you can come.  We will have items starting at just $1.50 and Guy will be making his awesome fudge again.

I am feeling so grateful that I am able to do my sale again.  It is not being super easy.  For one, I have a 5 month old; super cute but very needy. And for two, I have Jonah, or “Destructo”.  He likes to “help”.  Ugh.  And though sitting for a while makes my leg act up, I am just so grateful that I am alive and healthy-ish, and making art again.  When you go through a big trial, it’s hard to believe that any “little thing” will ever matter to you again.  Then one day you find yourself deeply invested in the cleanliness of your kitchen sink, or reading, or, as in my case, throwing.  And I am glad I care.  It is nice to be concerned over something that is not huge and traumatic.

It feels so good to feel good. 

******

(I'm having major computer issues, and so I'm am embarrassingly behind on posting, but I have figured out I can write my posts, email them to myself, and paste them in with an app on my phone. Hoping to get caught up soon!)

Patience Soup

Pride goeth before the Fall.
Or during.  I'm not sure.

One thing I am sure of, is the humbling nature of cooking.  You who have read this blog before will remember Candy Corn Soup.  I make it every year.  Every year it has all new ingredients, with only one constant; the candy corn.

This year, in my perpetual quest to stop being so darn lame, I planned to make the soup early in the week, on the night we would carve pumpkins, rather than crowd Halloween night with more to do.  Here is where the pride part comes in.  I set to work gathering a menagerie of ingredients from the fridge to dump into my pot; broth, onions, sundry leftovers and chunks of butter in crumpled wrappers.  It was less "soup-making" and more "artistically cleaning out the fridge".  I felt so proud as I used the last of this and the tail-end of that.  I'm funny that way; I get tremendous joy from using every scrap of leftover food.  I scrape peanut butter jars clean, use bread loaf heals, and get more mileage out of leftover rice than should be legal, all for the thrill of it!  Perhaps all of the starving-children-in-China talk from my childhood took vigorous root, I don't know, but I love me a good used-up leftover.

So on this night I was very pleased with myself as I chopped and dumped and stirred.  I noticed, though, that my jumbo pot of ingredients, some of them frozen, was simply not warming up.

(Oh, no.  You see it coming, don't you?  Put on your concerned face, and shake your head...)

I turned up the heat.

(now give an exasperated sigh.)

FLASHBACK MONTAGE: In this flash back you will see clips of the many, many times I have burned food, played in rapid succession to the tune of "Burning down the House" by Talking Heads (or The Platters"Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" if you are of the grey-headed generation).  Smoke billows, my children fan the screeching smoke alarm with dish towels, and in the end, we see a cluster of clips of me scrubbing black char out of the bottom of the same darn cooking pot, over and over and over ...(in my flashbacks the part of me is played by Catherine Zeta-Jones.  She looks tragic, yet sexy, so you forgive her for burning the food).

There are, in my disjointed little mental-kitchen, only two settings on a burner; OFF and HIGH.

You know the next part of the story.  I walked out of the kitchen and got busy cleaning the tush of someone or another, and *sniff sniff*, that tell-tale burning smell wafted out to the living room, because bad odors always waft. Signal smoke alarm.

***

Yada, yada, yada, and I dump a ton of soup down the sink.  The bottom of my pot looks dismal.  The old me would have cried at this point, but I have to say - it takes a lot more than this to get me to eek out a tear these days.  I won't claim I wasn't disappointed, but I felt more embarrassed than anything, what with the waste of all those ingredients and the entire population of Chinese children depending on me to appreciate what I have.  I hung my head in shame and called Guy.

"I burned the soup." I pouted to Guy over the phone, almost hoping that he would say something judgy so that I could deflect the anger I was feeling at myself onto him.

"It's not a big deal.  Just fix something else."

"I'm so lame," I said, feeling the words more deeply than my joking tone would let on.

"You're not lame.  You just need to be more patient." was all he said.

What the heck?! Patient? What did patience ever have to do with cooking?  Patience is for potty-training and teaching a kid to tie their shoes, and the entirety of the teen years.  But the more I thought on it, the more I saw the wisdom in his words.  In my haste, I put the pedal to the metaphoric medal, often.  And if I allowed myself to think on it, I knew my speed-demon mentality spilled over into many other areas of my life, leaving a jet-stream of calamity in my wake.  Isn't it strange how something so true can elude us for so long?

