Family concerns

I'm currently reading Anne Lamott's Blue Shoe. I picked this up at a thrift store in Ann Arbor while shopping for dyeing equipment. I've been meaning to read Anne Lamott's fiction since I read Bird by Bird, but hadn't until now. I'm not normally much of a mainstream fiction reader...or at least that's not what I gravitate towards, though I do have a few mainstream novels that are some of my favorites to reread. I realized this evening that I rarely read new stuff anymore. Generally I just reread what I have. I wonder if this is why when I do read something new, I tend to gulp it down.

At any rate, this kind of mainstream fiction is definitely not what I would think of as my sort of thing. It's very senses-oriented, descriptive, symbolic, where the events don't matter in and of themselves so much as in their effects on the main character. I have to slow down to read this properly. I remember doing that with the one Charles de Lint book I read, too. Unlike that book, this one is more direct in its message: acceptance, family, duty, love, that flaws are okay and the point is to be a good person, not a perfect one. I feel like I've been very close in my own mind lately, that I need to expand and breathe and relax into my own life a bit. It's an interesting phenomenon. I'm glad I'm reading this book right now.

Dad called me today to discuss James's genetic testing results. James called Monday to tell me about it, disrupting the night's plan of work. I've just now caught up to what I was planning to do then. If I understand him correctly (and he understood the doctor correctly), he's a cystic fibrosis carrier. The doctor says this may or may not be the cause of his pancreatitis; some mutations in the CF gene are codominant (most are recessive, meaning that one mutated gene is okay, but codominant means that one mutated gene will produce some effects, though not as many as having two mutated genes) and CF does involve the pancreas but he almost certainly got the gene from Dad, and Dad's family, and nobody has had James's sort of internal troubles that we know of.

"I don't really know what CF is," he said, so I told him a little about it--bodily defects, lung problems, diabetes, malnutrition, sterility, and constant pneumonia and bronchitis symptoms are what it amounts to, though I didn't go into all that--and that I planned to get myself tested. "James said his doctor said it was mostly passed down on the male side," he said, which is contrary to what I know--cystic fibrosis is an autosomal disease--so I said either he was mistaken or I had misunderstood what the results actually were.

"When is CF diagnosed?" he said, and I said usually at infancy. "Then Abby (James's daughter) probably doesn't have it," he said, in relief. Two of my cousins were already tested when a cousin on their dad's side died of CF, so it's just the last two cousins who need to know--based on current information they have a 25% chance of being carriers. James didn't specifically say to disseminate the information, but he didn't say not to, and it's a family concern.

He's going to tell Mom about it when he's there to explain it--he's on a business trip currently--and I'm going to call when he's home to tell Mom about my test results, that I have a blocked oviduct and I'll be taking medication, so that he can help explain that. I'm not that bad at explaining things but she does seem to understand quickest when Dad tells her things; the habit of thirty years of listening to him, I expect.

I was feeling very anxious and cranky about all this yesterday, which is why I didn't catch up on any work. I'm still out of sorts today, in an odd way I haven't experienced before. It's not quite like PMS (though I'm due for it), and it's not quite like the depression I had in 2004. It's more ephemeral, more trivial, more flat-affect than bad-affect, but it's still been preventing me from doing things. However, I'm hoping that's at an end starting tomorrow.

A weekend like all other weekends.

I am down. I was finally recovering from last weekend; this weekend is nothing big, just a finance charge on the credit card for having accidentally selected the wrong bank account with which to pay my bill (does that sound like $40' worth of hassle to you?) and money anxiety in general. I suppose paying taxes doesn't help (though we did get back more than we paid overall, the federal refund was last month and the state/city stuff was last week, so they have more impact). Eric is also behind on his big semester project, which doesn't help either--plus it made us miss Penguicon, which I was looking forward too.

But my seeds are up and I found a pot for my poor cactus for not too much money, and I'm finally finishing two craft projects that have been around a while: a baby dress for Eric's sort-of-sister's baby and Summer Sunrise. I decided I'm going to take down the craft blog; I'm not that interested in devoting time to write about my projects anymore. They're just projects. But the baby dress is cute and has taken a while, and will go off in a box tomorrow, along with low-fat recipes and books in a separate box for James (not that he needs to diet; his doctor suggested it for his cholesterol and also, I'm gathering, because fat in his diet may be causing some of his problems).

