Holy crip, it's a crapple!
What's up everybody. For the record, although it's been a week since my last post, I've thought about you every day since last we met. And boy what a week!! You wouldn't believe so much excitement could be found in one person's life; not even if I wrote it all down in some kind of electronic internet journal. And since I don't like being called a liar (accurately or not), I don't think I'm going to bother trying to convince you. Instead, just close your eyes and imagine an empty room filled with white light.
In the center of the room is an orange shoebox.
Inside the box is a whole lot of excitment.
That's, like, a metaphor.
I spent the weekend in Libertyville with my family. My pops had arthroscopic surgery on his shoulder friday morning so he is pretty much out of comission for the next few weeks. And while human suffering is pretty funny on its own, even funnier than that was watching him try to live a normal life like us non-invalids do. I wish I had my camera with me. I came downstairs saturday night to find my dad at his computer, his mouspad balanced on his thigh, with his sling riddled arm grasping the mouse and trying to control it with the tremendously minimal movement that his bandages would allow. We played a game of Euchre, me and my dad vs my mom and sister. The game went as expected, with my dad and I each going alone once and quickly winning the game 11-1. My dad was in a fair amount of pain, but it was still funny to watch a one-armed man try to shuffle a deck of cards.
Because my dad was helpless and needy, despite his efforts to prove otherwise, I spent the weekend helping out around the house. My brother was super busy playing video games all day so my help was appreciated. I cooked an amazingly delicious spaghetti dinner that even my brother couldn't find cause to disparage. "Yeah... this... is really good." Heather wanted to help, so she filled a pot with water and then watched it boil. She stood on her little stool, looking down into the pot, and stared at the water. "I'll let you know when it's ready." I couldn't help but laugh.
That afternoon, after I finished mowing the lawn, Heather wanted to go on a bike ride. You know it, a bike ride. She has training wheels and I dont have a bike so I walked around the neighborhood while she peddled along. The ride wouldn't have taken so long if we hadn't stopped every time we passed a dandylion. At first it was fun, picking weeds and finding new places to stick them as decoration on her bike. After a half mile I just wanted to go home. The bike ride served to remind me of something I hadn't thought about in a long time. Heather's little bike has brake handles that she uses to stop. I explained to her that she can also brake by turning her pedals backwards, like you would on a dirtbike. Dirtbikes are a pretty key element to growing up and I don't think they get enough respect. In addition to getting kids from place to place and turning ordinary curbs into 'some pretty sweet jumps' dirtbikes are most useful for making long black streaks in the middles of sidewalks, driveways, tennis courts, blacktops, and nearly every other surface. You should all know what I'm talking about. If you don't, you motherfucking should. There was a delicate art to making dark, long streaks; an art that any normal boy in search of acceptance and adulation would secretly practice on his driveway alone. A lot of parents get pissed when they come home from work to see their driveway all fucked up with black marks. When I have kids, that kind of thing will deserve an ice cream.
I woke up sunday morning to a flurry of chaos. Bridgette was having problems breathing and needed to get the hospital. My brother was all worn out from a long night of Warcraft so once again I was called upon to hold down the house. Bridgette was diagnosed with pneumonia and spent a few hours in the hospital until she was stable enough to be moved. Our hospital doesnt have a pediatric intensive care unit so they insisted she be moved to Milwaukee Children's Hospital until further notice. Although her breathing had become more regular, if something were to go wrong she should be in a place equipped to save her life. No arguing with that. An ambulance transferred my sister and Bridge to Wisconsin so my mom needed someone to drive up with her to leave my sister a car. No big deal. You do what you gotta do. The whole trip was supposed to take 3 hours, it ended up taking 6, but that's just the way it goes. There are certain times when, no matter how annoying or inconvenient the situation, you smile and don't complain. My belief in this principle was put to new tests as my mom insisted on driving 65 for much of the 80 mile trip.
I don't think that I am alone in this, but I don't like being in hospitals. They showcase people in their weakest and most vulnerable states, making you feel guilty for being healthy and sorry for those who aren't. I visited my grandpa in hospital a few years ago, and that was hard enough. But there is something smoothly logical to old people and hospitals, they subconciously pair without difficulty. You expect old people to be in hospitals. You expect hospitals to be full of old people. And so while it's difficult to see your grandfather laying on a gurney with IVs in his arms, it doesn't feel altogether unnatural. I visited my mom when she had her hip replaced, and that was similarly uncomfortable. Though, again, the distress of seeing someone you care about connected to tubes and machines is counterbalanced by the knowledge that the person is relatively young and resilient and the problems relatively minor. Yesterday was the worst I have seen thus far. Two year olds shouldn't be in hospitals. They shouldn't have oxygen tubes taped over their noses, IVs in their arms, or PulsOx meters connected to their toes. Bridgette is a gamer though, and took it like a thug. She was happy to see me, too, so it made the trip and all its inconvenience worth it. The children's hospital is really nice, and she was given a private room with seemingly really cool doctors and nurses. Still, I wish she didn't have to go through any of it. If all goes well she will be discharged sometime today, although it's possible that she will stay in the hospital for another few days. The doctors disagree about what's wrong with her, which is one way of saying that they don't really know. Despite the uncertainty, my faith in modern medicine and technology continues unabated. I'm sure that she will be alright, I only hope it happens sometime soon.
