It's Getting Hot in Here... So Take Off All Your Clothes

Lilac season is nearly over, made evident by the browning petals on the tree in my backyard. This sight genuinely makes me sad for some reason, as do the drooping, wilting hydrangeas at the Great Danes' house I've been trying to keep alive.  This is a difficult task with the intense Toronto sun this past week. It's 29 degrees celsius right now! The poor Danes are hot and uncomfortable, so they are panting and drooling even more than usual. This makes their kisses... Well, awkward. 

It reminds me of this guy I "dated" for two weeks (we never actually went out) when I was fifteen, only this guy not only breathed hard with a disgusting look on his face (What was I thinking?!), but he banged his teeth into mine and forced his tongue down my throat. Even the male Dane knows how to kiss better. Whoops. That came out wrong. Don't worry: I do not make out with dogs.

Anyway, this is summer in May. It makes me wonder what July and August will be like! My parents have opened the pool and put up the solar panels. After a few days worth of sunlight on the water, it should be lovely to swim in. A good excuse to finally get a well-fitting bathing suit!

Wimpy Tries to Live with it

In a pouch strapped around my waste, a device about the size of an iPod sits, capturing the electricity from my heart through five wires that hook up to pads on my chest. The adhesive from the pads and the tape that secures the pads are very uncomfortable and usually cause sores and rashes on my sensitive skin. This is part of my cardiologist's annual check-up to make sure my medications are working properly and check for damage that could develop due to frequent heart racing. Damage is unlikely, especially because the meds work well enough that I only have short episodes (max. a few hours) and seldom have dangerously fast resting rates anymore. My heart also usually responds beautifully to exercise with the strengths of my medications. I mean, standing and walking sometimes make my heart race, but not crazily fast. Well, not by my definition anyway.

My arrhythmia has kind of skewed my perception of what is fast. 100-120 beats per minute is fast to me, but I probably wouldn't go to the doctor about it because it wouldn't alarm me. 130-170 beats per minute doesn't happen much anymore, but even when it does it doesn't scare me. I would see my doctor about it, but only if it didn't slow down on its own or if the episodes were frequent. Maybe not even.

I waited a year before going to see my cardiologist about really fast week-long periods that would come at least once every few months. To begin with, I didn't even know my heart was chronically fast -- sometimes dangerously -- when I was diagnosed with this problem six years ago. In grade eleven and  twelve, doctors had noted that it was fast a couple of times, but it was written off as a side effect of extra Ventolin inhaler puffs before a pulmonary function test and another time, as part of a fever when I was in the hospital. I just assumed my heart was just a bit touchy -- that's all.

Then during my allergist's exam in the summer after high school, he told me my heart rate was 160 beats per minute. He consulted the family doctor who took a listen and an electrocardiogram, then ordered me to the emergency room. I was shocked because I felt fine! I had been a little nervous, as I often get at the doctor, but it was mild -- certainly not an explanation for 160! At the E.R., they ran a chest x-ray and monitored my heart for a few hours. When I slowed to 140, they sent me home without an answer. At the follow-up hospital appointment, the doctor determined the rapid rates were just a side effect of an asthma controller inhaler called Advair.

The family doctor I saw again was unsure if he was going to permit me to go on holiday in England because he was afraid I would have a heart attack -- in case I had some serious condition we didn't yet know about. He let me go on the condition that I avoid heat and steep hills.  My family doctor said, after running some tests and examining me again, that it was time to see a cardiologist! Bah.

My cardiologist ran a holter monitor, only back then (six years is a lot time when it comes to technology!) it wasn't digital. I actually had to flip over a cassette tape to record my heart for the second day! After my consultation with him and looking at the results of my monitor, he put me on a heart medication called Tiazac to slow it down.  His explanation: "I think in a few months, your heart is going to start to get tired."  This is when I clued in that I had probably been feeling sick because of my heart for some time: the racing was probably the root of frequent tiredness and "dazed" feelings I'd written off as being caused by recurring sinus infections and allergies.

