Get Me Outta Here!

Two major appointments, today.

We arrived early for the CytoGam infusion, and proceeded to wait an hour in the lobby. So much for getting a jump on the day. A nurse mentioned they were "backed up." I assume this did not refer to the plumbing. The (4 hour) procedure was fairly routine and the IV stick wasn't too terrible. Loren will need another infusion each month to complete the first year from transplant.

The other item scheduled was a stress test. One was done during the initial week of evaluation back in February, and now another, after transplant, to measure his stamina and general ability to process ogygen.

It takes place on a treadmill, with Loren hooked up to EKG, blood pressure cuff, and ogygen mask. (There may have also been a connection to the Borg Mother Ship, but I wasn't in the room at the time, so I can't be sure.)

They start him out slow and increase the speed and incline over a period of 10-15 minutes. A little chart is used to gauge the difficulty the patient experiences. 1 stands for "no problem," and 20 stands for "Call the EMT's. STAT!" Loren was taken up to about 18, which he said was quite taxing. We shall find out the results when we see the docs one more time, tomorrow afternoon. One thing the tech did mention was that transplant patients usually have a somewhat erratic pattern to their EKG's during this test, but Loren's looked rather "normal." Imagine that. Loren being "normal" :-)

Throughout the course of the day we also experienced:

-losing my watch. It fell off my arm at some undetermined moment in time. (Not a "frozen moment in time," or I would have remembered) I consider this a Providential sign to buy a new cheapo watch from WalMart.

-heard those chilling words over the address system. "Code 45, *****Building, Room ****"
"Code 45" means someone has collapsed, somewhere. There are people stationed on different floors throughout the Mayo complex (and St. Mary's Hospital) whose main responsibility is to repond to these emergencies. I literally had to flatten myself against the wall one day (and glad I was to do it) as doctors ran by pushing crash carts toward a victim. I will be glad to get home and not hear that again. I would be glad to NEVER hear that again.

-had unusually bad lunch at the cafeteria. But considering the above, I guess one shouldn't complain.

-read through most of Chekhov's play, "The Three Sisters." Half the time was spent reading, and half glancing back at the character list to keep the Russian names straight.

-back in the room, I packed up about as much as one can, at this point. Can't WAIT to get home.

-the faculty from a local school brought in supper for The House. It was fairly good, though Loren's chicken was not cooked all the way through. Not the kind of thing one should serve to the immunosuppressed, but how can you complain when people are trying to be nice?

-snuck ice cream up to the room, later. Who would have thought I'd have turned to a life of crime?

(Did I mention I can't wait to go home?)

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Waiting and Watching

Anticipation. That watchful attitude as time slowly slips by, knowing with a calm certainty that soon, very soon, events will converge to bring about the awaited action.

I waited, I watched, and then, when the sun had dipped sufficiently low in the sky, I turned on the overhead light. The fatal flip of the light switch took place at exactly 3:04 p.m. Luckily for me, it was a cloudy day, or the exciting moment of switch flipping could have been as late as 3:47. Possibly even 3:38

Speaking of clouds, it has been overcast here, I would say, 6 out of every 7 days. There was one day, a week ago, when the sun did shine, for several hours in a row. I took advantage of this tenuous light and took a long and lovely walk out-of-doors.

As often happens on these excursions, I wandered over to the hills in back of St. Mary's Hospital. They provide a good workout, and are the birthplace of some beautiful, old homes with pleasing architectural design. I love to go among these picturesque homes, admiring their stately form and grace, and waiting for that "one in a million" chance , when someone pops open their door and says, "I've been looking for someone who appreciates stately architectural form and grace, to will my inheritance to. Here, take this 5000 buckaroos."

Granted, this hasn't happened yet, but there are still 3 more days.

ANYWAY, a small incident actually did occur while I was out walking that beautiful sunny afternoon. I was glorying in the antidepressant rays of the sun, and attempting to avoid cars on their way home from work. One car I had safely crossed in front of, circled around and drove past me on another corner. I politely waited. The passenger rolled down his window and pretended to sneeze VERY loudly in my direction. In a town such as Rochester, I assume this was an attempt at biological warfare. But, seeing as I was safely back from the "sneeze zone," I simply ignored him and turned the other nostril.

Each new day brings a little more self-control.
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Tomorrow promises a break from the routine. We shall leave our humdrum room where we sit and watch TV, to visit the infusion clinic to recline and watch TV. It is once again time for a CytoGam treatment. Takes 3 to 3 1/2 hours from start to finish. The big perk being that Loren gets an IV jab to the arm or hand. These hurt more than the normal blood draw because when they prepare to put fluid into you, they use a bigger needle. Hopefully, he won't get the same nurse as last time. We can bring a video tape if we wish. Water bottles and chocolate are mandatory.

Watchfully yours, "Ma."

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*Yawn*

How to amuse oneself when bored:

-count interval between little red flashing light on smoke detector (6 seconds)

-pull miscellaneous fuzz balls off socks and sweaters. When enough are accumulated, reweave and knit small garments for indigent mice.

-scrounge dryer lint out of laundry room wastebasket. Can be made into recycled paper and used for coasters under diet coke cans.

-make indelible ink by squeezing husband's new socks in hot water. Good for writing on recycled paper and runs well under condensation.

-calculate seconds until sprung from "The Clink" (didn't major in math, estimate "a bunch")

-commit to memory "Procedure Mask" in the seven foreign languages on box and assign alternate meanings:

Gesichtsmaske mit Ohrenschlaufen ("bless you")
Masque chirrurgical à fixation auriculaire (Debussey's original title for "Clair de Lune")
Gezichtsmasker met oorlussen ("I have to sneeze" in Sveedish)
Mascherina con elastici auricolari ("I know this great interior decorator guy...")
Mascarilla con elásticos auriculares (I know this great interior decorator gal....")
Máscara com fixação auricular ("Please fix the color on this mascara")
Munskydd med öronstroppar ("This bus stops in Minsk")

-tape record stomach growling while waiting for husband to get hungry. Play back late at night....

-pray for morning to come. Soon.

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You Are Never Too Old To Be Dumb

I am keeping one eye on the clock, since I dropped Loren off for his last Rehab session (yay!) and it would be good if I didn't completely forget about him, this time. There was an unfortunate episode a couple of weeks ago when I sorta neglected to pick him up in a timely manner.

If Rehab is the only appointment of the day, I have the option of returning to the room to bask in an hour's worth of computer solitude. So, it was one of those days, and I was just sitting there, relaxing and basking about, when I felt compelled to post a comment on someone's blog. Well, I guess I must have gotten carried away, waxing pretty close to eloquent, when I glanced at the clock and realized it was 40 minutes past Loren's pick-up time. *gulp*

Grabbing my purse, I hurried to the stairway, where I was confronted with the sight of Loren. He had obviously come home on the shuttle, after waiting in vain for his slacker-wife. It was a moment, frozen in time. He at the foot of the stairway, and I at the top, eyes agape and hand clamped over my mouth in shame.

"Are you sick?" he asked with an amused smile. (he had on his mask, but I could TELL he was smiling)
"No. Yes, actually, I feel a little sick that I forgot all about you." (it's best to be immediately and completely honest in cases of spousal neglect)

Loren is a forgiving kinda guy, so there were no retaliatory comments or actions. And now that I have made known my dereliction of duty publicly, I figure I am pretty much in the clear :-) For life.
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While we are on trite topics, I have quite possibly done my last load of "pay-through-the-nose" laundry. Unfortunately, I chose this time to wash my husbands new socks with the bathroom towels. The socks being black, of the cotton variety. The towels being pink, or rather, "dusty rose, with glimpses of amethyst." Well, now the washcloths are considerably less expensive looking. They have morphed to murky mauve, with traces of charcoal. I'm thinking maybe we put in a low wattage bulb, and leave under dark of night.

I don't know WHAT possessed me to wash these items together, unless it was the admonition from the guest manual, "Do not wash colored towels with bleach!" Wanting to fill out the load, I stuck in some socks. This was probably a manifestation of what we affectionately refer to here at The Big House as "chemo brain." This malady is not exclusive to those undergoing chemotherapy, but seems to be a radiating aura throughout the house that can afflict anyone, at any time. Temporary lapses in memory or judgement are the predominating features of this transient illness.

So, all I can say, is that I was operating under the IQ of an amoeba, and a young one, at that.

I just hope I can grow up, some day.

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Packer Fever

Ha! I'll bet you thought I was going to talk about that famous hockey team, didn't you. Now, didn't you?

See, I have used my "Ma"ish wiles to entice all those sports fiends out there into reading this post. (And, before a bunch of people feel led to correct me, let me say I know PERFECTLY well that the Green Bay Packers do not play hockey, but rather, baseball.)

The happy packer is me, who actually started sorting through books and papers and other non-essentials. By non-essential, I refer to those items not needed in the last day or two before bustin' outta this joint. Let's face it, how many times do you use a book to brush your teeth? Not that many.

