Category: health

fragile

fragile

Posted on by wrekehavoc

the thing about modern medicine is that we, modern citizens in the modern world, assume it cures and completes everything. you take a pill; a malady ceases. you inhale a puffer of medicine; you breathe again. it’s simple and it seems to work most of the time.

yet BC continues to struggle with her coughs. the child is on symbacort, nasonex, amoxicillin (20 days, thanks very much), prevacid, and zantac. (she’s also supposed to be on zyrtec, but it doesn’t seem to do anything for her, so we’ve taken that one out of the lineup.) the cough has improved a bit, but her stomach aches, in spite of the yogurt i attempt to put down her gullet to counteract the antibiotic destruction of good bacteria. she isn’t sleeping well. and she’s a bit miserable at night. in fact, last night, she wailed: i wish i wasn’t on all this medicine. i was happier when i was coughing all the time!

there are those times when you wonder whether you’re doing the right thing.

it doesn’t help that i’m only finally coming out of a tough IVIG experience. understand, i ADORE/ LOVE/ WORSHIP the nurses who take great care of me. but accidents happen. i go through three bottles of Gammagard, and i sit for about 4-5 hours because it needs to drip slowly or else i get ill. unfortunately for me, the second bottle dripped so quickly, it finished it in record time. the clue, of course, was that for me, finishing two bottles in two hours is unheard-of. i stood up to let the nurse know i was ready for bottle #3.

and it all started when i sat down. my body felt fluttery and weak. my head started to ache. my stomach felt nauseous. (note that i do not barf. i am only nauseous when i am seriously ill or when i’m pregnant. i knew it wasn’t the latter.) in short, i was having a reaction to the IVIG.

see, i’m allergic to IVIG. i need it every four weeks, so i get it, but not without premedication. when i had it for the first time in the hospital two years ago, the nurse ignored my brother-the-doctor’s suggestion that she premedicate me with benadryl prior to giving me IVIG since i have such a history of allergies to so many things. it’s not written on your chart, she muttered without interest. let’s give it a try without.

within 20 minutes, my entire body was shaking violently. it was after midnight (why do they always try things in the dead of night when no one is around?), and i struggled to actually push the help button. when the nurse finally arrived, she looked at me deadpan as i was shaking uncontrollably and having what i can only guess what some sort of a seizure and said, gee, i guess you do need some benadryl.

(there are times when i wonder whether i would have been prosecuted for kicking her once my body settled down.)

once the benadryl was added to my IV, it was as if i achieved nirvana in 30 seconds. peace reigneth. probably the first time in my life i understood why some people inject themselves with drugs. there’s no wait. instant karma.

[kids: i am not endorsing injecting yourselves with anything. do not try that at home or anywhere else.]

i always have a reaction to IVIG. at first, even premedicated, i ran a temperature, had terrible chills, and was exhausted. i’ve moved on to the place where i usually just come home and go to bed and wake up fine. but for some reason, the headache i developed from the latest reaction, along with the exhaustion, followed me for days. i can’t imagine it was the IVIG the entire time; i suspect it triggered something that just went from there.

but we never went camping. i had an awful mother’s day. and i didn’t really start feeling well until yesterday.

i guess i better remember that neither my kid nor i is invincible.

remedy

remedy

Posted on by wrekehavoc

our house is stress central.

one child had to get two immunizations yesterday. a child who has a limited pain threshold. i won’t mention names, but it’s a girl child. a girl child who was star of the week one minute but then not necessarily star of the pediatrician’s office the next. her hand started hurting her, along with the shot sites. tylenol was not helping. my brother-the-doctor indicated that perhaps a nerve was hit, but not a biggie. still, not a pretty afternoon.

one spouse had to work. he had to work a lot. he had to work a lot again. he called at 4:45 pm to share that we needed to go downtown to pick up one other child at school. school ends at 6 p.m. this is the height of DC rush hour, coming AND going. am i happy yet?

no. not hardly.

downtown we drove in a rush, the unhappy and now-in-pain immunized person and i. we made it in record time. my parking pass was confiscated, as i need a new 2008 one. it is now may. but nice security people let me park anyway, as the worst security threat we pose is one girl reenacting the exorcist. (i’ll let you wonder which one. the answer is not as simple as it might seem.)

we make it to one hellboy’s school. a hellboy who apparently as of late has made a career of knocking around some of the toddlers in the morning. (just cause.) someone is acting out. someone who might be a pissed-off palooka. but knocking babies around like inflatable punching bags is unacceptable behavior around here.