I've been on this medication ever since, my doctors having increased the strength so often that nearly two years ago I reached the maximum strength, but it wasn't enough, so my cardio put me on another pill: Digoxin. Each strength of the Tiazac worked for a few months usually, or even a couple of years. Then my heart would start to get crazy often.Well, for nearly two years, I've supposedly exhausted my medication options, according to Dr. Heart. He said "We're not there yet," but if my heart becomes poorly controlled, he will refer me to an electrophysiologist (heart rhythm specialist) to evaluate other possible options, which will likely include an ablation, which is basically putting a tube up the thigh and cauterizing the naughty part of my heart and possibly implanting an artificial pacemaker.

I suppose I started noticing crazy heart after the E.R. visit. I noticed them even more after medication brought the rate down. Then I had perspective: I knew what a fast heartbeat felt like because I was now able to compare it to a normal one. In the first year of being medicated, I found it hard to tolerate a rate of 120 beats per minute. I would get this regularly for about a half an hour during eating or in the heat. I would feel so awful I'd have to lie down until it was over. Then about four years ago when the crazy and also long episodes started, I began to tolerate 120 -- so much so that it wasn't even a big deal to me. I guess my body adjusted and my mind became desensitized.

For nearly two years, since my heart has been great on average, I have had a hard time tolerating 110 beats per minute at rest, even though I have gotten much higher rates occasionally. I feel like a wimp. By the way, when I say "tolerate" I mean  that I can feel well with a fast rate.  "Intolerant" means that the rate makes me feel weak and sick. It also means the sensation is really uncomfortable,  where as when I'm "tolerant," I can fairly easily distract myself from it.

So I'm guessing the results of this holter monitor I'm wearing now will be great: I don't feel sick like I do when my heart's racing and I can't feel it beating. I love being this way, I really do. Unfortunately, though, my cardiologist seldom does anything for me unless my heart is chronically too fast. So! If I want a referral to an electrophysiologist, I will have to ask him for one, but probably not beg. I mean,  it's silly that I'm still getting episodes on two heart medications, the max of one and the max for my weight of the other. I just want to get this appointment over with! I will see him in June. He's a nice man. He's done a lot for me and he wants me to feel well. I'm sure if I'm clear that I'm unhappy with my current treatment, he'll help me. Still! I feel like such a wimp for wanting to ask him. I feel defeated, like I should just buck up and shut up. 

I think I'm finally ready to ask my cardio for the referral because my heart is one of the few medical issues I have that I can control with treatment. I don't just have to "live with it." So why not do whatever I can to make myself feel better? I keep imagining myself going in for an ablation and then being told that there is nothing to be done to fix me. I have this fear about all of my health issues: that all I can do for the rest of my life is "live with it."

Dog Days

Pounce is his happy self again! He's hyper... Running around. Poor guy had such a hard time after getting neutered. He was so restless. He'd sit or lie for a few minutes, then suddenly run and lie somewhere else. I'm not sure if he was restless because of pain or itchiness or what! Maybe he's mad because he knows he's now unable to spawn little Pouncies. It was hard to see him like that. He cried a lot. He threw up and had diarrhea twice each a couple of night ago. He sleeps in his crate in my Mom's room and kept her up a few nights in a row. She called the vet and got him tranquilizers, made a little ice pack and wrapped it in a towel for him to lie on and rubbed his back a lot for him.

I'm going to stay at my house for a couple for hours more to watch him while my mom does chores around the house. On Friday, he will get his stitches out and then I can walk him again! I'm excited! Toronto weather has been sunny and hot, so we lie together in the front yard together on my lounger. I will go for my walk at 6:00 when it's cooler and the sun isn't so intense. It's uncomfortable!

Then I will go back to be with the Great Danes I'm babysitting for the week! I've been their babysitter for over four years now. I'd love to walk them, but their combined weight is three times mine! My dad walks them for me. I'd also love to sleep with them, but their owner doesn't want them on the bed anymore... I don't blame her... They shed and drool a lot. Besides, the Dane who likes to cuddle sprawls out, taking up the whole bed! It's so sweet, though. He used to lie with his head on my chest.