Life is kind enough to give us lots of do-overs.  It is up to us not to waste them.

I went to the store the next day and bought some nice, squeaky-new, non-leftover ingredients, and vowed - not to NOT burn the soup -  but to make it with patience.  The next morning I slowly and carefully cooked a pound of bacon, staying in the kitchen the whole time, and not taking on any other tasks.  I boiled yams and potatoes, peeled them, and then set about to assemble the soup.

I will spare you all the unexciting details, except this:

 I did not burn the soup.  

It felt kind'a great

 (and tasted pretty dang good as well).

 This Year's Candy Corn Soup:

Patiently cook 1lb of bacon (save drippings. Here the word drippings refers to pork lard.  Deal with it.)

Bake or boil 5lbs of potatoes and 6 smallish, peeled yams or sweet potatoes.

Sautee 1/2 an onion and 2 tbsp. fresh minced garlic in the "drippings".

In a large pot, combine: cubed potatoes and yams, crumbled bacon, onions with drippings, 1 carton broth, 1 block cream cheese, 6-8 cups of milk, and 4-8 tbsp butter (oh, yeah, like you aren't eating your kid's Halloween candy right now.  You can do extra sit-ups tomorrow).

Blend with hand mixer or in blender till creamy, then simmer patiently 20 minutes, stirring frequently.  Add salt and pepper to taste, or until the guilt settles in... about 2-3 tsp salt.

Serve with 3 candy corns in each bowl (or with toasted candied almond slices), and garlic toast.  If you burn it, don't feel bad.  You are still a very nice person.

Seconds

Two weeks ago was ArtTrails.  It is an annual art event in Sonoma County that Guy and I make a pilgrimage trip for each year, and have never missed since we began going when Ethan was just a toddler.  Some of the artists have watched out family grow up as we return year after year.  This year we took Kathy and Wayne with us, dumping sundry children at various locations along our way for tending (thank you Krista and Joanna!), and headed for the rolling amber hills and sunset colored leaves of Sebastopol.

Our first stop has become an important one.  Talented potters Cheryl and Mikio of Nichibei Pottery have created a tiny haven there, and we are welcomed with hugs and smiles.  This year was no exception, as we toted little Natalie in to show off to Cheryl, who was just a little bit surprised at #6 and more than happy to love on her.  I will admit, though, we come here first for more than the sweet greeting; Cheryl and Mikio set out a "seconds" table.  But if you want to take advantage of the deals to be found there, you have to be an early bird.  Wait even a few hours, and the table will be picked clean.  We love their art, but as their work is so skillfully and beautifully made by two master potters, we cannot afford most of it at regular price.

We also planned on meeting our dear Francine there.  She had plans for the rest of her day, but as we have done at other times when we knew a long visit was not in the stars for that day, we met, however briefly, for a few hugs and a quick visit at Nichibei.

Francine and I wandered over to the seconds table, arm in arm.  We marveled at what made something a "second" here, as every single piece on the table was so much better than anything I could produce on my gloriously-best-pottery day.  A tiny chip on the foot, a pock mark in the glaze, a glaze that simply had failed to accomplish what its makers had hoped it would, and it was banished from the lovely studio gallery, with golden lighting and music playing, and relegated to the tired wooden table out by the kiln.  I spotted the pot I wanted right away, a tall green vase with a proper pot belly, a delicate foot below and a lovely beige rim...oh, and a flaw.  On this pot, it was four or five bumps, right on the front, where some other piece must have shifted in the kiln and touched the surface, breaking the uniform mat glaze with unwelcome texture.

I picked it up and hugged it.

I was amazed that something so beautiful had the misfortune of such marring, and pondered on the frustration it must have been when Cheryl opened the kiln with hopes of lovely pots, only to find this one in such a disappointing state.  I felt a pang of familiar disappointment in myself.

I had been feeling inadequate lately; broken, chipped, marred... flawed.  I see my housekeeping, my body, my to-do list (which is really a "to-be-improved-upon" list), and feel ever so much like one of those empty vessels, not having lived up to my own hopes.  I know there has been a lot in our lives the last 9 months that would certainly justify a lackluster performance on my part, but ever since the clots, and now losing Steph and Kristi (another friend who died suddenly the same day Steph did), I have felt an urgency to make major strides toward important goals, but falling short.

