July 27th, 2008
Good news! The obstruction has gone away on its own! That means no surgery. It does mean, however, that the painful part is about to begin. Still, I may be allowed clear liquids tomorrow, which will be nice. I'll continue to stay in the hospital to be monitored and to keep my pain controlled.
Becca
July 29th,2008
Sorry I haven't been getting the updates out very often. Please don't freak out if you don't hear from me for a day or two. I'm just tired and in pain. It hurts to sit up for too long and I type really slow since I'm on drugs and there are medical devices all over my hands and fingers.
Yesterday I was moved to a clear liquid diet but had a bad day pain-wise.
Today I'm on soft foods which is going okay,but it's rather uncomfortable since they make me feel so full and they get things moving in my tummy. I had the brillant idea today of taking a shower during the half hour I couldn't have morphine. By the time I could have it again Iwas just about crying and it took me all day to reach a tolerable pain level again. I've also been itching myself so much due to the morphine that I've given myself a horrible scratch. They've been giving me benedryl for it, which totally knocks me out.
Tomorrow I'll get my tummy x-rayed to check up on things. My blood tests have been looking good.
Been getting very irritable with the hospital, but I suppose I've been in one hospital or another for almost 2 now.
Becca
July 30th, 2008
Mollie here. Becca is two weeks out on this project that was supposed to be outpatient surgery. Her belly is less like the sixth month of pregnancy and more like the ill-advised guys who mow shirtless. Instead of tattoos, she has purple blotches and peeling skin. These are all actually good things.
Stuff is moving through her system, and causing the same excruciating pain that brought us here. It's hard to believe that this is called progress, but she is bravely holding on and trying to go with oral pain meds and the occasional saving shot. This is part of the reason why I never watch movies that aren't G rated, and I don't go on carnival rides. Watching this is enough.
Her jaundice is contrasting ever so subtly with the fuschia and violet streaks in her black and brown hair, and is not really enhanced favorably by the hospital gowns which she sports in that oh-so-ghetto baggy fashion, but it's a look. The best part about taking little walks is when she can step outside and scratch her feet on the rough concrete.
The GI surgeon who has been following Becca says his job is done, since the partail bowel obstruction has marched off the xray radar screen, and the abdominal adhesions might also go their merry way while still in their formative stages. Pain is not his department, only tracking gas.
Dr. Cada, her gynecologist, is trying different potions to work with the pain issues. Now we know what lab rats feel like, or the proverbial guinea pig. It doesn't help that the food people ask her what she wants to eat, and then they give her exactly what she has requested to NOT have instead. The nurses are sometimes very helpful, and sometimes very invisible, and in the wee hours are downright wacky.
The incision sites are all healing nicely, but there is this strange spot on her stomach where she scratched an itch and it has been leaking blood.
If she were Julie Andrews, she would sing about these favorite things: cream of wheat, Boost drinks, foot rubs, narcotics, brushing hair, her comfy hospital bed, her afghan, her heating pad, ice chips, photos of her cats, silly balloons. little emails, and distracting visitors.
So maybe tonight will be a better night, and someday we will all party and sing hey nonny nonny again. Thank you for keeping us all in your thoughts. Mollie
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
I'm Not Dead
Not up to anything more than to copy and paste email health updates. This first one was written by my mom on July 18th:
This is Mollie, aka Becca's mom, with the medical news. Becca had surgery yesterday to laparoscopically remove ovarian cysts and any endometriosis that appeared. That went as planned, and areas where endometriosis was evident were cauterized. There was endometriosis on the bladder, and there were adhesions on the right cyst and bowel. Both ovaries were saved; icky stuff was not.
The resulting pain has been from the ovaries, the tiny incision sites, and pressure from the residual gas used to inflate the abdomen during surgery. She stayed overnight because of pain and lightheadedness, and because the extra oxygen was helpful.
This morning the doctor decided to keep her in the hospital for blood transfusions since her hemoglobin is low. She is also checking her clotting factor and looking at the abdomen for possible internal bleeding (CT scan or ultrasound). Becca just developed an area of swelling, so the doctor will be looking at that; oddly enough, the pressure and breathing problems have improved since the swelling has appeared. Becca's eye was irritated during surgery, but she has been using saline drops and an eye patch (wooden leg not included), and that has improved.
Now she basically feels like crap but she at last has a morphine pump. She feels like a human pincushion because she has had four blood tests just today, and an additional IV is being inserted to keep the morphine separate from the blood infusion (otherwise I suppose it would be an inconsistent sort of intravenous Bloody Mary).
The hospital needs electric heating pads, more spa-like amenities and little paper umbrellas, but otherwise is ok, especially in staffing and pink Coban. Natalie will be checking Becca's email for her. Cell phones are all on. Maybe tomorrow Becca will go home, and Velvet can get on with her life.
Written yesterday:
Hi everyone, it's Becca. The morphine isn't making me so sleepy today, so I'm gonna try and write out a better update for ya'll. An email was sent out by my mom on the 18th and then another one yesterday by my sister. Most of you have been updated between times because you've been calling and texting or getting the news from others. I know there are some, however, who haven't gotten any updates except these emails. I'll try and make things a little clearer with a time line. Keep in mind, this could all be so much more detailed, but I don't remember most of the details...If you have further questions, email them to me and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Even better, you can text or call either myself or my mom.
July 19th- I get surgery to correct the internal bleeding from my first surgery. This surgery was done using a "bikini" incision, an incision that runs about six inches horizontally, about 4 inches below my belly button. The surgery lasts about 2.5 hours and it was very hard to stop the bleeding. After surgery I was put in ICU where my condition wasn't looking so great. They decided to have me transported to UNMC in case any more bleeding went on (because it would need to be overseen by my liver doctors). I was transported via ambulance. Man, was that painful. Good thing I was half unconscious the whole time. I was admitted to the ICU at UNMC and watched there for the night.
July 20th- I was moved to a regular room in the hospital with the most horrid roommate ever. My mom complained because I'm not supposed to be sharing rooms with patients, much less be in a high-traffic area. It's part of being immune suppressed. The doctors didn't think it mattered. We didn't like any of the doctors at UNMC. They never really did anything to try and help me, they just tried to get me walking again after surgery. Anyway, I digress...
This also must have been the night that Gina came to visit me and I ended up having the worst pain ever, no matter how many times I pressed the morphine button. I was so glad she was there because I got no sympathy from the doctors. My mom left in the middle of playing in the pit orchestra for Music Man at Pinewood Bowl to come back to Omaha.
July 21st- I'm suffering from having to live with my extremely loud, gross, inconsiderate, 12-hour-TV-watching, redneck roommate. I have to be on oxygen constantly and can barely breathe from all the fluid in my lungs. My tummy is still puffed out as much as it was prior to the surgery on the 19th.
July 22nd-Rayne, her family and James, Gina and Aprille come and visit me. It was so cool to see everyone and they all brought me such cool presents. We all had to talk kinda loud, though, because my roommate was playing her soap opera with the volume at 100.
I also had a bowel movement for the first time since the 16th. Ever since that event, I begin to have more pain.
July 23rd- I get to come home in the afternoon! Despite still having some breathing problems and being in plenty of pain, I wanted away from those brainless doctors and my awful roommate. When I got home I was greeted a a wonderful recliner to live in given by the Tidballs, a snazzy walker, a grab arm and a shower chair. And you wouldn't believe the balloons I'd accumulated.
I slept until Gina came in the evening to clean rat cages and also ended up rearranging my room so that it all worked with the recliner. It was a good thing she was there, probably, because I kept having to super medicate myself because my pain was getting worse and worse. It felt something like it had to do with constipation, but I couldn't be sure since my whole tummy still hurt and was big enough for me to be 5 months pregnant.
