Have you ever seen the rain.....

If you live in the Toronto area you would have heard the thunderstorm early Saturday morning. I'm sure most of you just rolled over and snuggled under the covers and went back to sleep.

Well that wasn't exactly what happened with my girl Sophie and I. Lets go back to yesterday and I'll explain. As you know it was hotter than Hades yesterday and the AC at my work wasn't working. I left work a little early yesterday due to the fact I wanted to visit my Grams and I have the "best boss on the planet earth." So off I went. I hadn't got far when I smelled something burning. Was it the construction site I just passed? Was it my engine? I pulled over at a gas station and filled my loser cruiser with gas - almost 80 bucks! WTF? As I was getting back to my car I smelled the hood of the van. Yes, a very scientific diagnostic process done by mechanics everywhere. I popped the hood and smelled again. Oh yes, a burning smell coming from my engine. Damn. Here I was at Dupont and Davenport on a Friday afternoon and my car was close to catching fire.

I called the CAA and they came and showed me where to put water in my rad but I still had engine trouble. The high heat sign turned off on my dash so I knew at least I could drive - with no air conditioning. The CAA guy said if my car started to overheat on the way home I should turn the heat on as it sucks the heat off the engine and dumps it inside the vehicle. I told Mr. CAA man he was some kind of masochist and he just laughed at me.

So I made it home and was a basically just a puddle of a person. The family was supposed to go to ribfest - because hot damn our family loves Bar B Q. BUT. Darling Soph was a mess. Hot and crying and coughing with a chesty cough. I sent Alan and Charlie off to ribfest and took Sophie to the walk in. I swear to god that in two hours I must have aged two years. My poor sweaty toddler was miserable and just cried and cried. and kept repeating things like "Sophie go park?, Sophie go park?" or "Mommy mommy let's go Mommy!" and then she would cry for daddy. I ramped up the "Mommy show" and carried her around the waiting room. I kept saying inane things like, "look at the flowers! what colour are they?" You know the whole distraction thing.
Anyhoo after a diagnosis of two ear infections and armed with a prescription we went to the drugstore where it took at least forty minutes, aka. an ETERNITY, to get her antibiotics. The crying, crying, crying and tears and snot and sweat and hot toddler in my arms squirming, squirming while I was once again pointing out things, "look! Dora!, is that Boots? and hey, the Big Red Chicken!" (I love the big red chicken.)

Needless to say I was frazzled. I got her home and drugged up and gave her a quick bath and plonk into bed she went. Thank you Jesus. She was so tired she was out like a light.

Now came an evening of indecision. We are supposed to join family at the cottage this weekend. Should we stay? Should we go? Whats better for the baby? Will it disappoint family that came all the way from Ireland? UGH.

Happily I only had to get up with Soph once last night. She was up at 5:30 so I brought her downstairs and we went out on the porch. It was teeming outside and it was warm and humid. We have a covered porch so we sat down and watched the rain run down out street. She kept pointing things out, "grass drinka water! Trees drinka water! Car get wet." Then a huge flash of lightning flashed across the darkened sky. The thunder was crazy loud and I was worried she would cry. She just started squealing and laughing. "Storm! Loud Storm!". Thank god. She is a storm lover like her Mom.

After these marathon parenting sessions when I think my nerves can't take anymore I always feel closer to my children than ever. After a long night at the hospital with Charlie due to croup or hours in a waiting room with Sophie I feel sometimes we have walked through fire together and have come out stronger on the other side.

From The Deep.

I could tell you about everything that is going on but I really don't want to relive it right now. I've whinged and whined enough so I want to talk about something I like! Not something negative.

So let's talk about something that I love. Something that thrills me as well as all eight year old boys everywhere - Sharks! Oh yes. In the heart of this suburban mom (when the hell did that happen?) lives a shark lover. I mean I could lose my mind when "Shark Week" is on the Discovery channel. I think there are very specific reasons for this. Much like preteen girls and their penchant for horses. And no, I never was into horses and all that pretty pony nonsense.

I specifically remember the night my romance with sharks began. I was youngish, maybe nine or ten. I had a wicked case of bronchitis that I used to get every winter. I was consistent in my ways even back then. My parents let me stay up late one wintry, snowy night on a Saturday to drink my Neo-Citran. I guess with the coughing and nonsense they thought it was better for me to be upright for a while. My older brother and sister were in the basement about to watch a movie and I still remember that the only lights were that of the fireplace and the T.V. It was perfect.

The movie was the forbidden blockbuster - JAWS! Cool. I had seen the posters of the bikini clad girl swimming away from this evil behemoth of a shark everywhere. It was an impossibly grownup experience for me and I was ready for the thrill.

It started out with a long haired couple (remember this was the late 70's) going swimming in the ocean. I think there was some unseen skinny dipping involved that added to the whole daring excitement of it all. Then the couple got attacked by the unseen predator and I think the girl's hand ended up on the beach or something. I was terrified. It was awesome. It was scary but not scary because I knew no shark would find me in my panelled basement with shag carpet and pine furniture.

