Beside myself

OK. I have just finished the day after one of those days from hell. Which means that I spent all day doing the things I should've done yesterday and today -- and frankly, because I kicked ass, I also did some things I expected I would still be doing tomorrow (which, from the clock on my computer, I see is actually today. Fuck.)

See, this here girl doesn't like it when People of Meaning (some more than others) in her life pop in with disturbing or just plain old mysterious (and not in a good way) news or stories.

And the last couple of days have been full of that shit.

My dad told me on Sunday that the rather tenacious prostate cancer he's been dealing with has in fact spread. "To somewhere nearby." Obviously, there's something dad doesn't want to say. I'm just not sure what. (Something weird is definitely going on with him. When I asked him what he'd been up to lately, he said, "Watching TV," and it was only through a little bit more questioning that I learned he had, that very morning, been on a hot-air balloon ride, the first of his life. Hmmm.)

Then, my sister, Dr. HW landed in the hospital for the second time in a week. The first go-around, which she informed me of on Saturday in a joke-filled e-mail about living "48 hours of someone else's life," the MDs were inspecting her for congestive heart failure or a pulmonary embolism. They decided that wasn't the problem and sent her home.

And then on Sunday, she got a "really weird period" that ... hmmm ... today, having been admitted to the hospital again after passing out Monday in her doc's waiting room, the MDs gave her two units of blood and a spinal tap and scheduled her for an MRI on her head on Wednesday. She's been having shortness of breath for about a month. And she's got a fluttering heart. And massive dizziness that has caused her to fall down a couple times.

What the fuck does *that* all eqaul?

Unless you want me to describe the procedures for a Living-Related Bilateral Lung Transplant or a Pallidotomy or a host of other relatively novel or unusual medical procedures with which I've been acquainted in my role of Professional Observer of Unusual Things (a POUT), I can't even fathom to guess what the devil is wrong with Dr. HW.

Alas, one of the things it does seem to have equaled is the re-emergence of The Notorious M.O.M., who left the following voicemail for me: "UCM, this is mom. Dr. HW is in the hospital, and they don't know what's wrong with her. Thought you'd want to know. Bye."

What hospital? Where? (Considering Dr. HW lives in two different states, it's *useful information,* right?) But The Notorious M.O.M. has this really nasty habit of filtering all information in an attempt to give herself more power and, I think, in hopes of making me go to her for the news. (Not gonna happen.)

As a courtesy, I called back and told her I was driving into an area with bad cell coverage (so I could easily end the call) and she told me ... nothing useful.

This morning, wondering just what the hell was up, I started calling the hospitals in the city where my sister teaches college, and asked, Is Dr. HW there? It didn't take long. Thank god university towns tend to be small. This one only had three or four hospitals where one might reasonably go for mysterious ailments.

In between the medical news of my dad's "neighboring" cancer and my sister's medical mystery, there came a most curious, dramatic, entralling and highly disturbing story of survival from XGF. More details later. She reads this thing -- likes to torture herself, obviously -- and I can't imagine she wants to read about this just yet.

Perhaps when the spinach scare has died down and it's a slow news day, I'll get into it.

Having all this shit swirling around in my head -- wondering, as I am prone to under such circumstances, Who's gonna drop next? -- I've lost some precious sleep.

I've also been drowning under the weight of my reading assignments from the classes I'm taking this term. Well, really, it's only two of the classes that are giving me fits. The third seems to be sinfully easy in comparison.

So with worries abounding and with more than 100 pages to read in the next two days and three lightweight (but still THERE) paper-like things to write before Thursday, what does your UCM do to cope with the stress?

Sleep until 10:30? That's a given. ... But what else? Wine? No. Massage? No. Take two hours out of the middle of her precious afternoon reading time (which was blown all to hell on Monday with everyone talking story) to go shopping? YOU BET!

I needed some rain gear. But, as usual, I came out of the store with a big bag of something else. All I can say, though, is thank the heavens because my cold-weather wardrobe was in even worse shape than my warm-weather stuff. I'd managed to whittle myself down to ONE pair of full-length pants (jeans that used to belong to XGF), and my closet overfloweth with corduroy shirts that are too big and ... just say, "ug" OK? I needed some goddamned clothes.

And now, I must return to the store later this very day and buy the damn rain gear! Because he is appropriately groomed, my dog is waterproof; I, however, am not (on either point).

On the upside, however, I talked to my Tia L this evening -- to ask her when I should toss the shrimp into the jambalaya (as the recipe she dictated to me a couple weeks ago didn't include that information) -- and she informed me of her intent to visit the PNW sometime in the next few weeks. Cool!

And the jambalaya came out good. I shocked myself. But then, Tia L knows her cajun, and I was following her recipe (though I couldn't find Tony Chachere's around these parts). ... I miss New Orleans. But right now, I've got a little bit of her in my fridge, and with any luck, she'll spice up over night.

While I sleep. Presently.