No, not me! I'm completely straight, not that there's anything wrong with that.
I'm talking about my favorite morning radio show host, Stephanie Miller, who came out today on her show. I admit to being one of those completely naive people who had no idea that she was gay, not even after she was chosen to lead the Gay Pride Parade a while back. I figured it was just an honor given to gay-supporters on occasion. And perhaps it is.
A lot of different pieces fell into different places today, as callers spent the next two hours talking about it. One commented about Keith Olbermann now being able to be relaxed around her, after years of her schtick about a very lengthy "Future Husbands List", on which he featured prominently. Apparently he hadn't been sure just how much of that was comedy, or perhaps it was just one of his staffers who took the bit a little too seriously. But we listeners knew from the length of the list and the ineligibility of most of the men on it, due to marriage, that it was pure comedy - and a high compliment to the men so named. Every one of them had done or said something to gain her admiration in the political arena.
Now that she's out, I believe it's time to start a "Future Wives List". The qualifications should be the same. The women should be liberal, at least as good looking as Dennis Kucinich, active in the political arena, and just as unlikely as anyone named as a future husband to ever actually connect with Stephanie either romantically or sexually.
I felt so strongly about the idea that I emailed her about it tonight when I got home.
I also applied to be put on the list. Hey, there'd be nowhere for her to go from there but up.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Smart Phones and Sex Partners
It was one of those news items this morning on MPR that I started to listen to partway through when it caught my attention. You know how it goes, half-listening, driving, thinking about the need to stop for gas. It can take a few key words to draw your full attention to what's being said, and there's no instant replay like on the DVR. So I didn't get just who did the research or where they posted it or....
But I did get the gist: iPhone users have more sex partners than the users of other brands of smart phones. More? At one time? In a short period of time? Over their lifetime so far? What are the parameters? Is there a cause and effect? Does having more partners lead you to using the iPhone? Or does having an iPhone attract more partners to you? And for heaven's sake, why?
So many questions. Will anybody get past the headlines and do the real research and answer some of them? Will anyone care if they do? Will every lonely techno-geek now switch to iPhone? Will iPhone use cause divorces, prima facia proof of infidelity?
But I did catch a few numbers. Brand X correlates with having an average of 3 partners, Brand Y correlates with having 6, and iPhone correlates with 12.3.
The final radio comment on the subject was that someone had tweeted in response that the .3 knew exactly who he was!
I was laughing so hard I forgot to lift the lever on the gas pump and had to stop a minute to figure out why I wasn't getting any gas.
But I did get the gist: iPhone users have more sex partners than the users of other brands of smart phones. More? At one time? In a short period of time? Over their lifetime so far? What are the parameters? Is there a cause and effect? Does having more partners lead you to using the iPhone? Or does having an iPhone attract more partners to you? And for heaven's sake, why?
So many questions. Will anybody get past the headlines and do the real research and answer some of them? Will anyone care if they do? Will every lonely techno-geek now switch to iPhone? Will iPhone use cause divorces, prima facia proof of infidelity?
But I did catch a few numbers. Brand X correlates with having an average of 3 partners, Brand Y correlates with having 6, and iPhone correlates with 12.3.
The final radio comment on the subject was that someone had tweeted in response that the .3 knew exactly who he was!
I was laughing so hard I forgot to lift the lever on the gas pump and had to stop a minute to figure out why I wasn't getting any gas.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Storm Damage
Well, the basement stinks again. It'll dry out eventually.
My dad reports that there was someone cutting up a large tree that had fallen over the east end of the bike path when he went out on his scooter this morning. The west end was fine. In a couple days he'll likely have forgotten there was ever a tree there. He did that after the last time.
Rich informed me this morning that when he went out for a post-storm evening smoke, he headed down to the end of our street, drawn by the sound of chain saws. The last house on the end, opposite side of the street, had what appeared to be four trees down across the house. We went to take a look this morning, and it still looked like four trees, though only a couple were across the roof - or what was still left of them, since something had to have been removed last night - and only one looked to have punched an actual hole. I expect a closer look will show more damage, like to shingles and gutters and such. Friends of ours across the street seem to have escaped all damage, as did we. I haven't heard any other reports of local damage, but most trees in this town are still small.
Best of all, we missed the flooding reported in Wisconsin and Iowa.
My dad reports that there was someone cutting up a large tree that had fallen over the east end of the bike path when he went out on his scooter this morning. The west end was fine. In a couple days he'll likely have forgotten there was ever a tree there. He did that after the last time.