"I would be on God's 'seconds' table," I told Francine with a giggle to cover the little ache inside.

"Well, you'd have plenty of company!" Francine sang out with a sort of childlike laugh.  And I knew she was right.  Not a soul on the planet would be in the gallery under the glistening lights.  We would all, every single one of us, be on the seconds table.  I pictured a massive table top, a continent long, with millions of tiny people standing on it with little discount price tags on our heads.

And in an instant, there it was.  Freedom.

Freedom to be flawed,
permission to try harder without being ashamed of past failures,
and company
-lots and lots of company-
 there on the tabletop.

"And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to the potter to make it.

Then the Lord came to me, saying,

O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the Lord.  Behold, as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel."

~Jeremiah 18: 4-6

Amazing

My friend Ruth is amazing.  

She has 6 children; four in her arms, one in her belly, and one in heaven (and in her heart). 

Her baby boy, Rhys, died the day before he was born, three years ago this week.  As I have watched her grieve, I have learned so much about grace, finding peace, and  

about learning to be okay with not knowing all the answers.

Ruth never learned why little Rhys (pronounced Reese) didn't make it, and I can't say what she feels in her heart today compared to that terribly sad day three years ago, but I can tell you what Rhys's life, and Ruth's example have taught me.

That you can touch people you have never met.

That you don't have to grieve any certain way.

That sometimes the mission we serve in this life will be the opportunities we give others to give service.

That sad tears and happy tears can mingle sweetly together.

That you can witness greatness in another person's trial, and learn from it.

That we never know what path we will walk, or who we will be blessed to walk it with,

 but we will never walk it alone.

That each life is precious.

That somehow we make it through.

This past week our family was invited to share in the sweet tradition Ruth, Steve and their family have embraced as a way of remembering and honoring Little Rhys.  We met at the cemetery just before sunset, and we prayed together.  Prayers of gratitude, spoken and unspoken, rose to the heavens as tears moistened our cheeks.  Ruth said she looks upon this place as a place to come and remember Rhys, but that she knows he is not here, but with his Creator and Heavenly Father.  Then we released blue balloons, some with children's drawings tied to them, up into the clear autumn sky.  They rose in a cluster and stayed together until the blue of the sky enveloped them and we couldn't see them anymore.

We couldn't see them, but they were still there.  

Gone from our limited mortal sight, but not from God's.

Ruth told me once that she doesn't picture Rhys as a baby, but as a strong and wonderful young man, the essence of who his spirit, in an eternal sense, really is.

I love that.  

Happy Birthday to my dear friend, Ruth.  

You are an amazing woman.

Do you not know?

Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

and his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary

and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

and young men stumble and fall;

but those who hope in the Lord

will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint.

~Isaiah 40:28-31

Birthday Wish

Today was Steph's birthday.  

We got together with her hubby, son, parents and a few friends, and ate - per Stephanie's request- Shake'n'bake pork chops, Rice-a-Roni and peas.  Well, they ate the peas.  Steph knows I don't do peas.

We talked about her laugh, her jokes, and her antics.  It was a great way to spend her day, even though she couldn't be with us.  It's hard to believe she's only been gone 4 days.  Seems longer.  She was sick for so long.

Last Sunday, as Guy and I were at ArtTrails with Wayne and Kathy, Dave called to tell me that Steph wanted to see me to say goodbye.  We had just limped back to our motel on a spare tire after a blowout, and it would be at least two hours before repairs would get us on the road, and another two to travel.  We rushed.  There is no feeling like the feeling that you might miss your last chance.

When we got there, we slipped into her room as dim pink light filtered through the drawn curtains.  Her mama directed us toward some chairs, and we sat, not sure of what to do.  Prompted by her mom, I took Stephie's hand, and her eyes flickered open as she whispered, "hi", then fell right back to sleep.  We thought we might just leave so she could rest, but then she opened her eyes and spoke to us.

I asked if she was scared.  No, she said, just anxious to be out of pain.  Was she excited to see what was coming next?  Yes, she supposed.  I asked if she would say hi to my mom for me.  "Is there anything you want me to tell her?" she asked, but for all the millions of times I had wanted to tell my mom something, I couldn't think of a thing in that moment.

