December 20, 2007
Instead, I began chopping. Slicing. Celebrating my still nimble hands and my one good knife. Onions, beets, carrots, leeks, potatoes.
One pot bubbling with a tawny port and a touch of beef stock. Layers and layers of onions growing a warm brown.
Another pot an explosion of color. Mounds of vegetables, blending into a happy maroon.
The steam fogged up the winter window. The dog and cat collapsed with happy sighs against the wall. My son at the table, writing a letter to Santa.
And still in my nightgown. Hair piled into an untidy bun. Nose still pink with a fading cold. My hair streaks a fading pink against my darkening winter hair.
I'm listening to a mix that I made for my Dad. Ramsey Lewis Trio doing 'The In Crowd' and Buddy Rich's 'Keep the Customer Satisfied'. Every once in a while, Bear and I break out in the white man's shuffle; dancing like pecking pigeons while biting our lower lips and bobbing our heads.
Years from now, I'll teach him to sway with a lighter going in his hand whenever a certain Southern Fried Rock tune is played. It's important to teach your kids to respect the classics.
A dozen or so years ago, my Dad, who is all about being with the one you're with, got with a nice New England lady who had two young kids. I was in my late 20's, doing my own thing, and took little notice.
As the years went by, he became more and more a part of her life, her family, her world. Months would drift by and I'd wonder how long it had been since he and I had spoken.
Once I had Bear, we began reconnecting. As you do. And so, the last couple of years, I have finally gotten to know her a bit. Met her kids, finally. Her daughter, just last summer. I am no one to them, really. The mother of their stepdad's grandson.
We went to dinner, one night. And she and my father had a playful argument. "But we alllllways go there..." she teased him, about his choice of restaurant. And I realized, with a start, that they'd had an entire childhood with my Dad.
Oh.
We awkwardly try, belatedly try, to blend things now. For him, for Bear. So I pack up boxes, with gifts for those people I do not know. With smiley faces on the tags.
And listen to a CD I never sent. Spell out a word for my son, who is still such a stranger to them. Add dill to a soup they do not know I make. Let the warm kitchen air curl the tendrils of my hair as it spills from that old ratty band.
This is not the family of the Christmas movies. This is not gingerbread houses, and hoof sounds on the roof. You get older, and realize that most moments are a compromise between history and today.
And that's OK.
I mean, it wasn't, before. And maybe won't be tomorrow. Something will happen, rip the wound back open.
But for right now? Yeah. It's OK.
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December 18, 2007
I decided the next time I started feeling hopeless, I would say so.
Except, I hate sounding whiny.
Well, screw it.
Welcome to this morning.
So far? It's not-optimistic day.
(Me and Bear, when he was 2)
I was looking at all these pictures over the years. The uncountable amount of times my hands have been leash, safety, comfort, steady as his mom.
Isn't it strange what we take for granted?
In about 20 minutes, Bear and I leave for my EMG appointment.
I don't like needles.
That aside, it's my second one of these so we're not exactly hurtling into the unknown. He's packing up his workbooks, and Leapster, and video iPod.
("Can you download me some new Scooby Doo episodes?" "No." "But...WHY?!" "Because I'm not paying 4 bucks for 22 minutes of 30-year-old cartoons." "Huh? Aren't they NEW?" "No, they were from my childhood." "Wow, that IS old!")
If you had told me a few years ago that there would come a time that I would hang up the corporate power suits, the modulated 'I'm in Charge' voice, and the dozens of Excel spreadsheets to be homeschooling my son in doctor's waiting rooms... I would have spurt latte out my nose.
Trade financial security for minimum payments and mounting medical debt? Are you HIGH?!?!
Heh.
It was a fanciful daydream, that featured cartoon bluebirds and sunbeams and laughter and not a dozen needles and remedial phonics.
Would I go back and do it differently?
On a day like today, I don't spend too long thinking about that.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
UPDATE
Well, we're back. Bear was an angel - he winced a bit when the needles went in me but otherwise remained calm and quiet and wrapped up in his Leapster.
The good news? Other than some borderline carpal tunnel, I have no (permanent) damage from the Raynaud's/Lupus.
Which isn't to say what hurts doesn't hurt when it hurts - 'cuz, yeah. It does.
BUT once the flare eases, my arms and hands are find and dandy thank you.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh.
Hate to say, but its true. I'm all glowing and optimistic again.
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December 14, 2007
Not so fast.
Heh.
Off to laugh at myself. And paint the dining room.