Rich informed me this morning that when he went out for a post-storm evening smoke, he headed down to the end of our street, drawn by the sound of chain saws. The last house on the end, opposite side of the street, had what appeared to be four trees down across the house. We went to take a look this morning, and it still looked like four trees, though only a couple were across the roof - or what was still left of them, since something had to have been removed last night - and only one looked to have punched an actual hole. I expect a closer look will show more damage, like to shingles and gutters and such. Friends of ours across the street seem to have escaped all damage, as did we. I haven't heard any other reports of local damage, but most trees in this town are still small.
Best of all, we missed the flooding reported in Wisconsin and Iowa.
A Driveway Moment
That's a phrase that MPR uses to describe sitting in your parked car for a few extra minutes to finish listening to something on the radio. Mine served a different purpose.
I'd followed the leading edge of the storm home last night, sometimes dry, sometimes slowed to 45 by the heavy rain. All the warnings were up except for tornados, and I hadn't seen any rotation anywhere, so that didn't bother me a bit as a concern. However, by the time I reached the driveway, it was raining well and there were close lightning strikes all around.
By close, I mean that the time between the light and the noise was around a second, meaning about a thousand feet distance or less. They were coming at about three-a-minute intervals, and I decided the sensible thing to do would be to sit in the car and wait for the storm to pass over. After all, I had a book to finish, and a nearly full root beer that I'd neglected drinking while I watched the storm throwing ground strikes all along its path.
So I sat, through light rain, downpours, tiny hail, not-so-tiny hail, and of course the noise and light show. It had mostly passed by the time Paul pulled in behind me, and he just got out of his car and ran in. I was collecting my stuff when my cell rang. It was Richard, letting me know from his vantage point a block and a half away serving as election judge, that the power for the town was out (s0mething I couldn't see from in the car in daylight), and he'd just called Grandpa to let him know that we'd be there shortly.
Yep, time to go in.
Paul got busy finding and lighting candles, flashlights, and locating the crank-up radio we have for just such occasions so my dad had something to listen to. The outage was lasting a bit, so we finished off the ice cream in the freezer before that last dab melted, and my dad went to bed early, aided by Paul with a flashlight. Cellphones were set for alarms, radios and lights and other electric gizmos were turned off. Rich parked himself on the futon to sleep instead of heading down into the again-flooded basement.
I opened the doors from my room to the screen porch for some air, and turned the overhead fan on full so I'd know if/when power returned. Rich had let us know that the power company had informed the city clerk that it would be an estimated 6 hours to fix the main line in Lindstrom, another hour to fix the one in Shafer, and who knew what lay between them?
I'd asked about the machine which counts ballots, and they were lucky: the power went out late enough that the 3-hour battery backup in it was sufficient to let everybody finish voting and for them to run a tape on the results. The public works guy had brought the city generator over to keep the water tower full enough, and since it was next to city hall, the plan was to run a cord over if it had been needed for the election.
Somewhere around 4AM the fan started in my room and I knew we had power back.
I'd followed the leading edge of the storm home last night, sometimes dry, sometimes slowed to 45 by the heavy rain. All the warnings were up except for tornados, and I hadn't seen any rotation anywhere, so that didn't bother me a bit as a concern. However, by the time I reached the driveway, it was raining well and there were close lightning strikes all around.
By close, I mean that the time between the light and the noise was around a second, meaning about a thousand feet distance or less. They were coming at about three-a-minute intervals, and I decided the sensible thing to do would be to sit in the car and wait for the storm to pass over. After all, I had a book to finish, and a nearly full root beer that I'd neglected drinking while I watched the storm throwing ground strikes all along its path.
So I sat, through light rain, downpours, tiny hail, not-so-tiny hail, and of course the noise and light show. It had mostly passed by the time Paul pulled in behind me, and he just got out of his car and ran in. I was collecting my stuff when my cell rang. It was Richard, letting me know from his vantage point a block and a half away serving as election judge, that the power for the town was out (s0mething I couldn't see from in the car in daylight), and he'd just called Grandpa to let him know that we'd be there shortly.
Yep, time to go in.
Paul got busy finding and lighting candles, flashlights, and locating the crank-up radio we have for just such occasions so my dad had something to listen to. The outage was lasting a bit, so we finished off the ice cream in the freezer before that last dab melted, and my dad went to bed early, aided by Paul with a flashlight. Cellphones were set for alarms, radios and lights and other electric gizmos were turned off. Rich parked himself on the futon to sleep instead of heading down into the again-flooded basement.
