Into The Future...

I'm afraid of dying.

Ever since Melissa died, I think of dying every day. I'm terrified that I will be hit by a truck...and vanish. Vanish from my children's lives, from their memories, from their hearts.

I worry about their lives without me in it.

I worry about them being "haunted" by my memory. What snapshots of me will they remember? What will they hold close? What will slip through their fingers? What will they be left with?

I'm scared that they will face hard times, that they will be on their knees, and I won't be there to help them up. I won't be there to catch their tears.  I won't be there to cheer their successes. I won't be there to hold their babies. And they will resent me, or God, or their father.

I'm "haunted" by my grandmother. There is so much that I don't know about her. So much that I will never know about her. Her favourite song. Her favourite place. What she thought about various things that happened in her life. Things that I never thought to ask her...

I sit in my cozy kitchen as I write this. The afternoon sun is pouring in. Music is on in the background. The children are playing happily in the living room. Everything is...nice. All I can think is that too soon this moment will be "a long time ago".

One day, my daughters will read this blog, hoping to gain insight into their lives, and into my life. I hope that they find what they are looking for. I hope they find evidence that I adore each of them. That they are the best things that ever happened to me. And that every day is made wonderful simply because I am able to be in their lives. And if I get hit by a truck tomorrow, I hope that I have imprinted their hearts sufficiently that they just know that my love for them doesn't stop when my heart does. It's forever.

P.S. Just for reference, my favourite song is "Baby Blue" by George Strait.

How I Celebrated the Anniversary of My 27th Birthday

Sunday evening, I got a stomach ache. Not badly enough to tell anyone. Just a general ache.

By 12:30am, I was in intense pain. I contemplated calling 911. Dan and I decided that I must be having a gallbladder attack. I popped a couple of morphine pills (doesn't everyone have morphine on hand?) and went to sleep.

Monday was Victoria Day, so Dan was home from work. I didn't feel any better and decided that I should continue taking morphine while supplementing with Tylenol 3. Mum took the kids for 6 hours, and I sat on the couch trying to figure out why I was feeling so badly. But I didn't like any of the answers that Google was giving me, so I dismissed them and remained perplexed.

Tuesday morning, I was still in a lot of pain. I took my morphine, and my Tylenol 3, and Advil. And then I went to work. Because I'm tough. Because it was my birthday and I didn't want people to think I was flaking out. Because I was sooooo drugged that I lacked the ability to think straight.

I left work at lunch time and went to the hospital. No, I didn't go to any of the hospitals in Ottawa. I went to a hospital an hour away. Because when one is beginning to think that they have a medical condition that is quickly becoming critical, one tends to leave the city (and some of the best hospitals in Canada), and head for the country.

I had to wait three hours to see a doctor because order is based on the urgency of the case. The lady who needed 3 stitches and the man who needed a refill on his crazy meds were, apparently, more urgent than I was. Sigh.

Once I was seen by a doctor, everything went rather quickly. The doctor thought that I had appendicitis but needed to do a CT scan. I complied when I was asked to drink 3 enormous glasses of water laced with iodine. I reacted negatively when I was informed that I was about to have an enema. I simply said "No". Over and over again. Finally, the poor technician whose job it was to perform the enema left, and Mum said, "They're going to send in the Big Guns now.". And indeed they did. The doctor came in and explained that this enema would help make the CT scan better and my appendix would be more clear. And I looked up at him, with tears in my eyes, and whispered, "But it's my birthday". And the doctor said, "OK, we can do the CT scan without the enema". And Mum's jaw dropped. She was shocked that the doctor had given up so easily.

Guess what the CT scan revealed? Yup, I had appendicitis. The surgery team was paged to come back to the hospital (because they were all at home). The surgeon expressed some doubt about whether or not I had appendicitis because I couldn't have possibly endured the pain for 3 days. I said that if he was having doubt, then maybe we should postpone the surgery until he knew for sure. This annoyed him.

I was wheeled into the OR. The nurses were getting everything ready. The anaesthesiologist got to work. He gave me some medicine which would make my sight become blurry. Then he administered something else, and said, "You will fall asleep... NOW". But I didn't. Because I was fighting it. He asked me not to fight the medicine, but I couldn't help it. I have had bad experiences with anaesthesia in the past. I lifted my head up, looked directly in his eyes, and said, "Are you going to make sure I'm asleep before the operation begins?". Yup, this annoyed him.

In case you're keeping track, I have now pissed off both the surgeon and the anaesthesiologist.

I wake up from the surgery, and you'll never guess who my nurses were. Their names were Katie, Sarah, and Elizabeth. REALLY! What are the odds?

The next day, the surgeon came to see me. Again, he express shock that I had gone so long before seeing a doctor. He said that my appendix was huge, and he contemplated taking a picture (I wish he had!) and that half of it was hard as a baseball bat. He seemed awed by how sick I had been and how tough I am. I was pleased. Because I am  pretty tough.

The surgeon gave me a prescription for OxyContin and sent me home. The best bit? After arriving home, the pharmacy called and said that they had not filled the prescription properly, and I am entitled to TWELVE more OxyContin pills! I thought narcotics were hard to come by, but I seem to be as well stocked as any pharmacy!

Anyway, that was my birthday. It sucked. I missed all the nice weather. I missed out on spending the holiday with my family. And I missed my kidlings. Oh, and I was gutted. That sucked, too.

I'm thinking about starting a petition. I'm going to try to get a "do-over" for my birthday.

The Corner Cupboard

I keep all of our "treats" in a corner cupboard that the children cannot access.

Maybe I should find a new home for them...

New Uses For Old Toys

When the twins were about 18 months old, Dad was awed by their "musical genius". So, he bought them a toy piano.

Dad thought that the twins would enjoy being able to create "music" themselves. He envisioned them bopping around to the the grating lovely melodies that this toy emitted. And, for a while, Katie and Bethie, did.

Then the batteries died.

Then Sarah came along.

Then the twins got older and lost interest in their little piano.

Time passed, but I never got rid of the piano. The children found a new use for it.

They balance on the piano in order to turn the TV on or off. And it scares the Hell out of me! But I leave it there because if they lose the ability to control the TV, then I have to do it. I prefer that they learn self-sufficiency (I can't even type that using a straight face!). 
I should have seen it coming...

(Mum's piano. Spring 2009)