And How Was Your Morning?

I spent the morning holding Quinlan's hand while a doctor we had just met removed part of his right big toenail.

(Pause while everyone winces......)

And it reminded me of the time I stayed home with Quin one Monday morning over two years ago (because his tummy was hurting and he'd vomited a bit and he was in constant pain), and his eyes were the same then as they were this morning as the doctor administered the local: I know you can't stop it, they beseeched, but please, Mommy, MAKE IT GO AWAY.

And I remember how that Monday we went to the pediatrician who didn't think it was appendicitis, but wanted us to try some suppositories in case he was backed up. And I remember how the suppositories didn't do jack, and how by 4PM I was asking the pediatrician which emergency room I should take him to.

I remember being whisked through triage at CHOP around dinnertime, and standing baffled in the ER hallway being told that the blood work showed pancreatitis -- an ailment usually affecting heavy drinkers, not ten-year-old boys.

I remember wheeling Quin down to ultrasound on Tuesday so the doctors could rule out any abnormality of the bile duct or gall bladder. And I remember knowing with absolute certainty even before the technician touched the ultrasound wand that we were going to find cysts in his kidneys.

I remember bawling my eyes out in the hallway outside Quin's room when the doctor confirmed the PKD diagnosis, even though I'd already seen the cysts with my own two eyes.

And I remember sleeping on the thin padded bench in his hospital room the next three nights while he received IV fluids, as the only treatment for pancreatitis is complete bowel rest. And at some point during those five days, I ripped a cuticle, which became infected. And by the time I sought treatment a month later, the infection was in my nailbed and unresponsive to antibiotics.

So I went and allowed some doctor I had just met to remove part of my right index fingernail. Which didn't work, entirely, so a month later I went and allowed him to do it again.

I hope first time's the charm for Quin.

Shoulder Spasm Watch

Fourth episode in seven weeks.

Mother of gawd.

For God's Sake, Part Deux

Things Which Are Hard to Do with a 1/2" Gash in the Pad of the Left Thumb:

• Separate eggs
• Button my coat
• Rip off pieces of duct tape

Freaking hell, are we done yet?!

For God's Sake, Already!

Things Which Are Hard to Do with a Badly Sprained Right Thumb:

• Shave one's pits
• Zip the kid's lunchbox
• Open the mother#$*&%ing childproof cap on the Advil bottle.

Freaking hell.

At Least I'm Not Full of Pus!

CYST

A cyst is a closed sac having a distinct membrane and division on the nearby tissue. It may contain air, fluids, or semi-solid material. A collection of pus is called an abscess not a cyst. Once formed, the cyst could go away by itself or will have to be removed using surgery.

I've got cysts on my ovaries -- discovered when I was 19, and lead directly to my PKD diagnosis.

I've got cysts in my kidneys -- polycystic kidney disease is aptly named.

I've got cysts in my liver -- a very common side-effect of PKD.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand, I've got cysts in my breasts -- necessitating an early mammogram two years ago at age 39, and prompting a recall this month on this year's mammogram. Apparently the cysts have grown or moved, and the radiologist wants an ultrasound to get a better look.

I was beginning to feel like a big old pus-bag until I checked Wiki and learned that while cysts may be filled with fluid, they are not filled with PUS. If they're filled with pus, they're called something else.

Isn't that comforting?

(I go in for the ultrasound on Friday. I am incapable of writing engagingly about having my breasts mashed. For a much better essay on the topic than I am capable of, go visit Mir at Woulda Coulda Shoulda. She's pretty.)

The Horrible Holiday Cold

Thank goodness for:

• Project Runway marathons on Bravo
• Puffs Plus tissues with lotion
• Leftover Christmas chocolates
• French onion soup
  
• My husband

(Not necessarily in that order.)

To My Flight-Mates

I apologize.

For the sneezing. The weeping tear ducts. The cough. The constant nose-blowing.

If it's any consolation, I'm on Day 3, so am probably no longer contagious. But I'll try to not sneeze directly on you, nonetheless.

You're welcome.

You Would Think I'd Have Learned by Now...

... to not tempt the fates with expressions of such blithe unconcern. Remember what happened back in June?

I woke up yesterday with a raging sore throat and a fever. Which I know is a direct result of my daring to express aloud the last sentence of my last post.