And I finally took Summer Sunrise out to finish off (it needs the back done, which I did today, and the quilting and binding) because it's finally gotten warm enough for us to put the down comforter away, and our only alternatives are two twin-size quilts. Last night we pulled out the one, but around 4 AM I got tired of waking up cold and having to wrest it away from Eric and took out the other for me. Summer Sunrise is queen-sized.

I also made cookies and bread and Swiffered and read a lot, and it's been a pretty good weekend really. Anxiety or no. Now if only I can be inspired for this one writing-related thing I have to do. I'd say "or for work," but that's too much to ask. For my birthday my coworkers got me a card that said, "Happy birthday from the smartest people you know," and on the inside, "...You need to get out more." My coworkers are (mostly) very nice people but I felt the inside of the card had an awful lot of truth to it.

Mostly bad beginnings

Well, this week isn't starting out much better than last week. However, this may be due partly to my mood. Eric's having health issues, James is having (more) health issues, my birthday's coming up, and it's That Time of Month. Of course work isn't all that calming or appealing right now.

Eric is on a couple of seizure medications, and last winter he had a scare when he thought they weren't working and we went to the ER. It turned out actually to be a potassium deficiency, but he got on extra medication anyway due to some side effects of his epilepsy he'd been noticing have increased in intensity. This stuff--Keppra--has made him a lot more tired. This past week, on his spring break, he's gotten almost nothing done because he's been tired and listless; part of this seems to be that he has no structure or stimulating influence--such as his wife nagging him--to do things, but he feels part of it is the medication, too; he's been having this problem for a while. He's going to get an appointment with his epileptologist this week, and he's going to try taking a loser dosage of the Keppra to see if that helps. I am on changed-behavior watch.

James's doctor called him Friday and said, "I got your blood test results. Um, how are you feeling?" Apparently his lipase levels are abnormally high, which is a bad sign. James is on a liquid diet (which is making him exceptionally crabby, he says) and will be getting an MRI on Tuesday, whether he can pay for it or not. Fortunately his boss is being supportive and is actually getting him on insurance early to help him out; that may take effect tomorrow or it may happen on April 15, depending on what the insurance company has to say, but at any rate he can wait two weeks. Then, another surgery and, with luck, a solution.

I talked to Mom last night and she said, "So, I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you this, but...have you talked to James lately?" I assured her I knew what was happening, and she talked about it, mentioning that James had consulted Dad and received his advice to get it checked out and she was glad he had done it early this time. I'm pretty sure I'm the one he consulted, or at least first. I could see him not telling our parents that he talked to me, either so as not to hurt their feelings or to protect me from them being upset that I knew he was in trouble and hadn't told them. I also think it's kind of amusing, and kind of sad, how much the four of us keep things from each other, just to try to keep each other's worrying to a minimum.

I'm not too concerned about the birthday except I'd like to be able to do something for it and can't really, and I mentioned to Eric that I might want to skip the symphony (which is on that day) and he dismissed the idea instantly. So we're going out to dinner at an inexpensive Mediterranean place instead, either before or after the symphony, and I don't know what I'll do otherwise. The normal Saturday thing, I imagine.

At least it's gotten warmer. I'm going to work in the yard tonight if at all possible, and I have seeds to start and, when my order of yeast gets here, bread to bake. I tried the no-yeast pumpernickel recipe over the weekend and it turned out terribly. But I have the other pumpernickel and a multigrain sandwich and a gruyere bread recipe I want to try soon. And there are plants that need tending and dirt that needs spreading and shrubs that need trimming. Eric predicts this year we'll have no spring at all, that it won't truly warm up until it suddenly becomes hot and humid. It's happened before, he says. I suppose at least it'll be good tomato weather.

An ambiguous state of affairs.

