Surprising turn of events

Looks like I may be taking over Mom's walker faster than I was expecting - I got a call today from my gynocological oncologist's nurse, and apparently, they've been discussing me behind my back again.  She's sending a referral to the plastic surgery department to discuss me getting a panniculectomy (removing the excess skin left over after losing the weight).  I'm assuming that this is so that they can more easily figure out what Hank is up to and/or make it easier safer to get to him, but I really don't know - this isn't something that's ever been brought up before. 

I don't really understand that part of the medical profession...  I've got an appointment on March 21st (mostly because I insisted), but I haven't actually talked to or seen a doctor since August (and then it was because I insisted as well).  I have an email set up with Kaiser, they've got my phone number, they know how to get hold of me, but instead, every three months, I've had to either call or email to get them to set up scans for me, then after I remind them that I got the scan and need results, I get a call from their nurse (not them) saying that the doctor reviewed the scan and giving me the results.  And then, out of the blue, I get a call (again from the nurse, not the doctor) sending me in a completely new direction.  I know there must be stuff going on behind the scenes, but I never hear about it unless I drag it out by the teeth (that's what it took for me to find out that the Morbid Obesity group had decided that they weren't willing to work with my case back last summer.)  Admittedly, I'm grateful for the way things worked out - Kim and Dr. Craig have been a blessing I never would have gotten, but it would have been nice to have been told what was going on as it was happening. 

So, judging by what Mom's gone through recently, I'm looking at 3 to 5 days in the hospital, a couple of weeks sleeping in the reclining chair, and then about 6 weeks of healing up, and the impossible task of keeping Moose from jumping up and down on my lap.  This... is going to be a challenge.  I'll let you all know more once I hear from the plastic surgeons. 

Following Edward

I know this is going to sound strange, but I've found myself becoming obsessed with dog blogs on Facebook.  Mostly dachshund (I love Crusoe the Celebrity Dachshund), but I've also started following various dogs facing physical challenges - Duncan Lou Who w/legs of two, Super Roo, etc.  The one that got me started, though, was Edward Carter.

Edward is this (forgive me, Edward) so-ugly-he's-cute Chinese Crested looking dog, who was turned in to a shelter with Stage 5 T-Cell Lymphoma.  His foster-mother is the one who posts for him, and she's both an incredible photographer, and a great voice for him - reading his blog makes me smile the way Moose or Daisy make me smile, but with a bit of a tear too.  She's trying to help him fill out his bucket list - getting a whole hamburger to himself, taking a helicopter ride (not my choice, but he seemed to enjoy it)... He doesn't have long, and while they've been trying with various chemos, you can tell he's coming down to the wire.

Not sure why he speaks to me so deeply, other than I've got some empathy for his position.  He's much further down the road than I am, but it both soothes me and pains me to see him (and his foster-mother) handling it with such grace and verve. 

Scan Results

Kind of inconclusive - he's still there, and he hasn't started redecorating any other organs.  I can't tell from the language of the scan whether or not he's grown any, but it doesn't sound like he has - so, I'm taking that as a positive.  Who knew that the whole vegan retarding cancer would work?  I certainly didn't, but it seems to be doing the job. 

I've got an appointment to talk with Dr. Steiner about the results, and where we go next on March 21st.  I really, really want out of the whole limbo gig - it's wearing on me, my family, my work, all you guys who have to read my whinging...  Tomorrow, I'll try to be back to my usual glib self, but for tonight... cancer sucks. 

Sad day...

Found out today that "Dancing with the Stars" fired Brooke Burke-Charvet (no, that's not the sad part!  Don't be silly - the woman had the interviewing skills of a limpet.)  No, the sad part is that apparently last month while no one was watching, they also fired Harold Wheeler and the band.  I'll miss Harold Wheeler, of course - as a former band geek, I always appreciate anyone who hires good musicians, especially trombonists.  But, the most shocking part...  I think they also let go the Romulan Priestess! 

If you watch Dancing with the Stars at all, I'm sure you know who I mean - the zaftig singer with the really interesting headpieces.  Her actual name is Carmen Carter, but I'm always going to remember her as the priestess, and the show just isn't going to be the same without her (not to mention it's going to be a lot harder to get Roger and Kevin to watch without the enticement of seeing her cleavage performance. 