Craptastic.

Reflections on Commuting by Bicycle

• Don't forget the water bottle.
• Up hills on the way to work = Down hills on the way home
• Quads, glutes and hamstrings = OUCH
• Bicycle grease + white t-shirt = EPIC FAIL

Advice

If you happen to have Sunday dinner at your in-laws', do not peruse your mother-in-law's recent book purchases.

If you throw caution to the wind and peruse, don't borrow "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult.

If you do foolishly borrow it, don't start reading it right before bedtime.

And especially, don't start reading right before bedtime when you have to get up early to ride your bike to work because your car's in the shop.




You're welcome.

Notes to Myself: On Being a Dumbass

• Tissues and Paper Towels are not the same thing. When the shopping list says "tissues", buy tissues.
  
• When you see a dog poop in the lawn, don't decide to clean it up later -- deal with it right away. Otherwise, there is a .999999 to 1 chance that you'll forget about it and step in it.
• The time to call the doctor for prednisone is the day your coughs threaten to evict your diaphragm backward through your esophagus, not three days later.

Hack.

Garrick brought home a lovely virus from camp last week, and now I am hacking so hard I won't need to do my crunches for a week. Quin is similarly afflicted, with a soupcon of nasal congestion and blow-out sneezes in the mix.

We are all playing hooky today and hoping it's gone by tomorrow.

Meanwhile, my late morning nap gave me enough energy to make the base for Dorie's Honey-Peach Ice Cream. Hush, it's medicinal.

Pot Luck

So much to catch up on! The Good Food, Good Beer event last weekend was a blast. And I think I'm being stalked by a certain rock star blogger's family members. Not by the blogger herself, mind you, but her family members JUST HAPPEN to be on hand when I'm selling cookies. Mighty convenient, no? Many of you will recognize the fine young man in the background, here:



And last spring, we had those famous visitors at the Charity Fun Fair. Coincidence? You be the judge...

The pulled pork sandwiches and Asian slaw were a huge hit. Unfortunately, the event attendees were too busy sucking down the free beer to purchase many fundraising cookies (lesson learned). So, plan B went into effect, and we managed to net $200 by selling leftovers to friends and at our local market. Not too shabby.

When do you think I'll figure out that I always need fewer cookies than I think I do? Yeah, that's what I think, too.

And just to keep it real -- here's what happens when you leave half of the flour out of a cookie recipe.



*******

I think I need an exorcist, as my husband has clearly crossed over to the dark side. Last Sunday no one much felt like cooking dinner, so I suggest that Michael wrangle some take out. This is what he came back with.



Oh yes he did!!

*******

And last Tuesday morning while walking Theo, I stepped in a hole. Which in and of itself wouldn't have been a big deal, but I didn't SEE the hole before stepping in it. And it was deep, as these things go. I went down like a sack of bricks (again on the ass) and the pain in my ankle was searing. Thank god for the elderly couple who were also walking the track Tuesday morning who stopped and waited until I pulled myself marginally together, and then hobbled me the 100 yards back to my house. Ice and braces and more ice, and that sucker is good and sprained. Lovely shade of purple, as well. I still can't torque it, but I can put weight on it, and as long as I don't forget it's hurt and try to macarena on it, it will be fine.

*******

Last week was full of activity and movement and busy-ness and it was all very full and fun, but I somehow felt I couldn't grasp any of the moments and truly live in them. Too much traffic pounding in my brain, I suppose. The dentist told me last week that he thinks I'm grinding my teeth, and though I'm not aware of doing so, it wouldn't surprise me overmuch. And between the sprain and the busy, I fell off the exercise wagon, which can't have helped. A quieter week awaits, though, and maybe even a good night's sleep. Here's hoping.

No Fair

It's one thing when my body decides that it will no longer tolerate my very occasional indulgence of barbecued spareribs. (Exhibit A: doubled over in pain most of the day on July 6, following dinner at my parents' house on July 5.)

It's another thing when my body decides that it will no longer tolerate my occasional nibble of cheese. (Exhibit B: doubled over in pain most of the morning of July 21, following the nibbling of two slices of Cabot cheddar at bedtime on July 20.)