fortunately, today was not a punching-other-children sort of day. it was merely a spending-time-holding-hands-with-my-main-girlfriend sort of day. yes. the boy is in love. and he’s in love with a girl named condoleezza.

not this one (though i suspect she may be named for her. but i don’t know for certain.) ah. only in DC.

but he listened. and he behaved.

am i happy yet?

not quite. but a little better.

we three rush home, rushing in a rush hour way. which means not exactly speeding down constitution avenue. it doesn’t help that the woman driving in front of me is driving like hunter s. thompson is her co-pilot. wouldn’t it be funny if we got home and daddy’s car was in the driveway? BC joked.

don’t push me, little girl.

of course, BS wasn’t home when we got home. and i had not even cooked dinner. when it’s after 6 and dinner isn’t even started, and people are climbing the walls in search of something edible, it is time to visit mr. freezer to see what magic he holds. lucky for me, there was a wegmans veggie lasagna languishing, ever since i bought it and BS said: ew. no one is going to eat THAT. tough times call for tough measures. (and i say that in this house, if you’re not home, you don’t get to pick dinner.) that sucker was going in the microwave.

miraculously, the kids loved it. we’re talking BC, aka miss picky-picky of the western world, asked for seconds. the only criticism i got about it was that there were carrots in it, according to jools. (i don’t have the heart to tell them that there was also spinach and mushrooms. jools loves them, but BC hates both of those.)

am i happy yet? getting closer.

i get kids bathed; i read some chapters of some inscrutable Bionicle book we found at the elementary school fair last weekend. i medicate a certain older child with the zillion different things she requires thanks to her magical lungs… and immunizations. in case i have forgotten, she is IN PAIN. she CAN’T MOVE HER ARMS.

do all moms have days like this?

i start hellboy into bed. it’s 8:00. BS comes home.

DADDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

well, so much for that mission accomplished. at this point, BS is speaking in monosyllabic grunts. he has had a long day. he has had a long, not-so-good day. he has had a long, not-so-good, and apparently hungry day. did you eat yet? i believe he grunted in the negative. enjoy the lasagna!

i get the boy into bed. i get the girl into bed. she’s in pain, so i get her something from the freezer to help at least one of her arms. in vain, of course.

BS says goodnight to the girl. BS says goodnight to the boy. after a few minutes of decomposing, as we call it in this house, BS announces he’s going to bed.

fabulous.

meanwhile, there’s one little girl who can’t sleep. in the morning, she’ll let me know that she was UP. ALL. NIGHT. but i waited, and i waited until she fell asleep before i went up to bed. so i know she was at least asleep for 30 seconds of the night.

on the bright side, little man went to sleep like a champ.

lately, i am so exhausted. i feel completely wrung out. tomorrow, i go for some more IVIG, and hopefully that will help me keep from getting sick. see, when i get wrung out, i get sick. no one around here gets that. moms are supposed to just keep going and going and going. but i have to just stop sometimes. if i don’t stop some times, i will stop. for good.

fortunately, this morning, i awoke and thought about a little boy in this house who likes to sing a certain song. how BS found out about this group, i don’t know. but jools is completely hooked on the hook of this song, called Nth Degree.

i found it on youtube. and everyone gathered around. even BS.

and suddenly, there was the remedy. it was just a few minutes, but we actually were all smiling. we were all happy.

even me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vhMhm9euT8&hl=en

and that dang bird is still trying to get into our house.

about last night

about last night

Posted on by wrekehavoc

about last night: i wrote an absolutely out-and-out scathing post, a post about how angry i am. it was so screamingly angry that i deleted it.

days upon days upon days of little sleep are adding up to one major wiped-out woman on the verge of something. i couldn’t even sleep last night, even though the kids were in bed. i am just so wound up. so many people in this house are not sleeping for one reason or another. and when you’re the mom, you end up being the catcher of all this sleep deprivation, by default. even the best dads might sleep through things, but moms never do, unless they have been drugged or killed.

so there i was on the computer, and i was bombarded with messages about mother’s day: buy mom flowers. send mom a card. get mom jewelry. take mom out for a nice meal. now, i have no quarrel with getting my mother or my mother in law some token of appreciation for the day, and i certainly appreciate the cards and sometimes unidentifiable objets d’arte that my children make for me.

