Teenagers, man.

In...April? Early May? Recentlyish, is the point, eldest boy walked past me and I squinted and asked, "Are your glasses taped together?"

"Yeah," says he, "they broke."

Pushing aside the whole, why didn't you say something conversation that would be much like beating my head against a wall, I said, "Would you like me to see if there's a warranty?"

"Oh. Yeah. Please."

So I call up the eye doctor and there is, in fact, a warranty. Just $50 for a replacement (given the ridiculous amount they cost, that's a steal. Our eye doctor...I like the doctor, but I really need to stop shopping for our glasses there. Except the thought of herding the children to yet another store to do it fills me with a desire to crawl in a hole and die.)

Cool. They order the frames, they'll be in maybe a week, ten days.

They come in. We go get them. They pop out the lenses from the broken glasses and into the new frames and we're in and out fast.

All is good.

Then he heads off to London on his mission trip. Comes home. Goes out with friends the day after he returns. And comes home...without glasses.

Because he wore them swimming.

In a lake.

Because why? No one knows.

Can I wait the 3ish weeks for new glasses from the eye doctor or Costco or whatever? No. No I cannot.

Why, you ask? Well, because he's off on a canoe trip on Friday.

FRIDAY.

Thinking I'm smart, I say, cool, we'll get a copy of the prescription and then head over to Lens Crafters and we'll come home with new glasses. All good, right?

NO. Because not a single Lens Crafters in the NoVa area still has a lab in it. They're now a 7-10 day wait.

When all is said and done, we come home and I order from Zenni Optical and pay more for shipping than I did for the damn glasses and maybe, MAYBE, we will be blessed enough for them to come before he has to leave.

Now I'm off to see about prescription goggles. Because apparently my child needs some.

Father's Day Random

It's a rainy day here around the Sleepy Home this Father's Day.

Eldest left for a mission trip on Friday, so he's off in London today. I checked in via text to remind him to say hi to hubs today and was told he already did. So big checkmark for him. He'll adult yet!

Youngest, hubs, and I took my dad to lunch after church, as per usual. We generally pay (there are more of us than him), so I told him for his Father's Day gift this year, I'd be buying him lunch. He laughed, as was the intent. I then suggested if he didn't like my gift he could pay and he decided it was a pretty good gift after all.

We did splurge on cake for after (Chuy's makes amazing tres leches cake if you haven't tried it and you like delicious things). It's a rare treat (because oh the calories) but it seemed a fitting excuse.

Now, we've all kind of gone to our corners as introverts will. The pups, birds, and I are in the living room. Hubby is downstairs playing video games. Youngest as well. But we're all content with the way of things, so that's good.

Although, I will say I'd rather be in London. If that were an option. (To be fair, I probably could have signed up to go on the mission trip, but a) eldest would have been annoyed and b) as much as I am very pro sharing the gospel, I like mission trips where we go and do useful things like construction. This trip is much more street evangelism focused and that...is just not my wheelhouse. I am amazed how much eldest likes it - and is apparently good at it -- but yeah. Not my calling.)

Anyway, happy Father's Day to the dads out there. Hug your dad while you have him.

On Being a Sermon Illustration

Last Sunday (Easter Sunday), was particularly challenging to get the boys up and moving. Most days are an exercise in anger, but for whatever reason, last week had us leaving the house about five minutes before the service was going to start.

Spoiler alert: we live more than five minutes from the church.

So we arrive about 12 minutes after the service has started and, being Easter, the parking lot is jammed. So we have to search for a spot. Finally find one, park, and herd the grumpy family toward the sanctuary.

It. Is. Packed.

I collect our little pre-packaged communion cups and we head inside. Everyone is standing cheek to jowl singing. I spot a few singleton seats, but nothing that will accommodate our family of four. Or even let us split up into two and two. And honestly, after the morning of trying to get everyone there? I was over it.

So I herded us back out and as we got back into the foyer, I was like, "It's too crowded. We'll just leave." And I spotted a couple who usually sits near us coming as we were leaving and I smiled and said, "Good luck."

Eldest said, "Can I go my class instead then?" And then younger pipes up, "Me too!" And I was like, "Hubs, you go with (because the youth were all in one big group for Easter and I knew younger would need a little extra assistance in not being overstimulated)." So they trotted off and I took my annoyed-verging-on-raging self back to the car to sit.