"My birthday is this week," she said after a while.
"I know, I guess you won't be wanting my present," I said.
"I always love your presents." she smiled.

I had thought about it, about her birthday and what I would have wanted to give her, but there is nothing I could have given her that she would not be leaving behind, so I said, "Can I sing to you?"

"I'd like that," she answered.

"What do you want to hear?"

"Surprise me."

I began softly with the only song that came to mind; the song I sang to Natalie as I labored with her, and what I sing to her now when she is sad.

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you,
sweet dreams that leave your worries far behind you,
but in your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.

Say nighty-night and kiss me,
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
while I'm alone and blue as can be,
dream a little dream of me."

All through the song she closed her eyes and smiled, and at the end whispered her thanks.  She was so tired then, that we said goodbye.

***
We had pink cupcakes tonight.  She would have liked that.  It was her signature color.  We sang the birthday song, and had one of the kids blow out the matchstick we had improvised into a birthday candle.

I don't suppose anyone made a wish.

A Wake-up Story in Pictures

  

Good morning.

Go snuggle someone you love.

Steph

My sweet friend, Stephanie

lost her battle with cancer tonight.  

No, you know, she didn't loose anything.  

She decided that she didn't want any more 

of the needles and scans and tests and radical treatments,

 and last week she decided it was time to go.  

I was blessed to be able to say goodbye.

It is hard tonight to see the last images I have of her in my mind's eye. 

 I prefer the image I see above.  

And I want to remember her best gifts and most joyful moments.

Steph was my friend.  She was a riot.  She was so fun and so funny.  She loved her family, her "babies" (nieces and nephew), and her son and hubby so much.  She and I had a mutual appreciation for all things chocolate, which we shared regularly.  She spent countless hours helping me with the kids when I was getting paintings done.  They would snuggle up to her and listen to her read for hours.  

She loved God.

I guess random things are floating into my mind 

as I try to make sense of her passing.

I can't believe she is gone.

Road Trip

I am writing this just 100 miles from home, on the last limping leg of our whirlwind weekend getaway to Southern California.  I sit between a finally-sleeping Natalie and a softly snoring Ethan.  And this is what the last 7 hours have been like…

Just before we left for our trip, the radio was pulled by the dealer to be repaired.  It has left us without tuneage, which left me with no choice but to discover how many 80’s songs I could consecutively butcher the lyrics to.  I did learn, however, that I know all of the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, including guitar solos, and can do a stirring one-woman rendition of the opera segment wherein I sang every part.  Sadly, I am the lone witness to this feat, as everyone else was asleep at the time.  Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro! (you’re singing it now, too, aren't you?  I can hear you… “Magnifico-o-o!”).

Sans radio, Jonah’s voice has been the back ground music for this trip.  A while ago he told me, “Uh-oh mama, I foh-got my cwoze” (clothes).  It’s a pleasant change from announcing his farts and burps every few miles, and his asking “we doh-ing home? No!!!  I wan’go Andwoo’s house!” fifty or so times.  My particular favorite was the scream about 10 minutes ago, blood curdling and painful sounding, all because Tessa LOOKED at him.  I know her eyes are a penetrating blue, but really?

This is our first family trip in our new-to-us van.  We have learned that it is the vortex of all sound, and though all 8 of us are contained in what seems like a duffle-bag-sized space, for some reason no one can actually understand each other.  None the less, cries of “Be quiet!” have blasted through the van like air horns at a football game.  I find myself in the middle row, middle seat, leg elevated, because dear Natalie was screaming for about 50 miles.  I climbed back and tried the car-seat nursing that I have done successfully with many a weepy babe, but she would have none of it.  As droopy as “the girls” have gotten over the years, they just weren't long enough to reach her.  She finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

We now carry air freshener with us on road trips, because we have teenage boys.  They smell like mummy breath.  And that is before anything is emitted from their bodies that could be measured on a Richter scale.  If you have ever driven I-5, you will also know that the milk commercials claiming California cows live in lovely, grassy fields are absolute bovine pucky.  The kids are sure to announce these aromas and their respective feelings about each nuance of scent as we pass cattle yards with “happy cows” by the thousands.  Though I detest the cow smell, at least the cows don’t laugh after they blow methane. 

