The situation...

This evening, at around 7:45, Wolf started seizing.
"Should I call an ambulance?"
I called 911 about ten minutes later. (There was a ten minute delay because if he doesn't respond with something other than 'No,' he'll fight anyone who tries to help him. He's a big boy. By 8:00, the ambulance had arrived. The arrival of three fire and rescue trucks, two squad cars and a half hour later, they finally earned his co-operation in getting onto the cot. They even managed to get him strapped in before he got antsy again.

Then, I lost it a little. Then I got it together and went into the spare room where Kitten was watching TV.


Now, I've managed to get some food into me and I've called his friend.

I can't seem to bring myself to call any of my supports, though. I'm feeling like I'm in limbo. I feel the fear begin to rise... then it just stops. It totally dissipates.

Is this what shock is? If not, what is it? It's very clear and calm. Which is odd. I don't know.

To laugh or to cry...

Wolf called his Dad to see how his cataract surgery went. Dad was sleeping but Wolf's step-Mother informed him that he came out of the surgery completely blind. Seems the good doctors tore the lens in his good eye but left said lens in place to cause as much pain as possible before ER docs diagnosed the source of the pain and rectified it by taking it out.

He'll have to wait two months until the eye heals enough to have an artificial lens inserted.

What the hell is going on?!!

In other news, i should be taking Kitten and her friend to the movie store so they can pick movies and video games for this evening, her eleventh-birthday party.

Running away now!

Illness, illness everywhere, nor any time to drink...

My phone rang last night just before ten o'clock. I griped, silently, all the way to the kitchen wondering who in their right mind would call at such an hour. I even answered the phone with all of the sleepy voiced drama I could muster.

It was my dearest friend, Lynn*, calling with news about her son.

I'm so sorry I woke you but Cody* is not okay.

What does 'not okay' mean?

He's had a lot of chest pain and he's been passing out lately. He was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect.

Okay, so what does that that mean, break it down for me. Details.

It means that we're lucky he's alive. We're lucky he quit soccer-- the doctors don't know why he's been okay up 'til now. They can operate to fix it but Cody is terrified. He won't do it. He said he'll never do anything for the rest of his life; he'll hang out and not ride his bike and never take the stairs...

There was more conversation but it's all more than I feel needs to be here. Cody is going to be 16 next month.

I'm sending out a request for prayers and/or positive energy ... wherever you find your hope, dig in and send some their way, please.


My own update? Wolf's on a drug which has kept him either sleeping or wanting to be, since Wednesday. His next appt with Doc God is Tuesday and I'm hoping there will be honest account made of the side effects. True, Wolf hasn't passed out since he began this med, but it hasn't been a week yet, and that was his usual time between episodes. If he goes this week without falling down, then maybe they want to reduce the dosage? I don't know.

I'm tired. My brain is off in a million directions and I can't seem to keep a though long enough to get it typed out to completion.

*Names changed, of course, to protect the family's privacy.

What I want and why I (tell myself) I can't have it, followed by the reason my reason is stupid...

1. I want a more muscular physique.
a) I don't have time.
b) I wake every morning a couple of hours before my family so I can do my computer stuff without neglecting anyone.

2. I want to get a handle on my depression.
a) It is a mental disorder that I have no control over.
b) Spending hours online when I could be living makes me blue.

3. I want to be a better mom and wife.
a) I'm so tired when I get home, all I want to do is sit for a while.
b) Sitting 'for a while' doesn't constitute hours on facebook, getting annoyed when I'm interrupted. There's no reason I can't sit for a while on the couch with my daughter and husband while we talk about our discoveries of the day.

4. I want to go back to school, take a few courses.
a) I don't want to graduate from the institution with a huge debt hanging over my head.
b) Yeah, and living from paycheque to paycheque is a barrel of monkeys. Going into debt over the electric bill, with no hope of improvement is so much better than a student loan (and the potential job that will help pay it off).



Okay, I'm kind of stuck there. My shoulder hurts and I want to get ready for my day.
(can you believe it's been almost a month?!!)

Wishing you, yes you, a fantabulous day!