I opened the doors from my room to the screen porch for some air, and turned the overhead fan on full so I'd know if/when power returned. Rich had let us know that the power company had informed the city clerk that it would be an estimated 6 hours to fix the main line in Lindstrom, another hour to fix the one in Shafer, and who knew what lay between them?
I'd asked about the machine which counts ballots, and they were lucky: the power went out late enough that the 3-hour battery backup in it was sufficient to let everybody finish voting and for them to run a tape on the results. The public works guy had brought the city generator over to keep the water tower full enough, and since it was next to city hall, the plan was to run a cord over if it had been needed for the election.
Somewhere around 4AM the fan started in my room and I knew we had power back.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Finally: A Good Shopping Experience
You know how much I hate to shop. I was anticipating just such an experience again this evening after work, but I'd finally reached the end of my patience. It had to be done.
Since I moved my dad in, his lift chair has been taking up room in my living room. I don't begrudge him an inch of it, but it has meant that my loveseat recliner had to be relocated to my new bedroom. That's kinda cool, but it left me without a comfortable place to sit in the living room to read or watch TV. For about a year I settled for a free but abominable chair from the auction house, an orange rocker-recliner.
Let's start with it having a low seat, a knee-killer made to order. That's exacerbated by the front of the seat dropping down every time I got in or out. The seat is too deep so it needs a pillow supporting the back, something you had to hold each time you sat so it didn't wind up under you instead of behind you. It was semi-comfortable at best with the foot rest up, but last week something broke, and the footrest no longer latched in place at a decent elevation when you rocked the chair back to a certain point. So, yes, my feet were supported... about three inches off the floor. It tilts forward by an awkward placement of the center of gravity. And hey: orange!
So tonight I hit the Slumberland store in Little Canada, roughly on my way home after work. It's the corporate offices, how I knew its location (from doing my job), plus the clearance center. It seemed a reasonable place to start looking. I had a list of demands: absolutely no rocker-recliners, just a recliner, small in seat size so it didn't need back support, a high seat for comfort getting out (in too, but out generally sucks), comfy with the footrest up, and a low price tag. Upholstery I could stand would be a bonus.
The store is not made for less than fully able-bodied patrons. The parking is a half block from the front door. (Someone is in love with grass maintenance.) The aisles are narrow with sharp turns, so no scooters or wheelchairs need apply. There are two sets of heavy glass doors to get through, neither of which has an electrical assist. The last thing I needed after that was to have to wander through a huge warehouse looking for the perfect chair. But I braced myself. At least I'd be in the chair department; plenty of places to sit while I shopped.
The first thing my eyes lit on as I cleared the second door was the perfect chair! It was the right size, height, color, and totally without any rocking mechanism whatsoever. Hardly daring to believe my luck, I sat in it and tried it out. And sat. Footrest up. Down. Up. Just to be sure, I tried out the chair right next to it. Big mistake. It was a rocker-recliner... on wheels! What kind of insane idiot designed that accident-magnet? The only thing keeping the store from a lawsuit is the fact that the chair was jammed in so tightly between other chairs that it didn't have very far it could move. I very carefully extricated myself and went back and sat down in chair #1. Yup, still the chair. And in a very nice solid sage green. Touchable upholstery. Really touchable. Strokeable, even.
Once the salesman arrived, it was just a few minutes before the purchase was completed, a few more before the warehouse had it ready to load, and I was ready to drive back to get it. My car got rearranged with the back seats folded down for maximum room (tiny Hyundai hatchback, remember?), the chair got removed from a box bigger than my car, and I got to show the young whippersnapper how it really needed to be loaded in the car to fit. Having it in two pieces helped, of course.
On the way home I called Paul to warn him a new chair was arriving for him to bring in and set up. He decided to avail himself of the orange monstrosity, since the folding camping chair he had been using in his bedroom had broken, and he tells me he's comfy enough. So now it's time for me to quit typing and go enjoy my new chair.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!
Since I moved my dad in, his lift chair has been taking up room in my living room. I don't begrudge him an inch of it, but it has meant that my loveseat recliner had to be relocated to my new bedroom. That's kinda cool, but it left me without a comfortable place to sit in the living room to read or watch TV. For about a year I settled for a free but abominable chair from the auction house, an orange rocker-recliner.