Then there is the food thing.  We are, at best, inconsistent with how we handle food and travel.  I succumb to the hunger cries of my offspring sometimes like a mother bird, and at others like a prison warden in an old movie.  It does not seem to matter how often you feed the children however, they are always like a nest-full of baby birds.  “I’m staaaaarving!” Tessa exclaims 30 minutes after our dinner stop.  Finally, I go from mama-bird to warden to bar-keep, and I cut them off.  The poor, sad babes whimper of their sure starvation until they fall asleep. 

I doubt any of us will remember this particular trip.  Though we might recall that we stopped 4 times in the first 5 hours, but the rest will fade like trips and childhoods do.  And while most are not noteworthy,  I wouldn't mind remembering the moment I am having right now.  The girls are awake and listening to their Mp3 player-  a mix of pop music and ballads sung by their mama.  “Ellie, “ Tessa says, “imagine what if mom was up on stage singing a rock song like on the Fourth of July but not on the Fourth of July.  That would be weird.” They giggle, and as I try to envision what they are seeing, I giggle a little too.  Adam rides shotgun, and as any good co-pilot would, he occasionally points out something interesting in the road signs and billboards we pass, to Guy, who has driven the whole way.  And last of all, to my left, my youngest child sleeps under a well tucked blanket, looking for all the world like Ethan did as a baby, while to my right, that very boy -now so grown-up -, sleeps with his head tucked against my shoulder.  I can feel his warm breath on my arm, and I can’t remember a time since he was small that he has slept on my shoulder.    

I love road trips.

Getting with the Flow

Two Cuties: Natalie and Jane

As I pushed Natalie in her stroller up the walkway at Kaiser South, a sweet old fellow was working on getting out of his car in a handicapped parking space near the door.  He was tall and dark, with a spritz of black freckles across his cheeks.  I gave him a smile, and he returned it with a deep sing-songy "How you doin'?"

"All right," I said with a shrug, in that chipper not-so-great-but-what'cha-gonna-do? tone.  "How are you?"
"All right." he echoed, his words a bit more tired sounding than mine, but with all the cheer.
"I mean, were both here, right?" I joked.  He looked up at the hospital as I pointed to it and laughed knowingly.
"Right." he conceded.

*****

After my procedure Tuesday for removal of my 4th blood clot in 8 months, I wasn't feeling great.  My leg, which usually feels "less" of everything after one of these clot-busting procedures -less fatigue, less pain, less tightness, less tingling - was feeling more.  And then some.  A strange new symptom had been added to the list.  I was having waves of  "the chills" that would stretch from hip to toe and raise almost painfully intense goosebumps on my leg.  What's more, my foot was chilly; according to Ethan's reptile thermometer, 13 degrees colder than my other foot.  And I was having pain where no pain had been before, in my pelvis.

I gave it a few days to see if it was just adjustments from the swelling, new stents, and tools from the procedure.  I could be brave in the daylight, and many times throughout the day I felt only very mild symptoms.  But each night as I lay in bed, the symptoms seemed more pronounced, and in the dark it was hart not to imagine that a clot was forming; to picture it in there, filling specific veins whose locations and names I now know all too well.  Popliteal, femoral, saphenous.  Though I tried to shut it out, my mind conjured the image of a clot growing and finally breaking off and hitting my lungs.  For several nights, I held little Natalie close and smelled her sweet, precious perfume, and prayed for sleep to come.

Monday I emailed Dr. F. a little 'heads up' and within 30 minutes was scheduled for an ultrasound with our angel Jane.  As it was last minute, I went alone with little Natalie.  Jane took us back, and her familiar face was a comfort.  After a pleasant chat we settled in for the scan, and this time, things were very different.  For the first time since the stents were placed, true blood flow could be captured by the ultrasound.  The vein was lit up with profuse flow, and Jane very happily showed me these new and surprising images.  Prior to my collaterals being blocked off by the new stents, there had been too much flow diverted through the alternative routes to force a vigorous flow through the femoral vein, but now that full flow was routed back along its normal course, there was no mistaking it.  The vein was clear.  Jane, Tara (one of my other favorite techs) and I celebrated, passing the baby around and enjoying the way a room feels that is filled with happy news.

Later that day I got a text from Dr. F. affirming what we had seen.  There was no need to guess if the stents may still be blocked, or to do an angiogram just to be on the safe side.  No drugs, no needles, no contrast dye, and no hole in my leg.  Hooray for stents that work!