I love dogs so much. I've been thinking it would be a great job to walk little dogs and feed dogs and let them out during the day while their owners are at work, at least until I feel up to a real job. I'm already kind of the neighborhood pet sitter. I've worked for several cat owners in my area. There's a lot of walking involved,  plus disciplining and subduing the animals.  What would I do on sick days? I would do my job no matter what. I can always function  -- that's not a problem. But that kind of activity every day, especially on bad days, would make for worse days more often. I guess I could commit only to Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays  to allow for days of rest between working days, unless someone asks me to look after their dog for a week or something, like I am now. I'd also like to write freelance, preferrably jobs that would allow me to research and interview people from home, if necessary. Maybe I should look into a job at the nearby library too!

I've been typing this while eating, which isn't wise because now my scrambled eggs have gone cold! I get so distracted, but I'm proud of myself for having a hearty breakfast: two eggs, two hashbrowns, a bunch of bacon and orange juice. Then I will have two pancakes, strawberries and cheese! Before Hawaii, during and after, I've been snacking a lot -- many of those haven't been healthy! For weeks now I've been really into cookies. I have them almost every day! I eat chips and other unhealthy things too. I don't know why I crave all of this so much! Sometimes I just get phases like this. Soon, I'm sure the cravings will end and I'll be really into fruits and veggies again and that's about it. It's funny how our appetites have patterns like this. What have you been eating lately?

And here we sigh and smile....

Great news!

Today I saw my neurosurgeon who, as I expected, was very sympathetic to my illness. A great listener. You know the kind of doctor who doesn't interrupt you and looks you in the eyes the whole time? That's him. And he has beautiful blue eyes... Okay, don't get any ideas.

Anyway, he looked at my brain MRI from late December and compared it to the CT I had well over a year ago and....  My cyst hasn't gotten worse and my shunt is working just fine! Even better news:  he agreed with my theory that my illness is making my Dandy Walker symptoms more pronounced. I was so relieved. I was right! Everything makes sense! I also suggested physical therapy and he said that could definitely help. Now, a month ago my internist prescribed physical therapy, but I kept forgetting to pick the referral up from the office.

So I think my fatigue and balance issues are primarily disability related and not illness related. Of course, it's an illness that's causing the symptoms and I do have other issues that do count as illness/medical. My neurosurgeon's diagnosis was bittersweet: while it was nice to know he agreed with me and really nice to know that nothing in my brain has changed, this is pretty much proof that a permanent condition is affecting me profoundly. So there will be lots of opportunities for this to affect me again, after I recover from this Post-Viral Syndrome -- or whatever it is. It was also bittersweet because he doesn't know when I'll get better... I'm still thinking "If the symptoms get better." Now I can focus more on learning to cope instead of looking for an answer.

I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon downtown, killing time before my internist appointment in the afternoon. It was a great body morning. I had a ball walking the streets in my cute sandals and big, floppy hat. I love to look beautiful when I feel good! I don't even like Sex and the City, but I found myself imagining I was walking with those four confident, fashionable women.  (Ah, the influence of television.)

My internist appointment went well. I was happy to tell her that my neurosurgeon agreed with this theory she had helped me form. Some of my bloodwork was a bit abnormal:  iron a bit low, so this could contribute to my sluggishness; Digoxin level low (again!), could explain why my heart is unruly at times; one of the thyroid tests was a bit high, but only one abnormal part of thyroid test is not enough to make a diagnosis; white blood cell count was a bit high, probably indicitive of a lingering virus, based on the asthma symptoms for three weeks and vomiting and diarrhea episodes I've had this week. So again... These are more potential explanations, but none of these tests (except Dig level) were high before. And I get blood taken probably every few months. So why the changes? I figure they're just fluctuating.

I have to talk to my cardiologist next month to ask him why the Dig level is consistently low. After my symptoms continued after he put me on Dig nearly two years ago, he said he didn't want to increase the strength because the current dosage was, in his eyes anyway, the max for my weight. Maybe the blood test will convince him otherwise. It's kind of exciting to me to think that maybe all I have to do to lower my heart rate is increase the Dig! And here we thought there were no more medication options for me! Well Dig isn't often used by doctors anymore, so maybe there are other options my cardiologist just doesn't believe in or hasn't thought of.