In the center of the room is an orange shoebox.
Inside the box is a whole lot of excitment.
That's, like, a metaphor.
I spent the weekend in Libertyville with my family. My pops had arthroscopic surgery on his shoulder friday morning so he is pretty much out of comission for the next few weeks. And while human suffering is pretty funny on its own, even funnier than that was watching him try to live a normal life like us non-invalids do. I wish I had my camera with me. I came downstairs saturday night to find my dad at his computer, his mouspad balanced on his thigh, with his sling riddled arm grasping the mouse and trying to control it with the tremendously minimal movement that his bandages would allow. We played a game of Euchre, me and my dad vs my mom and sister. The game went as expected, with my dad and I each going alone once and quickly winning the game 11-1. My dad was in a fair amount of pain, but it was still funny to watch a one-armed man try to shuffle a deck of cards.
Because my dad was helpless and needy, despite his efforts to prove otherwise, I spent the weekend helping out around the house. My brother was super busy playing video games all day so my help was appreciated. I cooked an amazingly delicious spaghetti dinner that even my brother couldn't find cause to disparage. "Yeah... this... is really good." Heather wanted to help, so she filled a pot with water and then watched it boil. She stood on her little stool, looking down into the pot, and stared at the water. "I'll let you know when it's ready." I couldn't help but laugh.
That afternoon, after I finished mowing the lawn, Heather wanted to go on a bike ride. You know it, a bike ride. She has training wheels and I dont have a bike so I walked around the neighborhood while she peddled along. The ride wouldn't have taken so long if we hadn't stopped every time we passed a dandylion. At first it was fun, picking weeds and finding new places to stick them as decoration on her bike. After a half mile I just wanted to go home. The bike ride served to remind me of something I hadn't thought about in a long time. Heather's little bike has brake handles that she uses to stop. I explained to her that she can also brake by turning her pedals backwards, like you would on a dirtbike. Dirtbikes are a pretty key element to growing up and I don't think they get enough respect. In addition to getting kids from place to place and turning ordinary curbs into 'some pretty sweet jumps' dirtbikes are most useful for making long black streaks in the middles of sidewalks, driveways, tennis courts, blacktops, and nearly every other surface. You should all know what I'm talking about. If you don't, you motherfucking should. There was a delicate art to making dark, long streaks; an art that any normal boy in search of acceptance and adulation would secretly practice on his driveway alone. A lot of parents get pissed when they come home from work to see their driveway all fucked up with black marks. When I have kids, that kind of thing will deserve an ice cream.
I woke up sunday morning to a flurry of chaos. Bridgette was having problems breathing and needed to get the hospital. My brother was all worn out from a long night of Warcraft so once again I was called upon to hold down the house. Bridgette was diagnosed with pneumonia and spent a few hours in the hospital until she was stable enough to be moved. Our hospital doesnt have a pediatric intensive care unit so they insisted she be moved to Milwaukee Children's Hospital until further notice. Although her breathing had become more regular, if something were to go wrong she should be in a place equipped to save her life. No arguing with that. An ambulance transferred my sister and Bridge to Wisconsin so my mom needed someone to drive up with her to leave my sister a car. No big deal. You do what you gotta do. The whole trip was supposed to take 3 hours, it ended up taking 6, but that's just the way it goes. There are certain times when, no matter how annoying or inconvenient the situation, you smile and don't complain. My belief in this principle was put to new tests as my mom insisted on driving 65 for much of the 80 mile trip.
I don't think that I am alone in this, but I don't like being in hospitals. They showcase people in their weakest and most vulnerable states, making you feel guilty for being healthy and sorry for those who aren't. I visited my grandpa in hospital a few years ago, and that was hard enough. But there is something smoothly logical to old people and hospitals, they subconciously pair without difficulty. You expect old people to be in hospitals. You expect hospitals to be full of old people. And so while it's difficult to see your grandfather laying on a gurney with IVs in his arms, it doesn't feel altogether unnatural. I visited my mom when she had her hip replaced, and that was similarly uncomfortable. Though, again, the distress of seeing someone you care about connected to tubes and machines is counterbalanced by the knowledge that the person is relatively young and resilient and the problems relatively minor. Yesterday was the worst I have seen thus far. Two year olds shouldn't be in hospitals. They shouldn't have oxygen tubes taped over their noses, IVs in their arms, or PulsOx meters connected to their toes. Bridgette is a gamer though, and took it like a thug. She was happy to see me, too, so it made the trip and all its inconvenience worth it. The children's hospital is really nice, and she was given a private room with seemingly really cool doctors and nurses. Still, I wish she didn't have to go through any of it. If all goes well she will be discharged sometime today, although it's possible that she will stay in the hospital for another few days. The doctors disagree about what's wrong with her, which is one way of saying that they don't really know. Despite the uncertainty, my faith in modern medicine and technology continues unabated. I'm sure that she will be alright, I only hope it happens sometime soon.