At least it was a lovely day to sit in the car with the windows open.

Well, today we were back to our usual population. Hubs and I were back in our usual spot with the boys at their youth classes. And during the announcements, the executive pastor is talking about how full everything was last week. And then he talks about the family that left because they couldn't find a seat and how he heard them say "Good luck" to another couple as they left.

Ahem. Oops?

Then he went on to say how wonderful it'd be if it was crowded like that every week and...no? No it wouldn't be. I mean yay for visitors. Yay for people coming to know Jesus. But honestly, I don't go to a big church for a reason. If it starts getting like that every Sunday, it will make it much easier to decide what to do about staying vs going. 

I could maybe do a big church if I had a family who could be early places. But I do not have that family.

Happy New Year

The first week of January is always something of a rush around here, since eldest boy's birthday also falls there. Thankfully, we're past the days of needing Christmas put away prior to said birthday -- he actually seems to enjoy having all the decor out. And his friends are also large enough that no one is grabbing ornaments off the tree.

In fact, he has now turned seventeen.

Seven. Teen.

What on earth?

Of course Google Photos and Faceplant conspired with many many pictures of an adorable toddler and small boy that made me nostalgic. Although, for all his teenagerness, I'm really proud of the young man that he's becoming. What hangout time he allows, I treasure.

A small group (ha) of boys went out to laser tag and then basement shenanigans for the night on Friday. But "the real party" is a massive nerf war planned for an upcoming weekend. It amused me, when looking at a FB memory from I think his 3rd birthday that I pondered if we had set an unrealistic precedent for birthdays that year.

Yes. Yes we did.

Or, you know, we just like celebrating the kid. It could be that. (No fear, his brother gets equally ridiculous celebrations. But that's next month.)

The puppy does as well as one can expect of a baby with the glut of people in the house. And also with sleeping long and not needing potty time. But still I end up awake by 5:30 most days these days. I am trying to remember to put my laptop somewhere accessible for the groggy mornings so that I can do something more productive than scrolling on my phone and playing word games while the house is quiet and I have one (sometimes two) dogs curled up on or beside me. Today, it worked. (I have the unfortunate affliction that, once I've been awakened after a longish sleep, there is no chance I'm going back to sleep. I have tried. Oh, how I have tried. But I end up just laying there getting frustrated. So it's better to just acknowledge that I'm up now.)

My one hope for 2025 is that no one I love dies. Given the state of Daddy these days, I'm not sure how well that's going to pan out, but it's still my hope.

Fa-rah-rah-rah-rah

When I was trying to figure out what to make for our Christmas dinner, I polled my kids and my dad. Other than Dad, no one had an opinion. Dad wanted baby back ribs. That was easy enough and we hadn't had them for a while so easy peasy.

I picked up the ribs while at Wegmans - taking care to check the use by date to ensure they'd be fine for Christmas. They were.

If you've been following along at all with my 2024, you know that there's a big ol "except" coming.

Yesterday morning, in between throwing waffles on the iron, I opened up the ribs to peel off the back membrane and...they did not smell right. But maybe I was over reacting. So I called hubby over - "Smell these. Do they smell right?"

He sniffed. "I'm sure it's fine."

I hesitated, but it was Christmas and we needed food and...okay fine. So he seasoned them up and threw them on the smoker.

We went about the rest of our festive breakfast and present opening.

And then, it was time to pull the ribs off, sauce, and wrap them. And hubby brought them in and waved me over. "Do these smell right?"

No. No they did not.

Not being fans of food poisoning, we wrapped them up and into to the trash can they went. Hubby and I looked at each other and burst into song, a la the Chinese servers in A Christmas Story, "Fa-rah-rah-rah-rah."

That left the question...what would Christmas dinner be?

Digging through the freezer, the option became hot dogs or chicken breasts.

Shockingly (ha, not so), no one wanted hot dogs for Christmas.

In the end, we were able to thaw the chicken and season it up in time to grill them and have our late lunch/early dinner as previously planned. And the chicken tasted good, even if it was a little more boring than we wanted for said festive meal. 

I'm ready for 2024 to end. Obviously, on one can promise 25 will be any better, but at this point, even if not, I'll be glad to see the back side of this year.