I don't know - first they lost the results show, then the ever excitable Max, now the band is gone... better be one stellar cast this year, or I'm sticking with the Voice on Monday nights.

Thoughts on Family

It's an odd subject for me - more-so than most people, I think.  I started thinking about it because of this Olympic "moment" they had, with a paralympian who was adopted as a baby from Russia because her mother couldn't take care of an amputee baby taking a trip to Russia to meet her birth family. 

I have a number of definitions of "family".  Heck, I even have different versions of my Portland family, but...First off, a little history for those who met me later in life.  I'm my mother's only daughter (She and Dad were married very young - she was 16), had me and then were divorced by the time Mom was 19.  So, I'm an only child... but then my father went and got married again (a lot.  Trust me on this.)  So, I had several step brothers and sisters that I can't really remember that came and went with the various stepmothers, and then I also have several half-brothers that are a little more permanent (I do remember their names, at the very least.)  Dad, incidentally, was also one of 12 kids, some of whom were about as bad at staying married as he was, so there was no chance of me keeping track of my aunts and uncles, let alone any of the over 200 first cousins.  Although he did do me one favor - the last woman he married happens to be my mother's cousin, so that at least cut down on some of the cousin-age.  I can remember at last one of them - technically, I'm my own first cousin once removed.  Of course, Gail also happens to be one of 10 kids, so that's another 18 aunts and uncles to remember.  Anyway, due to various life events, I don't really consider myself a part of the Humphries clan (I'm pretty sure they also don't consider me a part of the clan.)  But I suppose you could call them my blood-kin.

My mom's family are my heart-kin, though.  Grandma and Grandpa helped mom raise me, Aunt Sandy and Aunt Sherri were always part of my life when I was growing up, I know and love them all, but more importantly, they feel like family (even Uncle Jim, who I still haven't forgiven for the water pistol incident.  My memory is long, Uncle Jim.  Very long.  Good thing you love my Aunt Sandy and treat her right.)  But though they are all family, I've always been the neon-pink sheep of the family - not black, per se... just very bright pink.  I'm the one who moved out of Utah and stayed out, I'm the one without children, the non-homemaker.  I know that I belong to them, and they belong to me.  They've never condemned me for who I am, and I'm eternally grateful for that, but I just have felt a little outside.  Perhaps because for so long, it was me and mom, always on the road to the next place.

Until the next place was Portland.  My town.  25 years of running, and then I landed here, and I've stuck here ever since.  Here's where I've built my families - my work family and my family of the soul.  My soul-kin - the ones I've chosen.  Some of them I knew from other times and places (Eugene, Tongue Point, Avatar, Rocky Horror), some of them have moved on to other times and places (Miss you, kiddo...)

And then there's my life-partner - the one who breaths with the same rhythm as I do, and the one who brings yet another family to me.  Gene, who taught my husband to be that kind of man.  Ruth, who I still miss every time something reminds me of her.  The brothers and sisters-in-law that I never thought I'd have - not to imagine the nieces and nephews that are still a surprise to me.

So... any conclusions here?  Not really, although just the realization that I'm very blessed when it comes to family.   

I really have gone over to the veg side...

(Plans for tomorrow.)

It's been a real wench of a week, so since I was having to spend time in the nuclear torture chamber today, I declared this to be a free day, diet-wise.  After I stopped glowing and it was safe to leave, Roger and I stopped by the grocery store, and I went insane (never, ever go food shopping after a fasting procedure.  Definitely not healthy for your wallet, if nothing else.)  Anyway... running wild through the aisles, pushing my scooter to the max, and what did I come out with for lunch and dinner? 

Lunch was some sesame noodles, with Shanghai tofu.  (I did also get a spinach ricotta frittata - palm sized, which I split with my mother, but still - it was semi-naughty at best.)  And for dinner?  I picked up various root veggies (some golden beets, some regular beets, some brussel sprouts) which we roasted up and served alongside the beet greens.  Mind you, this wasn't what I was told to eat, this is what I actually looked at in the entire store and thought "Oh!  That sounds good!"  I fear for my sanity.  It might have been the radiation - maybe I was bitten by a green bean or something while I was stuck in the tube? 