July 24th- I spent the whole night in bathroom agony. I felt mildly improved in the morning and figured I'd be fine while my mom and sister went to the store. Apparently they got as far as the gas station when they got my tearful phone call that they needed to come home. I felt like I was having one of my episodes, only I'd been living with episode-esque pain (on a milder scale) for the past 5 days or so. My endurance was pretty much shot. Mom was able to find some more painkillers I could safely take with my other ones and gave me other things like extra stool-softener, muscle relaxers, etc. I was able to lightly fall asleep after about half and hour or so, but she woke me up not long after to say she'd talked to my gynecologist and we were to go to the ER at Bryan East and get a few tests done, get some morphine, and then I'd be admitted into a room.
It took a few hours for the morphine to really kick in, but boy was it nice when it did! I hadn't felt relief like that in days. While we were in the ER Staci, of all people, came in to visit! When we were headed out the door to go to Bryan East, Rayne had called and my mom told her what was going on. Apparently Rayne told Staci and Staci got her butt over to where we were.
I spent the night at the hospital enjoying a comfortable bed and morphine.
July 25th-I finally, for the first time in over a week, got to take a shower. Boy was that ever nice! I'd had sponge baths and I'd gotten to shave my legs during the short time I was home and someone had washed my hair in Omaha. But nothing beats a real shower.
I also got a CT scan which showed a partial bowel obstruction and possible abdominal adhesions. The bowel obstruction would explain some of my pain and my not being able to have a bowel movement. Some of the pain is from all the leftover blood and fluid in my belly being reabsorbed.
I was taken off food and liquids (I get adequate nutrition and hydration from my IV fluid) to give the obstruction a chance to right itself. It sounds like an obstruction is when a part of the bowel sort of folds over on itself. I had been complaining for a couple days of this feeling on the left side of my belly button (where the obstruction is) that I described as, "like a bit of some sort of organ rolling over on itself."
July 26th (today)- I had x-rays taken on my tummy today. They're going to continue to watch the obstruction today and tomorrow and keep me off food and liquids. Hopefully, the obstruction will smooth itself out. If it does not then on Monday I'll have to be transported to UNMC to be operated on there.
Totals for the past week and 2 days:
Number of blood products: 2 units blood, 2 bags platelets, 4 bags fresh frozen plasma.
Number of blood tests: Somewhere in the 30s. One day at Bryan I had 7 or 8 blood draws.
Number of IVs (not counting numerous failed pokes): Somewhere around 6.
The good news: I may be getting a PICC line!
Becca
This is Mollie, aka Becca's mom, with the medical news. Becca had surgery yesterday to laparoscopically remove ovarian cysts and any endometriosis that appeared. That went as planned, and areas where endometriosis was evident were cauterized. There was endometriosis on the bladder, and there were adhesions on the right cyst and bowel. Both ovaries were saved; icky stuff was not.
The resulting pain has been from the ovaries, the tiny incision sites, and pressure from the residual gas used to inflate the abdomen during surgery. She stayed overnight because of pain and lightheadedness, and because the extra oxygen was helpful.
This morning the doctor decided to keep her in the hospital for blood transfusions since her hemoglobin is low. She is also checking her clotting factor and looking at the abdomen for possible internal bleeding (CT scan or ultrasound). Becca just developed an area of swelling, so the doctor will be looking at that; oddly enough, the pressure and breathing problems have improved since the swelling has appeared. Becca's eye was irritated during surgery, but she has been using saline drops and an eye patch (wooden leg not included), and that has improved.
Now she basically feels like crap but she at last has a morphine pump. She feels like a human pincushion because she has had four blood tests just today, and an additional IV is being inserted to keep the morphine separate from the blood infusion (otherwise I suppose it would be an inconsistent sort of intravenous Bloody Mary).
The hospital needs electric heating pads, more spa-like amenities and little paper umbrellas, but otherwise is ok, especially in staffing and pink Coban. Natalie will be checking Becca's email for her. Cell phones are all on. Maybe tomorrow Becca will go home, and Velvet can get on with her life.
Written yesterday:
Hi everyone, it's Becca. The morphine isn't making me so sleepy today, so I'm gonna try and write out a better update for ya'll. An email was sent out by my mom on the 18th and then another one yesterday by my sister. Most of you have been updated between times because you've been calling and texting or getting the news from others. I know there are some, however, who haven't gotten any updates except these emails. I'll try and make things a little clearer with a time line. Keep in mind, this could all be so much more detailed, but I don't remember most of the details...If you have further questions, email them to me and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Even better, you can text or call either myself or my mom.
July 19th- I get surgery to correct the internal bleeding from my first surgery. This surgery was done using a "bikini" incision, an incision that runs about six inches horizontally, about 4 inches below my belly button. The surgery lasts about 2.5 hours and it was very hard to stop the bleeding. After surgery I was put in ICU where my condition wasn't looking so great. They decided to have me transported to UNMC in case any more bleeding went on (because it would need to be overseen by my liver doctors). I was transported via ambulance. Man, was that painful. Good thing I was half unconscious the whole time. I was admitted to the ICU at UNMC and watched there for the night.
July 20th- I was moved to a regular room in the hospital with the most horrid roommate ever. My mom complained because I'm not supposed to be sharing rooms with patients, much less be in a high-traffic area. It's part of being immune suppressed. The doctors didn't think it mattered. We didn't like any of the doctors at UNMC. They never really did anything to try and help me, they just tried to get me walking again after surgery. Anyway, I digress...
This also must have been the night that Gina came to visit me and I ended up having the worst pain ever, no matter how many times I pressed the morphine button. I was so glad she was there because I got no sympathy from the doctors. My mom left in the middle of playing in the pit orchestra for Music Man at Pinewood Bowl to come back to Omaha.
July 21st- I'm suffering from having to live with my extremely loud, gross, inconsiderate, 12-hour-TV-watching, redneck roommate. I have to be on oxygen constantly and can barely breathe from all the fluid in my lungs. My tummy is still puffed out as much as it was prior to the surgery on the 19th.
July 22nd-Rayne, her family and James, Gina and Aprille come and visit me. It was so cool to see everyone and they all brought me such cool presents. We all had to talk kinda loud, though, because my roommate was playing her soap opera with the volume at 100.
I also had a bowel movement for the first time since the 16th. Ever since that event, I begin to have more pain.
July 23rd- I get to come home in the afternoon! Despite still having some breathing problems and being in plenty of pain, I wanted away from those brainless doctors and my awful roommate. When I got home I was greeted a a wonderful recliner to live in given by the Tidballs, a snazzy walker, a grab arm and a shower chair. And you wouldn't believe the balloons I'd accumulated.
I slept until Gina came in the evening to clean rat cages and also ended up rearranging my room so that it all worked with the recliner. It was a good thing she was there, probably, because I kept having to super medicate myself because my pain was getting worse and worse. It felt something like it had to do with constipation, but I couldn't be sure since my whole tummy still hurt and was big enough for me to be 5 months pregnant.
July 24th- I spent the whole night in bathroom agony. I felt mildly improved in the morning and figured I'd be fine while my mom and sister went to the store. Apparently they got as far as the gas station when they got my tearful phone call that they needed to come home. I felt like I was having one of my episodes, only I'd been living with episode-esque pain (on a milder scale) for the past 5 days or so. My endurance was pretty much shot. Mom was able to find some more painkillers I could safely take with my other ones and gave me other things like extra stool-softener, muscle relaxers, etc. I was able to lightly fall asleep after about half and hour or so, but she woke me up not long after to say she'd talked to my gynecologist and we were to go to the ER at Bryan East and get a few tests done, get some morphine, and then I'd be admitted into a room.