Christmas Parties

One of the recurring themes of Eldest Boy's struggle is that he feels like he's socially awkward. He doesn't particularly care for my response of, "Join the club, kid." (Hubby gives a similar response. I suspect that 99% of the world thinks they're socially awkward, but really we're all just normal.)

Regardless, one of the things he's doing to try and combat this, is finding reasons and ways to trick me into having big parties at our house. (I say trick, it's not really tricky. He asks and, because I'm a sucker who wants him to feel good about himself, I say sure.)

Most of the time, these parties (gatherings or hangouts, whatever one wants to call them) are just him and his friends. I'm all for him having groups of friends over and will happily provide pizza and chips.

But sometimes -- like at the start of summer and then again last night -- he gets a wild hair that hubby and I also need to participate in the party, so asks if we can invite whole families.

Which is why we ended up with somewhere around 40 people at our house last night for a Christmas party.

My therapist is trying to get me to see the positives in things...so I guess the big positive is that for ten sparkling minutes before people started to arrive, my house was immaculate.

Of course, then people descended. And those people ranged in age from 18 months to 50+. And the crowd of littles were, largely, unsupervised with hot chocolate. Meaning my floor ended the night stickier than I had thought possible.

That said, all the kids seemed to have a wonderful time. (They were, by and large, in the basement. Although they ran up to get food as we'd set up the dining room as the buffet.) One of them is a burgeoning DJ and brought along his equipment (including a smoke machine! He did not turn that on as there was concern about smoke alarms. I think it would have probably been fine, but I also appreciate his discretion.)

The adults all seemed to also enjoy one another. We hung out largely in the living room with conversation ranging here, there, and everywhere. It was loud. It was amusing. 

It was exhausting.

I got a lot of the house put back together last night (because sticky floors and dropped food are both bad ideas for puppies) and finished it up this morning. But right now, the boys are all out with Trial Life doing an escape room, and the pups and I are reveling in the silence.

If I could go another week or two without another large group of people that I had to interact with, I might just recover.

My question though is this: do the socially awkward go out of their way to plan a party? 

Mrs. Grundy says no.

A Whirlwind Trip

Wednesday, Daddy and I hopped a plane back to Texas. This time Austin, for the funeral of my uncle. It was lovely, again, to see all the aunts and uncles from Dad's side. And one cousin also came. (She and her father are estranged, so I was surprised she would willingly be around him for a few days - but she had been very close to this uncle earlier in her life, so it probably shouldn't have been a shock.)

Anyway, as funerals go, this one was lovely. 

I'm still pretty convinced I don't want one. And Dad reiterated that he didn't, either. But if I were to have one? I would want it to be like this. Lots of glorious music. Their church actually has (and still uses!) an organ. They sing mostly classical church music (think Bach) and that was honestly so lovely. Uncle had been a choir member and so the whole choir was there to sing.

What music wasn't glorious choir music, was congregational hymns. Good hymns. Again with the organ.

I would love to find a church around here that had music like that and also good theology. But it's hard enough to find the latter, I think I have to settle on the former.

Regardless, we were glad we went. We were also glad we were able to change our tickets to come home yesterday (Friday) rather than staying until Monday as we'd originally planned. 

Daddy has been sick for the last week? Two? He was pretty convinced he wasn't contagious (but man, the chest cough that lingered got him a lot of side eye) so still went. But that was also a near thing. (Honestly, I think the difference was that cancelling would have cost money, but changing things was free.) And I know my aunt, in particular, was glad he was there.

Still, there's truly no place like home.

Y'all

Happy belated Thanksgiving.

We had a low-key day with my dad. Hubs smoked a pork loin on his Traeger and if I never eat pork loin cooked differently, I will be a happy girl. It was amazing. I made mashed potatoes and rolls to go along. I meant to make green beans but ended up forgetting. Ah well.

Dad came over early and we had waffles and vanilla sauce for breakfast, as well. So it was a feast of a day.

And of course there was pie.

But, because this seems to be the Year of Murphy, my uncle (Dad's older brother) passed away last evening. He'd been in the hospital for two weeks, but all the reports said things were routine and going as they should. He'd had gall stones removed. And then they decided to also yank his gallbladder, except it was so swollen they had to do it open vs. laparoscopically. And that, of course, is where everything went sideways.

After battling infections, they finally figured out that they had sliced a bile duct in half when they operated on him the first time. My aunt was, as you'd imagine, hesitant to let them operate on him again, since it seemed every time they did he got worse.