Let's start with it having a low seat, a knee-killer made to order. That's exacerbated by the front of the seat dropping down every time I got in or out. The seat is too deep so it needs a pillow supporting the back, something you had to hold each time you sat so it didn't wind up under you instead of behind you. It was semi-comfortable at best with the foot rest up, but last week something broke, and the footrest no longer latched in place at a decent elevation when you rocked the chair back to a certain point. So, yes, my feet were supported... about three inches off the floor. It tilts forward by an awkward placement of the center of gravity. And hey: orange!
So tonight I hit the Slumberland store in Little Canada, roughly on my way home after work. It's the corporate offices, how I knew its location (from doing my job), plus the clearance center. It seemed a reasonable place to start looking. I had a list of demands: absolutely no rocker-recliners, just a recliner, small in seat size so it didn't need back support, a high seat for comfort getting out (in too, but out generally sucks), comfy with the footrest up, and a low price tag. Upholstery I could stand would be a bonus.
The store is not made for less than fully able-bodied patrons. The parking is a half block from the front door. (Someone is in love with grass maintenance.) The aisles are narrow with sharp turns, so no scooters or wheelchairs need apply. There are two sets of heavy glass doors to get through, neither of which has an electrical assist. The last thing I needed after that was to have to wander through a huge warehouse looking for the perfect chair. But I braced myself. At least I'd be in the chair department; plenty of places to sit while I shopped.
The first thing my eyes lit on as I cleared the second door was the perfect chair! It was the right size, height, color, and totally without any rocking mechanism whatsoever. Hardly daring to believe my luck, I sat in it and tried it out. And sat. Footrest up. Down. Up. Just to be sure, I tried out the chair right next to it. Big mistake. It was a rocker-recliner... on wheels! What kind of insane idiot designed that accident-magnet? The only thing keeping the store from a lawsuit is the fact that the chair was jammed in so tightly between other chairs that it didn't have very far it could move. I very carefully extricated myself and went back and sat down in chair #1. Yup, still the chair. And in a very nice solid sage green. Touchable upholstery. Really touchable. Strokeable, even.
Once the salesman arrived, it was just a few minutes before the purchase was completed, a few more before the warehouse had it ready to load, and I was ready to drive back to get it. My car got rearranged with the back seats folded down for maximum room (tiny Hyundai hatchback, remember?), the chair got removed from a box bigger than my car, and I got to show the young whippersnapper how it really needed to be loaded in the car to fit. Having it in two pieces helped, of course.
On the way home I called Paul to warn him a new chair was arriving for him to bring in and set up. He decided to avail himself of the orange monstrosity, since the folding camping chair he had been using in his bedroom had broken, and he tells me he's comfy enough. So now it's time for me to quit typing and go enjoy my new chair.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
$end More Money
Those of you who know me, know that I don't Facebook. So somebody who does needs to communicate between someone else who does and me when there's a message needing to be sent when Facebook is the only medium.
Confused? Don't let it bother you.
My daughter left me a message from my granddaughter, who's currently in Cambodia, getting ready for the final week of her southeast Asia Rustic Pathways experience. If you've been following this blog, you may remember that there was a trust left to be spent on her that sponsored this trip, that it was cashed out and the balance given to her before we both left on our separate vacations this summer, and that her luggage was lost on her way over. (Incidentally, it's still lost and the form that was to be sent to me to finalize the claim has apparently gotten just as lost. I wonder if I can submit a claim on that as well!)
All caught up? OK, the message was that she needs more money, and could somebody please send some to her account with Rustic Pathways? It seems that replacing her wardrobe from the missing suitcase got a wee bit costly.
Wow! Really? A $grand gone just like that? Just what do clothes cost over there anyway? Yikes!
I put in a call to her other grandmother, the one I was told is holding the balance of her trust funds for her until she returns, to explain our granddaughter's request. Her reaction was much like mine, with the additional query of why on earth she still needs more money? So I got to explain that there will be at least two different airlines wanting their "checked baggage" fee, and presumably she needs to get all that new merchandise home. (Unless somebody loses it, too.) Then, since she'll be traveling for about 24 hours, there'll be the need to purchase food. Grandma got the picture, took the phone number from me to contact Rustic Pathways, and hung up to make the call to start the process.
There was just one little hitch, however. She wasn't holding the cash balance of the trust for Jordan. Jordan took it with her on the trip.
Wow! Really? $1700 gone just like that? Just what do clothes cost over there anyway? Yikes!
I called Jordan's father to bring him up to speed. I actually wasn't anticipating an actual connection with him, figuring I'd leave voicemail on his cell. But he surprised me by answering. He also surprised me by informing me he'd given Jordan a hundred dollars to help tide her over on her trip when he saw her just before she left.