I remember Roy Schneider as the Sheriff with his angry intensity at being misunderstood regarding the danger. I remember the silver haired Mayor who was ticked that anti-shark sentiment would ruin tourism for the town. Mostly I remember the fear of little kids on blow-up rafts with Jaws frolicking in between them. I don't remember all of the details of course but I do remember the old hoary fisherman with his tails of the worst shark ever. He would tell his story by lantern light on the fishing boat with a freaked out looking Richard Dreyfus as freaked out and neurotic as ever. It was great! It was a as exciting as the poem "The Cremation of Sam Maggee" by Robert Service. Go look it up on google - prepare to be creeped out. My Dad used to read it to us in the winter by flashlight. It was awesome. I'm digressing. I do that, bear with me.

So I think the combination of the summer sun, the island, sand, illicit hinted upon sex, and scary sharks from the deep were wrapped up in a parcel that was utterly thrilling and terrifying at the same time. Don't even start with the scene where Jaws bites away at the boat and the fisherman guy slides down into his mouth. I was hidden behind a huge pillow and peaking out and screaming and loving every second.

Whenever I am near a body of water I think about Jaws. I've been in a cool Muskoka Lake having fallen on my water ski's and waiting for the boat to come around and think about Jaws. I start freaking myself out even though I know it's only the Muskies that will get you. We had a pool when I was growing up and as I swam underwater I thought of Jaws coming up and getting me. In a pool for heaven's sake! Get this. I loved my snorkel and mask and actually used them in the bathtub with my mom supervising. I would float in the the warm water listening to the my slow breathing with the quietness of being underwater and wanted to stay there forever. Until I thought of Jaws. In my tub.

I don't know exactly what the allure is but Sharks remain my greatest fear and my greatest draw. I could actually see myself going in a cage someday to face my fear and let him go. Any takers?

Re-arranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

I'm back!

So here's the scoop. Grams is still in the horrid hospital. I won't name names but the fact is she is in a very sub-par hospital because that was where her ambulance was routed. She is depressed (no kidding) and is not eating or drinking. The Dr. told her that if she doesn't eat she will die. She has told us that she wants to go back to her nursing home - this time in an assisted living floor instead of her independent floor. My sister and I have made all the arrangements for her room to be moved. Tomorrow (Sunday) we are all going to do the move. The hospital won't release her yet because of her condition. The big trouble is that I know she will eat and get up to sit in a chair when she is back in her place with her own stuff and big TV etc. BUT the Dr. won't let her go and the fact is she will get much better care at her retirement place. The hospital told us they can't guarantee that grams will be fed each meal (she is too weak to feed herself) so we have to have a family member there to feed her at each meal. Ummmm oh boy. My mother was my grams only child. My Mom passed away when she was 48. So my sister and I (and my brother but you know boys) are the next of kin. So now I feed grams breakfast ever day and my sister does another meal and we have to hire someone to do the other. It's friggin ridiculous that you can't get the basics on a geriatric floor.

Yesterday morning when I went in my grams tray was on her table pushed against the far wall where she couldn't reach it if she wanted to. So I pulled it up and got Grams in a sitting position and chatted away about mundane things like the kids, and my husband's trip etc. I then told her very clearly that if she didn't eat they would not let her go back home. I buttered a soft warm bun and pulled off a little piece and tried to give it to her. She told me "no, you eat it". I told her that I didn't want to be a toughie but the fact is that she has to eat. I asked her if she wasn't eating because she was uncomfortable (tummy wise) or if she wanted to die. She told me she just was not hungry. I tried to feed her again and she refused. I then asked her again if she wanted to die. She said "YES". I took a deep breath and said, "Grams do you know what you are saying?" and then she answered, "not really."

It was tough. I took a wee time out and went into the bathroom and had a little cry. After many deep breaths I went out and once again told her that the DR. wouldn't let her go home unless she started eating and the decision was up to her. She drank her juice and started to slowly eat the bun. Maybe half.

If Grams wants to die then I support her. BUT the fact is that we have to set a palliative care plan in place. If she has lost the will to live and chooses not to eat we have to make sure it is done in a way that is comfortable for her. (Most likely with Morphine etc). We are really in a twilight zone now of getting better or letting go. I am with her on either decision but want to get a grip of which way we are going.

So as I said earlier, my sister, her husband and my brother and his wife and my husband and I are all set to move her stuff tomorrow. This is plan B. She may never get "home" but we have to be ready.

This is hard. After losing Mom and Dad, my Grandma is the only "adult" in our lives. When she goes the oldest person in our family will be in their early 40's. It makes me feel a little rudderless. Maybe a lot rudderless.

Where did she go?

Good Question.