I feel so happy to have these leads and answers! Unfortunately, I still feel kind of sad because little Pounce had his special operation a couple of days ago and he's unhappy and uncomfortable! When I sit near him, he jumps into my lap or runs to me and lies down beside me. Aw! He's so good, though. When we take his cone off often to give him a break, he rarely licks himself and obeys when we tell him "no" or move his head from the wound. The vet called his melancholy "Post-Op Blues." I think it's also a bit of mourning: he's lost a part of himself. It's strange, though: when men get older, their changing appendages are considered a rite of passage; when puppies get older, the removal of some of this equipment is considered a rite of passage.  My babe is growing up! Ain't he cute?

When I got home from my internist appointment/allergy shot, I immediately took off my sandals. While cute and somewhat okay for my feet, given the support, they killed them! Bah, blister central. So I put the blanket on the floor in front of the vent and enjoyed the air conditioning with Pounce's head tucked in my armpit. We listened to "Forgiveness Rock Record," the new album by Broken Social Scene! I love it... They have a very fun, atmospheric layered sound and it kind of reminds me of a bunch of friends jamming in someone's basement. I love the drums and brass! Check it out!!! It's great music for a lazy day with a pup. I also bought The New Pornographer's latest "Together," but I haven't listened to it yet because, in true Ashley fashion, I have become obsessed with an album and am playing it so incessantly that the NP album doesn't yet have room in the part of my brain that loves music!

I need my own tv. show

Here I am, having been awake since 3:30 a.m. or so, wondering what to do with myself.

I've been especially fatigued and tired lately. The other day I went for a walk and I had to stop and sit down to recharge, mind you this was after walking for probably an hour. I had pretty much forced myself out, despite my symptoms, because I wanted to walk -- I love to walk -- and it was about time that I got some fresh air and exercise, especially with the warm, sunny weather. I've been sleeping for at least 12 hours a day and as a consequence of this (or, perhaps a benefit), I have become nocturnal. Here is what I like most about being nocturnal:

1.I get to be alone for hours.
2. No one will come into my room and interrupt my quiet time.
3. I don't have to babysit the dog.
4. I don't have to feel guilty for being inside.
5. It's dark.
6. It's quiet in my house: no dog barking, t.v blaring, talking
7. It's quiet outside: no one yelling, little traffic, no birds chirping.
8. If I need to cry, I can do so privately.

Reading this list makes me realize that I probably come off as a hermit -- but wait: I am! I spend most of my time inside. Sometimes days will go by before I go outside again. This isn't really part of my illness: I've always been a homebody, hence my Blogger url name "loveablehomebody." I don't know that being a homebody is a loveable quality, though. In literature, the homebody often seems to labeled an eccentric spinster, like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, or the crazy cat lady. I will be one of those some day and I'm actually looking forward to it! I just want to have a cottage in the woods without a husband or children, just a dog. I will take up gardening and learn to knit sweaters for my dog. I may also learn Solitaire and start playing the trombone again. I will watch a Disney movie every day. Wouldn't this character be loveable, especially in a play, book or film?

Don't get me wrong, I love to go out every now and then. I love to be crazy shock people for my own amusement. I often hope my antics will amuse others -- usually they do -- but sometimes they don't. I'm reminded of a class in my Environmental Writing course in my first year of university. My instructor was taking us through the wooded area on campus and mentioned something about woolly mammoths, so I waited a few minutes and then I shouted and pointed, "WOOLLY MAMMOTH!" as if I had seen one. I laughed, but my snobby classmates rolled their eyes and said things like, "Mmm... Okaaaaay." I didn't get self conscious of my performance after this unfortunate response. I was able to laugh at myself -- and at the snobs.

Now I'm also smiling about that time I was 11 when my friend and sister dared me to skinny dip in my pool -- and I did! What makes it particularly funny is that at the time, it didn't occur to me to get into the pool and then take my suit off in the water. Instead, I took it off outside, got on the ladder, where any neighbor could see, and then got into the water. What was I thinking???!

