jewels

Julie's doing better, although yesterday was a bad day for her and she only just went in to her plasma exchange for today. I was talking to her on the phone, fretting while she gasped for breath between typical Julie phrases, when they came to take her down to the dialysis room.

Yesterday I worked a little late, then went for a birthday dinner for a running buddy. His wife used to be my running buddy, but after the arrival of their first child he's gotten more into it while she's fallen out. It went well, for a party.

Afterwards I rushed straight over to see Julie. She had a negative reaction to the plasma exchange, so she was short of breath, and tired quickly. The doctors had told her that she was hours from death when she came to the ER on Sunday, so she was a bit down mulling over that news.

From the hospital I drove over to NE Alberta for Last Thursday, and met up with John. I didn't get to see much of the street on offer, but a corner gallery that's consistently decent had the most amazing show of elaborately flourished clear blown glass implements-- ranging from a simple but elegant hook, knife, and comb, to a full working spinning wheel, and absinthe tureen, and earthquake detector.

I am exhausted. My attention span is still shot. None of that is news, I suppose.

nail dreams

On Monday morning I awoke, having dreamt the whole night about biting my nails. I was looking down at my fingers through my own eyes, which is an usual point of view for my dreams. It was so realistic that I checked my hands, but I couldn't tell if I had bitten them at the hospital the day before, or while I was in bed, or if they weren't bitten much at all.

The next night I awoke with the impression of having dreamt the same thing, but not the visceral image of it.

for wenchie

the light in my heart turned to ashes
grey and weightless, made to dance
with the wind

thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura

Yesterday as I took off to run some errands, I called Julie to see what she was up to since I've barely talked to her over the past week while she worked long hours and I did generic busythings. When she answered the phone, she was out of breath and told me that she needed to come over to my house because she was too dizzy and nauseous to drive home.

She rested on the futon in my sewing room for a while, as I bustled around to try to make her feel better. But instead of feeling better, she started to feel worse, her face grew paler, her lips went from white to bluish, and she started to throw up.

When we got to the emergency room, they immediately took her to an interviewing room to assess her condition. She got a room, and IV, and blood tests quicker than I've ever seen, and after a few hours she was admitted to the hospital proper.

There were two doctors and a bunch of nurses to examine her, and they seemed to lean towards a liver, kidney, or blood disorder. I began to realize how serious the situation was when I asked how long she'd be in the hospital, right after we learned she'd have to stay the night, and the woman at the nurse's desk implied it would be more than three days.

I stayed with Julie in her room until she finally got a medication strong enough to relieve her nausea, which also helped her sleep. The nurses told us she would have a blood specialist in the morning.

Still, when I called Julie the next morning, I wasn't prepared to hear that she had already had a CAT scan, and that the doctors thought she had a blood disorder. I rushed in and sat through a number of doctors, nurses, and specialists come in to poke at her and ask the same questions. A few had the serious talks with us, and made sure that I was ready to be responsible for her health care decisions. They told us that they think she has TTP, and that her immune system is attacking her blood cells and platelets. She'd be getting a catheter in her neck for a complete plasma exchange. I sat with her until they took her down to the ICU.

I'm picking up her parents at the airport tonight, from Chicago.

the walk

On Wednesday I took a walk, my usual path at work past the gravel-filled conversation pit where apple picking ladders sometimes stand against the thorn trees; down the stairs flanked by daphne on their east side; past the gym I covet entrance to; over the bridge that spans the part of the creek where nutria and turtles are never seen, and from which I look up at the top of a very shiny building where I once saw a great egret surveying its domain; a switchback through the secret twisting path of the Japanese garden, where the red azaleas and matchy-matchy rhododendrons are out in such full effect that it looks like xmas with hundred of bows tied to evergreen shrubbery; then I'm out on the bark path along the far side of the lake, which is lined with cherry trees on one side-- still in blossom although interspersed with leaves, which tones down the stunning effect of a tree in bloom-- and goslings on the other side. They are attended by two adult geese who are not happy to see me (there are no other humans in sight), and they manage to look as though they are wearing diapers underneath their fat fuzzy yellow bottoms. Bunches of my favorite kind of cherry blossoms drooped face down to the perfect height for a kiss, and after acquainting myself with the flowers, feeling somewhat intimate with the tree, I stood by its side. It was cloudy in layers, ominous but small puffs, and as the strong breeze blew the clouds along, the sun peeked out between stormclouds.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye I could see the ground dancing. The shadows of the new, small leaves dancing in the breeze made the ground look like it was rippling water, a mirror of the rippling surface of the lake in front of me.

It was incredible, a feeling of swimming through the air, floating in the moment.

The wind kept up, though, and more, larger clouds sailed greedily over top of the sun.

tcb

I'm watching robins bob and weave in the glowing grass outside the window at work. This year I'm determined to make Spring last longer by noticing more of its changes than ever. I keep daily tallies of the amount of leaf emergence on key trees. I note which cherry trees and azaleas have yet to blossom, and how long which plants kept their flowers. I am a self-appointed keeper of spring.

Yesterday I ran my fourth Whidbey Island Half Marathon. The sun made a surprising and insistent appearance, and the course along the island's waterfront made me smile the entire time. I listened to Verve, Boards of Canada, Arizona, and even some of KLF's Chill Out album, and the world was right.