It took a few hours for the morphine to really kick in, but boy was it nice when it did! I hadn't felt relief like that in days. While we were in the ER Staci, of all people, came in to visit! When we were headed out the door to go to Bryan East, Rayne had called and my mom told her what was going on. Apparently Rayne told Staci and Staci got her butt over to where we were.
I spent the night at the hospital enjoying a comfortable bed and morphine.
July 25th-I finally, for the first time in over a week, got to take a shower. Boy was that ever nice! I'd had sponge baths and I'd gotten to shave my legs during the short time I was home and someone had washed my hair in Omaha. But nothing beats a real shower.
I also got a CT scan which showed a partial bowel obstruction and possible abdominal adhesions. The bowel obstruction would explain some of my pain and my not being able to have a bowel movement. Some of the pain is from all the leftover blood and fluid in my belly being reabsorbed.
I was taken off food and liquids (I get adequate nutrition and hydration from my IV fluid) to give the obstruction a chance to right itself. It sounds like an obstruction is when a part of the bowel sort of folds over on itself. I had been complaining for a couple days of this feeling on the left side of my belly button (where the obstruction is) that I described as, "like a bit of some sort of organ rolling over on itself."
July 26th (today)- I had x-rays taken on my tummy today. They're going to continue to watch the obstruction today and tomorrow and keep me off food and liquids. Hopefully, the obstruction will smooth itself out. If it does not then on Monday I'll have to be transported to UNMC to be operated on there.
Totals for the past week and 2 days:
Number of blood products: 2 units blood, 2 bags platelets, 4 bags fresh frozen plasma.
Number of blood tests: Somewhere in the 30s. One day at Bryan I had 7 or 8 blood draws.
Number of IVs (not counting numerous failed pokes): Somewhere around 6.
The good news: I may be getting a PICC line!
Becca
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I'm On The List!
I wanted to let you all know that, once some blood test results are acquired, I will officially be on the transplant list!
Hooray!!
Tomorrow is my surgery to remove my ovarian cysts and patch up any endometriosis. There’s a good chance I may lose one or even both of my ovaries. It all depends on how bad a state my reproductive organs are in. If I end up keeping one or both of my ovaries I will have to be on treatment to trick my body into thinking it has menopause so that I don’t ovulate. They are going to try and do the surgery laproscopically, but if there’s too much scar tissue or if something bad happens during the surgery, they will have to make an incision. I could be in the hospital 5 hours to 3 days after the surgery; it all depends on what happens and what they find.
I’ll try to post a blog as soon as I’m able after the surgery, but if you want to know how things are going immediately, feel free to call my mom’s cell or mine or check with my Gramma or sister. Someone will know what’s going on. If you need phone numbers, email me privately.
Hooray!!
Tomorrow is my surgery to remove my ovarian cysts and patch up any endometriosis. There’s a good chance I may lose one or even both of my ovaries. It all depends on how bad a state my reproductive organs are in. If I end up keeping one or both of my ovaries I will have to be on treatment to trick my body into thinking it has menopause so that I don’t ovulate. They are going to try and do the surgery laproscopically, but if there’s too much scar tissue or if something bad happens during the surgery, they will have to make an incision. I could be in the hospital 5 hours to 3 days after the surgery; it all depends on what happens and what they find.
I’ll try to post a blog as soon as I’m able after the surgery, but if you want to know how things are going immediately, feel free to call my mom’s cell or mine or check with my Gramma or sister. Someone will know what’s going on. If you need phone numbers, email me privately.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Liver Transplant Anecdotes, Part 1
Last night I was talking Rayne’s ear off about some of my transplant experiences and it occurred to me I’ve never really written them down. So here are some stories for ya.
Liver transplant number one: I’m eight years old, in the third grade and the year is 1995. We are living near St. Paul, Minnesota.
It was December 19th and I was in math class doing some horrible subtraction. I wanted nothing more than to put my pencil down and leave, so you can imagine my surprise when a voice came over the intercom, “Please send Rebecca Manner to the office. Her father is here to take her to a doctor’s appointment.” I stuffed the math worksheet into my backpack and made my way towards the office wondering why in the world my dad was picking me up and why I hadn’t heard about this doctor’s appointment before. My mom stayed at home with my sister who was four years old at the time and she would normally be the one to take me to any doctor’s appointments. My dad should have been at work.
My dad was waiting outside in the car and when I got in I pushed all my confused thoughts to the side and got to the heart of the matter, “Dad, am I gonna have to get a blood test at the doctor’s?”
My dad’s brow creased at this and he said, “Didn’t they tell you? Your liver is here. We’re going to get your new liver!”
“Oh. Really? Wow!” I stared out of the window and through my other excited thoughts I was thinking, “I’m going to have to get more than a blood test.”
We went home and I grabbed a few things, namely my favorite book about scorpions I’d checked out from the school library (you can imagine what a fine I had to pay for this later since I was in the hospital for around 3 months after the transplant). My dad left a note on the stairs for mom, who was apparently out shopping with my sister Natalie. It said something to the effect of, “The liver came. I called your mother.” Later in my life I found out my mom had framed it.
Dad and I drove the hour to Rochester where the Mayo Clinic was. My mom and sister arrived just in time to see me for a few minutes before I was wheeled into the OR. They’d been at Toys R Us when they’d gotten a call (I guess my mom had a cell phone or one of those transplant pagers) about a liver being available for me and they’d quick grabbed me a Barbie doll. This really made my day. A new liver and a new Barbie! Could things get any better?
Unfortunately, after a transplant that lasted far into the night and into the early morning, I had to be kept in a drug coma for three weeks or so and then had to learn to sit up and to walk again. But that’s another story.
Some interesting things that happened after the transplant while I was recovering:
One time Dorothy Hamill (the figure skater who won the Olympic medal and had the great haircut) came to visit me. She was very sweet and genuinely concerned. She mostly talked to my parents. She was so pretty and I felt so yellow and ugly. It didn’t do much for my self-esteem but it was cool to meet her (even though I had no clue who she was).
--------------
Often there are pet therapy animals brought around the hospital and I loved this. So one day, when I’d woken up from a nap, my Mom says, “Becca, you missed the Cardinal!” This was very distressing to me.
“I missed the little birdie?” I whined. At this my mom started laughing and had to explain to me that “cardinal” was also a name for a member of the clergy of the Catholic church. Since St. Mary’s (the hospital that’s part of Mayo) is a Catholic hospital so all sorts of famous clergy members visit there. Apparently this Cardinal was some big shot and it was a huge honor to have him come and bless you. I was disappointed and secretly thought that a bird would have been a lot cooler than some frumpy old priest.
--------------
One day my doctors had all congregated in my room and were discussing things with my parents. These conversations tended to be long and boring, so I pretty much tuned them out. However, on this particular day one of the doctor’s comments really stood out to me: “We’re going to do another transplant.”
I assumed, of course, that they were talking about me and burst out into tears. You have to realize I’d been in the hospital for a really long time and was having a very hard time and I didn’t think I could go through it all again. Everyone immediately jumped up and started comforting me. Turns out they were talking about a different patient. They all felt really bad and kept giving me pitying looks, but I was just embarrassed.
Stay tuned for transplant number 2 anecdotes!
Liver transplant number one: I’m eight years old, in the third grade and the year is 1995. We are living near St. Paul, Minnesota.