Our desk looks so clean, now, I am somewhat regretful for not clearing it up earlier. But, as I so often tell myself, regrets are just for those who don't keep a stash of chocolate in their purse.
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I am happy to report that Internet service has once again reared it's glorious head, here in The Big House. We discovered things were back online when we returned from whining on the computers in the subway of Mayo. Which just goes to prove, the squeaky wheel gets to email, Instant Message, cruise the Net and post annoying rants.
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Loren and I were privileged to receive visitors today. Uncle Bob and Aunt Celeste Culver live about 70 miles away and wanted to see us before we travel back home. We had a most enjoyable time in the "library room." Basically, we straightened out all the world's problems in less than an hour, with still time left over to talk about Uncle Bob's new (old) book. Yet to be officially named, this book is a work on Systematic Theology, written by Robert Culver, and typed by his wife, Celeste. (ok, Uncle Bob, free publicity. Far be it for me to offer advice, but it would be perfectly acceptable if you inscribe my copy with, "To my favorite Iowa neice, who threatened a bad review, but I forgive her.")
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But returning to the humble beginnings of this post, "The Packers" doesn't refer just to "Ma" or a renowned basketball team. Even The Big House is packing up. All the Christmas trees have carefully been wrapped in plastic. They are still standing in the same places, but they are nicely wrapped. I guess that would make it easier, not having to put all those ornaments on each branch. I, for one, will miss the tree in the west dining room. The one trimmed in the roaring 20's style. I've just never seen a Christmas tree with gold and BLACK garlands. And a black plume on top.

I will hold on to these memories, and pack.

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"We are here, we are here...."

Wow, what a visceral thrill to be on the web, again.

The internet is down at the "Big House," and we are not pleased. No email, no IMing the kids, no shameless self promotion on the blog. *sniff* Life is hard!

Loren and I have taken up separate computers in the bowels of the Mayo complex, the computer room on the subway level. It is not quite like our own little room, but then again, I don't have to SHARE. (I swear, though, if this woman beside me sneezes one more time I am whipping out the sanitizer spray and making a scene)

When we inquired at our abode concerning the internet lapse, we were told it was not the "House's" fault, the problem lay with CHARTER. So, when Loren put in a call to CHARTER, he was told to check their website! *puts head in hands* This very nearly caused "Ma" to blurt out those words I've warned my own kids against, "Well DUH!!" If I could get on the internet, I wouldn't have to CHECK the website....oh, never mind.

As we left for Rehab this morning, Loren asked at the desk, once again, ("You go down this time and check." No, I went down last time, you go down....") "Any progress being made on fixing the Internet access problem?" "No, they said they'd be over to check on it early this morning." *time: 10:47* "Maybe we'd better give them another call...." *sigh*

And that is why we are sit on public computers and type. Well, Loren is probably browsing his favorite news sites. I am typing and trying not to feel nervous about this woman closeby who is sniffing in a copious manner.
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Loren's biopsy report from yesterday was a 1a. Not quite a zero, but "they" seem sufficiently pleased. I can put up more links describing the difference when I get back to my computer.

After I dropped Loren off for Rehab, I parked the car in the large garage, this time making careful note of where I'd put it, since I spent 15 minutes yesterday wandering over several levels trying to locate the car. I kid you not. I was almost in tears. The ludicrous thought that someone might have stolen it even occurred to me, though, I was having a difficult time reconciling the fact that someone would WANT a faded blue car with a red hood and cracked windshield. Still, you never know. It could have been a retro-repair-chic kinda thing.

Thankfully, I found the car, making me ever grateful I had not called it in to the police. I did have a hard time explaining this to my husband, but, I must say, he was quite understanding.

Where was I? Oh yes, I had some copies to make and distribute to various offices, and an appointment to check on that the transplant coordinator said I was supposed to make, but then the office said no, she was supposed to make, but the coordinator said she would work on, but, didn't I actually make it one time? *puts head in hands, again*

During all of this hullabaloo, I received a call from the nurse practitioner, saying that an anti-viral med had been ordered for Loren. Everyone who has been transplanted within the last 4 months is to be prescribed Amantadine. (I'll get the correct spelling and link it, later) A new policy brought on by a nasty type of flu exhibiting itself. Just a precautionary measure.

Then I arranged for Loren to have one more appointment with "Dale the Deft," to get his flattop trimmed down before we go home next week. I carefully observed each cunning movement of hand and comb. Yes, I think I am ready to experiment with the little boys' hair :-) All I need are reliable clippers and boys who sit still. Both prospects are dicey.

Can't spend any more time at this. Someone might need to use this computer. Besides, if I wait too long, I might forget where I parked the car......

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The Case of the Disappearing Lipstick

*organ music swells and then fades*

It was another dull, gray day, in the city of never ending meds. Rochester, where doctors and hotel proprietors share equal billing in the hearts of the afflicted.

The morning had started in the usual way: dim light filtering through the blinds, groggy awakening and really, really bad breath.

All the expected activities took place. A shower. Making the bed. Breakfast. It promised to be an ordinary clinic day, filled with appointments and tests.

As usual, I went down to warm up the car, an act made much easier since the choke had been fixed. This left me with just enough time to apply makeup while the little Toyota performed it's morning ablution.

I looked in my trusty blue makeup bag, the one I'd gotten free from a Goodwill bin. As was my habit, I methodically placed each item on the counter. "Mascara, Concealer, (can't have enough of that) face powder, rouge, perfume, (can replace deodorant in a pinch)........" *sounds of frantic rifling and gasps* "WHERE'S MY LIPSTICK!" "IT'S GONE!!" *loud organ music*

Lipstick. That feminine necessity that can cover up tell-tale chocolate lip stains, double as a pen for official document signing, and repel ornery little boys. No mother should be without it.

Luckily, I always keep a backup, just for these sorts of emergencies. The backup being an old tube where the lipstick is completely flat. It's the kind of tube, where if I tried to use it conventionally, I could wind up with large circular indentations all over los labios. If, however, I dab the end of my finger into the leftovers, it is still possible to apply enough color to make a passable smoochy mark on the mirror.

(Women have been doing this for years. They have been using up almost unusable lipstick, and doing it with a smile on their faces. Women are still waiting for the credit due them, for starting this whole recycling racket, and just generally making the world a better place)

So, all was well for the rest of that day. But, imagine my surprise, when not two days later, I could no longer find my backup lipstick! Yes, it was the same old mystery, only, more mys-te-ri-ous. *REALLY loud organ music*

What to do? Calling 911 seemed a little unreasonable. But buying another lipstick was not. This time I went all out. Extra long, complete with Global Positioning System.

And that's the way it is, in the city of masks and medicos. Will we ever know what became of those unfortunate cosmetics? *sigh* I just don't know. But, somewhere, somewhere, there are two small cylinders, looking for a home.

I can only hope they find an owner with complimentary coloring.

*organ music fades out*

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Revelation

Every once in a while, a thought just bursts upon the brain with very little warning. Sort of like a missile honing in on it's target. You are standing there, thinking the usual miscellaneous and totally random thoughts, when you suddenly become aware of a little red laser dot flickering close by, you hear the incoming whine, and........BAM! It hits you.

It was like that this morning. I was giving myself modest congratulations for having lost a little weight while "doing my time," here in The Big House. I had been thinking how if I had retained a mere 5 extra pounds after each pregnancy, I would now be 50 pounds overweight.

I have struggled and struggled over the years through much deprivation, a gazillion diets, numerous supplements (the efficacy of which are in doubt) not to mention walking, weightlifting, walking.....etc. Sometimes efforts have been successful, sometimes not. But always, ALWAYS the struggle.

And then I made a calculation I had never dared...... "Let's see, with each pregnancy I gained approximately 50 pounds........times 10 full term pregnancies.......(put down the zero....1x5---I was never terribly quick in math----) that means, I have gained 500 pounds over my lifetime!!" *clunk*

When I came to, I realized it easily could have been more. Toward the end of Trevor's pregnancy, I had stopped weighing myself. When going for the dreaded prenatal checkup, I got to the point where I just stepped on the scale backwards and admonished the nurse, "Don't say the weight out loud. Just write it down on my chart. Ver-y qui-et-ly.

And now I find myself within 5-10 pounds of where I wish to be. At 46, this is pretty nigh close to anorexic. I have wondered wherein the answer lies.

Probably being away from my own kitchen helps. The restriction of only eating in the dining room has also been good for me. (With the exception of occasional dips of ice cream carried up in cups. Beverages are allowed, and as we all know, ice cream is just beverage, awaiting it's potential. And chocolate. Chocolate is another example of a beverage in the dormant state)

At home, I ate "diet" food and only seemed to lose weight when I "recalibrated" the scale. But here, we eat normal, full fat items, but in moderation. Whole milk. Real butter. Just not a great deal of each. Satiation of the palate seems to be a good thing.