I finally made an appointment to get my car windshield replaced, although upon receiving a confirmation email, it's not on the day I requested. I also have an acupuncture appointment on Wednesday, to hopefully solve the back problems I've had since September.

So I'm taking care of things, slowly...

cloud cast

I haven't been able to find words recently, but I just had to write to a friend, so I sat myself down and forced them out. This is a paraphrase.

I feel like I've been unintentionally stand-offish recently, but I have been so restless, struggling for/against pinning myself down with written words. Spring fever? I don't know. What I know is that the clouds have been insane here; stormy, quick-changing.

They're huge and dynamic for hours, tumbling in impossible verticals and casting down shadows upon each other that have me almost in tears. And then suddenly the sky is a flat low sheet the grey color of old wet tissues or a dishrag. The next minute the sky is clear blue forever with a few little wisps that move quickly as the try to exeunt the emptiness. It takes my breath away and it's stolen control of my moods.

I've spent hours of the past couple of weeks just looking at clouds. For a while I'd try to find shapes in them, but there are none recognizable. They are power, they are drama, they are life force. Sometimes my jaw drops, sometimes my eyes well up. I try to hide my reactions, because I'm only watching the sky. I curse April and I hold it high in my esteem. Is anyone else as driven-insane?

What's getting me through: the heavily Scottish-accented singer of the Twilight Sad, heavy doses of the Verve's "A Storm In Heaven," and Kenard H.K.

I saw an empty, bloody egg on the bark path around the lake the other day. I looked around for its dead occupant, but there were no fauna to be found. I worried that this was a sign, but then at the end of the trail were a big group of young goslings, indestructible youth in their bright yellow fuzz. Rebirth. Spring.

april fool

I haven't found much of interest to write about lately. It's not for lack of being busy, although I never understand how I find myself in the midst of so much social activity. I've also seen so many interesting things recently, just out and about in nature.

But the blog post I wrote about seeing a freshly road-killed coyote, and the one I wrote about Kenard shoving his purring snout into my ear while I was eating breakfast... well, I wrote them and then I deleted them. They just weren't interesting to read.

Then again, I did post about shoveling manure and cleaning the catboxes on Sunday.

Last night I went for a run, listening to music on my ipod and using songs for interval lengths to do some speed work. "Speed" is perhaps a misnomer in my case, and there was quite a discrepancy in my enthusiasm between my break interval with a 7 Seconds song (2:05) versus a fast interval with Boards of Canada (6:35). I skipped any song over five minutes, except for a Verve song during a slow interval that was barely over five minutes long. My speed intervals got faster and felt better as I warmed up, alleviating my deep fear of speed workouts a bit.

I made a fancy beans and rice dish for dinner, then Erik went to the Aladdin Theater to see Mew while I stayed home so I could pick up my brother at the airport. With my extra bit of time I made rhubarb-strawberry sauce and ginger syrup, and I fixed a tiny flaw in the sleeve of the tshirt I'm making over.

It was great to see Ted at the airport. It felt like a summer night, a road trip in the car together. He ate the rice and beans I brought for him, while we talked in the dark, illuminated white lines flashing by. After I dropped him off, I went home and read for a good long while in bed, waiting for Erik to get home.

Today it is miraculously beautiful out. I felt so good, full of spring, wearing a favorite tshirt. I went for a walk around campus and saw an adorable little garter snake swimming in the lake. It was great, until I caught sight of myself, some time after lunch, in the bathroom mirror. There are huge splashes of dried coffee stains all over the front of my shirt. I can't believe I didn't notice, and that no one said a thing. Oh well, I never claimed to be couth, suave, or graceful.

Herculian tasks

On Sunday I completed at least four of the Twelve Labours. I went for a twelve mile run early Sunday morning, leaving from my house to add on extra mileage, while frost still clung to lawns and rooftops. It was a gorgeous clear morning, and it warmed up quickly.

After taking a shower and eating breakfast, I started working in the yard. My intention was to finish putting composted manure into all of the backyard garden beds, but I soon discovered that the careful weeding and clean-up I had done last weekend needed another pass after a week of growth, blowing leaves, and fallen sticks. Erik sat in the yard talking to me, ostensibly to do work (work work, as in for his job).

The general contractor who repaired our siding and painted our house came over to talk about the fixes we've waited til spring to address-- failed paint, boards that should have been replaced, windows painted shut. Julie came over. Erik brought down his company's website, fixed it, then left for his soccer game.

Julie and I worked in the yard, then went to a couch store she discovered via CraigsList. We tested couches, compared configurations, petted fabric swatches.

Julie went home, and I shovelled manure til it got dark. Very dark. Then I made dinner, tried to help Erik clean up when the cat rubbed up against and knocked over his full, hot latte, and did the laundry from everything coffee-stained. The stains and stinky milk smell came out, too.

My final task was to scoop the catboxes, sort the recycling, and take out the trash. At this point I thought I was home free on the Herculian tasks, but scooping the main cat box was harder even than running twelve miles at 7:45am on a frosty Sunday morning.

My penance must be payed out, though, as I slept well last night.