I imagine a lot of situations like this and I find myself laughing all of the time about stuff that pops into my head. This is one of the reasons why I am so happy to be alone: I don't need other people to have fun! This, aside from being strong from previous, similar experience, probably makes me handle illness and long rest periods better than a lot of people. I make it fun and I'm usually happy.

Update: Three weeks+ long asthma flare up is mostly over!!!! I thought maybe this was the root of the worse than usual fatigue and tiredness lately, so I guess I was wrong. Unfortunately, I've been frequently getting that sensation again, that feels like a bubble slowly expands and then contracts in my head, an episode that lasts about thirty seconds. More than usual, my heart's also been racing often when I'm standing or walking, so maybe that's contributing to the fatigue. It's a mystery, I guess! Sometimes I wish House was my doctor, not only because he can apparently solve any case, but also, because I think my sarcasm would make an amusing exchange:

House: So, what brings you here today?

Ashley: Well --

House: Let me guess: your boyfriend dumped you and in your pity you've been starving yourself. (lifts up my skinny wrists) Now you want to know why you're so tired.

Ashley: Actually, I don't have a boyfriend.

House: Oooh, so you're a homewrecker, eh? Nice.

Ashley: Close: I'm probably asexual.

House: Nooo... A bombshell like you?

Ashley: Yes. Anyway, I'm here because (explains cornucopia of symptoms and conditions)

House: Let me guess: you want drugs?

Ashley: How did you know? (Note: I don't actually want drugs... This is fictional sarcasm)

House: We'll run some tests. In the meantime, you can use a cane. Here, try mine. (He hands it to me)

Ashley: Thanks.

(I slam it into his knees and walk out of the room with it)

House: I guess I don't need to do the strength test!

Nocturnal Sickie One

So, if you've read my Maui entries, you might remember that my asthma was bothering me before and during the trip. So naturally, I was a bit nostalgic about the medical experiences I've shared with my Mom -- making for an emotional Mother's Day post.

Well, during my first night home, I woke up at 3:30 a.m., after sleeping for five hours, with a horrible headache and nausea. I figured I was just hungry and jetlagged and after vomiting once I would feel better. WRONG!

I ended up getting worse! After going back and forth from the toilet to my bed, tossing and turning, I decided to wake my mom up so she could get an Advil for me -- they were still packed from our vacation. I could hardly bear to sit up, so I lied down while she fished out the pill bottle. Then I went to her bathroom for water and took two pills. She offered me to sleep in her bed. I gave in and walked around to the left side of her bed, crawled in and tried to get warm. I had the most horrible chill, which I thought was strange because I had woken up feeling very hot. Damn. I figured these were all symptoms of a virus, especially because my skin was sore all over, as it typically is with a virus. My mom got a pail and put it beside my bed and put a cold, wet cloth on my forehead. Then she got  into her side of the bed, wrapped me in the covers and held me to warm me up, rubbing my hair and back. I felt so intensely ill that I couldn't keep still and I couldn't stop moaning. Then I cried.

I cried partly because I was so sick, but mostly because it was bringing back the trauma of being so sick last year, when I had the virus and after that. I was also really concerned that this was the beginning of a really bad patch, or the beginning of another illness. I will never get used to feeling that ill. Never. Even though it's happened so many times.

My mom and I were concerned that vomiting and headache were signaling shunt malfunction, as these are classic symptoms. This possibility seemed even more possible, as before I went to bed I had banged the top of my head -- near the shunt valve -- hard on the ceiling. I didn't have a fever and the symptoms because less intense within an hour or longer, so I became very relieved: not only did I feel better, but it seemed likely that I didn't have a nasty virus after all, and my shunt was probably fine.