It was December 19th and I was in math class doing some horrible subtraction. I wanted nothing more than to put my pencil down and leave, so you can imagine my surprise when a voice came over the intercom, “Please send Rebecca Manner to the office. Her father is here to take her to a doctor’s appointment.” I stuffed the math worksheet into my backpack and made my way towards the office wondering why in the world my dad was picking me up and why I hadn’t heard about this doctor’s appointment before. My mom stayed at home with my sister who was four years old at the time and she would normally be the one to take me to any doctor’s appointments. My dad should have been at work.
My dad was waiting outside in the car and when I got in I pushed all my confused thoughts to the side and got to the heart of the matter, “Dad, am I gonna have to get a blood test at the doctor’s?”
My dad’s brow creased at this and he said, “Didn’t they tell you? Your liver is here. We’re going to get your new liver!”
“Oh. Really? Wow!” I stared out of the window and through my other excited thoughts I was thinking, “I’m going to have to get more than a blood test.”
We went home and I grabbed a few things, namely my favorite book about scorpions I’d checked out from the school library (you can imagine what a fine I had to pay for this later since I was in the hospital for around 3 months after the transplant). My dad left a note on the stairs for mom, who was apparently out shopping with my sister Natalie. It said something to the effect of, “The liver came. I called your mother.” Later in my life I found out my mom had framed it.
Dad and I drove the hour to Rochester where the Mayo Clinic was. My mom and sister arrived just in time to see me for a few minutes before I was wheeled into the OR. They’d been at Toys R Us when they’d gotten a call (I guess my mom had a cell phone or one of those transplant pagers) about a liver being available for me and they’d quick grabbed me a Barbie doll. This really made my day. A new liver and a new Barbie! Could things get any better?
Unfortunately, after a transplant that lasted far into the night and into the early morning, I had to be kept in a drug coma for three weeks or so and then had to learn to sit up and to walk again. But that’s another story.
Some interesting things that happened after the transplant while I was recovering:
One time Dorothy Hamill (the figure skater who won the Olympic medal and had the great haircut) came to visit me. She was very sweet and genuinely concerned. She mostly talked to my parents. She was so pretty and I felt so yellow and ugly. It didn’t do much for my self-esteem but it was cool to meet her (even though I had no clue who she was).
--------------
Often there are pet therapy animals brought around the hospital and I loved this. So one day, when I’d woken up from a nap, my Mom says, “Becca, you missed the Cardinal!” This was very distressing to me.
“I missed the little birdie?” I whined. At this my mom started laughing and had to explain to me that “cardinal” was also a name for a member of the clergy of the Catholic church. Since St. Mary’s (the hospital that’s part of Mayo) is a Catholic hospital so all sorts of famous clergy members visit there. Apparently this Cardinal was some big shot and it was a huge honor to have him come and bless you. I was disappointed and secretly thought that a bird would have been a lot cooler than some frumpy old priest.
--------------
One day my doctors had all congregated in my room and were discussing things with my parents. These conversations tended to be long and boring, so I pretty much tuned them out. However, on this particular day one of the doctor’s comments really stood out to me: “We’re going to do another transplant.”
I assumed, of course, that they were talking about me and burst out into tears. You have to realize I’d been in the hospital for a really long time and was having a very hard time and I didn’t think I could go through it all again. Everyone immediately jumped up and started comforting me. Turns out they were talking about a different patient. They all felt really bad and kept giving me pitying looks, but I was just embarrassed.
Stay tuned for transplant number 2 anecdotes!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Picture Time!
First of all, I'd like to give a big thank you to Rayne for fixing some of the coding for my blog. She's a friggin' genius. Thanks to her you can now actually see it when I post a link and I don't have to go out of my way to color the text.
Ya'll know how I like to share my room and, as of late, my bed area has been spiffed up to make things easier for me. Allow me to show you around.
I'm feeling like posting some photos so I will. First off, we have Cassie, the cat. I put these pillows on the chair for the express purpose of keeping her off the chair. Cass isn't all that bright, so she figured she could still fit her enormous body on the chair, even though half of her was hanging off the end. 
Second of all, we have a beautiful handmade bookmark my friend Gina made for me. She is wonderful at tatting (it's a wee bit like lace making) and this bookmark is indeed tatted. She came over one night and I picked out a bunch of beads I liked and she put them on the tassel for me. She has a bookmark she made for herself that's a lot like mine that she calls Bubbles. I think if I were to give mine a name I'd call it Loose Leaf. Yeah.
Ya'll know how I like to share my room and, as of late, my bed area has been spiffed up to make things easier for me. Allow me to show you around. This here is my little sanctuary. James and Gina got me the awesome bed tray thing. Perfect for my laptop or other endeavors like drawing, eating, oragami or puzzles.
Here is my little set of drawers on wheels that holds all of my toys and whatnot. On top is the cool iHome I got from my Dad for my birthday. It even has a remote control for uber convenience.
Here you can see my cool bedside caddy that's supposed to attach between the box spring and mattress. Unfortunately, my bed is from around 1975 or so and it doesn't stay very well, which annoys me. I want it all tucked in. It does, however, stay upright and fulfills it's duties as caddy without much help from my bed. Still, I like things tucked in and I find myself continuing to tuck it in even though I know full well that the moment I sit down on the bed it will come out a few inches. Oh, well, it's my Dad's fault if I have OCD.
And that's it! Hope you enjoyed your little tour. I'm gonna take a nap.
Here is my little set of drawers on wheels that holds all of my toys and whatnot. On top is the cool iHome I got from my Dad for my birthday. It even has a remote control for uber convenience. Here you can see my cool bedside caddy that's supposed to attach between the box spring and mattress. Unfortunately, my bed is from around 1975 or so and it doesn't stay very well, which annoys me. I want it all tucked in. It does, however, stay upright and fulfills it's duties as caddy without much help from my bed. Still, I like things tucked in and I find myself continuing to tuck it in even though I know full well that the moment I sit down on the bed it will come out a few inches. Oh, well, it's my Dad's fault if I have OCD.And that's it! Hope you enjoyed your little tour. I'm gonna take a nap. Rattie Cuteness
I'd also like to add that...
Here's a video of my boys!!!
They're staying with my friend Staci over at Capital City Rat Rescue right now since I can't take care of all 15 of my rat right now.
Also, Here's a picture of my rat Mabel's behind (she's also with Staci). She's a rather elderly rat.
Here's a video of my boys!!!
They're staying with my friend Staci over at Capital City Rat Rescue right now since I can't take care of all 15 of my rat right now.
Also, Here's a picture of my rat Mabel's behind (she's also with Staci). She's a rather elderly rat.
On a seperate and unrelated note, I have a Shelfari account now: http://www.shelfari.com/becca32
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Lazy Trees and Drug Comas
The trees are lazy today. Every now and then they give a slight shudder to show their quiet joy but mostly they’re like me: letting the sweetness of a nice summer’s day sink in.
I love trees. I see them as living souls. I’d be speaking literally if I said I was a tree hugger; I really do hug trees. They’re very comforting. The only other non-brained thing that speaks to me so is books, and I suppose they’re both connected in a way since most books are made of trees. What if it were the other way around? A tree made of books…now that would make an interesting picture.
The point is: The trees were lazy today. As for me, I’m trying to get things done. I’m nowhere near good right now, but I have been feeling a bit better overall these last few days or so. I’ve been trying to use my small spaces of time to get things ready for my surgery Thursday. Also, I know that the time of month when my ovaries start screaming at me is coming any day now, and when that happens I won’t be out of bed for anything.
My dad was in town this weekend, which was fun. We did the usual El Toro dinner on the first
night, pizza on the second night. I made him make me one of the steaks he used to make me when I was a kid. I’ve been anemic lately which means I’ve wanted to eat meat (I usually don’t have much of an appetite for it, being a vegetarian during “normal” times). He bought me an awesome printer/scanner/copier so be ready to see some scanned stuff in the future!