Wow! Really! $1800 gone just like that? Just what do clothes cost over there anyway? Yikes!
I do hope she had fun, though.
Confused? Don't let it bother you.
My daughter left me a message from my granddaughter, who's currently in Cambodia, getting ready for the final week of her southeast Asia Rustic Pathways experience. If you've been following this blog, you may remember that there was a trust left to be spent on her that sponsored this trip, that it was cashed out and the balance given to her before we both left on our separate vacations this summer, and that her luggage was lost on her way over. (Incidentally, it's still lost and the form that was to be sent to me to finalize the claim has apparently gotten just as lost. I wonder if I can submit a claim on that as well!)
All caught up? OK, the message was that she needs more money, and could somebody please send some to her account with Rustic Pathways? It seems that replacing her wardrobe from the missing suitcase got a wee bit costly.
Wow! Really? A $grand gone just like that? Just what do clothes cost over there anyway? Yikes!
I put in a call to her other grandmother, the one I was told is holding the balance of her trust funds for her until she returns, to explain our granddaughter's request. Her reaction was much like mine, with the additional query of why on earth she still needs more money? So I got to explain that there will be at least two different airlines wanting their "checked baggage" fee, and presumably she needs to get all that new merchandise home. (Unless somebody loses it, too.) Then, since she'll be traveling for about 24 hours, there'll be the need to purchase food. Grandma got the picture, took the phone number from me to contact Rustic Pathways, and hung up to make the call to start the process.
There was just one little hitch, however. She wasn't holding the cash balance of the trust for Jordan. Jordan took it with her on the trip.
Wow! Really? $1700 gone just like that? Just what do clothes cost over there anyway? Yikes!
I called Jordan's father to bring him up to speed. I actually wasn't anticipating an actual connection with him, figuring I'd leave voicemail on his cell. But he surprised me by answering. He also surprised me by informing me he'd given Jordan a hundred dollars to help tide her over on her trip when he saw her just before she left.
Wow! Really! $1800 gone just like that? Just what do clothes cost over there anyway? Yikes!
I do hope she had fun, though.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Rae's Story Part II
For those who missed Rae's story, read it here.
Some stories aren't over when they're over. New chapters sneak up on you, sometimes with a sudden phone call seemingly out of nowhere. Had you asked me this morning how Rae was doing, I'd have said she was fine. I've seen her twice in the last couple weeks, once getting together for an activity we both enjoy, and once at a family celebration I was invited to.
But I did get that phone call.
Her first bad news was that the MRSA has returned, this time in the other foot, and she's undergoing emergency surgery as I type. She's upset, of course, wondering how long and how often she's going to have to fight this bug and how much damage it's going to ultimately do. But that's not the end of her story today, not by a long shot.
She filled me in on a bit more of her personal history this afternoon. When they were both teenagers, her sister got into a terrible accident which left her with severe disabilities. Rae wanted to fly out to the coast to visit her, and Rae's father was willing to pay for her ticket. However, Rae's mother vetoed that, because Rae was still using at the time. Her mother informed her that if she could stay sober for a couple days, she'd be happy to have Rae come visit her sister. However, if she was using, she'd be worse than no help to her sister.
Rae didn't get sober. Her addiction was still stronger than anything else in her life back then. Rae's never let herself forget that.
The reason that's important today is that her sister is in the ICU, and it's touch-and-go whether she'll survive. Part of the result of that accident years ago is her sister needs a stomach pump in order to process her food. It quit working for a while. While it wasn't functioning, she was still taking her medications on a regular basis, but they remained undigested in her stomach. Once the problem was discovered and corrected, all that leftover medication got sent through her system at once and she overdosed.
Rae wants to be there for her sister this time, now that she's a responsible adult and a "respectable member of the family." It eats at her that she messed up so badly last time, and she's dealing with all the guilt and shame and everything else leftover from the earlier experience all over again because she can't go this time either. She has to stay here and work on saving her own life. It's hitting her doubly hard, this feeling of letting her sister down again when she needs her.
You might think that's enough for life to throw at anybody at one time, but there's more. Rae's mother is also dying, although I gather in a more prolonged fashion. We had other things to talk about besides bogging down in details.
Rae's doing the right things, reaching out to friends, family, and her fellow supporters in recovery. She's clinging to her sobriety, but she's fearful of not "keeping it together." Staying numb might keep her going, she thinks.