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December 13, 2007
CD: Hmmmm, that's a good question. Maybe it's like that scene from Barnyard. When they throw the ball, and the dog can't help himself and has to chase it. If you think someone is a werewolf, then you throw a ball and if they gotta chase it then...
Bear: Naw.
CD: No?
Bear: Wolf, not Dog, Daddy.
CD: Ah.
Bear: Now, if you throw a HUMAN and he's gotta chase it....
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December 12, 2007
Next stop? Neurosurgeon.
Who, Not-McDreamy informed us, will probably tell us what symptoms to look for and otherwise prescribe regular MRI's going forward to track this stupid thing.
But I probably will not be bald and running from some souped-up Black & Decker over the holidays.
And for that present come early? I am going to don a slinky negligee and attack Santa senseless.
Just saying.
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December 10, 2007
Wow.
There's a sentence I never imagined writing.
Just saying.
Meanwhile, the house and its family are hanging in there. Last Saturday, Bear was the Gold-bringing Magi in the pageant. (He was AWESOME!)
We drove through 2 different Burger Kings to get 2 crowns. Glued 'em together, turned them inside out. Painted it shiny gold and bedazzled and bejeweled the ever living crap out of it.
Best. Pageant. Crown. Ever.
Boy just about glowed in his robes (Thanks again, C, for making them) and that crown. Spoke his line clearly and into the microphone: "It filled us with joy!"
I practically wept.
Since then, we've been making homemade ornaments (behold the wonder of the glue gun) and talking about our blessings and pretending tomorrow wasn't coming.
I have nothing smart, deep, sentimental, silly, sarcastic, or wise to say.
Perhaps I will, tomorrow.
(Part of a digital collage Bear and I made about our 'favorite things'
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Yay for doing a great job in the pageant! Very resourceful with the BK crowns. 
I hope the appointment went well. Thinking about you!December 03, 2007
In the past, I've been treasonously guilty of self-censoring. People who have known me my whole life have become frequent visitors and that has often left me a torrid case of second thoughts about my posts.
But this does not explain the past week.
I am spun glass.
I am stretched so thin that you could use me as a window to the world.
I am afraid, and trying to pretend nonchalance and bravery.
I am bold, and stoic, and calm. And convinced that I am already living a happy ending.
My doctor told me about the ping pong ball in my brain, and then you know what? I went food shopping. And looking for crafts to make my son a crown for Saturday (He's the king bringing gold in the pageant).
It's funny, but life does go on.
No neon light suddenly surrounded me, no muzak version of Amazing Grace playing as I walked my cart down the aisles.
Everyone has a story they are living.
That's what I remind myself.
But if look deeper than that, into the part of my soul that bubbles up when I sit at the keyboard, then I here the sharp crack of splitting ice. It is the glass of me, stretched too thin and breaking.
Quick, pass me the glue, before someone notices.
Or else, let me erase the proof before anyone reads.
I plead to my own weakness, my stumble in faith, and am ashamed.
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December 01, 2007
I first developed Reyanaud's in 2005.
Luckily for me, it remained very low-key. So I almost forgot about it, except for the odd 'stabbing' sensation I would get every so often. And my bizarrely cold nose.
Until my hands went stinging numb 6 weeks ago.
Now that there's a clear diagnosis, the path forward was fairly straightforward: They're going to do a pretty insane electrical test to see how bad the damage is, and I've been put on Calcium Channel Blockers to treat it.
I have to watch for gangrene. And most importantly, keep my extremities warm. Buy mittens. Big woolly mittens. All I have is gloves.
So, just to recap: Eyes, Toes, Hands and Nose. Yes, I'm a regular children's song. Even got my own dance to go with it.
Over the long term, this is the condition that is going to be the shits to live with. But live with it I will, because despite all the crap it causes - it ain't fatal.
Let's hug that sentence for a moment. C'mon, you know you want to.
Ah, that's better.
On to the other shoe...
An incidental finding of the MRI (besides the slight infection) was a benign cyst sized 7 centimeters... in my brain.
As my brain is not to be used as a storage facility for foreign objects, off we now shall go to the Neurosurgeon and Neurologist (hoping for McDreamy, what are the odds?) to discuss what happens next, if anything.
Maybe it's a 'watch and see' kind of cyst. Maybe not. Won't know for until after the appointment.
I'm taking a LOT of comfort right now from the word 'benign' and in the fact that it was in the 'incidental findings' part of the MRI and anyone who bursts that bubble for me will be ripped limb from limb by a pack of rabid dogs.
In the meantime...
*sigh*
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