It's a WHOLE 'NUTHER KETTLE OF FISH when my body decides it will no longer tolerate the periodic crunching of a mini-Butterfingers from the office candy drawer.

Seriously. Who can I talk to about this?

Don't You Wish You Were Me?

The only thing more fun than carefully reading 50+ pages of banking documents associated with a $2.5MIL refinance?

Doing it with construction taking place directly below your office.

Admit it, you're jealous.

How to Start

losing the weight you gained last year:

Finally break down and buy clothes in a larger size.

************

A few weeks ago, I was really quite anxious about discontinuing the physical therapy for my back. I'd made such good progress with the twice-weekly appointments, and I was afraid of losing my momentum. And the only way to retain the benefits was going to be keeping up with the exercises and stretching on my own -- a daunting proposition.

As I am easily distractable and prone to procrastination, I have never been good at exercising in my home, preferring gym memberships to provide the impetus (if I'm paying for something, I'm damn well going to use it!). Somehow over the last few years, though, we've managed to put together a very creditable little exercise area in our basement -- recumbent bike, 593-in-one weight machine, stability balls, a couple of hand weights, and a cheap DVD player -- and I knew that armed with a couple of rubber therabands, I could easily replicate all of my physical therapy moves at home.

The trouble is, my full, formal physical therapy cycle took me 90+ minutes to complete, and the prospect of trying to carve out that kind of time at home on a regular basis made me panic. I finally came up with an idea, though: I'd chop my full routine into three portions of roughly 30 minutes each, and do them on subsequent nights. The fourth night, I'd take a break.

With my therapists' blessings, I bid them farewell and I embarked on this plan a couple of weeks ago. Here is what is working for me:

• Day 1 is for stability and strength work.
• Day 2 is for cardio (which I always shirked at PT, because it's SO FROCKING BORING).
  
• Day 3 is for intensive stretching.
  
• Day 4 is for homemade blueberry sorbet and reruns of FLIPPING OUT on Bravo.

I like the four-day cycle, as it means that for every week-long period, I'm usually getting 2 sessions each with the strength training and the cardio. And amazingly, at 2.5 weeks into this program, I'm adhering to it MUCH better than I ever thought I could, thanks to some mind games tricks I play on myself:

• The way I've structured this, Day 3 feels like a freebie. Don't get me wrong, the stretching is critical for my continued pain-reduced state, but it's not like working. Plus, it feels great.
• If something comes up (like drinks with my lovely friend Maureen after work) and I miss a night due to drunkenness, I can call that day Day 4 and just hop back into the cycle the next day without feeling like I've completely fouled up the schedule.
• Our weekday evenings are pretty highly structured: the kids bathe between 7:45 and 8:15, Michael reads to them at 8:30, and they read to themselves between 9 and tuck-in (around 9:45 for the summer). Which pretty much gives me between 8:30 and 9:45 to fit in my roughly 30 minutes of exercise.
• The DVD player is key, as are discs of SPORTS NIGHT (the Aaron Sorkin TV series, not actual sports) and LA FEMME NIKITA (the TV series, not the movie).

What's fascinating to me is that even when I'm feeling whiny about it, I find that if I just get started, I do actually go through the entire evening's routine and feel good afterward. And I'm not above tricking myself into getting started by telling myself that I'm only going to do the mat work tonight, or that I'm just going to do a quick stretch and then go fold the laundry. But once I start, the psychological hurdle has already been cleared, so I keep on truckin'.

My back continues to improve bit by bit, and my waistline is reasserting itself. (Hi, obliques! I've missed you!) I seem to have dropped a few pounds, probably because I'm doing more cardio each week than I was with PT. Interestingly, I'm having fewer pains and pangs in my kidneys and liver, as well. And I just plain old feel better, in general.

************

To recap:

How to Start: buy new, bigger clothes, and then trick yourself into starting small.

How to Keep Going: be sure to have DVDs of old TV series on hand. And take the time to realize how much better you feel when you Just Do It.

Shards

I have a feeling that the person who Googled "my husband is hard to live with" was not expecting the second link to be this.

Sorry, dude. Unless your husband is hard to live with because he's so damn funny or because he keeps putting the number 5 plastics in the recycle bin no matter how many times I tell him we can only recycle 1s and 2s, I can't help you.

You may want to get together with the person who searched for "marriage after 18 years," though, and trade notes.