I told her the only thing she needs to keep together right now is getting herself to the hospital and getting herself taken care of. She won't be able to be there for anybody else until that's done. If she needs to cry, scream, yell, whine, complain, curse, or anything else in the process, just let 'er rip! She did cry. And curse. And ask, "Why?" as if there's an answer. But she also got childcare taken care of and got to the hospital, a ride provided by her sponsor's sponsor, somebody who can help bolster her through this.
And her support network is working to raise the funds for a plane ticket, just as soon as Rae can fly.
I'm sitting, waiting for word. How much did they have to remove this time? Will they admit her or send her home like last time, something she has no faith in as far as promoting her long-term recovery from the bug? Will it keep recurring or can they finally knock it out of her system? There must be a reservoir of it somewhere, hiding from the antibiotics, biding its time. How will she deal with the pain this time, after the Vicodin started giving her problems last go-round?
Will she be able to find a way to forgive herself if she can't make it to her sister in time?
There is a reason that the flight attendants tell you if the oxygen masks drop, to secure your own first before you help the person next to you. It makes perfect sense. But will it allow forgiveness?
Some stories aren't over when they're over. New chapters sneak up on you, sometimes with a sudden phone call seemingly out of nowhere. Had you asked me this morning how Rae was doing, I'd have said she was fine. I've seen her twice in the last couple weeks, once getting together for an activity we both enjoy, and once at a family celebration I was invited to.
But I did get that phone call.
Her first bad news was that the MRSA has returned, this time in the other foot, and she's undergoing emergency surgery as I type. She's upset, of course, wondering how long and how often she's going to have to fight this bug and how much damage it's going to ultimately do. But that's not the end of her story today, not by a long shot.
She filled me in on a bit more of her personal history this afternoon. When they were both teenagers, her sister got into a terrible accident which left her with severe disabilities. Rae wanted to fly out to the coast to visit her, and Rae's father was willing to pay for her ticket. However, Rae's mother vetoed that, because Rae was still using at the time. Her mother informed her that if she could stay sober for a couple days, she'd be happy to have Rae come visit her sister. However, if she was using, she'd be worse than no help to her sister.
Rae didn't get sober. Her addiction was still stronger than anything else in her life back then. Rae's never let herself forget that.
The reason that's important today is that her sister is in the ICU, and it's touch-and-go whether she'll survive. Part of the result of that accident years ago is her sister needs a stomach pump in order to process her food. It quit working for a while. While it wasn't functioning, she was still taking her medications on a regular basis, but they remained undigested in her stomach. Once the problem was discovered and corrected, all that leftover medication got sent through her system at once and she overdosed.
Rae wants to be there for her sister this time, now that she's a responsible adult and a "respectable member of the family." It eats at her that she messed up so badly last time, and she's dealing with all the guilt and shame and everything else leftover from the earlier experience all over again because she can't go this time either. She has to stay here and work on saving her own life. It's hitting her doubly hard, this feeling of letting her sister down again when she needs her.
You might think that's enough for life to throw at anybody at one time, but there's more. Rae's mother is also dying, although I gather in a more prolonged fashion. We had other things to talk about besides bogging down in details.
Rae's doing the right things, reaching out to friends, family, and her fellow supporters in recovery. She's clinging to her sobriety, but she's fearful of not "keeping it together." Staying numb might keep her going, she thinks.
I told her the only thing she needs to keep together right now is getting herself to the hospital and getting herself taken care of. She won't be able to be there for anybody else until that's done. If she needs to cry, scream, yell, whine, complain, curse, or anything else in the process, just let 'er rip! She did cry. And curse. And ask, "Why?" as if there's an answer. But she also got childcare taken care of and got to the hospital, a ride provided by her sponsor's sponsor, somebody who can help bolster her through this.
And her support network is working to raise the funds for a plane ticket, just as soon as Rae can fly.
I'm sitting, waiting for word. How much did they have to remove this time? Will they admit her or send her home like last time, something she has no faith in as far as promoting her long-term recovery from the bug? Will it keep recurring or can they finally knock it out of her system? There must be a reservoir of it somewhere, hiding from the antibiotics, biding its time. How will she deal with the pain this time, after the Vicodin started giving her problems last go-round?
Will she be able to find a way to forgive herself if she can't make it to her sister in time?
There is a reason that the flight attendants tell you if the oxygen masks drop, to secure your own first before you help the person next to you. It makes perfect sense. But will it allow forgiveness?
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