Yesterday on the way to see the hematologist we ran into Dr. F. in the hallway.  He told us he had talked at length to my new doctor and given him a complete history.  More importantly, he said he trusted Dr. W. and really liked him, and thought we would, too.  We felt like we were being put into good hands.

Dr. W. met with us and though he had already spoken to Dr. F. and read my extensive and complicated file, he asked us to tell him all that we have been through.  It was a very nice way to start off.  He ordered some tests to look for cancer and other problems.  He believes that the reason I clot so well while on blood thinners may be a rare clotting disorder.  Most of the clotting disorders that are known today have only been discovered in the last 15 years.  He said that this disorder may not have been defined yet.  I guess well find out.  I gave blood, and now we wait.

Next up: CAT scan. TBA

Post Edit: I guess it would help to mention here that the reason I am feeling increased pain and sensitivity is due to the increased flow.  My tissues just aren't used to the intensity of it, and everything is coming back online as a result.  Eventually I should get used to the flow and it will come to feel "normal" again.

Number Four

Sweet Velma, one of my regular nurses.

Today when I went for my blood draw, Marina, Tom and Virginia were all busy, so a new tech was doing my blood draw.  She was chatting along and at one point said, 

"Well, life is full of surprises."  Yah, yah it is.

I guess I can say that when my leg is doing well, I just don't think much about it.  

Last week I started thinking about it.  A lot.

Now that I have fallen off of the pregnant patient wagon, I am just a regular, run-o-the-mill patient.  That means I fall under the umbrella of Dr. V., who hasn't seen me since I took a small flight and bouncy landing off of my son's bike in '09.  It turns out if you want to teach popping a wheelie, you should know how to land it.  I sent him an email to let him know that I wanted him to read my file, and that I felt like I was having the subtle inklings of a clot.

He sent me a reply, reassuring me that people
 don't grow clots while on blood thinners. 

You've heard of "read it and weep"?  Well, I did.  Cried actually.

Guy comforted me, assuring me that the doctor couldn't possibly have read my file.  We made an appointment, and waited the two days it took to see him.  He read my file, finally, while sitting in front of me.  It took several tries for him to even figure out which blood clot happened in which month.  Now, please understand, I really like Dr. V.  He has always been kind and helpful.  I understood that he must have just looked at my labs, which look like great labs for a regular person.  

Finally, he told it all back to me with the details in the right place, and then asked, 

"Where would you like to go for your scan?"

"South."

We drove to South Sac, but got there too late for Jane to scan me.  I got a new tech, and she assured me that though she couldn't officially tell me anything (sigh), she saw flow from my Inferior Vena Cava.

 I was awakened the next morning by a call from Dr. F., who said that the scan looked a little fishy to him, and scheduled me for an angiogram.  Next came an email from Dr. V. "Good News!" he said.
 The report on my scan came back clear of blood clots.
  Sheesh.

Tuesday we did the regular drill.  Fasting, IV, drugs, vitals, the usual.  Well, all except for when the nurse accidentally doubled my benedryl and I had a freaky reaction, which included watching the floor turn into water, and the chair seat throbbing.  It lasted about half an hour.

An interesting thing happens when I am on the table in the radiology procedure room.  I can't see anything, and once my leg is numb, I don't really know what's going on.  That's always when it comes, the news.

"Well, Laine, the stents are completely blocked."

Sigh.  Blood clot number four.

It was pretty hard to unblock them.  At one point
 he said what he was thinking out loud,

 "I'm pretty discouraged, here."

I became crestfallen. There was nothing I could do from my place there on the table.  He said he might have to go in through my jugular vein because the clot was too hard to get his tools through.  "You'll mess up my cool vampire-bite scar." I joked, trying to cheer him.  "I already have two nicely spaced scars, a third will ruin the effect."  I laid there and prayed for him to be confident, to find a way into my vein so that he wouldn't have to go in through my neck again.  

"I'm through." he said, finally.

He talked me through the procedure, explaining where the clots were, and what he was doing to break them up.  Eventually, he got it cleared and decided to place two more stents.  It was pretty painful, but we've been through worse.  It took about a 1/2 hour to stop the bleeding.

It was about 3 1/2 hours for the procedure, but of course the hours before and after totaled to about 8.  Because of the larger tools that Dr. F. used and how hard the clots were, it's been a lot more sore than previous recoveries,
 but today has been better.  