Can this be continued in the confines and temptations of one's own home? I surely hope so.

'Cause there's a 640 pound woman, just "weighting" to bust out. At any time.

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Ode to a Cough

(dedicated to a select few at an institution of higher learning)

The sickie hacked, a tortured rasp,
And then his girlfriend's hand he clasped.

"Me careth not for my ill health,
We must go out and spend our wealth!"

"Besides, there still are one, or two
Who have not caught this wicked flu."

So thoughts of rest and sleep aside,
They socialized both far and wide.

Barely taking time to stop,
For eggs and toast at Waffle Shoppe.

Thus their haunts became nocturnal,
Promising more coughs eternal.

And the moral of this poem?
"Seek your rest, and no more roam."

(Any similarities to persons, real or imagined, is purely coincidental)

P.S. Don't make me come down there and get tough with you guys!

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The Un-Unpost

I would like to thank my dear husband for his un-post :-) A thousand pardons for any gloating on my part. That, and excessive humility are my two major character faults. But in truth, Loren did have another contribution. Two, actually. He is most interesting when inspired to talk or write, but will never be accused of flaunting these talents to excess. It decreases the need for apologies.

Thanks, also, (I guess:-) for the sudden barrage of IM's at 4:35 yesterday afternoon. You young whippersnappers must remember, "Ma" does not have your keyboard capabilities! She is slowwww. For me to hold two conversations at once is a great trial of both neural and finger dexterity. Any number over four causes temporary cerebral gridlock. We can only hope no irreversible damage has occured.
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Weather wise, it is snowing, again. The same storm affecting Minnesota will be dropping some of the white stuff on the family in Iowa. This time, however, we expect to get more accumulation up thisaway. Perhaps 5-8 inches.

Speaking of the loved ones, we may get to go home on February 1st! (the last scheduled appt. day) Yes, it is hard to believe that finally, FINALLY we will be reunited. Poor Nolan was quite forlorn at the last parting. We just sat on the stairway and snuggled and sniffled for a while last time. Oh well, won't be long, barring something unforeseen.
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I never reported on Loren's angiogram of the 11th. (other than to whine about the length of recovery) So, here goes:
--normal coronary arteries
--origin of right coronary artery is small

This last item was the reason for the extra recovery time. They could have reversed the effects of Heparin (used during angiogram) with a drug, but with that small section of artery, they did not want to risk producing a clot, so had to let the Heparin decrease of it's own accord. That makes for at least two more hours, on top of the two to three hours in a typical procedure.

An intravascular ultrasound was also performed, which gives a cross-sectional view of the artery. The angiogram checks for a clot-type blockage, and the intravascular ultrasound checks for an even narrowing of arteries, vasculopathy. So now that the baseline angiogram results have been established, the yearly repeat angiograms have something to be compared to.

This vasculopathy, as I mentioned once before, is a threat to 50% or more of heart transplant patients. The drug, Cyclosporine seems to be the major culprit. Eventually, Loren should be transferred over to another drug, Rapamycin. This newer immunosuppressant does not have the negative effect on the kidneys, as Cyclosporine does, and seems to slow or even halt the progression of vasculopathy. Loren cannot be switched to it yet, though, as it can impair wound healing. Probably sometime close to a year post transplant.

In the meantime, the drug Provachol stabilizes the endothelial lining. (inner lining of cells in coronary arteries--I think) until the switch can be made to Rapamycin, the good stuff.

I seem to remember that when first married, I actually was concerned about dumb things like nitrates in pepperoni, and flouride in dental treatments. That stuff was peanuts, compared to what Loren takes now. *sigh* Let's just say my worries have shifted from the nearly benign, to the nearly lethal.
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Speaking of "the old days," reminds me of Loren when he first suggested we consider marriage. Now, I knew him well enough at that time, to be aware of his reaction to social pressure. So, when he first mentioned the possibility, not wanting to apply undue social duress, mind you, I smiled (through my shock) and played it cool, for a while. After all, we couldn't have him falling prey to the whim of the masses. Two out of two masses is a pretty significant majority.

But, I thought it over, and decided that some types of social pressures are very, very good :-)

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The UnPost

Since my general reaction to social pressure is to do the opposite, I hereby mandate this edition to be an unPost. I did feel the Cosmic Message to Post (in the form of an ultimatum from my Beloved) but would deny it's ultimate impact upon me. I was going to sooner or later, and true to my nature have "post"poned it as long as possible. And, since I can no longer claim to be "disabled" (though certainly still rather weak) I will endeavor to add my perspective to this missive; at least this once. Again, I do not regard this as yielding but rather that, as the great sage revealed, "Peace and quiet are worth their weight in accommodations".

Now, what can one say on such a momentous occasion................................

1. Praise the Lord!
2. Thank you all.
3. On with Living.

There, is everyone happy now?

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Of Men and Mice

There have been several requests for the other half of this fearsome duo to start contributing to the blogsite. Believe me, NOTHING could make me happier. Loren said he would, when he started feeling better. So, I say, the jig is up!

I have a plan.

Tomorrow, at exactly 4:35 p.m., I want everyone to take a moment from their busy schedules (this means college students have to wake up from their naps) and concentrate. Concentrate on sending Loren a CMtP. (Cosmic Message to Post) Come on people, we can do this!

Every thought counts. No cerebral transmission will be disenfranchised. Remember, one person can make a difference in the time/space/blog/post continuum. I am certain there is a wormhole somewhere that specifically deals with non-communicative husbands on the blogophere of life.

Besides, there is a complicated reward/incentive system involving Dove's Dark Chocolates. (for me, naturally) So, it is definitely in my best interests for Loren to post.
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On more mundane matters, daughter Sharon and I visited our local hair cutting specialist, today. Sharon needed a quick evening of one side, and I needed to be relieved of the shaggy apparition masquerading as my hair. We succeeded on both counts, regaling the waiting ladies with our heroic mouse catching tales.

I recalled how, ten years ago, I caught 44 mice within the first year of moving to our old farm house. Yes, "Ma" is an accomplished trapper! Sharon reminded me of how we have saved one small corpse, for the purpose of a little anatomy lesson. We dissected it, after safely putting one of the more impressionable boys to nap. You just never know what great opportunities will pop up in the homeschooling arena.

The elderly ladies agreed with us that mice were "just so uncool." In fact, the lady cutting my hair hates them SO much, she just throws them out, trap and all! Now, I am not all that eco-aware, but I am pretty sure this has implications for global warming, I just haven't figured out the connection, yet. With a little research funding, I am CERTAIN I could come up with something.
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But enough of this frivolity. Loren and I are back in our room in Rochester, the real world calls, not to mention a nice, long sleep. I suggest everyone get to bed early. Tomorrow is a big day, and, if we all just be-LIEVE, we can make Loren post.

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An Overnight Trip....

...to home! Yes, Loren and I are at our house for one overnight stay. We have some business in a nearby city and thought it would be best to come down the day before.

What a joy to see the children, again :-)

A few milestones since we were gone:

-Nolan, (5) has his first loose tooth

-Trevor called me "Mama," for the first time. My life is complete *sigh*

-Sharon baited a mousetrap and caught her first pint-sized rodent, by its foot. I finished him off, cause I'm old, hardened, and merciless. Besides, my PETA membership ran out last year.

-I attended my first "Kids' Church Service," up in the nook. Apparently these are occurring quite regularly. There is a chorus book, written out in pencil by Carolyn, chairs and benches set up, and a nice pulpit area. It was at this "service" that I heard my five year old son pray aloud, for the first time.
-------Ethan was the preacher. He spoke on "Hypocrites." The following is his short, but pointed sermon : "Today we will talk about hypocrites. *pause* A hypocrite is someone who tells you to do something, but doesn't do it themselves. *long pause* Being a hypocrite is BAD!!!"

I asked him later where he got the idea for his message. Ethan explained he had been talking with Carolyn (10) earlier in the day.

I asked the younger kids if they minded my mentioning this in the blog. Carolyn's reply, "We don't care. We want people to hear so they'll come to it." My little missionary.
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It was pure pleasure to sit in on the nightly devotions. A little verse work, a few songs, a couple of prayers. Ethan sat beside me and was reading most of the words to the hymns. Nolan volunteered to pray, again. The second time in one day :-) Maybe it's true what they say, "Revival begins at home."

Then Sharon did the nightly reading of The Last Books. Approximately a chapter each, from "Hank the Cowdog," and "Jack and Jill," by Louisa May Alcott.

At last, the daily goodnight ritual that I have missed out on for 2 1/2 months. Tucking kids in, more prayers, and a song or two with the youngest ones. Bliss is when you sit on the floor with your (almost) 3 year old, and hear all the occupants of the triple bunkbed chiming in, complete with hand motions. Trevor asked for "Ducks," which means "Five Little Ducks." It one of the longest bedtime songs we have, but now he can do some of the motions and rather authentic "quacks." Just too cute!