***********

I'm turning older this weekend, so I'm going to New York. Alone, with no kids or hubbies. I'll be hooking up one day with a couple of college buds (including my maid of honor), but am otherwise footloose and fancy-free. I'm either going to buy a lot of shoes, drink a lot of mojitos, or sleep 23 hours a day. Y'all get one guess.

***********

Tomorrow is my last day of physical therapy, and I'm slightly panic-stricken. I've been very good at keeping my twice-weekly appointments, but I'm worried about keeping up with the program when left to my own devises. I've been battling deep fatigue (again, still) for the last few weeks, and when I get home, I pretty much just want to take off my bra and lie down until bedtime (you're welcome). We have all the bands and balls and mats and ankle weights, so there's really no reason for me not to continue the program at home -- I even have some old, trashy TV on DVD from Netflix to play in the background. If only I weren't so frocking tired.

***********

So, naturally, I'm taking on projects and planning our PKD fundraising juggernaut and thinking about having dinner parties. (What?) I've got some really nifty ideas about fundraising this year, and I'll post about them all soon. Soon-ish. Eventually. Just after I get a nap or six.

Lust

I told Garrick that lust is when you really want something a lot.

"Like blood lust? If someone wants to fight?"

"Yeah, baby. Like blood lust."

God help me.

**********

Things I'd be blogging about if I had time and energy to blog this week:

• the idea I'm going to filch from The New Girl
• the stunningly beautiful girl I saw in the mall this week and how sad she made me
• the trip Michael's taking this weekend
• the trip I'm taking next weekend
  
• the cake I'm making this week for the raffle back in April
• how much I love buttercream
  
• the PKD fundraising ideas kicking around in my head
• the now-ended visit from my brother who lives in Singapore
  
• how I'm starting to really miss doing live theatre and how conflicted I feel about that
• that next week is my last week of physical therapy and how nervous I am about that
• the pain in my breast (it's cysts, don't get excited)
• my garden
• my kids
  
• how tired I am

Lists, how I love them. Happy Friday!

My Kind of Town, Chicago Is

Did we have a time! The kids were completely jazzed as we hunkered down in the airport for a quick dinner before our 8pm flight last Thursday.

Yes, they were just that excited. But because I'm losing what pass for my brain cells, I only had the camera with me half of the time. The other half of the time, the camera was locked in the rented apartment. (D'oh!) So I'm afraid you're going to just have to Make Do.

(A digression regarding the apartment. We stayed in a very interesting concrete building in the South Loop area called River City Lofts, and on the interwebz, it looked like a slam dunk. However! When we stumbled in at 11pm on Thursday night, the first thing I noticed was that the (humongous) lobby was scabrous and in need of paint and new flooring. The second thing I noticed was that the common area hallways had not been recarpeted since the Reagan era. The third thing I noticed was that our rental unit was severely underfurnished and under-refurbished. Cosmetic coats of paint had been [sloppily] applied in the living room and bedroom, but inexplicably, not in the bathroom, which was flaking and rusting and just gross. And the ventilation ducts were be-furred with an accumulation of dust and grime that was truly revolting.

The only furniture in the whole farking place consisted of two small, rickety stools at the kitchen bar, a black "leather" queen-sized Jennifer Convertibles sofa that was older than I am, a TV table mit TV, a queen-sized bed (no headboard, of course), one small, open two-shelf.... ummm..... unit? and ONE night stand (duh?). That's it. No dresser. No chairs (easy or otherwise). No coffee- or end-tables. And no area rugs to soften the unrelieved banality of a poorly-installed Pergo floor that was starting to peel up at the seams.)

But was I going to let a crummy apartment ruin our family vacation? No, siree! We did so much in four days that I can't fathom writing actual paragraphs. On with the bullet points.

DAY ONE (no camera)

• Millennium Park: We had a fine time bouncing around the Park and admiring this incredible sculpture.
  
• Sears Tower: Incredible view and fun exhibits of the history of Chicago.
• Pizzeria Due: Because the line at Pizzeria Uno was huge. Loved the texture of the deep-dish pizza crust for a novelty, but won't be giving up my Manhattan-style thin-crust any time soon.
• Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: Fun, but not as good as #1 or #3. Great action scenes; a little sloppy in the plot department. The kids loved it.