but there are times like today, yesterday, the day before, all last week… times when i just feel like everyone is sucking the lifeblood out of me. i work for my family. i work for the house. i work for the fucking WORLD. 24/7, whether it’s doing the dishes, or dealing with illness, or handling my exploding home, or helping my kids navigate through some crisis or another. i don’t get paid for it. i don’t get thanked for it. i sometimes don’t even think people realize what i do. but it’s all down to me. i am in charge of directing my family’s life.

and no one works for me.

in short, i don’t want mother’s day. i don’t need jewelry. i don’t need to go to the International Fucking House Of Putrid Food. and i don’t want any flowers.

what i want is mother’s life.

i don’t want to be appreciated on one day. i want to be appreciated every single day. i want people to notice that i never get a day off, much less a weekend. and i’m glad to do it, even though it wasn’t necessarily my first career choice. i am grateful i get to do it, too, all right? but i wonder sometimes whether it was the right choice for me.

the other day, we were talking about clothing, and BC said oh mama, you don’t need to ever wear suits. you are just not the suit kind. this child has no recollection of a time when i worked outside the home and wore something beyond sweats or jeans. this child thinks i live and breathe for her. and, through the choices i have made, helped along by my health predicament, i guess i do. or have done.and of course, i will continue to do so.

but i often wonder what sort of example i am setting for her. yes, dear: study hard, get a masters degree, and you, too, can become the floor upon which your family walks.

and of course, if i complain, i am ungrateful. ungrateful that there is a roof over my head, food on my table, and IVIG in my veins. what a shallow bitch, one might say. do you know that Susie or Sally have it SO. MUCH. WORSE. THAN. YOU. (yes. i know. thanks.)

but is self-preservation an unworthy goal?

i have just come from BC’s school. their big 5k training run is this morning; and while BS is running with BC on race day, BC asked me if i would run with her this morning. parents are not required this morning, but she wanted me to run with her. let me point out for the record: i hate running. but, i got suited up, rushed my kishkes around, and drove her there at 7:50 in the ayem. we get there — there must be about 50 girls there plus some parents. and there’s a huge circle being formed. girlfriend runs over to one of her friends as they make the circle. i walk over to stand beside her. no, mom, she says. you stand over there, and she points to siberia on the other side of this tremendous circle. no other moms or dads are being banished. they are all standing next to their respective daughters.something inside me just snapped.

nope, i replied. i’ll see you later then. good bye! and i walked away. and i left.

so yes, add that to the collection of why i am a bad mother.i’m not going to be treated like shit by any nine year old. i am not going to be treated like shit by any 40-something year olds, either. in short, i am no longer taking shit from anyone out there, related or not.

i am tired, tired and extremely angry. and appreciating me one day in may, a day where i will have woken up all cranky and cold because i will have slept overnight in a cabin devoid of electricity and indoor plumbing, courtesy of my little Girl Scout, will probably be too little too late. i appreciate every single person around me; at least, i appreciate the ones i’m related to — and certainly quite a few to whom i am not.
appreciate me now.

the letter

the letter

Posted on by wrekehavoc

Dear Fairfax Hospital Administrator:

Today, my child went to INOVA FFX Hospital for Children. She had both a CT scan and an upper GI. We arrived a little early just because as my child could neither eat nor drink, I thought it best that we just get to the hospital. The people in the CT department were stellar: they got my child in and out right away, including her paperwork for the upper GI, which had to be done through pediatric radiology.

We arrived at about 9:15 in pediatric radiology. We checked in, and my daughter had the pleasure of overhearing the initial woman who greeted us complain to her coworkers about how much she didn’t like working there. That woman left for parts unknown, and another lady took her place, a lady who apparently didn’t get the message that we were there. We sat. We sat. At 10:30, after watching several people get taken before us, I went up to the desk. The woman had no earthly idea we had been there and were waiting. She called the GI folks and explained what I had told her, although she provided misinformation — making it sound like we had just arrived when we had been there for a long time already — and I had to continue to explain to her that we HAD BEEN THERE for NEARLY 90 MINUTES, waiting. Once the GI tech came out, the tech apologized profusely, stating that they HAD BEEN WAITING FOR US FOR A LONG TIME. They had no idea we were waiting.

I think the best part about the experience was how the receptionist broke out a big tub of spaghetti at about 10:15, which was just near the jar of candy in front her her window. My daughter, who had not eaten since 9 pm last night, nearly burst into tears, she was so hungry. In a room where several children may not eat or drink before their tests, how on earth does that demonstrate any sort of empathy for the children in the waiting room?