At any rate... the scan went well-ish (hurt like hell, but they gave me warm blankets, and that goes a long way.)  I made it through, but next time, I'm definitely demanding Ativan (that is, if I can figure out who my cancer doctor actually is.  I sent another message today, saying "The lab says the scans will be ready this afternoon, and by the way, am I still supposed to contact Dr. C, or since Dr. S (my first Dr) is back from OB leave, should I be talking to her" and was told my doctor is out of clinic today, and they'll get back to me sometime early next week - and telling me that she's not sure either, but it looks like I talked to Dr C last.  Yeah.  I did.  Back in AUGUST!  I know I don't fit into their protocols, and my other, non-cancer drs have been great, but I really do feel like a red-headed stepchild when it comes to the gyn-onc section.) 

But anyway... early night and late morning, and I'll see if I can finally kick this stupid head-cold out the door. 

Little bit terrified...

I'm scheduled for a PET/CT scan tomorrow.  Assuming it works out, this is a move in a positive direction - we'll be able to get a much better picture of what Hank looks like, and what he's doing in there (stuff we couldn't find out from the initial scans because I couldn't fit on the tables). 

So, why the terror?  Bunch of things could go wrong here - for one thing, I'm right at the limits of the table, and they may decide I can't fit.  I really don't want to go through that special little sort of humiliation yet again.  Also, this is a "don't eat anything for 6 hours before the test.  And don't take your diabetic meds.  Oh, and if your blood sugar level is over 200, we can't do the test."  Right.  I'm an insulin dependent diabetic (my body does not create insulin), with a really strong dawn phenomena (my body puts out a flood of sugar right when I wake up - most people's body does, it's just mine is extra strong.  I can go to bed at 110 and wake up in the morning at 220. And no, I'm not midnight sleep-snacking.) Oh, and I'm on a pill that is trying to keep Hank under control called Megace - two of the side effects are a) it's an appetite enhancer that they give to cancer patients to try to help them gain weight and b) it messes with your blood sugar.  I mean shooting up to 360, then dropping down to 70 in the course of about 45 minutes.  So, trying to guess what the heck my blood sugar is going to be at any particular moment is a little like attempting to plan a luge run on my old red flying saucer after an Olympic Village after-party.  What I'm saying is that precision is not exactly on tap here.

Then, if I do manage to thread the weight and blood-sugar constraints, we get to the fun part of the morning.  They put me in a quiet room, dump radioactive dye into my veins and make me sit quietly, by myself, for 45 to 60 minutes.  I have to sit by myself because at this stage, apparently, I could poison any small children, dogs or husbands who are in the same room with me, just by glowing at them.  Heck, people... I'm a down-winder (well, I'm a down-winder's daughter).  We laugh at radioactivity! Then, they put me on a table, with my hands over my head, and I have to stay like that.  For 2 hours.  Rotator cuff screaming, back aching, muttering vague imprecations about the entire medical profession under my breath - I know, it's not them, it's me.  But I'm the one writing this rant, so I'm going to be complaining loudly. 

Then, Roger gets to take me home, where I can't do the usual "console myself with chocolate" routine (despite when anyone may tell me, broccoli is *not* the same in this instance), and we wait for the results.  I don't know why I schedule these scans on Friday - it just gives me two more days to worry, but that part I will admit fault for. 

It's been almost a year now since the whole Carrie remake that introduced me to Hank.  At the time, the cancer doctor didn't want to make predictions, but didn't sound really positive about me lasting more than a couple of years.  But then again, I don't think she thought I would ever be able to lose anywhere near 140 pounds (heck, I didn't think I would be able to, at the time.)  But I still realize that this is a race, and each time the scan comes up, I'm terrified to look at the scoreboard.  Best case scenario - the sheer volume and variety of veggies has scared Hank into submission, he's retreating, all is good with the world.  Ok scenario - he's stayed stable and I've still got more time to try to beat him.  Worst case - he's growing again.  I don't want to think about worst, but funnily enough, when I'm lying there with my eyes closed, that's about all I can think of.  Maybe now that I've written it out, though, it'll be out of my head and I'll be able to sleep.  Goodnight, all.