I don't think it would have made a difference. He would have either died on the table or in his hospital bed. It took them so long to realize the problem, I can't see how he would have recovered.

So. Dad and I will take another trip to Texas soon. This time to attend the service for Dad's brother. And I'm just not sure how many more hits Dad can absorb.

Accentuate the positive

It's been quiet here because, I'll be honest, I don't have a lot to say that's positive. And given how tired I am of myself, I can't imagine anyone here wants to hear me ramble.

That said, I finally bit the bullet and signed eldest up for a behind the wheel thingamabob with an actual business. I'd gone through the rigamarole of getting the DMV to approve me to do it for him (because we homeschool), but OMG. 

The boy does not want to drive. He does not want to drive with me. He does a little better with Dad. But for real, it's been pulling teeth to get his 45 hours. And every time I was like, "Let's go do a lesson and get you closer to taking the road test!" There were reasons. And extenuating circumstances. And...dude.

So this week, someone else is coming and collecting him and we're getting it done and a) he's actually enjoying it and b) it'll be done this week (!) and then he can run himself all over the world instead of me having to do it. 

Woot!

I really don't get the "don't want to drive" thing. Back in my day (yes, that's said in a creaky old lady voice), I was chomping at the bit to get my license. We went to the DMV on my birthday so I could take the road test.

Ah, the good old days.

Six Years

Mom died six years ago today.

I'm trying to decide if it's fitting that it's a dreary day around here. Mom enjoyed the rain. And the clouds. Although it's warmer that she would prefer for the weather (me, too, for that matter.)

I don't really understand how it can feel like a lifetime ago at the same time as it feels like yesterday.

And I'm struggling to decide if it's a good or bad thing to remember the day. 

I used to get so mad at my sister for all of her "bad thing X happened to me today" memorials throughout the year. "Just move on!" I thought. "Stop dwelling on it."

And while it's a little different - the loss of a Mom is definitely a bad thing, but it's not like the memorial of when a friendship imploded - I still wonder if not marking the day isn't the better choice.

I just don't know.

Not that I've done a ton of marking, mind you. It's been a full and busy day and I'm only just now getting a moment to sit and take a breath. But still, even as I ran around playing Mom Taxi, the "mom's gone" reminder has been just a little more evident in the back of my mind.

Not sure if I would be able to make that not the case if I tried, so maybe all of this is moot.

Anyway, life moves on, will you nill you. And honestly, that's probably a good thing.

Miscellany

This afternoon, roughly 50 people will be descending to our place for a "Kick off Summer" type party. This is all the machinations of elder boy, who wanted to have his friends from church, along with their entire families, come and hang out.

Hubby insists he is stunned that I agreed.

And, I get it. I'm an introvert. Ish. Although, really, I like parties. I like throwing and hosting them, I guess I should say. They're exhausting - and this one in particular has caused a tad bit of anxiety because I just don't know all the parents - but I still like them.

And I think that, really, is the heart of it. I joked to someone (my mom? My sister? Can't remember.) that it's not so much that I'm an introvert as it is that I've been traumatized by so many people for so many years that I just kind of figure it's going to end badly.

I want friends. I just suck at it.

Anyway, eldest (you know, the one the shrink says has social anxiety and needs more opportunities to interact with his peers) is gung ho, so I wasn't going to say no. Plus it got him to clean the house, so that's a big win.

In other news, daddy and I have been talking about heading to Texas to inter my sister's ashes. I think he wants to go in September, and he wants to drive, not fly. The boys (none of the three) really care about going (which is fine), so I think it's just going to be dad and me. He's game for seeing things along the way, so I may take the opportunity to see Graceland, Hot Springs, Arkansas, and Waco on the way out. Then maybe, on the way home, I'll see if we can swing by and visit my friend whose family is PCSing to Abilene this summer. Then Dad said, "Why not go home a different way and swing through Los Alamos and visit <his friends who moved to Colorado>?" 

And you know what? Why not indeed.

I'm looking to see if there's anything worth seeing on the drive home. But I'm excited about the road trip. Although, I've had two nightmares now wherein I wake up and knock on Dad's hotel room door only to find he's died. 

That's not traumatizing at all. But it's easy enough to track down, as this trip feels, in many ways, like a goodbye tour for him. But I don't want to think about that.

So I'm not going to.