Is it fine, though? In my desperation to find the root of my symptoms, I emailed the Dandy Walker Alliance (U.S.) and a Dandy Walker researcher and told them my medical history and my symptoms and asked them if they'd heard of similar cases or had ideas about what could be wrong with me. Despite being clear that my MRI scan was clear, both were concerned the shunt was somehow related to my illness, due to my symptoms. The researcher said that MRIs can miss mild hydrocephalus (my shunt works so well that MRIs reveal no hydrocephalus). A friend of mine who also has DW and hydro, said that shunts can malfunction intermittently. These are ideas to bring to my neurosurgeon next month. I feel like a detective... A detective who has very valuable sources.

The researcher also thought there was probably some connection between my medical problems. A very interesting idea. I mean, it's quite a coincidence that I have so many problems that are apparently unrelated. But how do I go about making that connection? What tests could doctors run to prove a connection? I don't even know it's worth investigating, as I have family members who share a couple of problems I have... So it seems more likely that I am just unlucky and was born with a couple of hereditary things, on top of the neurological stuff/asthma, etc. For years I figured I just had a sensitive system and was more prone to illness than most people. "Sensitive system" is no longer good enough for me. I really believe there has to be something doctors haven't found to explain why I have always gotten sick so often, many times with illnesses that aren't explainable by my conditions. Maybe there's some sort of treatment that will make me get less sick less often. Seems unlikely. Sometimes I just get really hopeful like this.Or I'll have a good day and think "This is it! My current illness is finally over, after nearly a year!" But then twenty minutes later I'll feel awful and need to sit down and laugh at myself for having such a notion. Sometimes I also imagine that one day, I won't really have any health issues and I will feel permanently good.

I know I should just accept that this is the way it is for me -- at least for now. Why do I keep getting my hopes up? I just get disappointed. I should focus my energy on finding ways of living that will suit my health situation.

The truth is that I'm still VERY disappointed that I've had to defer my second semester until the next time it is offered, next year. I see my classmates' postings on Facebook about the semester starting and I feel sort of jealous. I know this was the best decision for me because school didn't really allow me to rest -- at least for long -- and rest is what I really need. Active days of school and work only made me feel worse. Also, I hated having to miss classes or get extensions for assignments.

As nice as it was to learn new things and practice the skills I was learning, I am more disappointed that I won't get to finish my certificate this year and get a job. After pausing my life for seven months when I was sick, I was so excited at the thought of getting a job and moving out. Independence!!!! I craved it because I was sick of being lonely and bored at  home most of the time. I didn't like depending on my parents to pay for things for me. My sister had moved out and had a couple of steady, well paying, grown up jobs... I wanted what she had -- being her twin, can you blame me?

Now that I'm off school and not working, I can focus on taking care of myself. I'm so relieved that I'm no longer accountable to anyone, for anything but my health and happiness. Still, as I've written here many times, I have many good days -- at least parts of good days. It will feel like a waste to be at home during those times, so I've considered getting a part-time job. But what if the work makes me feel worse? How will I handle having to go to work on days when I'm sick? These good periods are sporadic and unpredictable. I don't really know what to do.

I love animals and I'm kind of the neighborhood pet sitter, so I'm really hoping to get more jobs, now that I'll be home and can visit houses during the day. That can be my part-time job! I'm also interested in paid writing gigs, provided they don't require me to leave my house to interview people and do other research or work in an office. Call me a sell-out, but my biggest dream of all is to make a huge load of money through posting Google and Amazon ads on here. I took the Google ads off here until I can figure out how to restrict the ads to relevant, helpful ones. And I often don't know what items to post on here from Amazon, aside from the occasional book or cd. I don't have a problem with those ads, because it will help me share art I love with my readers! I have so much to share! So here goes:

This is one of my favourite novels. It particularly resonated with me because the lead character, Prince Myshkin, has epilepsy. In my Health and Society classes, or perhaps in my own readings, I learned that years ago, idiocy and epilepsy were considered synonymous. Prince Myshkin is regarded by the other characters as an idiot for his naivete. He is a beautiful, nice human being who doesn't conform to the unkind, selfish behaviours of the other characters and, seemingly, his society in general. Also, Prince Myshkin is often treated delicately because of his epilepsy. The other characters seem to tip toe around him, as if he might break. I can empathize with that.

