Archives for May 2007

(Lala’s brother Richard always called Digit that, for his polydactyl-ism. I loved that. Fingers. Anyway.)

Good morning, kiddos!

I am back to feeling almost normal. Thank god. I do, however, have to have my tonsils out AGAIN, which, while I knew that was a possibility, I don’t think I had actually admitted to myself that it might go that way, so I am disappointed, very, very disappointed. Ick. I am not looking forward to going through the pain I went through in 2002, and the doc said this time it’s gonna be worse. Sigh.

And I pulled a doozy at the doctor, I tell you what. He came in laughing at my chart and my abilities to grow my tonsils back. I made the funny comment that Lala always makes, "It’ll be handy when I lose a finger, huh?"

He just looked at me.

I chortled heartily, trying to warm him up. Funny joke. Haha.

Then he held up his hand, showing me his thumb and his three fingers.

I gasped, and then the only thing I could think of to say was, "I could give you a tonsil?"

He didn’t seem to mind too much, after I reassured him that I hadn’t noticed his hand (I never notice things like that, I have known people for years without realizing they’re missing digits), but I felt like SUCH an ass. I’m never ever making that joke again.

Want some pictures? (Not of the doctor, or his hand. I am not that bad.)

From long, long ago, the day before I got sick. Me and Dylan-pickle, at the zoo, on our date. We had fun.

Artichoke! Almost ready for eatin’. We have four, actually. And that plant is TALL! See?

It’s as tall as I am. And it has baby friends next to it. Yay! More for next year! We seriously ignored this artichoke plant for a year. I think we got one from it last year, and then we gave up gardening for a while, and then looked over the railing this spring to find it was flourishing. Can’t ask for more than that.

The garden grows. The broccoli and beans and soybeans look good – the peppers and basil are taking longer, and I can’t remember what are in the other boxes. Luckily I made myself a seed legend. Just haven’t looked at it recently.

Lala made herself a square-foot garden, too, two weeks later than I did, and she’s already harvesting radishes! Yummy, crisp radishes that I like much more than I remembered. They were always my favorite thing to grow as a kid (even back then I liked instant gratification), but I didn’t like to eat them then. They were just so pretty.

I like this shot:

It’s of the trailing vine that’s coming the back porch — Lala says the name of it all the time, and I never remember it — I just know the flowers look like cartoons, and in my head I call it a monkey-face flower.

Here, Fluffy Willie pretends he can’t see Clara. They get along just fine, but Willie has no interest in snuggling with her.

Unlike Waylon.

As our Carrie would say, "SCHMOOS!"

Durn it. She blogged the unbearable cuteness that is Waylon snuggling with Clara. They’re ridiculously cute.

However, I have this one, which is almost as cute.

Okay, it’s not. But tell me it is, anyway, okay?

I’m at work, as usual. Staying up all night tonight and tomorrow night. Haven’t pulled midnights in a while, and I’m a little scared.

Good golly, I’m boring. G’night.

Apart from the whole breathing at night thing, which I’m not so good at anymore, I’m getting better everyday. Still on antiobiotics, and off to see the ear-nose-throat specialist next week. Thanks for your good wishes.

In the meantime, all is well at the Hehu house. Lala started her really new, really cool job. The dogs and cats are bonding well. Waylon, the smooth haired little kitten, is a spaz, and has very little fear. He’ll walk up to Harriet and rub against her without knowing that that isn’t DONE. And he’s BFF with Clara, who loves him. And I’m telling you, there ain’t much cuter than a small black kitten playing with a big black border collie. Clara is really gentle, even when she puts Waylon’s head in her mouth. The first time she did that, I freaked. But now she does it, and then spits Waylon’s head out, and then gives him punching nose-licks, and Waylon just flops on the floor and waves his paws and purrs and play-fights back.

    Waylon and Miss Idaho, a wee cuddle.

Working like crazy this week, which is where I am now, 72 hours this week, and then one 1/2 day off, and then back for another round. I’ll be working the holiday, and we’re on a new computer system at work, so things aren’t that easy here, but at least they’re interesting. All right, back to it.