The first thing we do*

Probate is a special kind of hell.

We met with the lawyer Dad used when Mom passed (and I think he had, previous to that, helped Dad set up their estate in a trust) and he got us squared away with an appointment at the probate office.

Said appointment was yesterday.

It was an easy enough appointment. I came home with an inch of paperwork and instructions that are almost easy to read. 

But honestly. There has to be an easier way to do this.

Also? It's almost ridiculously comical how the fees work. It's "Oh, hey, give all the heirs this form. Then get this form notarized saying you gave the heirs the form and send it in. But with a filing fee."

Everything has a filing fee. 

Pretty sure there's a fee for breathing the rarified air in the courthouse. I'm just not sure where I go to pay it.

They'll probably bill me.

I emailed the lawyer to say thanks, I got the forms and had he already registered the estate with an EIN? He replied no, but he can walk me through it, just make an appointment.

People? Don't do this. The IRS website is clear and easy. Also the probate office gave me step-by-step instructions just in case. I'm not saying I won't need another appointment with him at some point, but I am saying I'm going to exhaust all my other options first, since the time he spent getting me the appointment with the probate office cost me almost $700.

*spot the quote, Shakespeare edition

For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

I'm not sure if it means anything that Valentine's Day and Ash Wednesday shared a date this year, but I do know my sister went home to Jesus yesterday and she was loved.

Rest in peace, sweet sister. Hug mama. And all your babies who never saw this side of heaven.

Insert Maniacal Laughter Here

This is going to be scattered and ridiculous. Much like my brain these days. You've been warned.

Well, sometime over last weekend, sister took a rather dramatic dip and now spends the bulk of her time sleeping. In all, this is good, but I do wish Jesus would hurry up and take her home. Now more than ever. She is clearly uncomfortable, even in sleep, and Dad and I are both not sure what to do about that. When she's conscious, we encourage more pain meds, but what do you do when she's asleep? 

Beyond that, I got a random wild hair the other day (and it had been coming and going for a while, but I guess my impulse control is shot to heck right now) to buy organic, stone ground wheat from a small farm. So none of the bad fertilizers and such and back to good grain and yadda yadda. And so last week - week before? I have no concept of time - I gave sourdough a whirl with the new flour and hahahahaha. I did not read up on just how different this acts.

So today, we finally made it through all of the very, very dense first effort and I am trying again - now with much more hydration! - and we'll see what we see.

I might have over hydrated it now? I don't know.

A friend said, "Why not just use a tiny bit of the organic and mix with your regular bread flour" and like...that defeats the whole point? The brain goal for down the road is to buy wheat berries and grind them at home as needed. But yeah, I'm glad right now that I went this intermediate route first because I'm not sure I have it in me to keep going. Healthier is good, but not when it means life is miserable trying to make it work.

Youngest is loving my preoccupation and general inability to do anything because it means his school has been slapdash at best lately. We spent a whole day last week building lego. And I can make a case for motor skills and engineering and so forth if I cared to. The reality is, he's not going to fall behind. It's going to be fine. But yeah, I feel the mom guilt.

Eldest is trucking along with his, which is good. And I am even managing to stay on top of making sure he's doing well (vs phoning it in). So gold star?

Last week, rather than being in Hawaii (which was originally scheduled before everything with my sister went sideways), hubby was home at his boss's insistence. I appreciated that. But he was still in the office every day for 14 hour days. And really at the end of it all, I have realized I am incredibly spoiled and like having him at home. I don't know how we could go back to a full time in the office job at this point. Thankfully it doesn't seem like that's anywhere on the horizon, but yeah. It'd suck.

There was more to say when I started this but it's gone now. So probably super interesting. Or not.

Most likely not.

It just never gets better

We're now in the throes of dealing with Hospice and getting things set up to bring sister home to Dad's for as long as she has left. No one will say how long that is - and really it's hard to tell. Could be days. Could be months.

Her kidneys and liver are all failing - but how rapidly will that go? Jury's out.

And of course she's herself, and unhappy with any of our proposed suggestions for where to put the hospital bed and set her up. I want to say when you're the one dying, you get to choose, but at the same time, it has to work and still allow life to carry on.

Which is why she's not coming to my house. I feel guilt about it, but I can't make the boys be as quiet as she'd need, nor can I promise that I'd have the kind of time to help her as I know she wants. We're working out nursing care, but it's not the same as a family member. I know this. And yet.