It has been a long day and this mama duck must waddle off to bed.

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The Wandering Mind of "Ma"....

I've been sitting here, waxing nostalgic, and sipping my new beverage of choice, grapefruit juice on ice.

What set me off today, was the young man at Wal-Mart with purple hair. Yes, we are talking really, really purple, with violet and reddish highlights. I am not certain about the last, since my eyeballs were somewhat dazed. Fortunately, I had already located the chocolate before temporary blindness set in.

I mention this not to poke fun at anyone's hair color. Seeing it, however, brought back a memory of over 35 years ago.

When I was young, my mother always turned on the radio on Saturday mornings, so I could listen to 'The Children's Bible Hour," with Aunt Bea and Uncle Charley. Yes, I was alive so far back that I remember Aunt Bea! (tell me I'm not the only one)

There was one story, which dealt with a poor, misunderstood boy, born with purple hair. He went from house to house, begging for food. All because of some freak hair related birth defect. The purpose of the tale, of course, was to highlight the unfairness of prejudice. At least I think that's what it was about. I was young, and all I can remember was the improbability of someone actually ever HAVING purple hair.

Fast forward to the future, where people single themselves out, on purpose. They are being brave and making a statement. The statement being: "I am odd. I am purple. Hear me roar." 'Tis confusing. I'm thinkin' I'll just let my hair stay natural. Unless it turns purple. Then I am definitely dying it gray. I've seen what purple looks like, and it's not a pretty sight. I don't even like eggplants.
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Another little trip down memory lane took place on the previous laundry day. Down in the washroom sits an ironing board. I actually have experience in ironing boards. My mother started me out on men's handkerchiefs, and I eventually graduated to men's shirts. There is a proper way to iron a man's shirt. I knew I had been taught the right way, when I caught part of a documentary on butlers, and how they iron their master's shirts. It's exactly the same!

I seldom use an ironing board these days. And by the time my daughters reached "ironable age," the world had become hopelessly permanently pressed. I'll bet men don't take handkerchiefs with them anymore, either. Fewer men wear suits, so there's no place to put them. Besides, it might get in the way of their PDA's. *sigh* What an ungenteel world we live in.

There are times when one does NOT long for the old days. When Ardith and Sharon were little, they were asked to be in a wedding, as flower girl and ring bearer (girl). The bride's mother made beautiful dresses for them both. (Hi, Loraine :-) Naturally, we felt they should get some use besides that one, memorable day. So, every Easter, we took them out of the closet, and "Ma" drenched them in water and spent at least 45 minutes ironing them! "There you go, girls. Try not to sit down."

These next remembrances were also instigated in the laundry room. Discovering a 1 inch diameter hole in a favorite blue sweater, I knew I had to stop the unraveling before another washing. I took one look at that hole and realized darning skills were required. How thankful I was that Mom taught me that, too :-) I actually used to darn my husband's socks, for the first year of marriage, anyway. After that I figured he was stuck with me, and I was free to stop. (blows kiss to hubby)

My mother's teaching even helped prevent a potentially serious rift between college roommates and related personnel. I was approached one evening by a male acquaintance with an unusual dilemma. His roommate's sister had sewn a bathrobe especially for him, and they were soon to be guests in her and her husband's home. Unbeknownst to her, the two guys had been horsing around in the dorm, and the robe now displayed a horrendous tear, the pocket having been torn partly off. (Of course, nowadays, this could easily be fixed with duct tape, but, you have to remember, I grew up before duct tape was even invented)

"Can you fix this, Becky? I don't want his sister to find out, since she spent so much time making it." Being a lowly freshman, I was only too eager to please a poplular and incredibly funny guy. I took it to my dorm room, assembled my needles and threads, and began to work. Using my mom's darning technique, I painstakingly put it back to rights. By my own inspection, it didn't look half bad. The owner was thrilled, and a conceivably embarrassing encounter was averted. And that is the story of how I saved Dave Bogue's reputation. (I figure the statute of limitations has run out on bathrobe destruction, Dave. I think you're in the clear :-)

All this ran through my drifting mind as I bent over my sweater. Funny the memories dredged up after so many years. And to think, it all started with purple hair and a blue sweater.

When I was a kid, people my age looked askance at little old ladies with blue hair. And now, old ladies are taken aback by young bucks with purple hair.

Go figure.

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Ma's Literary Corner

I have begun to read "The Manchurian Candidate, " and was surprised to learn it was originally published in 1959. Apparently it was republished in the late 80's, after which it fell to relative obscurity until rescued by some screenwriter, or possibly Meryl Streep.

I have not viewed the movie by this title, but have seen related promotional bits. I was expecting something in the nature of a spy thriller. Little did I know a comedy was woven into the plot. A comedy of description. The following, is a fairly typical example of some of Richard Condon's tortured prose:

"The vertical halves of his face pouted together sullenly, projecting the effluvia of self pity. His skin was immoderately white, which made the prominent veins of his arms and legs seem like blue neon tubing.His cropped hair was light blond and it grew down low and in a round shape over his forehead in a style affected by many American businessmen of a juvenile or eunuchoid turn."

Ma's verdict? Trying too hard. Way too hard. Not only does it have no flow, it gives me literary whiplash, just thinking about it. In fact, I'd be willing to bet the author slept with Roget's Thesaurus under his pillow. Now, while I imagine Bill Buckley understands all those words, I would venture he would get a giggle or two from their indiscriminate use. But, I guess we're getting into dicey territory when discussing the mind of an intellectual.

Anyway, I am only on page 25, but will endeavor to press on. It's just so hard to keep a bead on the target, when one is constantly bombarded by discordant phrases.

"To Kill a Mockingbird," is a work halfway read, and I am loving every line. I have limited my reading of it until all lights are out, save my bedside lamp. No distracting noises or daylight. Somehow it just seems to give the right setting. I almost expect Boo Radley to peek out from the closet door.

"The Yearling," was another great read. For some strange reason, (inadequate public schooling comes to mind) I never had the privilege of reading this book while I was growing up. I could have used my own initiative and compelled myself to systematically read the classics. But when you are a teenager, it's hard enough just to compell yourself to brush your teeth every day, let alone acquire literary experience. (Besides, I think I was practicing the piano during 1/3 of my teen years.) But it is never too late to start making amends. And sometimes reading a good book later on in life brings even greater appreciation. "The Yearling" was one of those books, for me. I loved it, and identified with the father, the mother, and the boy. Their characters reintroduced me to different parts of my short life. No one is too old to read and enjoy "The Yearling."

Well, thus closes Ma's literary critiquing for the moment. Hope no one was put off by anything. Just in case you were, I will close with another one of those ancient, but ever relevant Irish Blessings I seem to keep encountering in my readings:

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be ever at your back,
And may your neons be warm reds and yellows."

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What's Not to Love?

This is why I can hardly wait to go home and STAY home :-)

After reading these notable quotes, I felt it would not be imprudent to jot down a few thoughts, a few resolutions for the future, specific to certain young and not so young personages.

Ethan
-shows aptitude for science
-needs work on idiomatic phrases
-recommend he dish up food while looking through binoculars. Backwards.

Jason
-give serious consideration to encouraging him toward new line of work: Celebrity Reviews.
-make him continue reading Shakespeare. It brings out the best in him.
-his chocolate comment shows real promise, gastronomically speaking.

Nolan
-under NO CIRCUMSTANCES, is this child ever to have contact with anything more lethal than a rubber band.
-may have future in pathology.

Carolyn
-definitely has proclivity toward drama. (make mental note not to have Jason review her artistic endeavors)
-remind her that Ardith and Sharon had to share a computer, when they were young. This was similar to walking 3 miles to school in a blinding snowstorm, only much, MUCH WORSE!
-request to see her drawing of a "spiritual horse."

Ardith
-gently emphasize that she has only one semester left in her Computer Science and Engineering Degree. It is WAY TOO LATE to switch to Martial Arts or Law Enforcement. Consider threat of removal from will.
-thank her for helping "ride herd over the kids" at Christmas break. Or maybe that was "riding kids over the herd," I don't know.

Derek
-confused at metaphoric expressions, since I thought he was exclusively and passionately non-fiction.
-find out if "I'm an island in a sea of angry waves," refers to his sisters, or a computer game.

Ethan (second notation)
-seems preoccupied with weapons.
-suggest military career.
-tell him they have good food in the army. Almost as good as college cafeterias.

Melinda
-one of the few, apparently normal kids.
-while her hair styling has brought acclaim, I feel she is too smart to channel all of her efforts in that area, exclusively.

Trevor
-just so cute, I can hardly stand it!
-(make mental note to not look at picture for more than 30 seconds at a time, due to unexplained eye problems)

Sharon
-deserves some kind of reward for sitting out a semester, holding down the fort, reporting on the kids, and taking such a great picture of my "Sweetie Baby Bunny Boy." *sigh*

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"Iss Colt in Them Thar Heels"

As the thermometer dips below zero, again, I cannot help but think of those unfortunate people who live down south. I imagine there are some who do not even have to wear a jacket. One wonders how they can sleep at night, knowing that they are missing out on one of life's toughening experiences. The kind of experience that inures and seasons one to the hardships of life.

