Thursday, August 27, 2015

let me out




What was supposed to be a routine tonsilectomy has clearly been anything but. Eight days and two hospitals later my five year old is still on morphine and a steady IV drip. The Children's hospital is great, but if they keep giving out paint sets, stuffed animals, and Thirty-one bags every time the kid takes a bite of a Popsicle, we may never get out of here. 





Hell, I will drink that saline solution straight outta the bag if it meant I could blow this joint and get a chicken taco.

As a matter of fact, I did blow this joint last night, if only for an hour. While Kooka sat with Yoda, I dragged Rico through the underground tunnel system that connects this hospital, the major hospital, and the rehabilitation center just so we could get a McDonald's tea in the grown up hospital. 

As we ducked around corners, underneath heating ducts, past the old morgue, and through the electrical workshop, Rico asked me, "Are you sure you know where your going?"

"Oh yeah. If there's one thing I know in this building, it's how to get out of this tunnel."

Kooka asked me the same thing when I took her there tonight. "Oh my god, what IS this place? Do you actually know where we're going?"

I did.
I do.

Why?
Why in the name of god do I know how to get from the sixth floor of the Children's hospital, past the morgue, up the elevator, down the therapy wing, to the Mcdonalds and back again?

Because I used to live here.

Rico already knew. Kooka probably did too, but forgot. Either way they were both surprised that nearly 30 years later, I can still find my way around. For two months this place was my home. I even took Kooka to the fifth floor -station 52, to see my old room, which is now part of the sleep center. 

Ironic, since we never seemed to get much sleep there.

It is a great story. I hope someday I'll get to tell it to them. Maybe when we get out of here. 



Monday, August 24, 2015

furious

It started out like this:


Just a tonsilectomy.
By the time we got home she got herself dressed and asked for a bowl of pasta.
Night two she was less hungry.
By night three we were in the ER pumping five bags of fluid into her.

Night one was tough. 
But by the next day, we thought we were on the mend.
No.
This night was the worst.
Staff that didn't treat her well, pain levels increasing, a doctor refusing to humidify her sore throat, more morphine, an I.V. that fell out, a nurse that yanked out what was left with no warning.

I told her this would be ok. I promised her Popsicles and lots of my little pony movies.
I hate myself right now.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

crazy konmari stuff

In an effort to put some pre-emptive brakes on the anxiety train that is sure rev up as soon as school starts, I've started to "konmari" my house.

Based on the book:  The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing, the konmari approach virtually guartanees that I'll never have to really clean my house again.

Riiiiiiiiight.

But hey, I'm open to new ideas, so I'm giving it a shot.  The process starts by aggressively discarding stuff.

A lot of stuff.

O.K. most of your stuff.

Again, I am cool with this, because clutter stresses me out.

The whole trick to this konmari thing, is that you don't clean by room - you clean by category - which is brilliant - freaking brilliant. This is why: Whenever I tried to clean my closet before, I was completely forgetting about the clothes in the dresser and the laundry. Plus, I ended up reading old journals, flipping through pictures the kids had drawn, going through my first grade scrapbook, soon I was sucked into a vortex of nostalgia and it was never really clean.  

Fast forward to clothing day. I took every article of clothing I owned (The book says to pretend that whatever you don't bring to the purge you have to throw out if you find it - so I played by the rules and really dug for stuff.) I dumped all of it onto the living room floor. I picked up each piece and asked if it brought me joy, and if the answer was no - into the goodwill bag it went. After clothing day, I donated four huge hefty bags of clothing. FOUR BAGS - which is ironic, considering I always thought I had nothing to wear.  I did the same thing in Yoda's room, and even there I ended up with two large garbage bags to donate.

Bear in mind, I still saved things - baby clothes I'm saving for potential grandkids or college quilts - it's all still there, but the drawers have our favorite stuff inside - and that's all we need. Now they look like this:


Not that I'm saying this whole thing isn't without it's weirdness. The author suggests that the more grateful you are for your belongings, the better they will serve you. She says that you should thank each item before you return it to it's home.

That's not gonna happen.

I don't have time to thank the bag carrying my fries from the drive thru window to my car, let alone the 5 minutes it would take for me to meditate with my hoodie before hanging it up on the hook (on which I'm also supposed to bestow blessings). I wasn't crazy enough to subject my whole family to this - just Yoda and I, but one of the big kids saw the results and did show me a dresser full of properly folded clothes - so there's hope.

I've finished clothes, books, papers, toys - now I'm getting into the trickier stuff - kitchen, mementos, etc. Who knows how this will end up - but we have kept up the intricate clothes folding technique for a month, and so far so good. Now if we can just get the frog spawn, baby turtles, and small herd of caterpillars off the front stoop, our house might be clean.