So really, it seems like a family member dying can't take place without some kind of guilt. I know I did everything there was to do for Mom - but it wasn't as much as she wanted - and so there's guilt. And so it'll be the same for sister.

Whee.

This is not me trying to make her dying about me, btw, because it isn't. It's just that this is all hard. Everything is hard. And there are no perfect answers.

Insert Pithy Title Here

Sister remains in the hospital. Very little has changed as I think I remember mentioning that her liver is tanking now too? (I am too lazy to go look, but I at least thought about saying same. If that counts at all.) There's a liver stone. They were unable to get through her stomach to remove it previously. And the attempt kicked off the bleeding again (from where? no one knows.)

Tomorrow, they're going to go in and try to force the stomach-to-intestine opening wider so their equipment can get through. The day after, if that works, they'll go after the liver stone as it's not resolving on its own. If they can get it taken care of, then she can come home and go on hospice.

Because that's where we are.

At this point, we're just praying for it the end to be quick and as painless as possible.

How to Speed Up a Hospital

In our continuing saga...

Last night, sister called, very grumpy, because they hadn't done the endoscopy yesterday and they weren't sure if they could get to it today and she's feeling very defeated (but why? /s) and said, "I just want to go home and accept that I throw everything up. I'll figure out how to get nutrition in small doses somehow."

And then she told the nurse to let the doc know that she wanted to be discharged.

Miraculously, they were able to do her endoscopy this morning. And will do a few more GI tests today.

And like I realize that they're busy and she's not actively dying anymore, so could be in the back of the line, but also she's been in the hospital basically since the 14th and really, who wouldn't want to go home.

For now, the first endoscopy showed no obstructions, but they did suction off 2L of liquid that was just hanging out in her stomach. (This is abnormal, in case you didn't know.) So yay that something was amiss? But there were no magical answers forthcoming.

Bleh.

But Wait! There's More!

When we last met, the medical drama with my sister was planned surgery for stents on Friday. A simple procedure.

Routine, even.

In normal cases (i.e. not the first time for a person), it's basically outpatient. Fifteen, twenty minutes to slip in the stents, then once you're awake, home you go.

But we don't do things the normal way here in Sleepy-land.

Around 3:30, I get a call from the hospital number. I think to myself, well good, they're finished and calling to let me know.

But hahahahaaa no. The urologist on the other end says things are not going well and I'll excuse her as these aren't the types of calls she usually makes and it would probably be good if me and Dad came up there.

Turns out, they got the left stent in, everything was looking well placed and she was getting ready to remove the insertion apparatus to prep for the right side when my sister started gushing blood.

Like two transfusions amounts.

I drop everything, hop in the car, and zip down to grab Dad and head to the hospital. We check in in the waiting area.

Over the next four hours, they call us four times with updates along the lines of:

They've rushed her off to an emergency angiogram to try and find the site of bleeding and stop it in some way and...they can't find anything?

But it's still gushing, although maybe slightly less?

Seems to be slowing, but not stopping. So they're going to put her in ICU and monitor. Well no, not ICU, intermediate care as the bleeding has slowed enough that they think they can manage it just by putting in more than is coming out.

We finally get to see her in a room around 9. Pale doesn't begin to describe (duh) but she's alive and sort of kicking?

I take Dad home, then go back so I can spend the night there with her.

If you've ever wondered about sleeping in a hospital, the short answer is you just don't. But I did manage to doze a little.

Saturday, all the doctors come and go with various updates. The bleeding seems to be enough of a slowing trickle that maybe whatever it was that was gushing has healed itself. Of course, she's still vomiting everything she ingests. Literally can't keep down clear liquids. All meds have to be IV etc.

So they've called in GI and maybe there's gastroparesis in play as well? When she's more stable, let's do some tests for that.

Long story short (too late!), she's still there, but now moved to a "regular" room. The plan is an endoscopy today. Maybe tomorrow, depending on schedule. Which means nothing by mouth until it's over, but hey, it's not like she can keep anything down anyway. We'll worry about malnutrition later, I guess.

And there's the issue of still needing the stent in her right kidney because, of course, they're still swollen and backflowing and just generally failing.