And so ends the Week of the Crazy Clients, with a wholly appropriate visitation from a client who supplied parameters for me to calculate how much of their product we needed and then when I delivered the number said, "Please use these numbers instead."

James called. He did go to the doctor, and thanked me for recommending he do so. His pancreatitis is indeed back. The doctor was very good, he said; was going to work with him as much as possible to save him money and get his insurance to pay for what needs to be paid for, when he gets it; and is going to recommend him for a study that will offer, for free, exactly what he needs to get a diagnosis and a determination for next steps. Depending on what's causing it, he may need gall bladder removal surgery, genetic testing, and/or a lifetime's supply of pain meds. But at least they're going to figure it out.

Also apparently his cholesterol is a little high, which is probably reasonable since he tells me meat is his one unalloyed joy in life lately, and so he's trying to figure out how he can possibly avoid fat. I've volunteered to send him some recipes and meal ideas. This ought to be fun. He's told our parents about this part, so they're making a bunch of chicken and pork for him. I'll gently remind Mom that it wouldn't hurt to supply him with some of the vegetable stirfries and noodle dishes and pickles and such that he loves, either.

As I was pacing around my boss's office (he was gone, and James called in the middle of the afternoon) talking to James about pancreatic stents and idiopathic etiology and cholesterol and food preparation, it struck me how very well my experiences have prepared me for exactly this situation. Too bad it's not me instead of him...I guess. "The doctor said, 'Yeah, it's pancreatitis again. Good news: you were right!'" James said.

I have found two pumpernickel recipes I really want to try. One takes no yeast, which I'm slightly suspicious of. I might give it a pinch of sourdough starter at the least. (It sits for 24 hours, so presumably there's some fermentation going on anyway.) I ordered yeast from King Arthur ($12 for a pound, including shipping; the 4 oz. bottles in Kroger are $7) and some pumpernickel flour. It is not my last indulgence of the weekend; there's a fiber fair in Findlay tomorrow and I’m going. Our tax refund came today, so I feel okay about that. Maybe I'll send James some bread.

2008 is shaping up like 2002. I don't like it.

James called me last night, saying, "I want to bounce something off you." Here's the something: he's having regular stomach pains that feel similar (though not as bad) as the ones he had when he had pancreatitis recently. His surgery was a couple of months ago. Here's the background: he has no insurance, $1500 in hospital bills, $17,000 in credit card debt, and a lousy credit rating. He's working 60 hours a week at an auto shop which has promised him all the work he can handle and a manager's position in a year, but it's not much money right now. He doesn't want to ask our parents for money to go to the doctor because they've already given him a lot of money and he feels guilty. Here's the bouncing: should he go to the doctor or not?

I don't see him really expecting me to say "No, don't go, maybe it'll go away." I didn't, anyway. I inquired into his symptoms, mentioned surgical complications, told him that his health was worth a little more debt, and suggested calling the doctor's office to see if they have any suggestions on how to afford the bill, seeing if he could get help somewhere else--essentially, that he should do whatever he can. He didn't ask for money, which surprised me a bit--but then, he hasn't asked for money since, oh, 2003, when he was behind on rent, and I've given it to him anyway for Christmases and such. Maybe he was hoping I'd offer. On the other hand, he also knows that we're short an income ourselves.

I offered to look at his budget, and he says he's spending as little as possible, but then he was calling me while driving to visit his ex-girlfriend at $3.50 a gallon in his truck. (At least, I hope she's his ex. He's said that twice, though, and the first time it didn't take.) He says he sold a bunch of our old books for $30. (I got the chance to look through them last year, so as long as they didn't include the Mark Twain book I've been missing for four years, I don't care.) Also he says he's spending all his spare money on visits to his daughter, and while I can understand the desire to do that, I wonder if he shouldn't be using that money for his existing bills instead. And even if he gets insurance through his work (I think they offer it after six months, and he's had this job for three), this will probably qualify as a pre-existing condition and won't be covered anyway.

