transplant http://domesticat.net/taxonomy/term/481/atom/feed 2007-12-26T16:46:59+00:00 Anthrax Writing Week #2: nitwit! http://domesticat.net/2006/07/anthrax-writing-week-2-nitwit 2006-07-10T20:08:44+00:00 2007-12-26T20:58:52+00:00 domesticat Bet y'all didn't know that hypoglycemia can lead to the funnies. (I'm pretty good at putting in those non-sequitur-looking openers that turn out not to be non sequiturs at all.)So, for those of you who have been playing the home game, reading along here, or reading along on the techops boards, Patrick's mother's bone marrow transplant is tomorrow. Today is her last day of chemo prior to the transplant itself. Patrick's in Houston, the fam's all rallied and everything's as ready to go as it's gonna get.

]]> Bet y'all didn't know that hypoglycemia can lead to the funnies. (I'm pretty good at putting in those non-sequitur-looking openers that turn out not to be non sequiturs at all.)So, for those of you who have been playing the home game, reading along here, or reading along on the techops boards, Patrick's mother's bone marrow transplant is tomorrow. Today is her last day of chemo prior to the transplant itself. Patrick's in Houston, the fam's all rallied and everything's as ready to go as it's gonna get.

But there was this one sentence of his that stopped me cold when I read it. I don't mean "stopped me cold" in a bad or fearful way, but in that non-sequitur way you get when a stranger comes up to you on the street and says "Hey, baby, nice pseudopodia!"

See? Did you cock your head to the side? Mutter 'huh?' to yourself? If so, then you've got it.

The sentence in question was pretty innocuous, but it says a lot about how my perception of myself, and the world, has changed since being diagnosed as hypoglycemic:

"[People at our church] are planning to fast and pray for mom tomorrow, I will be joining them, and you are welcome to join us too."

See, that sentence is most emphatically not funny to the non-hypoglycemics of this world. I sat there for a moment, head awkward and off-kilter, imagining this group of random people whose intent is to do a Very Good Thing … but superimposing what happens to me if I take in no calories for six hours. Yep, you know the drill: unable to complete sentences, serious mental confusion, inability to comprehend surroundings or safely operate heavy machinery.

A couple of seconds later, I got it. "Nitwit!" I said to myself. (I call myself 'nitwit' sometimes, it's like Jeff calling me 'dear.' Affectionate, really.) "Some people can actually do that sort of thing without endangering life and health."

Or, as I said at the end of the email I sent:

Given that I'll be driving my spouse's as-yet-unpaid-for car around town tomorrow while mine's in the shop, hopefully y'all will settle for me thinking about you guys and keeping up my regularly-scheduled grazing schedule.

Seems the safer choice.

Good luck, guys. You'll be in my thoughts, and I'll plan on taking in enough calories so that I'm able to finish the thoughts I start. Otherwise there's gonna be some guy in Pascagoula wondering what all these 'good luck with the transplant' AmyMemos are about.

The rest of you guys don't get to call me nitwit. Unless you ask nicely.

What's 'Anthrax Writing Week,' you ask? See see 'From the mailbag,' posted on 29 June 2006.

]]> couchnotes in the key of sneeze http://domesticat.net/2005/01/couchnotes-key-sneeze 2005-01-05T21:40:48+00:00 2007-12-26T16:46:59+00:00 domesticat If you were me, and were battling a truly nasty cold, and had just taken a swath of decongestants and other meds that you knew would make you fall asleep within the next half-hour, what would you say?

Let's find out. In totally random order.

]]> If you were me, and were battling a truly nasty cold, and had just taken a swath of decongestants and other meds that you knew would make you fall asleep within the next half-hour, what would you say?

Let's find out. In totally random order.

  • Angie Aparo's "Spaceship" needs to get out of my head real soon now.
  • Tenzing thinks this is the greatest week ever. All the mommycat does is lie on the couch under his favorite quilt, and she doesn't mind kitty cuddles. As far as he is concerned, 2005 is shaping up pretty nicely.
  • Lukas, your email's in the pipeline. Give me a couple more days.
  • Matthew, I owe you a phone call. What do you mean, emergency room visit?
  • I leave out here on the 14th, and fly off on the 16th. I'll be gone for 20 days. Have I mentioned how enormous of a pack job this trip is?
  • I understand the concept of sneezing, but I tend to think it's becoming counterproductive when you do it so much that it causes little nosebleeds.
  • Laundry does not magically do itself while I sleep.
  • I still haven't done Val's shiny new weights workout. I tend to think that a 100F fever should preclude you from weightlifting.
  • Those of you who have read this site for a long time but who have never heard my voice should go to Brian's site, siliconchef.com, and download the Pan-Holiday Extravaganza Videos. I'm very very difficult to miss in the first video. Pretend not to notice that he has to swing the camera down to focus on my face. In my next life I'll be tall, ok?

Lastly …

My mother got The Call this week. A donor cornea has become available. She has what is known as Fuch's dystrophy, a degenerative corneal disease. Right now her doctors believe she will only need one transplant, but it is possible that her other eye will eventually require one, too. (She is 61.)

I am happy for her - Fuch's is incredibly painful, and her quality of life will improve drastically after she heals from the surgery - but we must not ignore what events must have happened to bring us to this point.

Somewhere, there's an empty place at someone's table. We don't get to know who, or where, or how, but we know that this person was someone's son or daughter, possibly a brother or sister, or a father or mother. Somewhere, in a hospital and under the worst possible kind of stress, right after Christmas and New Year's, a family made a decision to donate organs and tissue, a decision that would allow their personal tragedy to help others. Others that they don't even know.

Mom's transplant is Thursday. As transplants go, corneal transplants are minor; it's outpatient surgery and she'll go home the same day. (Though it can take up to a year for the patient's vision to stabilize and clear.)

If you're comfortable with the idea of being an organ donor, make sure your driver's license says so -- and make sure that your family and friends understand that this is something you want. It won't take away your friends' and family's pain of losing you, but it may give the gift of health to someone sorely in need.

(Good luck, Mom. Make them give you the REALLY good drugs.)

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