Yes, I feel sorry for those who, through no fault of their own, are forced to endure the balmy weather.......

WHO AM I KIDDING! It's cold, up here, and I wanna go to Florida! I can't even say, "Calgon, take me away!" since there is no tub in this joint. I hope you folks down south appreciate those of us who live up here, leaving more room for you, to live down there.

That bit of whining aside, I'll report on Loren's appointments today.

He was back in rehab, doing the usual stuff, treadmill, NuStep, and bicep curls with hand weights. The parking garage does not accept validation from the Rehab department anymore, so I came back to the room and looked up HTML.

HTML is computer jargon for "Hyperactive and Taxing Mix-up-a-"Ma" Language. I just needed to know how to do a couple of things, like put text in italic, bold, or stick in a link somewheres. I think I've got it all figured out, except for that unfortunate incident of sending a message to the Kremlin. But, at least it was nicely italicized. (Hey, fellas, I was just kidding about those nuclear warheads)

My thanks go to a certain acquaintance, Internet-wise, who sent me the website address entitled: "HTML For People So Much Worse Than Dummies, It's Not Even Funny." I won't name him, not because he is overly humble, but because he would consider recognition of a good deed, as a fate worse than death. But I was able to extract the info I desired, so, thanks, you big lug of an enigmatic churl, you.
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In the afternoon, Loren had another appointment with the Spanish CV Health Clinic Doc, Doctor T. She had a visiting doctor from Columbia observing, so occasionally the two women would converse in their native language. What a super opportunity to listen for familiar words in Español!

I kept my ears peeled to the sonorous tones. I am almost certain I picked up the words, "and," "but," and the phrase, "Don't you think his wife needs a haircut?" (OK, I just made up that last part)

She is an extremely knowledgeable doctor, very thorough and very attentive to all related health matters. She checked out a site that has been bothering Loren. When he had his defibrillator in, there were leads running from the device in his abdomen, up to his left shoulder and then into his heart. All this hardware was removed at the end of the transplant surgery. There is scar tissue, where the leads were tunneled up. When Loren lifts his left arm he can feel it pulling and has some pain. She suggested he use a little massage therapy to alleviate the discomfort, and assured him that it wasn't doing any damage. I think he just wanted to know if it was ok to lift the arm.

Then she got on his case a bit concerning his high cholesterol. (but very nicely) The other doctors haven't said a great deal about his diet, since they put a high priority on weight gain. Now the heart doctors are waiting to see if the increased dosage of Pravachol will lower the "bad" cholesterol, or whether other measures should be taken.

Doctor T. came out in favor of tweaking the diet just a bit more. We have not been eating badly, but we could make a few adjustments. One thing, though, that I don't think the doctors in general realize, is that when you put together all the things we are supposed to "watch out for," like low potassium, (cuts out certain healthy fruits and vegetables, excessive milk) low fat, less red meat, bone building, (oops, there's that milk) certain rules regarding foods that are hard to clean, (broccoli, grapes) you really end up with less to eat than what they think. Some of the very foods certain doctors advise to eat, are restricted for some other reason. Well, I won't bore you with all the details.
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So, how do we keep warm in this frigid weather?

Hearty eating. Like, steak.

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Ma's Coup de Literature

While I hate to annoy people twice in one day, circumstances have occurred that simply BEG to be told. And as we all know, Ma is not above begging.

After finishing the laundry and carefully laying out the damp items on the unmade bed, and after I had sufficiently fortified my hubby and myself with food, it was time for the real work of the day. Book browsing. Yes, I found myself irresistibly drawn back to that little mom and pop book shop. Let me hasten to say, that just because I accidentally bought one book above price (there were two prices inside the cover) I harbored no ill will. The people who run the store are quite nice, very helpful, in fact. Why, the son of the owner is young enough to be my older brother. It is he who seems particularly eager to sell. I have also noticed, that there are hardly EVER any other customers in the store.

I felt the time was ripe for the harvest.

It was also very, very COLD. The temperature was approaching zero, on the downward plunge, and I was planning to walk. But, when Ma gets her heart set on something, she is hard to deny. It would be a short six blocks with part of that taking place in the underground labyrinths below Mayo and assorted hotels.

I arrived without frostbite, though I did have to cover my face several times with my gloved hand. And, I will readily admit, that I traversed the last open street against a "Don't Walk" signal, 'cause, there was nobody coming, and the windchill was so-- freaking--- COLD!

Anyway, I walked into the store's entryway, where I stopped to take a gander at the half-priced materials. I politely declined their offers of assistance, pleading only a desire to browse. The fly was cast.

After picking up two of the discounted volumes, I immediately headed for the biographies, to see if a copy of "Disraeli" by Maurois therein resided. Hmmm, Diana.....Diana, (oh brother.....) and, there it was! In paperback! (it's cheaper :-) I clasped it to myself. So happy. SO HAPPY. Ok, calm down, Ma. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT show emotion.

I meandered over to the Religion section. Nothing I recognized, until, "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come." "Hah!" And again, I say, "Ho, Ho!" This does not belong here. I have read "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come." I enjoyed "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come." "Little Shepherd, you are no religious book!"

I would put it in with the Civil War stuff before I put it in the religious section. Actually, it belongs in the Literature area. (I think)

I wandered over to that esteemed sector, trolling as I went. I heard conversation between the son and his father. "There's a lady back there with a stack of books. She's holding them in her hands." (I was carrying three books. Was I breaking some rule?)

Sensing someone wanted to leave, but was waiting for me to buy, I asked hesitantly, "Am I holding you up?" "No, no. We are open until 7:00." (see, I knew that. And it was only 2:30)
Not long after that exchange, I had a sudden burst of inspiration. I walked up to the father and inquired, "Do you have 'The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire?'" "Yes, I think we do," as he led me back to a shelf.

I let the bobber settle on the surface of the water.

There they were, three thick hardbacks, in fine condition. "It's a good edition," he commented as he walked back to his seat. I looked at the books round about, hardly daring to check on the price of the set. I glanced here, I dallied there, and then I opened the flyleaf. What I saw was the exact amount of cash I had in my pocket! Talk about your providential occurrences :-)

Of course, there was a little matter of tax. And the three books already clutched in my arms. I felt the hook settling into the catch's mouth. I marched up front with all six books, threw my two bills (which were not ones) on the desk and blurted out, "Let's make a deal!"

The younger fellow, excited at the possibility of purchase AND being able to leave the store, replied, "OK! Let's see what you have."

I explained that the money was all the cash I had on me, and I at least wanted the biography along with.

"Well, I think we can probably help you out. Do you have the $2.28 for tax?" "Nope. That's all I've got." "Hmm. Well, this is probably against the law, but we're going to give you all six books for that amount. And no tax." (fish is hauled up onto bank) They even double bagged the DFRE, when I disclosed that I was walking six blocks. Sympathy has it's uses.

And that, is the story of how how Ma recouped her literature losses.

I would tell you what Loren said when I got back to the room with my treasures, but that, is another story.

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How to Know When You're Getting......

OLD:
-you have to take off your glasses to thread a needle

-you hear the store clerk remark about the "golden oldie" on the radio, and you distinctly remember being alive when the song came out

-you start enjoying those "Reminisce" magazines in the waiting rooms. At least, I think it's called "Reminisce." Possibly the name was "Total Recall," I just can't.......remember.

-you realize you actually DID some of the things described in "Reminisce" magazine.

-you spend time on the treadmill, ostensibly to keep fit, and then have to lay down to gather strength to make supper

-you don't even FEEL like getting out of bed in the morning

-your husband, recovering from a heart transplant, actually beats you to the shower

-even the thought of reading a book is exhausting
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BORED:

-you look forward to doing your laundry

-you spend extra time in the kitchen, cleaning and running the sanitizer, just for the momentary thrill of the "Whoosh" when the water jets engage. (Now I know how James T. and Jean-Luc felt)

-you take out the three trash bags in the kitchen, even though it is not your designated day. You understand that you may be depriving someone of their Boredom Abolition Rights, but You----Don't------Even------CARE!

-you take inordinate pleasure in seizing the computer, after your husband goes down to the treadmill, thinking YOU would be busy with the laundry. "Finders, Keepers, my dear, Finders, Keepers." (heh, heh, heh)

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How Slow Can Things Get?

Not much going on. No insurrections, hostile takeovers, or "Big House" coup d'états.

Loren has to take it easy for a few days due to his angiogram. He called in to the rehab office and they told him not to come in today. He made an admirable attempt to contain his glee.

