Thursday, January 30, 2014

You bought a heartache

Or so the saying goes. Hunny, my family's beloved Hunny, went to the happy hunting grounds yesterday. My family and I have been in and out of crying jags since. Hunny was a sweetheart. Border Collie mix, she was 16 years old. The last year or so has been rough for her, but the last month was the hardest. She lost weight, hearing, and most of her sight. I said my goodbye to her Sunday, as she struggled to turn, and turn, and turn to lay in her bed in my parents' dining room. Her bed was a fuzzy rectangle, covered with pictures of bones. When she came into our lives, she was a pup. Training her as a pup was a trial. Newspapers, cursing, saying it wasn't their turn to clean up after her...but still. Lovable Hunny, with her little white snout, and her white "frilly cravat" was impossible to be mad at. Even when she ran into the swamp, came back smelling like garbage, she was never not loved. Her heyday was in Virginia. My parents had 5 acres in Clifton, two pastures in the front, one in the back. Hunny could run, and try to herd us all as much as she wanted. That's how I remember sweet Hunny. Running to her heart's content. We loved her. She was a wonderful dog. I always claimed that I wasn't a dog person, but Hunny was my exception. I love you Hunny. Sweet girl is at peace.

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Screw you, 2013

So. Hi. I've been gone since 2012. 2013 might take the cake for one of my worst years. 2012 saw my triumphant return to life and Mount Washington after emergency surgery. 2013 started out with the exact same surgery that I had in August of '12. That was January. I had surgery, and as triggers for self-pity would have it, two great friends gave birth to lovely, lovely boys as I wallowed in jealousy (I admit it) and still love. Both births, if I recall, were literally the same week as I was in the hospital. Nevertheless, I missed the opportunity to properly act the auntie to beautiful boys because I couldn't get over myself. I will never get that back. After the second surgery in 2013, the same symptoms continued. It was disheartening to say the least. I contacted my dad, who "knows some people" (not in the mafia sense, as I think his true desire is to be some sort of mafia guy, but unfortunately his genetics is German, Swedish and Irish) at Smilow Cancer Center, and made an appointment. Smilow was such a wonderful experience. While I still love my original doctor, she didn't do extensive testing and performed the exact same surgery without additional testing. Smilow ordered me to have an MRI, which was...well, it sucked. I'm claustrophobic, and good God does it make noise. They discovered that surprise! My tumors were inside AND outside my uterus, basically completely deforming my organ. The massive doses of estrogen I am convinced led to the rapid growth. I underwent laproscopic surgery at Yale in April, and was laid up for basically the entire month of May. The summer found a lot of anxiety and depression for me...and thankfully, found my breakthrough this fall. I started knitting again about a week ago. Boy, did I miss it. Boy, did I miss my life, my family, and my friends. I have a lot of trouble with myself when I think of last year, in terms of how I related to those I love. I'm thankful they forgive me and my self-pity and instability, even if I still can't forgive myself. Here's to a new start. (Hopefully knitting, instead of medical updates)

Saturday, October 6, 2012

And yet, I remain

Still here. Knitting, once again, has taken a backseat. This summer was full of chaos for me, health wise. (This is going to be kind of a personal, rather than knitting story). I ended the month of May with three weeks of antibiotics following an epic bout of pneumonia, followed by bronchitis, followed by strep throat. The last dose of amoxicillin/whatever else were so gigantic it was nearly impossible to swallow. After I made it through that (lesson taken from that - I need to get pneumonia/flu vaccinations because my body is a total wuss), I began to have other problems. Let's just say it was 3 months of un fun visits to my obstetrician, many heavy doses of birth control pills that were estrogen based, a miracle drug called Lysteda, only to find out I had a large fibroid tumor in my uterine wall. This began a series of epic meltdowns for me, as nearly everyone around me had just found out they were pregnant/having babies. If you'll indulge the self pity for a bit, I had a hard time feeling happy (even though I was/am) when I was facing surgery which may or may not have resulted in me not being able to have more kids. In the midst of all of this, I could not have made it through without the support of my family. I withdrew a bit from all of them because really, who wants to talk about this? My doctor was amazing, my husband and son were amazing. We scheduled my surgery in August for the end of September, because we figured at that point the pain could be managed and whatever else. It was, for a time. The first week of August found myself, Chris, and Sawyer at the White Mountains. I have very little experience with hiking, while Chris is accomplished and has climbed a few mountains in the Presidential Range. The running joke is that when Chris and I met I said I loved hiking and then the one time we did I complained the entire way because, let's face it, I'm a fancypants. The woman we rented the cabin from said, "Oh, since you have a little one, just go up and down Tuckerman's Ravine trail to the Boott Spur link and back." For whatever reason, both Chris and I misunderstood this to mean "Take Tuckerman's Ravine to the Boott Spur and then take the link back to Tuckerman's Ravine." So armed with 3 sandwiches, a backpack, a map which we completely misjudged, and my sister and her boyfriend, we took off, confidently. The trail started off fine, but once we turned on to the Boott Spur, things got...interesting. My sister and her boyfriend had the good sense to turn back, but Chris and Scoop were ahead, and I was trying to keep up. When we reached this point:
I started to wonder what the hell we were doing. Maybe it doesn't look that bad, but there's nothing behind you and it just goes straight up. We kept climbing....and climbing...and climbing. Finally, we reached here:
From here on out, I learned from Chris about cairns, which is the only damn way to figure out if you're on the trail after crossing the tree line.
It was a pretty incredible view, and I'd post more pictures of it, but our phones died soon after. We did catch this one though:
I'd like to say that I was a champ and didn't whine at all, but that wouldn't be the truth. We made it down the Spur which was basically climbing down rock face and almost gave us both severe heart attacks due to the presence of our 5 year old, only to get to Tuckerman's Ravine, where I gave an Oscar worthy performance of sobbing/demanding "Just leave me here!" and insisting I broke my foot. This was at the point, mind you, that's literally a walk in the woods. And then it started raining. We made it back to the car a good 8 hours after the journey began, only to get back to the cabin and having my sister wonder what the heck happened to us. Of course, we were just about dead, but Scoop ran around the cabin for another 2 hours, much to our amazement. Climbing up to about 5000 ft for a 5 year old? No big deal. I ended up in emergency surgery two weeks later to remove the tumor, and am doing well now, except for getting food poisoning this past Thursday night. I have learned several lessons: 1. Don't order corn fritters from a "restaurant" that uses one of the tables as an office. 2. Even though you can be a big whiny complaining baby, you can climb Mount Washington. 3. "Boot bang" sucks after 8 hours. 4. If you have a Prius, don't stick your Garmin to the screen. 5. Surgery is scary as hell and makes you feel like you're in a sci-fi movie. Ativan is your friend. 6. Babies are adorable and lovely. 7. Baby blanket, which I am still working on, is almost complete. Here is is, folded in half, borders on each end. Need to do borders up the sides and block. Le voila!
P.S. I'm writing this while laying in bed still recovering from my "Corn Fritter Debacle" eavesdropping on my neighbors next door. They have the most New Englandy-New England accents EVAH. AND I MEAN EVAH.