Whatever happened with the transplant list situation? Ah, well now, that is a downer. When we went to Omaha on Wednesday they didn’t have my appointment anywhere in their records. As it so happened, a random psychiatrist was sitting around the Multi-Organ Clinic because his own patient hadn’t shown up. So I saw him. Not knowing he should do otherwise, he of course did not attend the meeting that happened the next hour to discuss my, and others, addition to the transplant list. So on Friday, when we called the Transplant Center, this was explained to us. They said that it was all organized now and I would be discussed this coming Wednesday (the 16th) and put on the list then.
I finished reading The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I can’t tell yet if I liked it enough to read it again or not, but it was a very good book. If you’re a book lover, I would recommend it. For some reason, it brought to mind Inkheart by Cornelia Funke, so I’m now reading that for the second time.
In other news, Rayne posted a blog about her treatments and I was very excited to see a picture of the squeaky toy rat I gave her, sitting on her IV pole. I told her she was to use it to annoy doctors and the like but apparently after giving it one squeak she was told that no further squeaking was allowed. Also, that same day (Friday) I had one of my pain episodes (most likely from bile not being able to flow through the bile ducts that my liver disease is slowly killing) and so I, like Rayne, spent the entire day in a drug coma. Let Friday the eleventh of July be heretofore known as Rayne And Becca Drug Coma Day. Or a more creative title if you can think of one. Frankly, I’m just too tired.
I love trees. I see them as living souls. I’d be speaking literally if I said I was a tree hugger; I really do hug trees. They’re very comforting. The only other non-brained thing that speaks to me so is books, and I suppose they’re both connected in a way since most books are made of trees. What if it were the other way around? A tree made of books…now that would make an interesting picture.
The point is: The trees were lazy today. As for me, I’m trying to get things done. I’m nowhere near good right now, but I have been feeling a bit better overall these last few days or so. I’ve been trying to use my small spaces of time to get things ready for my surgery Thursday. Also, I know that the time of month when my ovaries start screaming at me is coming any day now, and when that happens I won’t be out of bed for anything.
My dad was in town this weekend, which was fun. We did the usual El Toro dinner on the first
night, pizza on the second night. I made him make me one of the steaks he used to make me when I was a kid. I’ve been anemic lately which means I’ve wanted to eat meat (I usually don’t have much of an appetite for it, being a vegetarian during “normal” times). He bought me an awesome printer/scanner/copier so be ready to see some scanned stuff in the future!
Whatever happened with the transplant list situation? Ah, well now, that is a downer. When we went to Omaha on Wednesday they didn’t have my appointment anywhere in their records. As it so happened, a random psychiatrist was sitting around the Multi-Organ Clinic because his own patient hadn’t shown up. So I saw him. Not knowing he should do otherwise, he of course did not attend the meeting that happened the next hour to discuss my, and others, addition to the transplant list. So on Friday, when we called the Transplant Center, this was explained to us. They said that it was all organized now and I would be discussed this coming Wednesday (the 16th) and put on the list then.
I finished reading The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I can’t tell yet if I liked it enough to read it again or not, but it was a very good book. If you’re a book lover, I would recommend it. For some reason, it brought to mind Inkheart by Cornelia Funke, so I’m now reading that for the second time.
In other news, Rayne posted a blog about her treatments and I was very excited to see a picture of the squeaky toy rat I gave her, sitting on her IV pole. I told her she was to use it to annoy doctors and the like but apparently after giving it one squeak she was told that no further squeaking was allowed. Also, that same day (Friday) I had one of my pain episodes (most likely from bile not being able to flow through the bile ducts that my liver disease is slowly killing) and so I, like Rayne, spent the entire day in a drug coma. Let Friday the eleventh of July be heretofore known as Rayne And Becca Drug Coma Day. Or a more creative title if you can think of one. Frankly, I’m just too tired.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Blog Time!
Nope, I haven’t fallen off the planet. Wait, I take that back, I think I did fall off the planet. Rayne came up with a great word for what I’ve been feeling: disassociation (see last two blog posts). I’m doing a lot better today, however, and I think it has something to do with not taking my sleep medication last night. Anyway, my lack of…soberness, self and abundance of disassociation made me sort of just float away from the whole blog thing. I’m still not in that much of a talkative mood, but I’ll see what I can do.
I had an awesome birthday. I got lots of presents and everyone who came to my birthday tea got to see first hand what a pathetic mess I’ve become. A lot of people thought I was very funny, especially during the instance which I will recount for you now:
Becca: Oh what a beautiful purse! And look, there are little crumpled up dollar bills inside!
Kathy: Guess how many!
Becca: Oh, okay. Um, I think there are about twelve.
**Silence**
Becca: Should I count them to find out? One, two, three…
At this point I notice everyone is staring at me with a certain intensity I take to be there because they want to find out how many dollar bills I got.
Becca: Nineteen…twenty…twenty one! Wow, there are twenty one dollars because I’m twenty one!
**Silence**
Mom: Uh, yeah, Becca.
Ginny: What do you think Kathy meant when she said, “Guess how many?” She wasn’t being literal.
Becca: Ooh. I’m on drugs people! Give me a break!
I think you had to be there. Anyway, I also got to eat supper at the Tidball’s house and go to Dairy Queen with them. I got to go see Rayne and her family and rats while I was in Omaha. And tonight we got to go to Noodles since I had a coupon for a free dish as a birthday present. Oh, and you’ll never guess what my Mom and sister got me for my birthday: sweatpants.
Totally didn’t see that one coming, right?
Today I got my new license that says I’m twenty one or older and can buy alcohol. We went to the grocery store and Mom asked if I wanted to buy something just for the heck of it. I said no, I’d wait until Dad got here this weekend and went out to get his beer.
Ya know what? My liver really hurts so I’m gonna make this quick.
No, I haven’t heard from Omaha yet, but I should be on the transplant list by now. Yes, I will post pics from my birthday tea. My mom wants to stop working evenings so she can take care of me because she’s afraid I’ll die or go crazy or something while she’s gone. I got Rocky Horror Picture Show on DVD with a prompter feature that tells you when to throw your rice, when to snap your gloves, etc. I am currently drinking Metamucil for reasons I don’t care to disclose. Rayne is knitting me an afghan. I’m getting a blood test tomorrow. I finished knitting a sock and I drew a picture of a teapot lady. I got lots of balloons for my birthday.
I had an awesome birthday. I got lots of presents and everyone who came to my birthday tea got to see first hand what a pathetic mess I’ve become. A lot of people thought I was very funny, especially during the instance which I will recount for you now:
Becca: Oh what a beautiful purse! And look, there are little crumpled up dollar bills inside!
Kathy: Guess how many!
Becca: Oh, okay. Um, I think there are about twelve.
**Silence**
Becca: Should I count them to find out? One, two, three…
At this point I notice everyone is staring at me with a certain intensity I take to be there because they want to find out how many dollar bills I got.
Becca: Nineteen…twenty…twenty one! Wow, there are twenty one dollars because I’m twenty one!
**Silence**
Mom: Uh, yeah, Becca.
Ginny: What do you think Kathy meant when she said, “Guess how many?” She wasn’t being literal.
Becca: Ooh. I’m on drugs people! Give me a break!
I think you had to be there. Anyway, I also got to eat supper at the Tidball’s house and go to Dairy Queen with them. I got to go see Rayne and her family and rats while I was in Omaha. And tonight we got to go to Noodles since I had a coupon for a free dish as a birthday present. Oh, and you’ll never guess what my Mom and sister got me for my birthday: sweatpants.