The Rochester school system closed all schools early this morning, due to freezing mist. Increasingly heavy precipitation was expected. I even went out to the grocery store for some necessities: cereal, juice, and Blue Bunny Chocolate Toasted Almond ice cream. One hates to be without the staples when inclement weather threatens.

The weather soon moderated, the storm never materialized, but at least "Ma" brought home the dessert.

This morning's cancellations reminded me of one of the inherent beauties of the homeschooling method. THERE ARE NO SNOW DAYS!! "Whah hah hah hah ha."

Fog delay for the kiddies down the road? Tough! Get into the living room and crack those books!
Freezing rain producing a half inch coating on every twig? No problem. If the electicity does goes out, simply locate your flashlights. When batteries run low, we'll go to candles.

Even if the computer work cannot be realized, we simply shift focus and concentrate on a non-technical subject. Take literature. What a lovely time to sit and listen to the reading of a choice book.

Like, say, "Pride and Prejudice."

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From Dawn to Dusk

This was probably the longest day we have had so far. It was dark when we left, and dark when we returned. We were told that the reason Loren had to wait so long for the Heparin to decrease was because of small vessels. There are drugs that artificially decrease the effect of Heparin, but the doctors did not want to go that route due to a risk of the small vessels clotting up. Thus, a nice three hour wait for the blood thinning drug to decrease naturally.

The procedure-without-end finally came to a close around two, giving Loren the chance to eat for the first time at 2:30. Another hour or so of laying flat on his back and he was good to go. We rushed down to x-ray, raced over to the clinic and scooted into the late appointments just 20 minutes before closing time.

The result of the biopsy was 1a. Not quite a perfect score, but Doctor E. says the differences between a zero and 1a rejection are negligible. Everything continues to go rather smoothly, recuperation-wise :-)

Finally, FINALLY we were able to return to The Big House, where we stumbled in during a little birthday party, with two distinctly little people. Yes, we are talking CHILDREN! Children in the house where youngsters under the age of 17 are not allowed. For any reason!

And thus, the day ended. True, while I had missed my Ethan's 8th birthday, others were celebrating with youngsters on site. Still, one must keep the larger picture in mind. Petty jealousies have no place in life. It is worth remembering what my name means in the original Hebrew: "She who is not bitter and does not seek revenge."

Being the mature adults, we refused to change out of our street shoes and took candy up to our room.

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Waiting. It's What I Do

OK, we are havin' a really groovy day here, and let me tell you why:

-got up at 5:20 to make appearance at St. Mary's Hospital. Loren has a command performance scheduled today, his baseline angiogram.

-he also is privileged with another biopsy, meaning he is blessed with not one, but TWO puncture points in the ol' body. No, make that 3, since he needs an IV site.

-it takes a mere 2 hours to prep him: take him to a room, change into the wonderful hospital gown, get ECG, get IV site established, tell nurses at least 3 times that, "No, he doesn't have a living will."

-at 8:30 he was wheeled off to the cath lab. I was told to expect him back in 3 hours

-I visited cafeteria, bought my obligatory paper to hide behind, ate and chatted with fellow "transplant wife," realized that buying paper was totally unnecessary. Still, the aura of affected cerebrality cannot hurt.

-on way out, saw wife of someone waiting for an O blood type donor. They are having a rough time, and we talked for quite a spell.

-back in the waiting room, am approached at 11:00 by S. from the cath lab. It seems there is going to be a little delay. Roughly 3 hours worth. *sigh* Loren has been given Fentanyl, a narcotic, and is "comfortable." (code for feeling greeeaaaaaatt.....)

Loren's ACT is high. The Activated Coagulation Time is a clotting test used to keep an eye on high doses of heparin. The heparin is needed for the exploring of the coronary arteries, so as not to induce clotting into the process. So, since Loren's ACT is high, they cannot pull out the groin stick yet. The doctors want to wait for the level to come down naturally, which should take about 3 hours.

The whole reason for the angiogram is to provide a baseline for Loren, against which other angiograms will be compared. In a transplant situation, the heart becomes denervated. (I'll change that later if spelling is wrong-I'm at the library)

The nerves have been cut, to put in the new heart. Nerve sensitivity will not return for at least two years, if that. Being denervated means Loren would not feel the symptoms of an impending heart attack: angina, chest pain, etc. That is why he will have to have regular angiograms for a while, at least. Possibly the rest of his life. (I have to check on that. My research capabilities here in the library are less than optimal since I cannot pull up extra tabs. Don't want to lose the screen I'm on!)

With time to kill, I have wandered to the library to get in a quick blog, check email and make a brief scan of worldly events. Hopefully, I'll find something other than "Jen and What's his face."

Loren was supposed to get a chest x-ray at ten, but that can be worked in any ol' time. Thankfully, the afternoon doctor appointments over at the clinic do not begin until 4:15. I figure we just might be outta here by then. Maybe.

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From Farewells to Charms

It has been a rather long, slow weekend. Three days filled with boredom, interspersed with periods of ennui and lassitude. *yawn* Appointments have decreased somewhat, in frequency, and we had nothing much to do. At least with a hectic schedule, one feels they have a purpose in life.

A few farewells were said this past week.

Jack Keller and his mother, Marlys, left on Thursday for North Dakota. Jack was the young man I mentioned earlier, who had a double lung transplant and a fine Christian testimony. We will truly miss them around The House, though, as I told him, he was entirely too cheerful much of the time. If I ever wanted to know what was happening, I just asked Marlys. She was always up to date on the conditions of most everyone in the House.

Then there was Shirley and Roger, who flew back to Alabama. I didn't get to say goodbye to them, because we were hiding out in our room from the threat of sickness, and listening to the Moody Church Hour. (Sorry I missed you Shirley :-( But I heard there was a lot of crying involved, so maybe it's just as well. Marlys has my email...... :-) Shirley and I always seemed to be in the kitchen at the same time. She was good company, the kind of person who liked to talk and listen. Her husband went through some hard trials in the hospital after his chemo treatments. We really prayed for Roger and are so thankful he can go home now.

Loren and I went home last week for one more quick visit before Ardith went back to Letourneau for her final semester. After we left, I realized I hadn't hugged her goodbye :(
Sorry, Ardith. It kinda hit me later on that you were home for 3 weeks, but we were only there for parts of 3 days. *sigh*
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I have not exactly bid farewell to my Spanish studies, but I have changed my approach. I came to the conclusion that 2 HOURS per day was way too much time for something that was intended to be "fun." Loren's occasional disparaging comments had NOTHING to do with it. The fact that the book contained NO ANSWERS, did. I conferred with my foreign language consultant (Sharon) and we concluded that I could continue to work on the basics, and switch to a more useable book when we return home. We also decided that you just can't have too many words with "con" in them.

I was doing just fine, until the introduction of pronouns. Perhaps it's my imagination, but I am convinced there are an excessive amount of pronouns in the Spanish language. I was doing OK until we got to the "reflexive pronouns." I found I had an overwhelming urge to kick that book across the room. And, don't even get me STARTED on the aptly named "pronouns of ambiguity." They're just......so.......so...ambiguous.
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Now, what to do, when friends leave and time hangs heavy on los manos?

A little walk to the local used bookstore is always appropriate. Besides, I have to rectify a slight inequity. I bought a book there, and was charged more than I thought appropriate, because there were two prices. The first one, what I thought fair, was actually a mark from a previous sale. The STORE'S price was on the next page, and appreciably higher. I won't go into all the details, even though there were extenuating circumstances. It was basically my fault for not being more observant. But, while browsing this afternoon, I overheard the proprietor going to great lengths to sell something to a customer. He even offered to lower the price, substantially. "Ah," I thought. "So that way goes the game.

I found a few items of negligible cost, and then, I chanced upon an old hardback of, "Irvin Cobb At His Best." I did not feel the stated price was justified by it's worn condition. Emboldened by my recently discovered intelligence, and a need to recoup my losses, I took all my prospects to the desk.

I am thrilled to announce that I was allowed to purchased said book at half price! I figure I only have to buy seven or eight more items, at good prices, to make up for my past mistake. It won't be a hardship. What could be more relaxing than perusing stacks of well ordered books for an hour or two? The shop is run by a charming family, whose males are oft attired in old world Greek hats. True, "Screwtape Letters" by C. S. Lewis was located in the science fiction section, but, to their credit, they always have opera music playing in the background.

I anticipate future visitations.

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It Takes a Walk, to Raise a Lather

We arose this morning and immediately, a small dilemma presented itself. Loren pulled the last clean pair of socks out of his drawer.

As I saw it, there were two options. I could do the laundry, or I could purchase new socks for the man. I chose the former. (or, as they say in español, "aquél")

But first, I needed quarters. Lots and lots of quarters. And before that, I needed one dollar bills. Now, in order to get the dollars, I had to visit a store, paying for merchandise with the debit card. In that way, I could get "cash back," wheedling a few ones from the clerk in the process.