DAY TWO (camera, but no good pictures)

• The Science and Industry Museum: Despite the completely incomprehensible floor plan, we spent several incredible hours exploring a miniature circus, an interactive exhibit on the internet, a farming exhibit, and more. This is a not-to-miss if you're travelling to Chicago with kids.
  
• India House: Wonderful Indian food, and plenty of it. We could watch the kitchen from our table, and the kids were very impressed with the size of the shish-kebab skewers. (Aside -- for a cuisine that is so vegetarian-friendly, you'd think there would be more actual VEGETABLES in the food, wouldn't you? Bueller? I ate lots of rice and samosa dough.)
  
• Chicago Shakespeare Company: The boys' first Shakespeare! We saw a schizophrenic production of "Comedy of Errors" which included a misbegotten framing devise written with great self-consciousness for the production. But the scenes from Shakespeare (all 6 or 7 of them) were brilliant. Magnificent acting.
  

DAY THREE (with camera!)

• Chinatown: We walked about an hour from our apartment to the Phoenix restaurant for dum sim and chrysanthemum tea (name that Sondheim show). While waiting, we explored the plaza and found our Chinese zodiac animals.

After eating our weight in dumplings, we saw some Buddhist monks. That they were walking just behind a group of sailors (in whites) created a fun image, but I couldn't draw my camera quite fast enough. You'll have to take my word for it.

• The Navy Pier: Holy moly. The first thing you encounter -- before the entrance to the actual Pier -- is a fountain.

And it was windy, which blew the water from the top jets over onto passers-by in a most appealing way (if you're a boy between the ages of 10 and 12). And, oh look! There are water jets coming out of the floor at random intervals!



If you think that's not irresistible, you've never had a 10 or 12 year old boy in your care.



At some point, you just have to embrace the experience.



Michael and I spent about an hour blessedly resting our tootsies on a bench while the boys got soaked -- and I mean, soaked. Then, onto the Pier itself, with a speed boat ride, ride on the Ferris wheel, and ride on the swing-wave thingy. (I know it has a name, I just can't remember it). It was all fun, but boy, that Ferris wheel is HIGH.

• John Hancock Tower: A late dinner at the lounge atop the Tower. Fabulous view, but the menu has gone seriously downhill since my trip here last fall. The bar food was all pre-made Sysco crap (heat and serve) and the mojito didn't even give me a teeny buzz -- one well-made cocktail is enough to make me right tipsy. And when did it get to hard to order a vegetable that isn't breaded and deep fried?!

DAY FOUR (without camera, which was inexcusable)

• The Shedd Aquarium: Dolphins and otters and whales, oh my! I had woken up with another UTI (grrrrrrrr), so we took it slow but still managed to see everything. I think. There were baby Beluga whales that were criminally cute. I could have lived without the tarantulas.
  
• Evanston: Michael has a frat sister who lives in Evanston with her hubby and two delicious bookworm children, and they insisted on having us out for a home-cooked meal, which was really delightful of them. We had a lovely, restful evening chatting and drinking wine while Garrick and their 10-year-old tried to kill one another with plastic light sabers. And we ate a wonderful meal WITH VEGETABLES! Bless them.
  

All in all, it was a wonderful trip with maybe a little too much walking and too many late bedtimes (and too many UTIs and not enough vegetables or area rugs), but we somehow seemed to get muddle through anyway. The kids swung wildly between having the best time of their lives and being too overwhelmed and crabby to enjoy any of it. (Note to self -- NEVER let Garrick miss a feeding meal when on vacation!) But now that we're home, all would agree that we had a most fabulous trip and we can't wait to back and see everything that we missed.

The extra snuggle-time while waiting for buses and the like was just a bonus.

Swivel-licious

I got scolded at physical therapy tonight. Apparently I was doing the hamstring stretch all wrong -- my hips were too turned out and as a result I wasn't getting the full benefit of the stretch. Then, while I was on the treadmill, the therapist commented on how much my hips were.... um.... moving.

Hey, I TOLD them I used to study dance -- that loose-hipped turn-out stuff doesn't just go away when you stop taking classes, you know.

And I started young. Proof:



(You never know when a perfectly turned-out fifth position is going to come in handy.)