I actually chose to bring my daughter to Fairfax Hospital for tests, as I was under the impression that FFX specifically knows how to treat children with respect. It actually costs me more to do so. My child — at AGE 9 — has now asked me: HOW COULD YOU TAKE ME THERE? I NEVER WANT TO GO TO FAIRFAX HOSPITAL AGAIN! This is a child who has been to Arlington Hospital as well as other medical facilities. She is quite upset with me and with the entire experience. Frankly, I cannot blame her.

The doctors and the techs we encountered were professional and kind to my child. Pity your administrative staff cannot act accordingly.

Yours,

Wreke

hanging on the telephone

hanging on the telephone

Posted on by wrekehavoc

dear fairfax inova hospital,

press 1 if you want this in english –>

press 2 if you’re annoyed, press 3 if you’re upset, press 4 if you feel like you want to hurt someone –>

to be sure, it is not your fault that i am having a week from hell. i don’t blame you for my flooded basement, for the response time of the remediation people, or even for my allergies, which seem to have taken on a life of their own.

but i do wonder whether anyone is actually at work there.

my child has some testing to do on monday at your facility. it is difficult enough to face the fact that she is not exactly the happiest person when dealing with any medical procedures whatsoever. (i personally can’t wait ’til i tell her she can’t eat until lunchtime on monday.) in fact, i am specifically taking her to your facility precisely because you deal so well with children during such endeavors. your reputation precedes you.

on wednesday afternoon, someone left a message to preregister my child prior to the procedures. for reasons i do not understand, they left this message on my husband’s voicemail at work. fortunately, my husband, always a guy on-the-job, informed me of this early thursday morning. i called the number and hit someone’s voicemail; only, too bad for me. the voicemail doesn’t identify itself as debra from inova fairfax or even debra, period. it’s just a robo-voicemail-bot. the first three digits of this telephone number don’t even match the numbers of most of the numbers i have since dialed. i could be calling someone at molestors-r-us for all i know with my baby’s info. i think not.

press 5 if you want to leave a helpful, though basic, tip to people who are part of a large corporate entity->

[if it’s a business phone, you ought to leave your name and business info, at the very least, on your voicemail.]

so i went to your website. it should be easy to get a phone number from there, right?

wrong.

basically, i was left with the main hospital number.

press 6 if you are on the verge of volunteering to redesign a corporate entity’s website ->

literally all thursday afternoon, after giving up on hearing from debra, i spent my time bouncing from place to place in your phone system. (though i should say that geraldine, the main operator, is very nice.) so much fun to be had, including being given erroneous information, such as that there’s no way possible my child can be having a procedure, as there’s no pediatric endoscopist available that day. (did anyone HEAR ME? the girl is not getting scoped! she’s getting SCREENED. ARRRRGH.)

lucky for me, of course, i spent the better part of yesterday WAITING FOR THE REMEDIATION GUY, so i had NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN SIT AND PLAY PHONE TAG!

so this morning, because i really love to hear on-hold muzak, i thought i’d try again. (that plus the fact that i have no earthly idea where the hell we are supposed to go.) i tried my new old friend geraldine, who sent me to the wrong place again, only this time, the person on the line gave me a few numbers to try, including a supervisor. amazingly, though, no one is around (only the supervisor gives her name and business on the voicemail, btw). i called the lady back and politely asked her whether anyone besides herself was at work that morning. after our giggles, i got off the phone and wondered what the hell i was going to do.

lightbulb moment: i found the initial scheduling number (thank Dog), and tried there. they don’t preregister there, but maybe, just maybe, they can at least tell me where to show up? of course, there’s more on-hold time:

[we are sorry for the delay. please continue to hold until our next available staff member can be with you.]

press 7 if you are sick of our on-hold muzak->

then finally, after enough time has elapsed for me to clean out the receipts in my wallet and cook a turkey breast, a live human. a live human whom i cannot HEAR. i am not deaf; she just is speaking rather softly.

press 8 if you are on the edge->

so i sit. perfectly still. and i strain to listen to her, best as i can. yes, there’s a record of your daughter’s tests…no, you are already registered; we did that when you set up the appointment. why did that person call you? did they need to verify your insurance?

press nine if you feel your blood about to shoot out the top of your head->

i don’t actually know why the person called. the first three digits of the telephone number are very different from yours.

silence.

uhm. well, let’s hope it was to verify insurance. but here’s where you go on monday…

so administrators at fairfax, i realize there are plenty of insane people out there, and you’re probably reticent to share phone numbers with the public. but people, we need numbers. at least main ones. most businesses have a minimum level of transparency for their customers: you know, so we can actually call you with our business?