Totally didn’t see that one coming, right?
Today I got my new license that says I’m twenty one or older and can buy alcohol. We went to the grocery store and Mom asked if I wanted to buy something just for the heck of it. I said no, I’d wait until Dad got here this weekend and went out to get his beer.
Ya know what? My liver really hurts so I’m gonna make this quick.
No, I haven’t heard from Omaha yet, but I should be on the transplant list by now. Yes, I will post pics from my birthday tea. My mom wants to stop working evenings so she can take care of me because she’s afraid I’ll die or go crazy or something while she’s gone. I got Rocky Horror Picture Show on DVD with a prompter feature that tells you when to throw your rice, when to snap your gloves, etc. I am currently drinking Metamucil for reasons I don’t care to disclose. Rayne is knitting me an afghan. I’m getting a blood test tomorrow. I finished knitting a sock and I drew a picture of a teapot lady. I got lots of balloons for my birthday.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Quiet Resignation
I was laying there in my bed just awhile ago. I had just told my mother the various symptoms I’d experienced during the day when I realized that I could barely remember what had happened during my day. I mean, I could tell you a series of events, but it was like I wasn’t even there. Like I only viewed them through a foggy glass. Then I thought about how I can’t even think of the most obvious words anymore. I was told this would happen, that my memory and my ability to aptly articulate what I wanted to say would fade, but it’s still all so surprising and strange. Perhaps I’ve always been a bit absent-minded, but I think I’ve been quick witted all the same.
Last night, as I was laying on the ground, watching fireworks, I was thinking about how it might be fun to toss the bug spray can up in the air and catch it. Which, of course, is very dangerous when you’re lying down and it’s dark. I mentioned to Gina that I needed supervision. And the sad thing is, that even though it was said half in jest, I wasn’t that far off the mark. This morning my mom and sister left me alone in Barnes and Noble while they looked at some of the surrounding stores. I was given a gift card and told to pick out something for my birthday. I was able to do that in an orderly enough manner, but I think I then ended up circling the same two bookshelves for quite some time. I remember thinking that I should really sit down, I wasn’t in my right mind, the booksellers were starting to give me weird glances and why the hell did Mom and Ginny think it was a good idea to leave me alone in a public place? It was like I was incapable of stopping myself from acting drugged and so I got out my cell phone and called my sister while I circled the shelves. She was, thankfully, right outside the bookstore doors.
Everything seems to move in slow motion. I don’t think I even blink as quickly as I used to. I move slower, I think slower, my days go slower. And sometimes I take on a certain task that I estimate will take, let’s say, half an hour only to be surprised that it’s taken me two; I’ve moved slower and thought I was moving at a normal pace. I know the fatigue is part of it, although “fatigue” seems like such a weak word for what I experience. It’s as if all of my internal organs are draped with weights of sand and sometimes the mere thought of getting up to go to the bathroom or get a drink is enough to make my stomach heave. I could probably sleep all day and night if I wanted to. It’s only loyalty to this world and my semi-life that eventually jerk me to painful consciousness. If there’s one thing I hate it’s naps. I always feel like if I fall asleep during the day I have to apologize. And sometimes I do, usually to my sister because I feel like I’ve cheated her of some sort of summer fun she should be having with me. Naps make me feel like I’ve missed out, even if nothing remarkable has happened.
So it seems as if I’m living my life from inside this cottony bubble. Even when I’m conscious for it, I’m not really all there. Sure, I put on a face for the public, but even then there are screw ups. I’ve become this quiet, humming persona inside my body, quietly slipping in and out of awareness, too tired to make myself known. My family must notice it. I think there is a certain knowledge that passes among them when I grow especially quiet, or my eyes slide in and out of focus or I sometimes take gasping breaths because the fatigue has been weighing down on my lungs. Yes, I know they notice, but I don’t have the energy to care. Although now that I think about it, I wonder how much it effects them. I never thought of my first liver transplant as being so traumatic until a year or two ago when my Mom and sister admitted that when they started talking about it they both started crying uncontrollably. It unsettled me that something so horrible happened to me, and yet I was the least effected.
I wonder if, when I get a new liver, I’ll wake up and instantly be my old witty, energetic self again. That’s more or less how it happened with my second transplant. When the social worker asked me if I had any fears for my upcoming transplant I said, “Yes. Complications,” and told him about my first transplant. And that’s the weird thing. Living in this bubble is mildly familiar. It’s where I lived back then when I was eight year old, in and out of a coma for months, plagued by pain and a quiet resignation to detachment from the material world. If anyone has tasted the colored smoke between life and death, it’s me.
I’ve been slipping deeper into the bubble for a couple days now, and then, like I said, I gave the fourth of July my all. When I woke up this morning, I was gone. Not only could I feel it, but I think I saw it in my Mom’s face when she entered my room shortly after I woke up. I ask myself, isn’t this what I fear the most? Losing myself? But I don’t have the energy to care. I ask myself, what about the future? Can you stand living like this until a liver is found for you? Again, I don’t have the energy to care or to even envision the future. I don’t even know if I believe in time anymore. I know that I trust God, I know I have no fear. Only quiet resignation. This is what I do best, waiting to see what my road my body will lead me down next.
Last night, as I was laying on the ground, watching fireworks, I was thinking about how it might be fun to toss the bug spray can up in the air and catch it. Which, of course, is very dangerous when you’re lying down and it’s dark. I mentioned to Gina that I needed supervision. And the sad thing is, that even though it was said half in jest, I wasn’t that far off the mark. This morning my mom and sister left me alone in Barnes and Noble while they looked at some of the surrounding stores. I was given a gift card and told to pick out something for my birthday. I was able to do that in an orderly enough manner, but I think I then ended up circling the same two bookshelves for quite some time. I remember thinking that I should really sit down, I wasn’t in my right mind, the booksellers were starting to give me weird glances and why the hell did Mom and Ginny think it was a good idea to leave me alone in a public place? It was like I was incapable of stopping myself from acting drugged and so I got out my cell phone and called my sister while I circled the shelves. She was, thankfully, right outside the bookstore doors.
Everything seems to move in slow motion. I don’t think I even blink as quickly as I used to. I move slower, I think slower, my days go slower. And sometimes I take on a certain task that I estimate will take, let’s say, half an hour only to be surprised that it’s taken me two; I’ve moved slower and thought I was moving at a normal pace. I know the fatigue is part of it, although “fatigue” seems like such a weak word for what I experience. It’s as if all of my internal organs are draped with weights of sand and sometimes the mere thought of getting up to go to the bathroom or get a drink is enough to make my stomach heave. I could probably sleep all day and night if I wanted to. It’s only loyalty to this world and my semi-life that eventually jerk me to painful consciousness. If there’s one thing I hate it’s naps. I always feel like if I fall asleep during the day I have to apologize. And sometimes I do, usually to my sister because I feel like I’ve cheated her of some sort of summer fun she should be having with me. Naps make me feel like I’ve missed out, even if nothing remarkable has happened.
So it seems as if I’m living my life from inside this cottony bubble. Even when I’m conscious for it, I’m not really all there. Sure, I put on a face for the public, but even then there are screw ups. I’ve become this quiet, humming persona inside my body, quietly slipping in and out of awareness, too tired to make myself known. My family must notice it. I think there is a certain knowledge that passes among them when I grow especially quiet, or my eyes slide in and out of focus or I sometimes take gasping breaths because the fatigue has been weighing down on my lungs. Yes, I know they notice, but I don’t have the energy to care. Although now that I think about it, I wonder how much it effects them. I never thought of my first liver transplant as being so traumatic until a year or two ago when my Mom and sister admitted that when they started talking about it they both started crying uncontrollably. It unsettled me that something so horrible happened to me, and yet I was the least effected.