Adventures with Tri-Met Lift

I went in to the office today (normally I telework, but we had our monthly All-Hands meeting - last one was in August, I think).  I knew there was no way I could wait around to carpool with Roger - when we carpool, he drops me off about 6:00, and then it's frequently 5:30 or so by the time he picks me up.  I was having a hard time with that when I was healthy - what with Hank's extra ballast and my head having turned into a flaming ball of sinus-snot this week... just not happening. 

Approximation of the inside of my head

But!  I finally got signed up with Tri-Met Lift and thought "Ha!  I'll set it up for them to pick me up at 3:00, get home about 3:30 or so... it'll be great!  Well, not necessarily great - but survivable."Around 3:30, I started getting nervous.  Finally, 3:45, the bus arrived, driven by an arthritic 62-year-old woman (guilt!  guilt!) who proceeded to hit most of the backroads in Portland (and quite a few of the potholes.)  Finally home by 4:45 and went straight to bed with the Moose - didn't come out until Roger made me eat dinner and update the blog, and now I'm heading back to bed.  My boss wants me to start coming in to work more often, and I thought that this would be a great way to do it, but I think this is going to need some refinement.

Incidentally, I'll leave you with a fun homework assignment - google "flaming ball of sinus snot" and switch over to images.  For one thing, it's not a google-nope.  At least one other person has typed in that exact phrase before.  For another, you get some of the oddest random images - a bottle of cocaine, a picture of a golden retriever, Sneezy, something from coveredincathair.com, something called a "baby nasal aid"... very, very random.

Still sort of off-line here - need help with some mojo for Mom, though

She's not feeling as good as she has been - very tired, puffy and her innards are hurting if she moves around much at all.  She saw the doctor today, and they've got her on antibiotics just in case, but she could use some good thoughts.

As for the rest of us, Daniel is starting to feel better, I'm still reduced to being a mouthbreather/dealing with a sinus cold that's got me on the ropes, and Roger is doing well, but avoiding looking at any of us, let alone getting close, I think. 

Had an odd night last night - I was in that sort of Nyquil twilight, and Moose and Daisy kept jockeying for position to see who could sleep closest to my face, while Dancer was down at the bottom of the bed, occasionally letting out this pitiful "meep" - turns out that Mom's door had blown shut, and Dancer had been accidentally locked out overnight.  She was quite upset about the whole thing.

Sorry for the temporary interruption of services - we'll be back

Stole/borrowed/appropriated this one from Facebook (it's from www.robot-hugs.com) - fits my mood today.  I'm still struggling a little with a bit of depression/angry/being worn out, along with a cold that's kind of kicking my butt.  Fortunately, tomorrow is a day off, so I get one more day to hide under my purple furry blanket with a couple of puppies snuggled up close (Moose's standard position is tucked in right behind my knees, head resting on my ankles, Daisy tends to snuggle in on the curve of my neck).  And I had a leftover piece of mom's birthday cake (no worry - it's plant-based.  Chocolate, but plant-based.) so that should go a long way to improving my mood. 

This is the same furry purple blanket I lent to mom when she came home from the hospital.  It was a big hit with her (and with the puppies) - enough so that we ended up getting her one to have permanently.  There's just something about a furry blanket to make you feel like everything is going to eventually be ok, or if not, at least you have a comfortable place to survey the carnage from.  I highly recommend them - Berkeshire makes them, and sells them on QVC for about $35.  (Less than a therapy session - you can't beat that with a stick.)

Valentine's night out

Roger and I went out to the Ambassador (pictures coming of the outfit).  I've been starting to slip into a little bit of a depression (throat was all scratchy, dealing with more humiliation regarding scans, worrying about Mom, reminders of the fact that I've got cancer, etc...) so Roger decided I needed a night out, just the two of us.  It was lovely - I broke training for one night and had a couple of drinks (something called a "Barbie Girl" - yes, it looked and tasted just like a "Barbie Girl".  Pink and plastic, innocuous looking but a serious hazard to your moral character.)

Almost no one was there for the first part of the night, so I got to sing 3 times and Roger got to sing twice - I did my traditional "Whatever Lola Wants" (Sarah Vaughn works well when your voice is gone), and Roger sang "Little Red Riding Hood" to me, and made me melt again.  Almost 19 years together, and he's still the only one I want to go home with... must be love. 