Pee-ess: I don't think I made a note yesterday or the day before so I will now. Wolf passed out twice on Thursday and once yesterday. it would seem to me that things are continuing to escalate. What else are you "almost positive" about, Doctor God?!

This is a sorry excuse for a post...

This entry marks my sixtieth post in this blog. That's kind of neat.

This entry is gonna suck, just to let you know. Wolf passed out twice today which is worse than 'usual' but he didn't seize which is better than the past two or three episodes.

I've begun another work week, whee.

Tomorrow is payday, (a more heartfelt) whee.

Three more days. Then NaBloPoMo is over. One less stressor.

And now I must go see if the glowing 'check gauge' light really means business. Will the truck make it to the store and back? Dun-duuuunnn (the suspense is killing me).

A demain...

Not the most graceful transiton.

I applied at my place of employment with the hope of working in the paint department. The thing is, they needed cashiers and I needed a job. I told them I was flexible. Silly me. They had me behind a till within 48 hours of receiving my resume and that is where I remained for the next two months. Early last week, my zone manager stopped me as I was heading out for a break.

ZM: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you have some paint experience, don't you?"

I held my smart tongue (neglecting to point out that my most recent job experience, right there on my resume which she has in her office, was as a professional painter) and simply answered in the affirmative.

ZM: "You have experience tinting paint." She stated this, her voice and demeanour both unsure.

Me: "No. I have experience prepping, sealing/priming and painting/staining most surfaces. I have experience with the clean-up of a myriad of paint/stain products."

ZM: "Are you interested in learning how to tint?"

Me: "Very interested!" I have to work on my poker face.

At that point, she walked away with nothing more than a "Hmm." Such is her way. Such is the way of the whole freakin' company!! But that's not the point of this telling.

Yesterday, as I looked at our front-end break schedule, I noticed that I had a half-hour in the paint dept, immediately before our Yard Tour. The paint training was great! The yard tour never happened. But that's more of the 'not this telling' stuff. The paint training let me know that I was beginning the transition, even if no one else deemed in necessary to tell me.

Last night, I went to sleep at about 10:30. It was a late bedtime for my scheduled 6:30 am start today but Supernatural was on. You' know how it is? I knew something was wrong before I awoke. I was dreaming about working, typing a list of numbers into the computer. I was feeling really ill and it was messing with my concentration. As the feeling passed, the dream would fade to black, only to return a bit later. Typing. Feeling sick. Mixing up the numbers. Fade out. That cycle continued until, during a semi-lucid moment, my consciousness clicked and I woke fully. Sure enough, I had to camp out in the bathroom for a while. I don't know what it was but I threw up. I never throw up! I guzzled water to aid in my body's betrayal. I took my temperature, twice, but had no fever. What the hell!? And then I went back to bed.

Today, I got up when my alarm went off and dragged my feet through my morning routine, leaving a few things out due to sheer exhaustion. My belly felt okay enough but I was really weak and shaky. I couldn't risk eating anything as I can't afford to miss a day of work. I did, however, drink a few sips of coffee - maybe a quarter mug.

Opening cash means pushing open the automatic, sliding doors, walking to the back of the store, climbing 21 steps to the staff room, swiping in, descending the same 21 steps back to the main floor, trudging back to the front doors but turning to the management office stairs. Up 21 more stairs (but these ones have a landing!) to get to the safe-room.

I was cashing in the first of two tills and my co-opener (and good friend Bou) cashed in the first of her two, when a third cashier (SM) walked in. Bou and I both asked SM why she was there, the answer to which was "to open." And then it hit me.

I left Bou and SM to their open and went to seek out the paint dept schedule. It turns out that I wasn't scheduled to begin shift until 9 am. In fact, I was there and punched in a half hour before my new team lead arrived.

Let me just tell you how much I heart my new team lead. She told it was perfectly alright if I continued my shift as I though it was scheduled. She was awesome about my lack of vigor and didn't once ask me if I had to go home. It's nice to work with another grown up. I was out of there at three, which was wonderful because I don't think I'd have made it to 5:30, and in the time I was there I tinted several gallons and one pint of paint. I learned how to change formula for tinting a 20L pail so it works in a one gallon tin (and vice versa). All in all a productive day considering the productive night before.