I think it might be a good idea to write posts here about books, movies and cds I love more often. I considered doing it earlier, but I don't particularly see the point in describing or reviewing art -- which, to me, should not be used to influence the behaviours of other people. I feel that the only way to know if you will enjoy something or hate something is to check it out for yourself. After all, by describing my love for something, can I really help someone else find love for it?

Mother's Day

The clock on the wall in every classroom in my elementary school signaled more than the countdown to recess, lunch or the end of the school day for me. It was often a countdown to Mommy Time.

I can still smell her lipstick and Tabu perfume. I can hear her high heels tapping quickly and progressively louder, her keys jingling. Then she would laugh or say "Hi!" to someone in the hallway. An official giveaway: it was Mommy time.

Then I would see her salt and pepper hair and raccoon eyes (Sorry Mom, but you still tend to wear too much mascara and eyeliner) through one of the windows at the top of the door. She would knock. Someone would open the door. I would grab my bag and go to the coat rack. We'd hug and then I'd put my coat on. Then we would go for one of my routine check-ups at Toronto's world-famous Hospital for Sick Children.

Starting when I was pretty young, after a CT scan, she'd always take me to the store and buy me a box of Smarties. Last fall after an emergency CT, sure enough then came the Smarties.

She has done many other things to cheer me up when I've been sick. When I was 12, my asthma got bad and I spent the night in observation at the hospital for oxygen treatments. The next day she took me home and then went out. She came home with McDonalds fries and a Mel C Barbie doll! Aw. When I was 16, I spent a day and night in the hospital for observation after getting sick with what appeared to be a shunt infection, but was soon cleared as probably just a nasty reaction to an acne pill. Anyway, I was lying in the bed resting when she brought me this adorable mini stuffed bear in a bug costume. It's on the computer table in my living room and it always makes me smile....

Again! After I got my wisdom teeth out last June, she brought me a bouquet featuring blue orchids -- my favourite flower! Shortly after the surgery, I got sick with what turned out to be a virus that caused a brief period of liver dysfunction -- probably a couple of weeks long -- and a bunch of symptoms, some neurological, that continue 11 months later. I was so weak some days it was a struggle just to wash my face, so she wiped it for me. She brought me a pail when I needed to vomit and then after, she emptied the contents. On my stronger days, she took me for short, slow walks. We linked arms walking and laughing about silly things. She's my best friend.

My mom works so hard to help me feel happy when I'm going through a hard time. She has helped me learn that I can be very happy when I'm sick, especially when the experience brings us even closer. This is just one of the reasons why I love my Mom. With her help, I feel like I can smile through anything.

Thank you, Mom. I know you will help make my time off from school more than bearable -- maybe even fun. We will bond! I love you.

P.S. I know you only mean well during times these when you ask me to take cough medicine and my puffers. I will try to be nicer, you old nag.

Something in the Water

Today I lied in my Mom's bed and watched the palm trees. I noticed that every trunk of every tree is is permanently leaned toward the water, their leafy hands reaching to it. I don't blame the trees. This water fascinates me.

Water in general fascinates me. I swam laps in the pool again last night. It felt so good to be weightless in the water, the waves rocking me back and forth. No ground to feel disconnected from. It's therapy, that's what it is. I imagine treading water and kicking during laps is really good for my legs, so I've decided to swim every day this summer in my pool at home. I don't often use it because it's cold. Yes, I'm a wimp.

Later I think I will splash in the bath. I can't float in it, but at least I can splash.

Perspective Counts

The backspace button on most keyboards is the width of my thumb times six. I couldn't help but observe this detail, as lately I've been obsessed with the smallness of my digits -- well, my smallness in general. I am very interested in the proportions of my body to the rest of the world. How is it that I can fit into children's clothes?

Actually, I'm more interested in larger statures than my own tiny one. Like, how does one acquire fat on one's wrists and rib cage? How does one feel to be so tall he has to lean over while standing in the basement to avoid banging his head on the ceiling. Such a perspective! Lightbulbs at eye level.