Contrary to Karaoke tradition, there were no old guys singing Frank Sinatra, but there was one old cowboy singing... well, massacring old 80s country songs (what he did to "Living on Love" was a damn shame), and some giggly 20somthings who did things to "Double Vision" that they should be arrested for, but it was a blast.  I'd forgotten how much fun it can be just to lose yourself in singing in a crowd.  At any rate - I'm going to stumble off to bed, after drinking a bunch of water and taking aspirin to try to stave off the coming morning Barbipocolypse.  (Nothing that pink is ever benign - I know I'm going to pay, but it was worth it.)  Happy Valentine's Day, y'all.

***stumbling off to bed humming "you're no exception to the rule.  I'm irresistible, you fool... give in."***

Valentine's Day Tips

I saw a commercial including Valentine's day tips, and while some of their ideas were too bad (if it's next to beef jerky, it's a no - stainless steel is never a good idea, you know...), I thought we could improve on them.  Here's some of mine - please feel free to add or challenge any of these...

1.  About the whole flower thing - while it's romantic and all that, what it really is, is a chance for her to count coup on her office enemies.  Either go really big, or go really obviously sentimental.  One perfect daisy just isn't going to do it unless there's jewelry tied to the stem.  And have it delivered to her at work - preferably early in the day, so that every other woman has to walk past them on her desk and die a little inside.

2.  Pajama-gram is a cruel, cruel trick played on guys.  Ditto with the bear-o-grams.

3.  The right card can make a woman melt for years afterwards, every time she sees it.  (Ask Roger for hints on this one - he's hit me with several that managed to make me cry.  Ok, that's not that high of a bar - I've had country music songs make me cry - but still... it works.)

4.  For certain women (generally my friends), something that beeps is much better than something that gleams.  I'm talking serious electronics here - I'd much rather get a flash drive than a flashy bracelet.

As for guys... no clue.  Still trying to figure out what to give Roger for Valentines - any suggestions, guys?

Ice (machine) Follies

Apparently, the year of bad plumbing is continuing, because our ice machine went on the fritz.  But it did give me a chance to read the oddest instructions I've seen for the new machine...

"Warning:  This appliance is not intended for use by persons (including children) with reduced physical, sensory or mental capabilities, or lack of experience and knowledge, unless they have been given supervision or instruction concerning use of the appliance by a person responsible for their safety."

This, for a machine where the instructions are basically pour the water in, wait, remove the ice.  Trying to figure out whose turn it is to be responsible which day is going to be the hardest part of using this machine.  I call "not it".

Ok, maybe this is a little harder than I thought...

Thank you guys! And a Moose portrait...

I just want to thank those of you reading this blog.  It means a lot to me that you all continue to come back to read my words - it's keeping me writing and thinking and creating, which has kept me from screaming at times the past few weeks. 

But anyway...  I was going to write something deadly serious about how I'm starting to feel like a bit of a Jerry Springer panelist whenever I meet someone new who hears my story and says something like "oh, how awful!  I don't think I could handle that".  But frankly, I just don't have the fortitude for that tonight.  So, instead, you get a word portrait of my boy.

Moose.  My little Teutonic terriorist.  He came into my life 9 or so years ago, smuggled into Oregon from the Utah Dachshund Rescue Society (aka my Aunt Sherri).  He was originally named Peter the Great, Junior (son of Peter the Great and Lady Zelda the III), but really... look at this face:

Not the face of an aristocrat

 So he became Moose.  Our little bruiser (literally - trust me, when he lands on you from full flight, you feel every ounce of that 17 pounds.)

He has certain self-appointed duties, like every dog.  His main job, of course, is to guard the house with ruthless determination and efficiency.  There's not a Fed-Ex or UPS guy in Portland who doesn't know his battle cry (sometimes the battle cry emits from under a blanket on his mom's lap, but it's a battle cry nonetheless).  He's a Hoover like no other - the first human word he recognized was "Ooops".  He also makes laps during the night, just to make sure everything is going smoothly - around midnight (and two, and four), he'll struggle out from under the blankets, roam the house, checking there's no raccoons that have snuck into the house (they're tricky, you know), and then whine at the bottom of the ramp until I move over and let him back up on the bed. 

