I've been seriously thinking about moving to Canada lately, and not just because I think the Yarn Harlot and I were separated at birth or something. Hello, coffee and knitting? Yeah.
Canada doesn't want us, so nobody panic or anything, but it would still be nice. Why do I think we'd be happy in Canada?
Well, obviously the healthcare thing is awesome. I've been without insurance for so long, I can't remember what it's like to go to the dentist.
Also, Canada is COLD. Not all the time, but when it does get cold, it's pretty serious about it. This means that my kitting will be so much more appreciated. Not only that, but my purchases of yarn go from "annoying and excessive" in the eyes of the general non-knitting public, to "essential for life."
Monday, July 11, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Scared and Uncertain
Little Hawk is getting worse.
When I first met him, four years ago this fall, he had occasional spasms in his legs. Over that fall and winter they got worse and involved his whole legs up to the hips. Then they started involving his arms that summer. The winter and the spring of our marriage, his whole body would thrash uncontrollably during an attack. This winter, during severe attacks, his diaphragm would freeze up and he wouldn't be able to breathe during contractions.
Now his lungs are spasming and he is aspirating saliva and sometimes vomit during the really bad attacks. It was bad enough watching him spasm.
It was bad enough having to pin him down so he wouldn't punch himself or claw his face when he was spasming. It was bad enough when he was screaming in pain and I was unable to help him. But now, when he is spasming, thrashing around, coughing and gagging and gasping and turning purple, vomiting or coughing up white or yellow foam- I can't help him, other than wiping his face with a towel, holding him on his side so he doesn't aspirate, trying to coach him to stop hyperventilating.
I feel like he is dying by inches and there is nothing I can do. I'm so afraid that he is going to get worse and worse or that he's going to do this while I'm at the grocery store and die while I'm squishing avacados and deciding on bread. Every time I leave the house I'm afraid. When I'm in bed and he gets up to go to the bathroom, I'm afraid. If he's napping and I can't hear him snoring, I have to go in and check on him every few minutes to allay my fear. I wake up every half hour at night to check on him. I don't do it on purpose, I just can't sleep for worry.
What happens when I snap? So far I've been remarkably resilient. I have a phobia of spit and phlegm. When teenage boys spit on the sidewalk I twitch and make a detour. However, I've managed to hold him while he vomits and coughs foam all over my shirt, arms, and even my face. I've managed to get up and do whatever needs to be done, even if I haven't slept in three days and I want to curl up in the corner and rock and cry and hold myself. But what if tomorrow I can't?
I think that's what I'm afraid of the most. Little Hawk depends on me to be his rock. He's said so before, many times. I can't give myself the luxury of having a mental breakdown, because he needs me.
On the other hand, it's nice to be needed, eh?
I work hard to try and keep our spirits up. I give myself time to cry. I do a LOT of knitting, especially knitting things for people I love. I cuddle with Little Hawk, or with my kitten, who has taken it upon herself to comfort me by gluing herself to my lap. I putter around in my garden. I listen to audiobooks.
If I could just be certain that Little Hawk was going to be ok, I could cope. I love him so very, very much, and seeing him go through this pain is what hurts me the most. He doesn't deserve any of this, He's the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful man I've ever met. Honestly, it's a privilege to take care of him. He's that amazing. That's why watching him suffer hurts so much.
When I first met him, four years ago this fall, he had occasional spasms in his legs. Over that fall and winter they got worse and involved his whole legs up to the hips. Then they started involving his arms that summer. The winter and the spring of our marriage, his whole body would thrash uncontrollably during an attack. This winter, during severe attacks, his diaphragm would freeze up and he wouldn't be able to breathe during contractions.
Now his lungs are spasming and he is aspirating saliva and sometimes vomit during the really bad attacks. It was bad enough watching him spasm.
It was bad enough having to pin him down so he wouldn't punch himself or claw his face when he was spasming. It was bad enough when he was screaming in pain and I was unable to help him. But now, when he is spasming, thrashing around, coughing and gagging and gasping and turning purple, vomiting or coughing up white or yellow foam- I can't help him, other than wiping his face with a towel, holding him on his side so he doesn't aspirate, trying to coach him to stop hyperventilating.
I feel like he is dying by inches and there is nothing I can do. I'm so afraid that he is going to get worse and worse or that he's going to do this while I'm at the grocery store and die while I'm squishing avacados and deciding on bread. Every time I leave the house I'm afraid. When I'm in bed and he gets up to go to the bathroom, I'm afraid. If he's napping and I can't hear him snoring, I have to go in and check on him every few minutes to allay my fear. I wake up every half hour at night to check on him. I don't do it on purpose, I just can't sleep for worry.
What happens when I snap? So far I've been remarkably resilient. I have a phobia of spit and phlegm. When teenage boys spit on the sidewalk I twitch and make a detour. However, I've managed to hold him while he vomits and coughs foam all over my shirt, arms, and even my face. I've managed to get up and do whatever needs to be done, even if I haven't slept in three days and I want to curl up in the corner and rock and cry and hold myself. But what if tomorrow I can't?
I think that's what I'm afraid of the most. Little Hawk depends on me to be his rock. He's said so before, many times. I can't give myself the luxury of having a mental breakdown, because he needs me.
On the other hand, it's nice to be needed, eh?
I work hard to try and keep our spirits up. I give myself time to cry. I do a LOT of knitting, especially knitting things for people I love. I cuddle with Little Hawk, or with my kitten, who has taken it upon herself to comfort me by gluing herself to my lap. I putter around in my garden. I listen to audiobooks.
If I could just be certain that Little Hawk was going to be ok, I could cope. I love him so very, very much, and seeing him go through this pain is what hurts me the most. He doesn't deserve any of this, He's the kindest, sweetest, most thoughtful man I've ever met. Honestly, it's a privilege to take care of him. He's that amazing. That's why watching him suffer hurts so much.
Friday, July 8, 2011
I Have Awesome Pants
About a week ago, Kitten gave me a pair of really awesome plaid pants. They weren't terribly blinding, a nice beige and red combo, and it even look like they fit. (I've been comfort eating. Don't look at me like that.)
Anyway, I decided to wear them yesterday, since the respite nurse was coming over and I was going to Knit Night. Anyway, I put on the pants, a relatively nice shirt, and my sunglasses, drove to pick up Kitten- and as I stepped out of the car, I was suddenly awash with absolute sureness in the fact that I was Cool.
I was Super Cool and Awesome and I could feel the adoring glances of everyone in Safeway. I refused to let my slightly ragged cardigan with the hole in the elbow taint my glow of Cool.
I basked in my coolness for the rest of the afternoon, and it was very fun, especially when I got a free smoothie sample at Starbucks and one of the ladies at Knit Night brought cookies. It was a really, really nice day, and I'm going to do my best to cultivate that happiness for a few days more.
Anyway, I decided to wear them yesterday, since the respite nurse was coming over and I was going to Knit Night. Anyway, I put on the pants, a relatively nice shirt, and my sunglasses, drove to pick up Kitten- and as I stepped out of the car, I was suddenly awash with absolute sureness in the fact that I was Cool.
I was Super Cool and Awesome and I could feel the adoring glances of everyone in Safeway. I refused to let my slightly ragged cardigan with the hole in the elbow taint my glow of Cool.
I basked in my coolness for the rest of the afternoon, and it was very fun, especially when I got a free smoothie sample at Starbucks and one of the ladies at Knit Night brought cookies. It was a really, really nice day, and I'm going to do my best to cultivate that happiness for a few days more.
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