I would send money if we weren't already tight. As it is, I'm going to see whether we have any leeway or not--it depends on when our tax refund comes and whether Eric will be taking one class or two this summer and whether he can get unemployment--and if we do, send him something for an initial appointment at least. I don't like the idea of bailing him out, but he's been in financial trouble long enough to know that gifts from family aren't enough to support him and he's going to need to straighten out his affairs for any sort of long-term viability. He's already aware that Dad's work a second part-time job for him, and it sounds like he's much more aware of how much money our parents have given him than our parents think he is.

Now may not be the time to have scruples about asking them for money, though. Or me. I've been thinking about ways I could make a little extra money, to give us a little more cushion; now I'm thinking about ways I could make a little extra money to send to my brother's doctor.

I'm tired. Eric had a bit of an emotional breakdown last night, which taxed both of us. But I think he's feeling a bit better now. I shall still keep an eye out for a psychiatrist referral though--I had called the local hospital to inquire a few days ago, because he's been having problems with sleep and depression and was thinking about seeing someone, and the woman who answered asked first "Why isn't he calling?" I didn't get that response when I called to schedule him a dentist appointment. Then she wanted to know his symptoms; then she told me the attending psychiatrists aren't taking new patients and his only option would be a resident's clinic from 9-10:30 Tuesday mornings.

James is home; they put a stent in his pancreatic duct (?) and didn't find anything specific, but the doctor suspects the general trauma and inflammation there were caused by his motorcycle accident a couple of years ago. I'll have to ask my dad whether I should send James some books or not.

I'm watching Michelle tonight, supposedly helping her spin, but after I agreed the mothers started talking about how they would be able to use the free time so I suspect they just wanted a childless evening. I was also asked to watch her tomorrow. To be honest I'm a little irritated by the mothers' assumption that we're constantly available for free babysitting. (Maybe they'll get Eric his expensive widescreen computer monitor and I'll forgive them.)

We're finally, finally, at last getting the driveway fixed, in two weeks. I have to move plants and reconcile myself to parking on the street. I will be so extremely happy to have a real driveway to park on this winter, though; for that I'd move ten times as many plants (or leave them to die, either way).

I do not think I will be posting here any more frequently than I have been. It may be time to give up a general-topic blog; I don't know. Or maybe it's just that I'm tired. I will be giving up crafts as a major hobby after the holiday work is done; I'll keep a project or two going, but nothing with a real deadline, so that I can concentrate on other things: writing and gardening and career and that sort of thing. Sorting myself out. You'd think there wouldn't be much to sort, and there isn't--maybe that's the problem. But clearing both my schedule and my head of the additional clutter can only help, right?

Don't run and they won't chase you

I dreamed last night that I was in the Cincinnati airport (which I have never been in, except for a single gate when my plane to Baltimore was diverted in 1999) and the central hub was a series of smooth hills and curves like slides, frictionless so that you jumped in and glided to wherever you needed to be, and I thought, this would be a great place to write a chase scene.

(There were also enormous alligators roaming around. They didn't attack as long as you didn't run.)

Saturday, the mothers, Michelle, Eric, and I went up to Ann Arbor. First to Shar to get Michelle a violin (to rent; her accelerated program is doing Suzuki violin with fourth-graders and she wants to practice at home), then to Trader Joe's, where we introduced Edith and Michelle to the beauty that is Trader Joe's. Eric and I were more profligate than usual, buying chocolate-covered bananas (bad) and lemon cookies (good) and orange-peach-mango juice (very good).

At some point, we discussed chocolate-covered raisins (dark or milk) and Eric said something about But Jenny doesn't like raisins, so she won't eat them anyway. Brenda, voice full of laughter at her own wit, said, "Jenny. How can a vegetarian not like raisins?"

I said, "How can an omnivore not like cheese?" There was a pause, while Eric put an arm around each of us and grinned, and she said, "Good point," and we all laughed. Sigh.