I'll write more about him later (you really can't stop me - he's my boy!), but for tonight, again, thank you all.  You're helping me with one of my bucket list items, and I appreciate the heck out of it.

Quick update on Mom

She had her checkup appointment today (the one that was delayed from Friday by Snowmageddon), and they removed her drains and staples, so she's appliance free now.  It hurts for today (pulling the drains out is not for wusses, apparently), but it looks like she's healing well - thank you all for the good thoughts/prayers/mojo.  We're even going to try to get out to the group tomorrow - I think it'll be good for both of us to re-ground.

Listicle - why my new stalking obsession is Prince Hubertus Hohenlohe

1.  He's on the Mexican ski team at 55.  Actually, he *is* the Mexican ski team.  And their entire Olympic team. 

2.  This is his 6th Olympics.  That's right, 6th.  You have to admire that kind of stamina.

3.  He used to ski downhill, but apparently that worries his mother, so he's switched to slalom.  I admire a man who listens to his mother (just as long as he has his own castle as well.)

4.  Mariachi-themed sportswear.  That's right. 

5.  Which only slightly beats his previous Olympic outfit - a Pistolero...

6.  When he's not skating, he releases pop albums under the name Andy Himalaya. 

7.  He's the second-oldest male Winter Olympian ever (the record is held by a 58-year-old curler from the 1924 Olympics.)  Reportedly, he's planning on quitting because "oldest Olympian" is not a record he wants.

8.  He can actually ski - his highest Olympic mark was 28th, but he's done better than that in the World Championships.
 
9.  He's got a home in Lichtenstein.  I've always been a little fascinated by Lichtenstein.

10.  I love dreamers - and this is sort of the epitome of dreaming, isn't it?

Not quite the Iditirod

Our Daisy Mae - not quite what Jack London had in mind, but she's just as fearless as those huskies. 

Snow Day Recipes

Our backyard from the last big snow (we haven't got the camera out yet for this one)

We're still surviving Snowmageddon - in fact, we're heading into Snowmageddon 2, Electric Boogaloo - but for some reason, snow days always make me want to cook.  Well, not just cook, experiment.  I saw a recipe that looked interesting, but ended up taking it in a completely different direction, and it turned out really terrific (at least, Mom and I both thought so.  The guys were reluctant to try it.  Their loss.)

At any rate... this one is dead simple.  It does have avocado, so it's definitely a snow-day kind of food, although I think it also might be my next pot-luck contribution - really, it's that good.  Take a can of chickpeas (drained and rinsed), mash them up with a fork (we're looking for rustic here, not completely pulverized), add a can of mild roasted green chilies (or whatever heat quotient you're comfortable with - I'm a bit of a wuss), and mash in one avocado.  Add a couple of teaspoons of lime juice, salt and pepper to taste, and you're good to go.  Works as a sandwich filling, would be terrific with sliced cucumbers/carrots/peppers as a dip... if people weren't watching, I'd be willing to just scoop it into my mouth, but that would not be polite. 

Last night, we did up a basic potato/leek/mushroom soup - also turned out good, but next time, I think I might want to add a little barley or something - needed some textural interest.

Tonight, we're going to make up a good vegan chili -  http://blog.fatfreevegan.com/2012/01/healthy-super-bowl-party-chili.html is the base, although Roger adds a little Snappy Tom mix to give it a bit more kick - and use it on some oven-baked fries for vegan chili fries.  We're watching the Opening Night Ceremonies for the Olympics, and this seems to fit the theme. 

So, what food do you turn to on snow days?  Is soup your style?  Pizza?  Grilled cheese and tomato soup used to be my go-to, but I have yet to find a good cheese substitute for melting cheese - although we have found a reasonable tasting Mac'n'Cheez that has Daniel search everywhere for the cheese-bag (he refuses to believe it's vegan.) 

Defending my home city

Mom has been over in the chair next to me, disparaging Portland's tendency to freak out when it snows. Ok, so she has a reason to disparage - her doctor called and cancelled her follow-up appointment for today at 2:00 because a snowstorm has been predicted for this afternoon (actual line from the conversation - "How's your bandage doing" "It's starting to come apart" "Well, abdominal bandages do that - don't worry about it".) 