But, indeed, how to get to the store. The car? Or walk? After a quick consultation with my live-in meteorologist, the way seemed clear. No "Ma" of hardy stock could refuse a walk in the comfort of 25 degrees. 'Twas only a mile. And so, as did Caesar, "Fuí, Compré, Lavé." (I went, I bought, I washed:-)

And thus ends the tale of how "Ma" went for a walk, and ended up doing the laundry.
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If you think my writing slightly bent, you should fear the generation to come. Daughter Sharon has kindly posted an example of 13 year old Derek's persuasive essay.

I think it's genetic.

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Sickness, Be GONE!

Word has is, that intestinal virii are flitting about the House.

We remain secluded in our "cell." In autre mots, life as normal.
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Ma Hoyt's Helpful Hints to Prevent Contagion:

-press elevator buttons only with the your knuckles.

-use lavish amounts of sanitizing lotion.

-misplacing your cell phone is forgiveable. Losing your miniature bottle of sanitizing lotion is not.

-when going down stairways, pull sleeve over ends of fingers to touch railing. Better yet, do not touch railing. If a fall ensues, try not to touch anything on your way down.

-breathe sparingly.

-socialize only over the internet, after running anti-viral programs, naturally.

-use saline nasal sprays freely.

-keep a perimeter of 4 feet between you and other humans.

-watch comedies. Comedies cause laughter, which increases the production of endorphins, which are purported to promote healing.

-make fun of as many people as possible, but first, inform them of the healing properties of laughter.

-carry an aerosol can of sanitizer. Spray liberally ahead of you as you walk down the hall. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT spray conservatively.

-drop subtle hints to hubby to "eat out." One can avoid the communal and possibly contagious kitchen, opting instead, for a restaurant/fast food joint manned by teenagers and other young persons known for their stringent standards of hygiene.

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Pieces of Chocolate and Goodwills for All Mankind

Well, today was the big day! We got through the two appointments for Loren, and then I dumped (oops, I mean "dropped," of course) Loren off at "The Clink" and then, it was time. Time for a trip to the Goodwill store :-)

With a tank full of gas, and a pocketful of cash, I headed north. The car seemed to know the way. Every light turned green. It was KISMET! Or, maybe nobody drives "up."

As I pulled into the lot, I chose my parking space carefully. Not too close, so as to avoid getting dinged by all the Mazda's and VW's that were sure to cruise by. Not too far away, to reduce the risk of injury from carrying heavily weighted packages over snow and ice.

I stopped the car, remembered to put my keys in my purse, and then locked each door. NO ONE was going to snatch my Mayo parking garage ticket, not to mention my bag of sanitizing lotion, wipes and spray.

As I headed for the entrance, a single thought burned it's image on my brain. "Ma," the thought said, "Ma, you may have one chance, and one chance only to acquire the best deals and bargains from this place of resale retail. Make every moment count!"

Armed with the twin purposes of sorting and accumulating, I marched into the store. "Focus, Ma, focus!" It took a mere 60 seconds to grab a cart and wipe it down with an antibacterial cloth. At first glance I spied two racks of dresses. Two racks? Only two racks? I looked around, taking note of the worn, threadbare carpet. I noticed the overall dirty and unkempt appearance. "Ma," I told myself, "You are not in Iowa, anymore. This is not your mother's Goodwill store."

Well, no matter. There must be something here that needs a good home. You would think, with all the doctors in the vicinity, that there would be some prime merchandise. But no, 'twas rather mediocre. Not even a blue dish for my French Country Kitchen. The selection of shoes was abysmal. The purses? Almost nonexistent. (I did find one, since, for a long time now, I have been searching for the perfect purse. Besides, buying a new purse is an excellent way to become motivated in organizing one's purse. But, I digress....)

With heart pounding, I quickly pulled "possibilities" off the racks. There is always the fear that some item might be snatched before my very eyes. I kept my peripherals at the ready, just in case someone tried to muscle in on my territory. In less than half an hour 15 articles of clothing are safely stowed in my cart.

It is now time to cruise the rest of the store. Any books? Yes, lots and LOTS of books! Well, they can wait. I make a mental note to stop back. What next? Oh yes, the hubby. Well, let's mosey on over and see if there is ANYTHING there. Not too much on the men's side. They don't seem to tire of their clothing as frequently as women. More importantly, they don't have the weight fluctuations that make continual changes in apparel so necessary for women. I consoled my disappointment with a few chocolates.

I looked at the men's suits, which as usual, were too big. Hmmm. Not much for Loren. Oh well, C'est la vie :-) (more chocolates)

This store may be lacking in some areas, but the book section is not one of them. In quantity, anyway. For the most part, they are neatly arranged in actual bookshelves. Though, there are several bins with overflow. Clearly, this is an intellectual neighborhood. There are even a few works from the travelogue genre of "Star Trek." Now I know what all those doctors are reading in their spare time.

With the books having been given a thorough going over, it was now time to try on the clothes. All the dressing rooms had no locks. One of them had no doorknob. This is not good. This is NO WAY to run a discount store. I guess they figure the people who come are desperate enough not to care about things like cleanliness, product display and MODESTY.

I came away with "several" purchases, but on the whole, I was disappointed with the quality of the store. I had expected a town with 3 McDonald's, 3 HyVee Groceries, and 2 Walmart Superstores to have a little more to offer in the way of resale shops. Maybe it's just as well. One doesn't want to become too enamored with this city.

It's a nice place to get a transplant, but I wouldn't want to "Goodwill" here.

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I Think Loren's Feeling Better....

......since he's getting sarcastic :-) More about that later.

"It's snowing, it's snowing, la, la la, la la, la....."

Here, in Rochester, long known as a bastion of snow and cold, we received as much as two whole inches. While down south, in Iowa, where I am NOT, they are piling up inch after inch and drift after drift. Well, at least the children will have fun. If I know Jason, there will soon be a reenactment of the Battle for Helm's Deep.

But backtracking to yesterday, there was the usual early call for blood work, X-ray and office visits. Things are going so well, that there is less and less to talk about at each visit.

The new test for that day (Tues) was to assess renal function. A bit of tricky manuevering, foodwise. Loren has to go to the blood work in a fasting state, and he could not eat for 4 hours previous to the kidney function test. That left us with a small half hour window of opportunity to snarf down a dry, crumbly granola bar and dubious liquids. By the time we arrived for the two-hour long test, I was getting fairly hungry.

The nurse who called for Loren did NOT invite me back, though I noticed other nurses were asking spouses if they wanted to accompany the patient. But I am not bitter, no, I am not bitter. I lost myself in Tolstoy. (yes, I am a slow reader) According to Loren, this is what happened:

(first of all, he had to drink 3-4 glasses of water before arriving there) They took him back, gave him a shot of iodine, and had him drink more water and watch TV for 45 minutes. Then, the nurse draws blood, and the patient gives a "sample. " More water and more TV for 45 minutes, followed by another blood draw and urine sample. The main reason for all of this is to evaluate if the kidneys are working properly, since the drug Cyclosporine is known to cause problems with the kidneys. (Great, a-NOTHER thing to worry about)

So, since I was hungry at the start of the test, and I was REALLY hungry by the end, I was looking forward with great anticipation to stopping somewhere and getting FOOD. I had reasoned this would be necessary since our arrival back at The Big House coincided with the daily kitchen closing, when NO ONE, FOR ANY REASON, will be allowed in the kitchen.

"So," I asked famishedly, "Where should we go to get a bite to eat?"

"They made me drink so much water, I'm not the least bit hungry."

*gulp* "OK." *sniff* "We'll eat an early supper. How does 3:30 sound?"
______________________

This morning, another Rehab session. I rearranged Friday's appointments to Thursday, while Loren "worked out" at his hardest level yet, on the treadmill. Apparently, he did this of his own volition, generating yet another gold star in his record book. These exercise specialists, they certainly know how to motivate a guy.

We were waiting at the elevator bay for one of the six doors to open, when I decided to have a little fun. "Let's guess which door will open first. I guess that one," I offered, pointing to the farthest away. *wait, wait, wait. * The one right next to us makes suspicious noises. Suddenly, DING! The very one I had picked, way over there, lit up and opened.

"Prescience!" I gloated. "Sorta makes ya wanna treat me with a little more respect, don't it?"

"Do it three times in a row, and I will, " he replied, smugly. (he can get smart-alecky when he feels decent :-)
____________________

Upon exiting the parking garage, beautiful flakes of snow could be seen wafting down. I persuaded Loren to make a run to Wal-Mart, where he could ostensibly look for the perfect watch, and I could stock up on ice cream. From the looks of things, the snow could stop merely wafting about and start accumulating all over. The thought of a deep snow and low staples was enough to send me shopping. Loren, true to his hard-to-please nature, did not find a suitable watch, but I am happy to say I located the "Blue Bunny."