and the hours i spent on the phone? i’ll share my hourly rate. you just take that off my bill and we’ll call it even, k?

yours,

wreke

building the perfect beast

building the perfect beast

Posted on by wrekehavoc

kids ask questions. lots of questions. perennial favorites include:

  • where do babies come from?
  • why do i have to go to school?
  • where is jimmy hoffa?

add a new one to the list: why are your boobs bigger/tummy flatter/nose smaller?

lucky for our children, there is a new book by plastic surgeon michael a. salzhauer called my beautiful mommy. this book will explain why mommy has bandages and why, for a little while, can’t pick up her cosmopolitan without help.

what it doesn’t explain: how mommy will have any credibility once her child grows into puberty and doesn’t like what she sees looking back at her in the mirror: well mommy, you changed your [enter body part/s of choice here] in order to look like Barbie; why can’t i?

fix you

fix you

Posted on by wrekehavoc

just because i don’t post about my health every blessed day doesn’t mean it doesn’t loom in my little bear brain every blessed day. everyone needs a hobby in life; and it has become abundantly clear that mine is a career as a professional patient.

thanks to my CVID, i get to do the following at a minimum:

  • hook up to an IV for a few hours every four weeks for my yummy IVIG treatments;
  • visit the hematologist/oncologist every two months and have a look at my platelets – and only if i am well. we get to see each other more frequently if my platelets tank;
  • visit the infectious diseases doctor every six months and find out how i am progressing (and now that mine has changed practices, i get to meet a new infectious diseases doctor — hooray!);
  • get a lung and sinus scan annually, which means i will glow in the dark forever;
  • experience an endoscopy and colonoscopy on a fairly early and often basis; and
  • occasionally visit a pulmonary doctor to ask whether my lungs are getting bad.

(did i mention i pay a zillion copays and thank my lucky stars that i have health insurance?)

lest i forget, there’s my beloved regular plain old doctor, who sees me every time i end up with an infection i can’t lick on my own. that poor guy. i walk in with the weirdest illnesses. i can’t believe he doesn’t run away when he hears i’m on the schedule.

all this gives me little time to think about other health issues that a woman of my age needs. like high cholesterol. heart disease. weight. my vision. that sort of thing. i suppose i could make it my full-time job to obsess, but i prefer to place my obsession with my children. their health concerns are so much more interesting to me than are my own.

but, as being in the hospital so powerfully reminded me, if i don’t take care of me, then i’m not there to take care of them.

so i do.

monday, i went to the hematologist/oncologist office, where i had blood drawn for a platelet check and visited the very wonderful nurse practitioner, who has seen me through negligible platelets, a major steroid hump, and all the joy that comes with it. she is so upbeat, so cheery, and yet so genuine. and she leaves no stone unturned.

however, on monday, one stone was slightly off the beaten path. normal platelet counts start at 150k and work up to 450k. (memorize that in case you end up on medical jeopardy.) depending on which part of my IVIG cycle i’m on, my platelets usually are anywhere between 175 and 200. but too bad for me: i got my little yellow paper from the lab, and it said i was at 155. yes, still above normal, but not by much.

in short, i freaked.

when you have some sort of weird illness or condition, you try so hard to reach for a sense of normalcy in your life. it’s something that having a life-threatening condition strips from you, along with complete peace of mind, as you know what it’s like to have a body that is completely in revolt. mental tranquility is simply not there anymore, although when you’re a parent, you fight hard to fake it, especially in front of your children. they deserve peace all the time. but yet you have these periods of time when denial is as close as you will come to that peace. you embrace it because you want life to always be like this.

but on this monday, denial was peeled away like onion skin, leaving my fear completely exposed. what the hell is happening to me? i thought i had things under control. i thought they had fixed me as much as they could. am i broken again?

i shivered when the nurse practitioner came in the room to see me. how are you doin? she asked, ever perky.

well, i replied, i thought i was ok. but then i saw this paper, and now, i’m not so sure.

she took a look at it. oh, i see. her eyes looked at me apologetically. the platelet number isn’t what you want, huh.

it’s a little lower than my usual, i replied.

you know, she said, our machine is on the fritz and keeps spitting out the wrong numbers. doctor has been on the phone with the hospital and the company – he is furious that no one has given us a new machine yet, what with all the blood we draw. in the meantime, we let the blood sit for 15 minutes and read it again. we’ve been getting better results this way. let’s do that and see, okay?

was this going to be my hematological deus ex machina? i sure hoped so.

the lab rechecked my blood while i went through my personal checkup with the nurse practitioner. and lo and behold, my numbers were delivered: 176. much, much better.

i don’t know how reliable those numbers are versus the first ones. but as far as i’m concerned, i am fixed again for another day.

in your eyes

in your eyes

Posted on by wrekehavoc

i’m writing this today because i have to. see, it’s my dad’s birthday, and i have to acknowledge this in print, as he is my most loyal reader. ever.