Don't worry about her, everyone - the doctor was very careful to check, and she hasn't been running a fever, her drainage is almost non-existent, she's been able to get up and around a bit more - she's doing ok, and she has another follow-up scheduled for Monday.  But being a Utahn, she doesn't realize how the sight of white, flake stuff fascinates and appalls us here. 

It only happens once or twice a year at most - some years we get zero snow at all.  In fact, we even have a website - isitsnowinginpdx.com (it's currently wrong, but still...) And this particular snow event is supposed to be a doozy - it's coming up from the south, and there's already been a 20-car pileup down between Albany and Salem.  Plus, Portland snow is just weird.  The wind effects from the Gorge are currently making the snow outside my window fall up. 

But more importantly - we know how to act when it snows.  First, the night before, you stock up on toilet paper, milk and bread.  Second, while the freeways may be clear, you don't stand a chance of making it to the freeways unless you live on a main artery, so you stay off the road (and you make fun of the idiots who are sliding down the hill in their car.)   Third, you have to appreciate it while it's here.  Being Portland, it never stays around - by Sunday, it'll be raining again. 

Mom's back

It's so great to have her back home again, but I find myself thinking "but, things were supposed to be back to normal".  Never mind the fact that the woman just went through a couple of surgeries, some transfusions, being sawed in half with the staples still holding her together...  Normality is going to be a while.  Actually, I think I realized this before she did (have I mentioned our genetic ability to brick wall anything we don't want to acknowledge?)  She's probably going to be sleeping out in the living room for a while - we've got a wonder recliner that's much more comfortable at this point than her bed. 

The puppies were very happy and a little clingy at first.  Ok, very clingy.  I don't think Dancer moved for about 3 hours straight.  But apparently, they've bounced back - it's currently Psycho Puppy Hour, and the blondes are tearing up the living room, while Mom, Roger, Moose, Dixie and I just try to stay out of the way as much as possible.  When PPH hits, there's nothing to do but hold on and try to ride it out. 

So, schedule for the rest of the week - I'm going to be back at work tomorrow (thank god for teleworking), and Roger is likewise returning to work.  I don't think Mom is going to be up for group tomorrow.   I've got to try to get my 3-month scan scheduled (I'm hoping for Friday, Roger's Friday off), and then Mom has a return checkup Thursday.  At some point in there, we need to fix the ramp for my scooter on the back of the Element (did I happen to mention that it broke down just as Roger was pulling up to the hospital Wednesday?  Have I mentioned how much I am ready for this year to be over with?  We're really hoping that it was going on a Lunar new year, so starting up again Saturday.  I'm really tired of living in interesting times.)  Mom's birthday is coming up on the 15th, Brigid's wedding is in April, various other social events...  Other than that, smooth sailing ahead  .

Still gloating - but I can multitask and update at the same time.

Ok, Mom kicked me out of the hospital room and sent me home for excessive gloating. (Not really - but she might have thought about it. She's a Broncos fan.) At any rate, she's doing well, just ready to shut down and be quiet for the night. Still hoping she gets to come home tomorrow - she's able to walk around, just getting tired easily.

As for the more important part of the day (the commercials) - my favorite was the Silverado "I Believe In Miracles" ad.  Although the Doritos ad was cute as well...

Update again

Today was not quite as good as yesterday, although not horrible.  Good news - the doctors are still thinking that she might be able to come home tomorrow, which would be wonderful.  Daniel has her room all ready for her, fresh fluffy sheets on the bed, a stereo moved in so that she can rock out (judiciously, of course - no head banging the first week), the puppies are more than ready...

But she had to have a transfusion of a couple of pints of O-neg, and she's feeling pretty punk at this point.  Understandably - it's been a long week, but I still worry.  Her skin is looking a lot better, though, and the nurse did say that the second day after surgery is frequently the worst - it's been two days since they had to go back in to fix the hematoma.  I'm choosing to focus on the good news, and ignore the worrying news at this point.  I took my laptop in to the hospital, and we watched a couple of vintage '80s Jeopardy episodes, but most of the time, she was pretty twilighted, so mostly I just crocheted.  I did get a doggie-pad finished, though, so that's sort of productive.