I wonder if, when I get a new liver, I’ll wake up and instantly be my old witty, energetic self again. That’s more or less how it happened with my second transplant. When the social worker asked me if I had any fears for my upcoming transplant I said, “Yes. Complications,” and told him about my first transplant. And that’s the weird thing. Living in this bubble is mildly familiar. It’s where I lived back then when I was eight year old, in and out of a coma for months, plagued by pain and a quiet resignation to detachment from the material world. If anyone has tasted the colored smoke between life and death, it’s me.
I’ve been slipping deeper into the bubble for a couple days now, and then, like I said, I gave the fourth of July my all. When I woke up this morning, I was gone. Not only could I feel it, but I think I saw it in my Mom’s face when she entered my room shortly after I woke up. I ask myself, isn’t this what I fear the most? Losing myself? But I don’t have the energy to care. I ask myself, what about the future? Can you stand living like this until a liver is found for you? Again, I don’t have the energy to care or to even envision the future. I don’t even know if I believe in time anymore. I know that I trust God, I know I have no fear. Only quiet resignation. This is what I do best, waiting to see what my road my body will lead me down next.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
I'm a Drunk
I’ve been noticing that I’m acting more and more like a drunk. I think the realization came home just awhile ago when I was walking to the kitchen for another yogurt, swinging my spoon and my head in a very drunken manner and humming to myself. And it didn’t seem at all odd to me. Before that I’d patted an envelope that was on the table before remembering it was a Netflix envelope. “I probably shouldn’t have done that, there’s a DVD inside,” I mentioned to my Mom.
Then, “I’m here! I’m totally here!” I yelled. I remember yelling that to try to get the point across that I wasn’t drugged. Which, now, looking back, seems like a backwards idea. It won’t be long until I’m standing in front of the stove making peas and saying to an empty kitchen, “Peas are my favorite.” Yesterday my Mom wouldn’t let me carry a cake to and from my sister’s car because, as she told my sister, “You don’t want to let a drugged person carry your cake.” Thanks, Mom.
Here’s the thing. My liver isn’t doing what it’s supposed to right now. One of the things it’s not doing is it’s not filtering a chemical that goes straight to my brain. I was told this would make me feel “stupid”. I’m pretty sure they meant, “You are actually going to be stupid.” Add on to that severe fatigue, pain, and sometimes drugs and watchya got? Pretty much a drunk. My blogs may seem impressively well thought out, but that’s because my computer’s keyboard is the proud owner of a delete key and my word processing program is the proud owner of spell check. You ask any of my friends, particularly Gina, and they’ll tell you, “Yeah, Becca has some weird chemicals in her brain right now. She can’t answer my texts with any intelligence.”
I’ll tell you one such instance because it was later the subject of much laughter. Here is a series of texts sent between me and Gina a couple days ago:
Gina: Doing dishes, then gonna go to Wal-Mart and HyVee. Wanna come with?
Becca: No thanx. If I get some energy I need 2 clean a rat cage.
Gina: Would you like help?
Becca: I’ve just got the one I need to clean, so it shouldn’t b a problem. But thanx!
Gina: Are you sure? Wal-Mart is open 24/7
Becca: Do u really want me 2 go that badly? I mean I’ll go if u really want me 2.
Three minutes later I realized that Gina had been saying she could go to Wal-Mart any old time and she could come help me clean rat cages now. It’s like my Mom said before about having to give me specifics. I need a prologue to everything. And get this: that whole exchange happened when I was not on drugs. So did the hitting of the Netflix envelope and swinging of the yogurt spoon. When I say drugs I mean narcotics and the like. I am on a medication that keeps my blood pressure low, thus making me more tired, thus making me more…stupid. But still, I think it’s pretty impressive that I’m that spacey without any pill-shaped help. Impressive in a sad, pathetic kind of way.
To add to all that, I think my few days of feeling not-so-bad are coming to and end. Today hasn’t been good at all and I can only see it going down hill. My Mom says I’m yellow-er. All the same, I am determined to celebrate the fourth of July to the best of my (somewhat limited) ability! So be it if I start talking out loud to my turkey dog.
Then, “I’m here! I’m totally here!” I yelled. I remember yelling that to try to get the point across that I wasn’t drugged. Which, now, looking back, seems like a backwards idea. It won’t be long until I’m standing in front of the stove making peas and saying to an empty kitchen, “Peas are my favorite.” Yesterday my Mom wouldn’t let me carry a cake to and from my sister’s car because, as she told my sister, “You don’t want to let a drugged person carry your cake.” Thanks, Mom.
Here’s the thing. My liver isn’t doing what it’s supposed to right now. One of the things it’s not doing is it’s not filtering a chemical that goes straight to my brain. I was told this would make me feel “stupid”. I’m pretty sure they meant, “You are actually going to be stupid.” Add on to that severe fatigue, pain, and sometimes drugs and watchya got? Pretty much a drunk. My blogs may seem impressively well thought out, but that’s because my computer’s keyboard is the proud owner of a delete key and my word processing program is the proud owner of spell check. You ask any of my friends, particularly Gina, and they’ll tell you, “Yeah, Becca has some weird chemicals in her brain right now. She can’t answer my texts with any intelligence.”
I’ll tell you one such instance because it was later the subject of much laughter. Here is a series of texts sent between me and Gina a couple days ago:
Gina: Doing dishes, then gonna go to Wal-Mart and HyVee. Wanna come with?
Becca: No thanx. If I get some energy I need 2 clean a rat cage.
Gina: Would you like help?
Becca: I’ve just got the one I need to clean, so it shouldn’t b a problem. But thanx!
Gina: Are you sure? Wal-Mart is open 24/7
Becca: Do u really want me 2 go that badly? I mean I’ll go if u really want me 2.
Three minutes later I realized that Gina had been saying she could go to Wal-Mart any old time and she could come help me clean rat cages now. It’s like my Mom said before about having to give me specifics. I need a prologue to everything. And get this: that whole exchange happened when I was not on drugs. So did the hitting of the Netflix envelope and swinging of the yogurt spoon. When I say drugs I mean narcotics and the like. I am on a medication that keeps my blood pressure low, thus making me more tired, thus making me more…stupid. But still, I think it’s pretty impressive that I’m that spacey without any pill-shaped help. Impressive in a sad, pathetic kind of way.
To add to all that, I think my few days of feeling not-so-bad are coming to and end. Today hasn’t been good at all and I can only see it going down hill. My Mom says I’m yellow-er. All the same, I am determined to celebrate the fourth of July to the best of my (somewhat limited) ability! So be it if I start talking out loud to my turkey dog.
Fireworks Shopping
Today is the third of July. Ya’ll know what that means, right? Fireworks shopping!!! I am, obviously, very excited about this. Last year was the first year my sister and I had cars and credit cards of our own so, consequently, it was the first year we drove down to the fireworks stand and went crazy buying everything that looked cool and relatively tame. Our mom gets a big thrill our of fireworks. And when I say “big thrill” I mean that every time so much as a firecracker goes of she screams and clutches her heart as if threatening to have a coronary. She appreciates the colors and lights but that’s about it. So you can understand my and Natalie’s excitement when we got to pick out and set off almost any firework we wanted to. And this year, we get to do it all over again. So, yeah, I’m excited, not to mention fireworks shopping being half the fun.
On a separate and unrelated note, I think everyone should watch this hedgehog eat a carrot:
On the health side of things I have good news and bad news. The good news is that my ovarian cyst removal surgery has been scheduled! It’s for the seventeenth of this month and I’m getting done in Lincoln because this is where my gynecologist is. The surgery can be done laproscopically so the recovery time should be short. Most importantly I won’t be in almost constant pain from the cysts. I’m counting down the days.