The thing of it is, people keep asking me how I am. And I understand the intent, but honestly? I don't know. I don't know how I am. I'm putting one foot in front of the other and trying to handle whatever ball is tossed my way at the time, hoping I catch the fragile ones and drop the rubber ones. There's a tiny part of my brain devoted to hysterical, unhinged laughing because it just can't cope. But so far, at least, that's all on the inside, and I can reassure my kids that their aunt is fine. I can support my Dad who is cracking in ways he didn't even when we lost Mom. And I'm grateful for a hubby who is content to have me just lean on him and not talk.

Because, all evidence to the contrary, deep down I have no words.

The Revolving Door

So yeah. 

Sunday evening, sister called from her friend's house about 45 minutes south of here to let me know she was back from their "vacation" to the beach, she hadn't been able to keep anything down since Tuesday and her car had a flat tire that wouldn't reinflate and also there was apparently no spare.

So I went down to fetch her and take her straight to the ER that's about an hour north of where we live.

It's a good thing I like to drive.

I don't like driving as much when the person in the passenger seat is vomiting. Especially as I'm a sympathetic vomiter. So picture, if you will, zooming up 95, windows down to air out the smell, heater on full blast to try and keep everyone from freezing as it was somewhere around 20 degrees outside, trying not to hurl because of the noises and smells from beside you.

Good times. Good times.

Five hours in the ER later, she was admitted and I headed home.

Monday, they decide she needs stents in her kidneys as this all appears to be related to kidney damage/blockage (possibly from her radiation treatment, but who really knows) and it's backing up and filling her stomach with bile. Que the vomit.

They also decide that if they can stabilize her and get her to a point where she can eat, they can send her home and do the surgery next week. So that's the plan.

Tuesday, I head up to grab her and take her home around 3. (After the snow and ice and all that joy - but the main roads were basically fine and our littler roads weren't terrible.) Which hospitals being hospitals, actually meant I got home around 9pm.

Yesterday? Yesterday I was taking her back to the ER at noon. Because while she'd managed 24 hours of no vomit and keeping food down there, she made it almost to midnight before it started again when she was home.

So now they've decided the stents actually are an emergency, so they'll squeeze her into today's surgical schedule. Which means, if all goes well, I should be toting her home again tomorrow evening.

Of course stents being what they are, she'll have to lather/rinse/repeat the surgery every 3-4 months from now until eternity (which given the cancer, is at least not all that far off. Hush. The dark humor helps me cope.) She's not excited about it. She didn't want to do the stents, honestly, but I convinced her that dying b/c of kidney failure in this particular method wasn't going to be a painless and easy way to go.

Not that cancer is a lot better, but at least with that there's hospice and good drugs so you can sleep til you die.

Or so runs the theory. 

(And maybe they'd do that with the kidney failure route too, but honestly? Why risk it with what is essentially an easy "surgery" that doesn't have any incisions involved?)

So yeah. How's your week been?

Where were we, oh that's right.*

Well, I was wrong, it seems and they will, in fact, kick someone out of a phase 1 clinical trial. Sister is officially removed owing to "too much progression." I don't believe she has the PET results yet, but at the meeting with her oncologist, he broke that news. He also said he doesn't think she'll die this year.

Of course, he thought the chemo she did whenever this all started had a good chance of "cure." So really, medicine is all guessing and positivity.

We'll see what happens. All I know right now, is that she has not kept much of anything down for the past four days? Maybe five. Her theory is that it's abdominal pain related (as she is in distinct and overwhelming pain in her abdomen.) 

Yay.

In happier (?) news, the boys all went camping this weekend. They were to have gone Friday through today, but owing to potential flooding at the campsite Friday night, they went ahead and waited until Saturday (yesterday) to head out. There was to be a 10 mile hike and then the overnight.

All I know is that it was dang cold last night and I'm glad I wasn't shivering in a tent. I don't understand the allure of camping on the best of days, and this was decidedly not the best of days.

When they get home, I'm sure they'll all say it was great, but yeah. I'm grateful that I do not have to go along on these things.

I spent my day of silence in the house knocking out quite a few words on the book that I am woefully behind on. (Which since I indie pub, it's not as if there's a true deadline, but I had my own deadlines and have missed them and it's aggravating. So there's that.)

And now, speaking of camping, I guess I'll take myself off to church as said boys just texted they are only now leaving the site. I had thought they'd be back so we could go together. Alas, no.

*spot the quote