Hello, kids! I’ve missed you. Sorry for causing alarm. I am, in fact, still sick, and I believe I’ve been struck with the chronic tonsillitis again. I accidentally went off antibiotics for about 24 hours this weekend, and I got sick again last night, sore throat, white spots, fever, bleah. It’s not a normal strep, and it’s not mono, but the Epstein Barr virus IS active in me, and that can cause this kind of thing, I’ve learned.

Totally has me all bummed out. I think what will probably happen when I see the ear-nose-throat doc is that s/he’ll confirm that it’s chronic, and that my newly regrown and huge tonsils will have to come out again. And it was the MOST awful surgery the first time around. But this is pretty awful in and of itself. I’m just not me. I’m exhausted all the time, can only sit on the couch and watch TV or read, and that completely brings me down, which isn’t a place I like to be. Activity contributes to making me happy, I will admit that, and I haven’t been able to do anything much for about three weeks.

But today I’m back on the antibiotics, and I worked some of last week, about 36 hours, although it was hard and I was weak and puny. I got up at 4:30am on Saturday and did my whole 12 hour shift, which was necessary, but it meant that I couldn’t go see Bjork with knitting pals (although sister Christy got my ticket, and she actually likes Bjork more than I do, so that worked out). And I wanted to do something SO bad on Sunday morning, but I refused to decide if I’d be able to until I woke up yesterday morning.

I woke up, took an inventory of my body, and felt better than I had in weeks. So I got all dressed and picked up my sister and we ran the Bay to Breakers!

Ahem. I will admit that I never know my own limits.

That said, I had a WONDERFUL time. I’ve never run it before, and it was soooo fun.  It’s a 12k (7.5 mile) race that goes from downtown SF, at the Bay, across the entire city to the ocean. 60,000 people run in costume, or in nothing, and they throw corn tortillas in the hour before the race, while you’re lining up. Bands line the route, and block parties are the norm. People drink beer while running, or buy cups of hard lemonade from budding entrepreneurs along the way. All the bars are open. And while I knew about the crazy antics of the runners (my favorite was, of course, the group dressed as salmon, running against the flow of traffic, upstream, yelling "Spawn or die! Spawn or die!"), I had no idea what a party it was along the route. Even the spectators dress up! We passed toga parties and superhero parties, and heavy metal bands set up on rooftops, parties that looked like they’d been going since the night before. It was too much fun.

We walked the Hayes St. Hill, as the majority did, and here’s what it looked like behind us (naked guy is actually made mostly decent by his balloon-strings):

We didn’t expect or need to reach the finish line — I hadn’t run in over a month, what with being sick and all — so we just walked a lot, and shuffled a little run when it was downhill (which was a LOT of the time — we ran way more than we thought we would, just because it was easy). I have blisters today, and various aches and pains, and like I said, I’d forgotten my antibiotics for two doses, so last night I was sick again, and today I’m worn out and a little feverish, but it was worth it. We crossed the finish line triumphantly — o how I love a finish line — and then went to meet friends at the big meetup, Footstock. It was my first time doing anything like that with Christy, and we had the most wonderful time. And while I’m tired today, and still fighting this throat thing, I’m so glad I went. So very, very glad. I feel more like me again.

Lala just called and I told her I was blogging, since I hadn’t in a long time. She said, "yeah, when I’m blogging more than you, there’s a problem." So, hi, y’all. How are you?

(DUDE! I just checked results, and I came in 17,140th place! Christy was 17,139th! Out of 60,000? Whoa! And we were going pretty darn slowly! I should run with drunk people more often. That’s rad.)

Thank you for all your well-wishes, dear readers o’mine. I am feeling better, if only just the tiniest bit better.

I have strep.

I hate strep. I know, you do, too, but I really, truly think I hate it more than you do. I had it chronically, pretty much my whole life, 3-5 times a year as long I can remember. Then, in 2002, I caught strep in New Zealand, came home, and had it for FOUR MONTHS. They couldn’t kill the damn thing. Imagine fever every day for four months, ulcerated throat for four sad, sad months. Antibiotics every day for four months. Nothing worked, and I had to have an "emergency" tonsillectomy (which in an HMO, means you wait for four months for the first "emergency" available surgery date).

So I had them out, which for you strep sufferers, is like thirty strep throats all at once. Never, ever believe the ice cream lie. It’s truly awful. My sweet little mama came up and stayed with me and treated me like I was five which was all I wanted, and then I never got strep again.