The bad news is that the people at the med center called me yesterday and said they’d forgotten to schedule a crucial appointment during my evaluation. Wednesday is when all the doctors get together and decide who should get put on the transplant list and, apparently, when they discussed me the doctors said, “We can’t put this girl on the list yet because we don’t have all the information we need.” This means I have to go back to Omaha, see a shrink and then wait until next Wednesday for the doctors to talk about me again. I’ve already had to wait one extra week to be put on the transplant list because last Wednesday my appointments went too late for them to get all the test results to the doctors. My appointments went late because, get this, they (whoever “they” are) made a mistake with my schedule. Yeah. So, no one is very happy about this, especially my mother. I don’t get riled up so easily (it probably has something to do with the medication that keeps my blood pressure low and pain drugs).
And now for another cute break. This is my rat, Lil’ Staci sleeping in a ball:
And then, "Mom!":
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On a separate and unrelated note, I think everyone should watch this hedgehog eat a carrot:
On the health side of things I have good news and bad news. The good news is that my ovarian cyst removal surgery has been scheduled! It’s for the seventeenth of this month and I’m getting done in Lincoln because this is where my gynecologist is. The surgery can be done laproscopically so the recovery time should be short. Most importantly I won’t be in almost constant pain from the cysts. I’m counting down the days.
The bad news is that the people at the med center called me yesterday and said they’d forgotten to schedule a crucial appointment during my evaluation. Wednesday is when all the doctors get together and decide who should get put on the transplant list and, apparently, when they discussed me the doctors said, “We can’t put this girl on the list yet because we don’t have all the information we need.” This means I have to go back to Omaha, see a shrink and then wait until next Wednesday for the doctors to talk about me again. I’ve already had to wait one extra week to be put on the transplant list because last Wednesday my appointments went too late for them to get all the test results to the doctors. My appointments went late because, get this, they (whoever “they” are) made a mistake with my schedule. Yeah. So, no one is very happy about this, especially my mother. I don’t get riled up so easily (it probably has something to do with the medication that keeps my blood pressure low and pain drugs).
And now for another cute break. This is my rat, Lil’ Staci sleeping in a ball:
And then, "Mom!":
Cupcake was inspired and decided to curl up as well:
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Violet Cove
From the age twelve to sixteen my mother, sister and I lived on 35th street, just a few blocks from Antelope Park. When I was mad I would pretend I was running away and I would run to the park and from there I’d run to Violet Cove. When I was happy I’d walk (or run) to the park, pretending I was in a magical world and I would go to Violet Cove. When I was at the park with my friends and we wanted to find fairies or have a picnic, we’d go to Violet Cove.
I think it was Jessie who introduced us to it. It wasn’t much, I suppose. Like a very shallow dugout in the side of the hill, a small creek of drainage running before it like a moat. There was part of an old bed frame thrown across the thin trail of water to act as a bridge. Trees grew around the center, which was a large storm pipe we could crawl inside. I remember there also being a piece of concrete that looked torn out of the ground by a giant and then thrown into the cove for sport. Jessie said that in the spring the whole cove was filled with violets, hence the name. And she was right.
I have so many good memories of Violet Cove. No one else seemed to know it existed. The runners ran on the path that was paved above it and people who walked by dismissed it as a dark, dirty area around the storm pipe. If you sat in just the right places, no one would even see you. I’d been looking forward to more good memories of Violet Cove…until they tore it down.
In the name of landscaping, our beautiful (though often misunderstood) hideaway, was bulldozed, chopped down and replanted, the pipe surrounded by an aesthetically pleasing stone.
I think the stones were to make the pipe look like it belonged there, like it wasn’t just jutting out of the hill along with tree roots and weeds. I, however, think the stones make the pipe look fake; like it has a bad wig on. The poor thing is blocked in and any root or weed friends it had are now imprisoned. It don’t like it one bit, and I don’t think the pipe does either.
Will anyone ever know how much a few kids treasured Violet Cove so much they gave it a name? Did anyone think of that when they decided to make it crumble away? No, I think everyone else thought it was an eyesore in an otherwise beautiful park.
In other news, James posted a blog, and part of my reply was something I’ve been meaning to blog about for awhile but have never gotten around to. I could turn it into a big, long blog (and maybe I will sometime) but I like my “in a nutshell” version:
My heart tells me that there are people in this word, both secular and spiritual, who will "make it to heaven". My heart tells me that I love God and God loves me even though I choose to listen to rock music and read fantasy books. With all this medical stuff going on I suppose I should be thinking "am I right with God?" but I'm not. I'm confident that the things I do don't matter as much as the spirit with which I do them. I still believe what the Bible says, and I'm not afraid to die. And should I wake up outside the gates of Jerusalem, so be it. I did my best, I lived my life in happiness and I knew that God loved me and I loved Him. If my being should end there, well, at least I made the most of what I had. Anyone who wants to preach to me about how I should shape up soon has my pity and God's disappointment. And that's what I believe.
I think it was Jessie who introduced us to it. It wasn’t much, I suppose. Like a very shallow dugout in the side of the hill, a small creek of drainage running before it like a moat. There was part of an old bed frame thrown across the thin trail of water to act as a bridge. Trees grew around the center, which was a large storm pipe we could crawl inside. I remember there also being a piece of concrete that looked torn out of the ground by a giant and then thrown into the cove for sport. Jessie said that in the spring the whole cove was filled with violets, hence the name. And she was right.
I have so many good memories of Violet Cove. No one else seemed to know it existed. The runners ran on the path that was paved above it and people who walked by dismissed it as a dark, dirty area around the storm pipe. If you sat in just the right places, no one would even see you. I’d been looking forward to more good memories of Violet Cove…until they tore it down.
In the name of landscaping, our beautiful (though often misunderstood) hideaway, was bulldozed, chopped down and replanted, the pipe surrounded by an aesthetically pleasing stone.
I think the stones were to make the pipe look like it belonged there, like it wasn’t just jutting out of the hill along with tree roots and weeds. I, however, think the stones make the pipe look fake; like it has a bad wig on. The poor thing is blocked in and any root or weed friends it had are now imprisoned. It don’t like it one bit, and I don’t think the pipe does either.
Will anyone ever know how much a few kids treasured Violet Cove so much they gave it a name? Did anyone think of that when they decided to make it crumble away? No, I think everyone else thought it was an eyesore in an otherwise beautiful park.
In other news, James posted a blog, and part of my reply was something I’ve been meaning to blog about for awhile but have never gotten around to. I could turn it into a big, long blog (and maybe I will sometime) but I like my “in a nutshell” version:
My heart tells me that there are people in this word, both secular and spiritual, who will "make it to heaven". My heart tells me that I love God and God loves me even though I choose to listen to rock music and read fantasy books. With all this medical stuff going on I suppose I should be thinking "am I right with God?" but I'm not. I'm confident that the things I do don't matter as much as the spirit with which I do them. I still believe what the Bible says, and I'm not afraid to die. And should I wake up outside the gates of Jerusalem, so be it. I did my best, I lived my life in happiness and I knew that God loved me and I loved Him. If my being should end there, well, at least I made the most of what I had. Anyone who wants to preach to me about how I should shape up soon has my pity and God's disappointment. And that's what I believe.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Luke
Our rat Luke passed away today. He was a wonderful boy, who's life's work lives on in the 5 boys he raised from babies. He was a very dedicated rat who didn't let anything throw him. He lived to a ripe old age. We're going miss him very much. So long, Mr. Luke. I miss you already.
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