My brother called me last night, finally returning my call of several days ago. His surgery is today. He wants to go to culinary arts school, he thinks. He told me that and then about how you can't get a good job as a chef and he wouldn't want to work in the apprentice-level jobs, so I doubt anything will come of it. Still, I'm thinking of sending him a book on opening a restaurant, since that's one possibility for getting to the top without working his way there. Maybe he can read it during his convalescence

Not a true discontent

I'm sitting here as the minutes tick away to bedtime, caught by indecision and frustration. I can't make a CD backup of my files because my computer can't find a component of the CD burning software and I don't know where the CD of the software is. I should be either writing or spinning, and I could do either, but I can't decide which so I'm just going through old files and things instead. My first tomato of the summer was bland. There are ants in my kitchen. Grr.

I've been having problems with my right arm for too long now. It actually started in my last job, and is now carrying over into the new one. I'm wearing my brace but it doesn't help. I have an ergonomic keyboard but it doesn't help. I'm too young to be having this kind of problem...but I really can't say that for much longer. And it doesn't help that all my hobbies require the use of my hands. I can't be one of those people who are content to watch TV or go shopping, no.

James says he might have to cancel his exploratory surgery because his insurance won't cover it. I need to go see an optometrist because my eyes are hurting at work. (Maybe I just need a vacation from work. The honeymoon's in four weeks. I shouldn't be using my hands for much except putting on sunscreen.)

We planned to put together wedding albums for our parents, but we aren't doing it and I don't know where to go to get prints since we refuse to go to Walmart. I need to attend to something on the garden blog, and I haven't been posting here as much as I'd like. There are a lot of things we're not doing because our schedules don't mesh, and that separation brings out our laziness. Though Eric did go to Andersons today for produce and pickling supplies. All I've done is plant some seeds and do some dishes. I guess that's something.

I'm really not in that bad a mood...just thinking, and tending towards dissatisfied since I feel I haven't gotten anything done. But then, continuing to write down all the piddly things that discontent me doesn't get much done, does it? I still have a little time before I need to brush my teeth.

Oh, brother

I slept eleven hours yesterday. What a great holiday. I didn't see any fireworks, other than a few scattered sparks of red from an upstairs window, but I harvested my first two cucumbers from the garden for dinner, and watered in the dusk, and sat on my back porch in the dark and watched the fireflies softly glowing. I didn't see fireflies until I was thirteen years old, and they're something I would like my kids to see growing up.

Today, I'm at work, relatively busy but in pain. I don't know what's wrong with my desk setup, but something evidently is. I told Eric last night that I'd been having several days of nausea-inducing headaches, and he suggested I go see the optometrist since it gets better when I'm out for a walk or working in the garden, but this morning my arms and elbow were hurting bad enough that my stomach was unhappy again though my eyes and head were fine. I had a desk job for three years before I moved up here and never had any problems; what gives?

I also spoke to my brother on his birthday, Tuesday ("I never thought I'd be this old," he said. Young whippersnapper!), and he says that he may have to cancel his second exploratory surgery because his COBRA won't treat him for a pre-existing condition. However he's got a job prospect and once he got a new insurance apparently his doctor could fix it to make it a non-pre-existing condition. I don't understand this but as long as it works, I'll not question it.

Why I've been Googling gastroenterology

"I haven't told Dad this yet," my brother said over the phone tonight. "But I will. And then I'll ask him to help me explain it to Mom."

He's been having stomach pain and general malaise for a while. He went to the doctor and they determined that the problem was his pancreas, because it was completely inflamed. They tried drugs, they tried an MRI, nothing's worked and the only thing they've figured out is that there's a big mass in his pancreas. So he's having a biopsy next month.

"There are only three things it could be," he said. "A kidney stone, a benign tumor, or a malignant tumor. They said that if it's one of the last two they'll schedule surgery for me that same week."

He said a couple times that it was "nothing to worry about," but he also said, "If you guys have any ideas, let me know. Though I've done some Googling and I think the doctors are right." Apparently his doctor is consulting his entire group because they can't figure out what's going on and he really shouldn't be having the symptoms he's having.

At the end of our conversation he said, "Love you, sis." He hasn't said that to me in years and years. He asked me to check up on him, and I said I would--I've been feeling guilty lately because he always calls me before I call him, so I would anyway, but now I'm going to be extra-careful to talk to him often. And if he does end up needing surgery, I'll fly out to see him. And then I'll kick his ass, because that's what big sisters do.