(hi, dad!)

i’ve written lots about my dad in this thing over the years, enough to make all his poker friends probably needle him if they ever saw this. in short, my dad has given me many, many things over the course of my life. three particular contributions, evident in this blog, are:

1) my love of music;

2) my occasional lefty windmill tilts; and,

3) my eyes.

yes, my eyes. those things you see at the top of the page. dad was probably wearing glasses in utero, (just kidding!) and by third grade, i was wearing them, too for my nearsightedness. i hated my glasses. i hated my glasses SO VERY MUCH. by eighth grade, i beggedbeggedBEGGED to wear contacts, and i did. i never looked back.

…until recently. jools has been digging spiderman comics; only, too bad for me: i can’t decipher the itty-bitty type. sorry, dude, i’d tell him, you’ll have to ask daddy to read tonight.

(actually, this was not necessarily a bad thing. you moms out there understand.)

lately, i’ve noticed that objects seem closer than they really are, and i’m not looking in a side-mirror, either. i’m hating the way BS drives, thinking he’s driving up the ass of the car in front of our’s. how on earth could this be happening to me! i’m only… er… a little over 29 35 39 the rainbow.

so today, i’ve gone and visited the eye doctor. and lookee, lookee:

i need reading glasses.

i can hardly wait to visit whole foods with jools so that he can help me pick out a pair. he’s an expert, as he tried on a zillion pairs of them one time when we were there. mommy, he asked with a rainbow pair perched atop his nose precariously, can i buy this pair?

honey, i replied, you have to be able to read to wear reading glasses.

truth be told, i can barely read a thing at the moment, as my eyes are dilated. (i can barely even see as i type this. i suspect it’s riddled with typos.) i’m awfully proud to tell you that i drove this way. i shopped in trader joe’s this way. i made another lands end return at sear’s this way. and i picked up my clean comforter at la lavanderia this way. i would tell you that i drove the speed limit, but i couldn’t read the sign so well. so i just tried to drive s l o w l y and with traffic.

in short: i can’t see a fucking thing at the moment, and it’s all thanks to you, daddy! so happy birthday!!!

missing you

missing you

Posted on by wrekehavoc

jools,

mommy is home today without you. i know, i know: it’s tuesday, and tuesday is our day together. but since i didn’t get much done last week with you in my back pocket; and since i have wall-to-wall kids next week (thanks to a teacher workday, a jools-day-tuesday, and a day in the country a trip way out west to visit a pulmonary specialist for your sister), i thought it best that i try to accomplish a thing or two this week. plus, i must confess, i still am not feeling better yet, and yesterday’s IVIG treatment hasn’t yet worked its magic on my upper respiratory infection. it’s not exactly a mommy’s vacation; but i’m hoping i get something done and even get a little rest in between coughs.

so i went to whole foods today, just like you and i always do on tuesdays. i passed through the produce department, something that you always enjoy because you like pointing out all the fruits you find “disgusting” (and the few vegetables that you actually like.) i sauntered through the poultry and meat section, which you always hate because of the smell. next, the health and beauty aisle, where you and i always try out hand cream and decide which ones we like best. (i tried a nonscented one today since you weren’t there to tell me whether it smelled good or not.) i bought pita chips, remembering the fun we had last week making hummus and scooping it up with them. you know, we were together 24/7; and while we didn’t do a ton of consequence, i think we had fun. we even picked up a tiny bit, and you were able to do the cleaning chore you relish: cleaning the toilets. what you lack in thorough details, you make up for with gusto.

dude, i know you are currently abiding your time at school. but i’m missing you right now. somehow, tuesday is a day to hang together; and i realize that our tuesdays are going to be ending come september. tuesday has been a day for me and your sister or a day for me and you since BC was very, very small, and i negotiated a four-day work week for that very purpose. i like our days together.

i like the tempo of the days, the slow-motion, conscious moments we share. we may not be talking of anything of consequence, but we. are. there.

and right now, you aren’t. and i’m sad.

i think i’ll go put on nick jr. while i vacuum and pretend you’re here.

ni hao, kai-lan is just not supposed to bring me to tears.

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Cape Town, South Africa