Dr. F. said he was perplexed; that even with my blood thinners and with the clot dissolving medication he was using, he was watching my blood clot on the tools right before his eyes.  "It shouldn't be able to do that," he said, puzzled.

  Next stop, a hematologist. 

My leg feels kind of weird now.  Not really sure what that means.

Super

We hear a lot about "Pyer-man"

 and other "dupoh-heeyos" these days.  

They save people from "bad dyes".  *

Last week Jonah demanded (and then asked politely after some parental nudges) that his cape be put on.  With a look of fierce determination, he then marched out the front door.  Guy called to him, telling him he needed to come inside, but he was a capped crusader with a mission.

"I make it bwoh **, like dis!" he insisted, waving one hand out behind him, simulating a cape in full flight.  Well, who can resist a superhero in training with such a task?

I remember my sister telling me of her son and his passion to have a cape.  He hopped from one foot to the other until it was ready, hot off the sewing machine.  He snatched it up and disappeared with a look of pure anticipatory joy, only to return in a few minutes with a fierce scowl.  He ripped the cape from his neck and threw it at my sister's feet, grumbling, "This dumb thing doesn't work!"

At least, that's the way I remember it.  And in that moment, as I joined Guy on the porch, I remembered it and worried.  Was Jonah-boy about to have his first of many disenchanting realizations? 

 I held my breath a little as he lined himself up for take off.

Leading with a clenched fist, he flew, back and forth along the edge of the lawn, looking over his shoulder every few moments to watch his cape "bwoh".

At one point he lost his footing, and (because I am a terrible mother who sets a poor example as I cruise through my life in blissfully bare feet),

 he scraped the top of his little toe off.

"I byeeeeeeeeding!" ***

He fretted with a furrowed brow.

I offered him a bandaid.

He considered, then the real superhero in him came out.

"I pine, mommy, I pine." **** he assured in a very grown-up voice.  No worries, he reassured, with a hand held out like a crossing guard stopping traffic.  And I was the traffic being stopped.

No mommies needed here. 

 Superheros might bleed, but that won't keep them from flying.

*******

Update on the clot front: Looks like our sneaky little friend may be back.  Ultrasounds last night looked suspicious.  I will be going to hang out Tuesday with cool Dr. F. and my pals at South Sac radiology for an angiogram, and if needed, clot removal and more stent placement (because if 3 stents are good, five are better!).  Prayers are always appreciated.

~

Translations not found in Google Translator:

* Spiderman, super heros, bad guys

 ** blow

***bleeding

**** fine

Our Little Blessing's blessing - Album 2

 

There are a few things I have learned since being born.  First of all, it turns out that all that swimming practice that I had in mom's belly hasn't turned out to be all that helpful.  Also, I have discovered that it is my job in life to be cute (and also that my mom has a weird fixation with holding her phone up in my face). 

 

It also turns out that the planets actually do revolve around ME. 

 Who knew?

 

And the big people around here (and let me tell you, there are a lot of them) all have something wrong with their voices.  They will be talking along just fine and then as soon as I look at them, they all sound like their sucking helium.  Weird.

 

Well, as I hear-tell, there has been quite a hullabaloo around my gettin' here safe and all.  Honestly, I don't know what the fuss was all about.  I never planned it any other way.  I knew it was going to be just fine.  Mom took some convincing, but as soon as I got here I set her straight and she has been a lot more chill lately. 

 

Because, as they tell me, it was such a big deal getting me here, there were people coming and going from our house constantly.  There was cleaning, and cooking and all sorts of rides and things going on to keep my family going.  Yup, other people took care of my family for about 4 months before I got here.  My mama wished every day that she could really thank all those folks for what they had done.  You should have heard her prayers for them.  She wished for their happiness and safety, and that they would feel how thankful she was.

 

Well, once I was out all safe and sound, and she was able to get round better, she and Dad decided to throw a big party to say "Thanks, everybody!"  Our house was bursting at the seams, and that wasn't even half of the folks who had helped at one point or another.

 

The first to arrive was my Grandma and Grandpa Holman. 

I made sure to bellow at Grandma plenty.

 

 

I loved on Grandpa, too.