An idle mind apparently wanders to strange, meaningless places in Maui. I blame these deafening waves that surpass the volume of the television even with the windows closed. Holy disorientation, especially because I can't hear traffic here. It's wonderful isolation and solitude. I've lost all concept of city and people, so I don't think about anything external to myself and Maui. That's right. Hakuna Matata, baby. With the view from this condo I have no reason to leave it, espcially given the way I've been feeling. I left to go swimming in the pool of our complex tonight and then after dinner walked with my dad and sister to get ice cream, but only because I was feeling considerably better: the greatest motivator to DO something. Not that I hate staying indoors or anything. I'm a homebody afterall! I felt guilty for staying in for so many days, but I was happy to do it.

Now excuse me, I must prepare for bed. I have a shopping trip tomorrow!

Oh, before I go... I must confess that I have been thinking about more than myself and Maui: I miss Pounce! Since I left Toronto, I've been imagining him in all sorts of situations with me: sitting beside me on the plane, looking out the window and cocking his head at the sight of mountains in Vancouver; barking at crabs on the beach; sitting here with me on the couch. (sigh)

Perhaps this is the same kind of overpreoccupation that compels people to dress up their dogs for Halloween. I turned into one of them in the winter when I dressed Pounce in his snowsuit and rubber boots. Then after his walk, I always undressed him and then swaddled him in a blanket. And I keep saying I don't want kids... My mom, sister and I refer to me as Pounce's "Auntie"! I wonder what kind of souvenir I will end up buying for Pounce during my shopping trip tomorrow...

Heal

I'm trying to figure out how to describe the sound of waves. "Crashing" is cliche and not terribly evocative anyway. It sounds more like giant brooms on opposite sides sweeping water so aggressively that the waves pound into eachother. It looks like one wave rises from the water and jumps onto the water. It's foamy with fear and anger. The water moves forward to get away, but the force of that pounding wave forces the escapee water up into the air. A succession of terrified water rushing to the shore. The closer the water is to the shore, the slower it reacts to the wave before it. The foam dissipates when the water finally hits the shore. It pulls from the shore, seeming to sigh in relief with the threat of waves gone.

Bah! That's the best I can do. I'm no nature writer! Emily Carr and Annie Dillard could have described waves much better. They both loved solitude in nature without any material distraction.

I didn't bring any nature writing to read in Hawaii. Perhaps such literature would have inspired a better blog entry. I did bring my iPod, though, on which I have music that has transported me to Hawaii again and again since I was last there three years ago. Before the vacation, I bought several CDs to listen to while I was there. One of them was "You Forgot it in People" by Broken Social Scene, a band whose most recent album I had bought on a whim a year earlier and really liked. I can't really describe "You," but one particular song called "Pacific Theme" reminded me of palm trees swaying in time to the music on Waikiki beach after I listened to it again after the first day of that vacation. I adore music and this album. It quickly became one of my favourites ever. I highly recommend it!

I don't need any musical transportation, as I am sitting in the condo my family rented for 10 days. It's gorgeous. I don't really know how to describe it (frankly, I'm creatively worn out from trying to describe waves), but I think this is what I want my apartment to look out when I move out. It's beautifully decorated and furnished with hardwood dressers and tables, pseudo marble floors. Lamps with bases that look like varnished wood vases and big white shades. The couch and beds are plush and comfortable. Every room here is spacious. Huge windows on every floor, overlooking the crazy waves. We have a long lanai with a dining table fit for four that also faces the waves. It's amazing!

My sister, mom and dad have gone out to get groceries and probably sight see, so I'm here alone with no sound but the massive waves. I stayed home to have a nap because I'm really tired and I haven't been feeling well, but I'm so reflective that I had to share my happiness with you. I'm done school, so I have no guilt; I have no obligation to anyone but myself. This is where I will heal. Emotionally anyway. Physically, I will at least learn to feel good.

I've been short of breath off and on for about a week now because of asthma and allergies, losing my balance quite a bit too, feeling pretty fatigued most of the time. It was hard to keep up to my family at the airport. I need to sleep! I will post pictures soon. Thanks for reading! Your comments, on my blog and in personal and in-person messages mean so much to me.