Five years with no strep. And now this?

The worst part? My dad left me a comment on my last post, reminding me of something that I’d tried so hard to forget, that he AND his brother both had their tonsils out twice, because they grew back. So when I was at the doctor, I asked, "Does it look like I have tonsils? Even though I had them out?" She said, "Well, those spots look like they’re on tonsils, all right. There’s something there." Bastards. Stupid tonsils. Lala says it will be great when I lose a finger — spontaneous regeneration! But for now, blearg.

So I’m grumpy and I can’t go to Bolinas tonight to watch the band play and I’d had it all set up — I had a room reserved for us up there, and I had Clara being boarded by my dog-walker’s friend (different story completely, but just fifteen minutes ago, I heard a man in OUR BACKYARD calling for Clara, then I see him coming up on our porch, so I leap out of bed and put on my robe, then I hear him in the kitchen and then he’s in the DINING ROOM, putting a rope-leash around Clara’s neck and all the dogs are freaking, and I fly out and ask, "Can I HELP you?" because even in scary times I resort to angry-but-polite-waitress speak, because that’s all I got, people, and it’s Raul, the guy with whom Clara’s supposed to stay for the weekend, but I cancelled with my dog-walker and she was supposed to cancel with him for me but apparently didn’t, and I’m so glad I put my robe on, even though I didn’t have the tie on it, since I dragged BOTH ends of it last night through the cream of asparagus soup Lala made me, and Raul and I had an awkward shaking-hands nice-to-meet-you moment while I desperately held the robe closed with my other hand. He fled out the same back door and out the back gate with the dogs barking at his heels, me not knowing quite WHAT to do. I suppose I could have let him out the front door, only he was gone so fast. Then I went in the bathroom where Lala had been showering and told her and she just gaped at me. She missed the whole thing.)

What was I saying? So yes, no fun for me. Whinge. But I am getting better, every day, and I just have to be patient. Lala’s taken the dogs to the park, so it’s quiet. Maybe it’s nap-time again. Yes.

PS – I think I picked the bug up at the zoo, where I took Dylan last week. I have pictures. I’ll show you soon.

Oh, my god, am I sick. This is sick like when you were a kid sick. I’ve had a fever hovering around 101.5 for the past two days and my throat is so sore it hurts to breathe. I’ve had my share of strep throats, chronic for most of my life until I got my tonsils out at 30, and this is all of that rolled into one big ball of fever-pain.

Wanna know the worst part? I was supposed to start teaching my knitting class last night, and there was no way. I could barely whisper, and I couldn’t stand up without going into a flop sweat and then collapsing into shivers, and I HATE LETTING PEOPLE DOWN. I know everyone does, that’s the sign of a responsible person, but it seems to go further than that with me, moving into some obsessive-compulsive Type-A madness. No, I can go! I’ll dose up on medicine! I’ll fake it! They’ll never know! I must handle my business, sickness bedamned! I made myself sicker worrying about  this class, I think.

But Sile, the owner of knit-one-one, came to the rescue. She found a sub for me (thank you, thank you, Kate). And not only that, but she drove over to my house and picked up my class supplies, and then she also left me a care package. A care package! How is THAT for forgiveness? A little juice, a muffin, some tea, a Ready Made mag, Baby Catcher (the very book I’d been eyeing just a few nights ago in the bookstore), some Jolly Ranchers.

That kind of thoughtfulness and care made a person like me (STRESSED beyond belief by letting people down) finally be able to relax and sleep. Which is what I’m planning on doing today. And probably the next couple of days, too. Thank you, dear Sile.

(Oh! Before I forget AGAIN, Lala named the other kitten Waylon. Which was appropriate, since when I found him, he was wailin’. So we have Waylon, for the music, and Willie for the writing. She says it’s Willie like Nelson, but I know it’s Willie like Shakespeare, and so do you. Although it does reference a Waylon Jennings song he sings with Willie Nelson, in which they sing about themselves, "Let’s go to Luckenbach, Texas, Waylon and Willie and the boys, this successful life we’re living got us fueding like the Hatfields and McCoys." That’s more information than you wanted? Waylon and Willie are doing well, and the dogs are getting used to them. Waylon already wants to play with Clara’s big nose.)