 

 Then Mama's friends started to arrive, like Ruth.  She and Mama have been through a lot together.  Ruth has a baby boy coming soon.  Can't wait to see him again... we used to hang out together back in heaven, ya know.

 

 

Ruth's little girl Autumn had lots of fun decorating her head with sand. 

We are SO going to get along!

 

 

Ruth let me chill with her for a while. 

Being cute is so exhausting.

 

 

My cousins and all of our friends kept my sisters busy.

 

 

When I woke up I got to meet more cousins...

they just moved back from North Carolina. 

Aunt Julean makes mama's eyes fill with tears a lot.  It is a very cool trick.

 

 

Once the party got going everyone had a really nice time.  That's the thing - you see, when you get a bunch of kind and helpful people together, they already have a lot in common, so its easy for them to like each other! (too bad my mama took a bunch more pictures of all of the nice people that were blurry.  I won't put those in.  You will just have to imagine about 20 more very nice people like these!)

 

 

At one point everyone went outside because the sky was an amazing color.  You know, when God promises not to flood the earth, he sends rainbows, but when he is missing me, he sends pink clouds.

 

It was so amazing it made everyone turn pink.

 

One very special person who came was Claudette. She is my mama's midwife.  She helped 3 of my siblings be born, and even though she didn't catch me, she was waiting with my daddy and talking to God the way only she can.  You know, God pays special attention to the prayers of midwives.  After all, He knows better than anyone what important work they are doing.

 

 

***

Well, that day was wonderful, and what made it even more wonderful was that the next day was my blessing day.  I wore a special little white dress, and every body came to the church to listen. 

Even Ethan came,

and he held me all through church.

 

My Uncle Kenny, Aunt Tracey and my cousins

Sam and Emma came.  Mama was so very glad.

 

My daddy gave me a sweet blessing.  He cried as he told me how much Heavenly Father loves me (of course I know that, but when I grow up I might forget sometimes).  And he told me that my health was a very special gift

 from my Heavenly Father. 

 

 

He told me how loved I am and how important it is for me to live a good, happy life. 

 

The most special men in my life were there in the blessing circle to lend their faith; Grandpa Holman, Uncles Kenny, Zack and Chris, Cousin Josh, and our good friends Bishop, Dennis, Dave, Brady and William.  And my big brother Adam held the microphone, which isn't part of the circle, but it is still important!  I tried not to cry, but I did a little bit.  That's ok.  Daddy cried more.

 

Mama and Daddy sure love me.

 

 

My mama and I have a special bond. 

We have been through a lot together, you know. 

Yes, I think you do.

 

 

***

Well, of course everyone came back to the house to eat.

 

 

 

All of my cousins homeschool too, and mama thought it was funny

 that they all got out school stuff to do while the waited for the food!

 

 

 

Aunty Kori listened to Jonah tell his stories like she could actually understand what the heck he was saying.  I am a baby, but I can't understand the kid.  I prefer more mature conversation, like with cousin Josh.

 

 

 

Mama tries to take picture of Ethan, but she's not very good at it.

 

 

 

That's Tessa with Kaylee and Lauren. 

They don't mind so much getting pictures taken.

 

 

A miracle happened on that day, too.  Ethan let everybody into his bedroom to see his lizards.  NOBODY is allowed in Ethan's room but Adam, and me, of course!

 

 

Jonah loved it.

 

 

  

As people began to say goodbye, I got lots of snuggles.  Mama has never seen such big smiles on Grandma and Grandpa. 

 I guess I just bring out the happy in people.

 

Mama hated saying goodbye to Aunt Julean. 

They met on their missions about 400 years ago, you know,

and mama says they are soul sisters.

 

And do they ever make each other laugh!  I think this was an inside joke about the Unarmed Combat book we have (not the One Armed Combat book.  Though that would be a pretty entertaining book as well.)

 

 

I hung out with my Grandpa James for a while.  He has a sweet spot for me.  He offers my mama a quarter to keep me.  Even though I am his 31st grandchild if you include the great grandchildren, he makes me feel special all the same.

 

 

He's funny that way.

 

And I am special, because I am loved by some amazing people, so I must be.  I am also special because I am a daughter of a Heavenly Father who loved me enough to send me down to a family that cherishes me and friends who love and take care of me.  But mostly its because He loves me because I am me, and I am his child.

 

 

And so are you.