Let me tell you, also, that I now have 3.5 days per week in the paint dept. I have both pertinent schedules and I can no longer keep my horrible dyslexia under control... someday I'm going to type out an entry without touching the backspace key. That'll be funny... kind of.

Oh Lord, please let me sleep, tonight!

Thank God It's... Monday?!

What a magnificent day. Of course, my 'Fridays' usually are. Everything seems lighter and I bounce through the day, knowing I have but one shift left before my weekend begins. This Friday in particular was extra special, though. Not only did many children come through the store but I also got to help a lovely senior lady who left me with a smile that lasted the full hour I had remaining in my work day.

Now, I do have a slight damper on my perfect day. When Wolf arrived to collect me after work, he was wearing sunglasses and he seemed irritated. When I commented on his mood, he told me he wasn't edgy, he was sore. He passed out again this morning. He was feeling dizzy and had tried to make it to the kitchen where he could sit down at the table. "I didn't make it," he said. I guess he got halfway there but woke up in front of the closed spare room door with a very sore face. He couldn't help but crack a sheepish grin as he explained. Makes me wish I'd never fixed the latch on that door.

We made it home with no incidents and upon checking my email, lo and behold, I have readers. Two of them! That, in my opinion, is pretty darned cool. Thanks to you both, BeeDancer and Tracy!

And on that note, something occurred to me regarding the topic of my last post. Maybe, just maybe I could bring a bit of myself to this blog!?! It wouldn't be all that hard a task and it might just be a good thing. It's something to think about, if nothing else, although i can already feel me creeping in.

And like everything else, all I can really do is wait and see. Want to wait with me?

Dreams and Sacrifice...

I love the fine and the literary arts with a passion. So intense is this feeling that I would give up online gaming and all facebook applications (including the ones I actually like) for the ability to make either art a profession. I might even reconsider my ‘nicotine addiction.’

This dream for me holds such hope, such possibility! The ability to telecommute or to work from home in some way would open the door between my past and a future of which I actually want to be a part. I have left behind my stay-at-home-homeschooling-mom status for only two months and I still hate it. I thought it would get easier, that I would learn to accept it, if nothing else. All that has happened is that I've missed out on two months of doing and being what I love - oh, and personal growth/challenging old patterns and bad habits. My daughter continues to grow and mature. She continues to learn, though not necessarily what or how I would teach. I have put aside my values for ten lousy dollars an hour and none of us are happy about it.

Then, I have my husband. Wolf's health is such a challenge, right now. Yesterday, about an hour before I left for work, he passed out in the kitchen. It was the worst I've seen yet, complete with seizure, a full minute unconscious and about ten minutes of disorientation before he could pick himself up off the floor. I cannot tell you how much it kills me to still leave for a job that sucks the life out of me, knowing that the person I'm leaving in charge at home is five weeks away from her eleventh birthday. It's just not right. (Add to all of that the fact that I spent my last two hours at work, yesterday, without seeing a single customer, so dismal was the weather.)

So, I scour internet freelance sites, government job-posting sites, e-bay, hoping to find inspiration and the strength to bring that motivation past the 'I wish' phase. In between searches I love my family, sleep and work.

Today, I learn all about sleep deprivation: the effects, the tests and the recovery.

This is one of those things that requires back-story. I really don't want to be sitting here, typing, for the next half hour so I'll give you the abridged version.

Wolf left work one day last March, feeling a little under the weather. He was tired and had had some dizziness but his drive home was uneventful. When he arrived, he found he couldn't quite get out of the truck. He made a few calls - one to his roommate and apprentice, a couple to me and one to 911. By the time the ambulance got there his heart rate had dropped to 34 beats per minute.

This event led to a week's stay in the cardiac ward (with heart rate dropping as low as 24 b/m), a transfer to the major cardiac unit on the island for surgery (which never happened) and, finally, release. He's been home on Medical Leave since and has gone through a battery of tests. All of them have been relatively easy, requiring little more than wearing monitors and whatnot.

The big issue with this whole situation, next to not knowing what the hell is wrong, is that Wolf's doctor is an ass. The man didn't set Wolf up with a specialist until last month. After more than a half-year and no answers, the good doctor finally said, "I'm just a GP. How am I supposed to know?" And thus rings in a new era. A week later, Wolf was in to see an Internist who ran one 24 hour test and said, "It isn't your heart. Your heart is doing exactly what it is supposed to do. I'm recommending that you be set up with a neurologist and I won't be seeing you again." And that brings us to today.