Arriving back at "The Clink," there was just time to fix lunch before the daily kitchen closing. I realized we were coming in with snow on our shoes, but I hoped no one would notice. (one of the house rules, when there is snow afoot, you have to have slippers or other shoes to change into at the cloakroom) I noticed a little water on the floor, but it would soon be time for F., the janitor to work his cleaning magic. Before I could blink, two "sisters" were grabbing paper towels and saying, "If you want to live, don't bring water in on the floor!" (Yes, these were just about her exact words, though they were spoken to people in general, and with good humor)

Busted! I thought. "Well, um, when we left this morning, it wasn't snowing, and....."
"That's why you always have something to change into in the coat room." So, while I ran up to the room to change into some slippers, the soup I was heating boiled over..... and.....well......some days you just can't win. *sniff*

I did manage to do a quick baking of cookies, the kind you just plunk from the package to the pan. My thoughts were already moving toward cleanup, as I ruminated aloud, "I wonder where we should store the extras, in the pantry or in the refrigerator?"

Without missing a beat, Loren replied, "Why don't you wait and see if we like them. We might want to store them in the wastebasket."

(see, I told you he was feeling better :-)
______________________

Coming back to the room after cleaning up supper, There was more friendly banter. I issued a terse, but not unreasonable statement, "Ok, you need to get off the computer. I have to blog."

"OOoooo, I'm scared."

"Hey, you're not showing the proper..."

"Respect? Deference?"
______________________

Yes, I definitesly think he's feeling better.

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In Which Loren Finds He is Normal

Another Rehab session this morning, followed by a trip to the gas station. It seemed prudent, since the little pump icon had that lovely orange glow. With parts of the car still incased in ice, I had to give several karate kicks to that cute-little-door-that-accesses-the-gas-tank. When THAT didn't work, I finally was able to pry it open with the windshield scraper. (you have to get up PRET-TY early in the morning to stop ol' "Ma.")

With that necessary chore accomplished, we proceeded to the "tienda de la Goodyear" to get a slow leak in the tire fixed. Only 15 lessons, and I can already say, "Tienda de la Goodyear."

A quick lunch back at The Big House, and then off to see "Dr. Gene." Another very interesting session, even though we had to wait an HOUR to see him. That was ok, since I am still barely one quarter way through Tolstoy.

The genetics doctor had the results of the test to check for genetic abnormalities. Apparently, Loren is perfectly normal. At least that's what the doctor said, and who am I to dispute a man with M.D. Ph. D. behind his name. The Doc said the karyotype is normal, and there are no points of translocation. I believe this involves prohibitions against eating syrup while traveling, but I could be wrong. In other words, there is nothing obvious that stands out in Loren's DNA that we could check against the children.

There are no gene studies involving ARVD in the United States at this time. There is one taking place in FRANCE, but it is just to check one of the 8 possible genes involved, and is probably too obscure to take a chance on, much as I would enjoy foreign travel.

There are no clinical studies in the United States involving Loren's type of cardiomyopathy, but there are linkage studies. We were encouraged to make contact with one or more of the linkage studies that are ongoing in the states. It may or may not pay off in helpful medical data for us in the short term, but, on the other hand, it could possibly lead to some useful information, sometime. Maybe.

Better stop now, before I get in over my head even DEEPER than I already am.
__________________

The perfect evening: as I hunted for a frying pan in the kitchen, I was informed that "Famous Dave's" had brought over BBQ, baked beans and cole slaw. Free food. YEAHHHH! Fo0d I don't have to fix. Double YEAHHHHHH!!! And soooo yummy. Ma should not have had seconds, but she couldn't help herself. Well, she could have, but she did not see the point in putting up much of a fight. Probably genetic.

And now, it is time for me and my genome to sign off.

*sound of soft shoe*

"Me --(whosh-uh-whosh-uh-whosh)
and- (whosh-uh) my (whosh-uh)
ge-------(whosh-uh-whoosh-uh-whoosh) nome....."

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A Weekend Sans Football

Actually, EVERY weekend is without football at our house. (both here and at home) Though, we may have watched parts of two different Superbowls. Thankfully, none in the most recent of years. Yes, it is possible to be perfectly normal and not crave football, even over New Year's weekend.

Instead, we packed a couple of videos and headed over to the lab to get another of Loren's 3 hour infusions. First, though, there was a little matter of getting out of the parking lot. Actually, it was somewhat dicey getting to and into the car. I had to exercise the ultimate authority by giving the door several body slams just to OPEN it. Thanks to the newly lubricated choke, it starts like a dream. (but, I kinda miss those ol' adrenaline spiking episodes, the ten or twelve tries, "Come on, come on baby, START!....." It always made me feel like I'd accomplished something)

After leaving the heat and both defrosters on high for 20 minutes, I went back out to start hacking at the windshields. They were not too much trouble, but the windshield wipers were MOST uncooperative. Since Loren decided to hog the driver's seat, I continued to chop and scrape and threaten the wipers until they complied. The parking lot was a sheet of ice, but thanks to the studded tires Loren had bought we traversed it safely. (I'm not sure these tires are legal in Minnesota, but since we're from Iowa, and leaving before long.....)

Now I realized why Loren had waved me away from the wheel. It was not because he mistrusted my driving, he just wanted to test those new tires on the ice. We proceeded down the three blocks to the clinic, with repeated starts and stops, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are at least 9 varieties of whiplash.

The CytoGam infusion was distinctive only in that the insertion of the IV was the most painful Loren has ever experienced. They have been putting them in his right hand, to save his arm for the other lab draws. I don't know what the problem was, but the nurse just kept pushing the needle and pushing and it just hurt him very much. He groaned and very nearly yelled. I hope that never happens again. But once that was over, we settled in and watched, "Dave," a comedy about a guy who stands in for the president. Fairly funny and a good way to pass the time.

Speaking of amusing, I am in the middle of reading, "Disraeli," by André Maurois. It is translated from the French by Hamish Miles. I don't know if it would be more droll in it's original language, but it is quite pleasing in English. Here are two funny excerpts. There are many more, equally as entertaining.

(page 6) -( this actually refers to the grandfather) - "The father smoothed out the quarrels by giving presents to mother and son. In his eyes, an unhappy child was a child who wanted a toy. When this son of his ran away from home one day and was found lying stretched on a tomb, he embraced him and gave him a pony. "

(page 100) "...and the dinner was rather dreary, but they were served with a swan, very white, very tender, and well stuffed with truffles, and that in itself was good company."

Originally published (in English) by Random House, I highly recommend this biography.

And while we're on the subject of books, I have found me a used bookstore within walking distance :-) Some of the items are not cheap, but I managed, on the half-priced shelf, to find a hardback of "Short Stores," by Robert Louis Stevenson. The spine has a piece torn out of it, which is, no doubt, why I was able to purchase it for 3 dollars.

I am hard pressed now, whether to proceed next to the Goodwill store I have found, or revisit the used bookstore. I'll think it over while I am not watching football.

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The Joys of the Mundane

We had another great visit with the kids, yesterday. It was so fun to be home and do ordinary things again. Things like juggling questions from "several children" at the dinner table, washing dishes and just sitting around to talk and laugh.

Trevor even gave me a great big hug this time. (he was a little uncertain on Christmas day, but soon warmed up) That little boy is so cooperative, he even climbs up on the changing table when it's time for a new diaper. Then he let me put him down for nap. He picks out a book, walks up to the boys' room, turns on the fan and then sits in my lap for the story.

After that, he crawls obediently into bed, while I pull up his blankie and sing a couple of songs. The eyelids start to sag and blink, which calls for turning over so he can pop them wide open, again. The little mouth twitches in that funny way, so he can adjust his lips just right. And before you know it, he's asleep, the little dear. I was tempted to crawl right in with him, just so I could watch him breathe and drink up his cuteness for a while. What a little bunny :-)

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A very quiet day at the start of this new year. I ventured out to get a few groceries and put air in a leaky tire, which was down to 10 pounds. There was a nasty mix of snow pellets and freezing rain, but I only had to scrape the windshield three or four times. It helped when I remembered there was such a thing as a defroster. The first gas station was closed, and the air hose managed to draw air out instead of put air in. Having now only 7 pounds left, I limped down to another service station. The visibility en route was low, but at least the air pump actually worked. That was fortunate, since I was not looking forward to blowing it up to 30 pounds with my bare lips.

With my usual diplomacy, I convinced Loren it might be wise to put off our trip to Wal-Mart for his new watch. "I'm not going out in that again!"

We watched TV, instead. They were running all the first episodes of the old comedies, so we got to see most of "Green Acres," and "I Love Lucy," while exercising. Then we came up from the basement and watched "Kate and Leopold," and "You've Got Mail." I think it was a Meg Ryan theme, or something. More sitting around and vegetating. You'd think it was a holiday, or something.

Tomorrow, Loren is scheduled for another Cyto-Gam infusion. Should take around 3 hours. Four, if you include de-icing the car.

*yawn*

When things get so dull that you bore yourself, it's time to stop.

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