Sorry for the lack of communication. Grams is holding her own in the hospital and my sister and I have arranged for an assisted care facility for when/if she gets out of the hospital. I simply don’t know how she can survive on a couple of bites of toast and a couple spoonfuls of clear soup a day. Also Grams is 93 and weighs about 85 pounds soaking wet. I’ll keep you posted.

Last week Alan and I went away for a three night getaway by ourselves which was great. It helped me to recharge my batteries for this week. Alan is in Chicago all week and between work, the kids and grams I’m going to be pretty busy.

Lotsa updating to come.

Ooooh! We bought some kitchen art. It’s pretty and makes me happy. I’ll take a picture for you.

Grams.

We’ve had a rough couple of days. My Grams fell in her room at her retirement home on Tuesday night and she spent the night on the floor until someone found her. An ambulance took her to the hospital where I met her waiting to get into emerg. Grams and I spent the entire day in the hallway of a crazy busy emergency ward. My poor little Grams with a broken pelvis and pneumonia. She didn’t even get pain meds until 5:00 that afternoon until I went a little Shirley Maclaine on someone. She finally got a room last night. She can’t feed herself and they tend not to give her medication unless we ask. We don’t know which way this will go.

I know I’ll have more to say but I just can’t right now. And I thought a little skin issue was bad.

A little bit of skin.

Okay this entry might fall into the too much information category but what the hell. My husband loves me and his opinion is the only one that matters regarding this.

Let’s talk about skin. Since I was a child I have had mild scalp psoriasis. Basically your skin cells turn over at a certain rate but some people, like me, have excelerated skin turnover. Maybe my skin cells are extra smart? Anyhoo – it was very manageable in that I would use special shampoos and it wasn’t a big deal. Funnily it only occurred with the change of the seasons and then would go away. It’s genetic and not contagious and basically looks like dry skin. Being blonde it never really showed and it never really bothered me.

So this brings us to what happened this December. I contracted strep-throat from my darling daughter. This was the absolute worst sore throat I have ever had in my life. Swallowing anything almost made me cry. (wussy wussy, I know). So about a week later I came out with guttate psoriasis. If you would like to freak yourself out go look it up on the internet – I’ll wait. So, Strep infections are a common cause of guttate psoriasis which is basically thousands of red dots on your trunk, arms and legs. Sexy! Smokin! It is itchy as hell and really psychologically wearing and sorta throws your self esteem in the toilet.

So I had to suffer with it for a while because due to our health care system it takes a million years to see a dermatologist. I was quite shocked when I met my dermatologist because to put it mildly he must have seen a plastic surgeon friend of his. He was “brightened up” in the sense that his skin was pulled so tightly the corners of his mouth turned up with a perma smile. He also had an eye or brow lift of some sort because he looked permanently surprised. So, he told me there was two options. One, I would have to use strong topical steroids that would seriously mess up my skin or two, I could have light therapy which can involve some photo-aging risks but much less than steroids. Great. Sign me up.

So I now go to a certain downtown hospital three times a week for light therapy. Of course I had to meet with a dermatologist there who checked me out in my birthday suit to see exactly what type of therapy I needed. Then I met a nurse who explained the whole rigamaroll to me. She told me that the only side effect would be some tanning of the skin. Bastards! Giving me a free tan right at the beginning of the summer!

So I had my first session which was sort of shocking. Let me explain. Once you are called to the special room you get naked. Yes, buck friggin naked. Then a nurse comes in and looks you over to see exactly what wave of UVB light you need. Did I say naked? Because yes, you have to be naked. In front of a stranger. THREE times a week. And these strangers change. So like, a whole ton of people see you naked. All the time. Just like those old topless German ladies on vacation. I told Alan I might as well just post a picture on the internet and be done with it.

Okay enough with the nakedness. (For now!) So then you go stand in a booth that has what looks like a hundred fluorescent lights, (still while you are NAKED) and you put on these glasses that look exactly like cataract sunglasses that senior citizens wear. You take a hold of handles above your head and then the nurse turns on the machine for 24 seconds. YES. Twenty four friggin seconds for all of this hullabaloo. Then you get to put your clothes on. Hallelujah! So this goes on and on three times a week and the time gets longer with each session. I am now up to one minute and twenty five seconds. And here is the thing. Um certain bits of your body that have never been exposed to sunlight are now sorta getting burnt. Not to be indelicate but my boobs and ass are now sunburnt. That’s just so wrong.

So the upside is that my skin is looking a thousand times better and in a couple of weeks any trace of those dots will be gone. The rest of me now has a nice tan which is a nice side effect for the beginning of the summer. But really, back to the nakedness. I thought that after having two children I would be over the whole being naked in front of medical professionals. Apparently not. I mean how should one stand totally naked in front of a stranger? Hands on hips? Arms akimbo in the air? Hands coyly covering something? I have no clue. Why does shit like this happen to me all the time? My husband can only shake his head. Sorry baby, you married a weird one.