Last night I went to bed in the spare room just after eleven o'clock. When I woke at 6:30 this morning, I immediately returned to our room to see how he was doing. It took a few tries to wake him, at which point he looked pained and said, "Oh no, I slept half an hour." Not to worry, he'd been instructed to sleep no more than five hours to qualify for the test. When he told me about that I asked him if they knew that he generally slept less than that every night.

So, now we watch the election aftermath and logo wars on the news. We'll leave here at 9:30 am to arrive the hospital by 10:40. That's all I know. From that point on, I don't know what to expect. This whole experience is new to me. Wolf has been through it all, many times - that's more back-story which I will get to at some point.

Seeing God.

(Cross posted to LJ)
I told him that I wasn't interested in watching his slow (or not so) decline and that I was struggling to be supportive in this, his time of illness. If he wasn't going to go see his doctor, so be it. He said he was just fine, that he'd been sick like this before and all has turned out just fine in the past. Then he excused himself to cough until he was sick. "Okay," Wolf said, "if I'm not feeling better by Tuesday I'll make a doctor's appointment." That was on Sunday.

Monday was a replay of Sunday but at a distance (he's back to living-out during the week).

Yesterday morning he called me sounding chipper, if somewhat raspy.

Wolf: Hey babe, (chokecoughsputterwheeze) -(strangled) hang-on (coughhackcoughchoke.......)
Me: Oh good! You're feeling better.
W: Hey, that's only my second today. Really, I'm waaaaay better.

The conversation concluded after whatever pertinent information had been gathered and given.

The morning carried on in the usual home-schooling manner, with sneaking and attempted subterfuge, and at about 12:30, Wolf called again. It was the usual lunch time call. He sounded more raspy, like he had the day(s) before. I asked him how he was doing. He said it was all good. 'Have a good afternoon; talk to you later; love you and all that'...

Less than five minutes pass when the phone rings, again.

Wolf: I'm gonna call the doctor and find out if I can get a walk in appointment. (click)

Five more minutes brings with it the announcement that the office is closed for lunch and no one will be answering until 1 o'clock. Shortly before 1:00 he calls to ask me if I can please set things up with Doc God as he's already on the road.

Reception says, "Doc God's not on walk in today and he's booked solid except for an appointment at 1:40." There was no way Wolf could get home (one hour trip) and we could get to Vic (another hour trip). We decide that we don't care. We're heading in to the city, appointment or not. Not a really eventful trip. Nice scenery, smooth highway, tearing cough. Just loverly.

Into Vic and down the Highway, left on Cloverdale and straight on 'til morning... Yup, booked solid. We had to wait a whole 8 minutes before Doc God himself calls Wolf back (you're the next contestant...). Even down the hall, through the closed exam room door I can hear the wracking coughs. Yum! Ten minutes pass and he's heading back down the hall, the grim expression of a man who has to spend a small fortune to regain some semblance of health. Not too bad, really. Turns out the good doctor was only willing to give him 2 days worth. Why? I'll explain that one with the following exchange:

Doc God: Why didn't you come in sooner?
Wolf: (grinning and coughing)....
Doc God: (scratching on his prescription pad with a vengeance)...

And if you didn't understand that then you either are or have That Guy.

that guy
n.

One who takes care of ones needs, usually medical.

personal idiom:

(I'm/you're/he's) not that guy

• masculine judgment: Only pussies go to the doctor if they aren't bleeding from an artery and I'm not that guy.
• sarcasm: Some people go see someone about coughing up blood but Wolf is not that guy.
  

The fricken guy has a bronchial asthmatic infection "that some might call pneumonia." Doc God gave only 2 days of meds so that, if it wasn't getting better, he could escort Wolf to the hospital on Thursday. If Wolf says it's getting better and goes in for more antibiotics etc, Doc God gets to call any possible bluff. See, there's a reason we call him Doc God. He is all seeing and all knowing, but I can't confirm possible claims of omnipotence.