The Sometimes Annual Snowfall Rant- SNOW REMOVAL

Hey there! You guys know me. You know I have some medical issues... chronic pain (fibro and rheumatoid arthritis), I've got some foot issues too (tendinitis and plantar fasciitis), there's tendinitis in my shoulder, and I've had both knees replaced (one almost eight years ago, the other about seven months ago). I even had carpal tunnel surgery in both hands! 

And I have weather-induced asthma.
I call this look "Stagecoach Robber Chic"

And if you know me like you do, you know that I have a huuuuge pet peeve. I really, really hate it when people don't clear the snow off their vehicles before driving them. Look, I understand if you're disabled. Heck, I'm very familiar with disabled people.

Well, this one anyway.

Unless you're disabled and without someone to help or recently injured or surgeried up, I get it. Clearing the snow is just hard work. But if you're at all mobile- like me, I still walk with a slight limp. If you can walk and stand, odds are that you can clear the damn snow off your car. Here... look at my vehicle. That's a 2012 Chevrolet Colorado.

His name is Blueberry.

And, in just about ten or fifteen minutes, I made him look like this!

His name is still Blueberry.

But wait! I can hear you say right now: "C'mon, Pahz, I don't have a fancy brush that can reach the top of my vehicle!" Sure, I get you- you live in an area that gets snow on a nearly annual basis. Multiple times a year. I get you, man. Those brushes are long and don't fit in your car very well. But I bet you own something else. Something magical. Something amazing!!

How amazing? This thing is so amazing that you can use it for different things! It sweeps! It pushes dirt around! It doesn't quite get all of that spilled sugar up onto the dustpan! But I guarantee you that it'll get the snow off your vehicle!

What is that item called?

BEHOLD!! THE MIGHTY BROOM!!

"Oh, yeah. I guess I do have one of those," you say, dejectedly.

I took this simple, humble tool. This common kitchen broom and I used it to take THIS:

His name is STILL Blueberry.

And turn it into THIS:

Lightly dusted Blueberry.

And just HOW did a gimpy, pain-filled, asthmatic, slightly bitchy short woman do this?

Well, it was easy, really. I went "outside" and I approached my truck with the broom in my hand and I started at the top of my truck and worked my way down. I know it might be a little scary at first, but trust me, you can do it. I did it. And there was over eight inches of snow on my truck. Even more than that on the parts where it was drifted. I used my hands and my arms to lift the broom and I walked around my vehicle.

I had feet when I started this.

When I was done, I was a little dusted with snow, but I survived it because it isn't a hard thing to do!! You have no excuse. You don't need fancy tools or implements! You can take a simple household broom to achieve the dream. I have faith in you! YOU CAN DO IT!! Go! Go and get your broom! Take it outside! Use it to brush that snow off your car or truck or minivan or full-size van.

If I could fly with this, I wouldn't
need it to clear the snow off my truck.

I don't want you to be alarmed, but you might get some of the snow ON you when you do this. So, dress appropriately for snow-work. Today, I was wearing jeans, shirt, scarf, jacket, my red Docs, and my awesome mittens.

Those mittens are available at the
Sheepskin Shop at the Bristol Renaissance Faire.
You thought I wouldn't mention it in a post about snow, did you?

"I don't think this is a problem," I hear you say. That means that you're part of the problem! You drive around with thick layers of snow all over your vehicle and you don't care that you can cause problems with that snow. It can affect another driver's visibility. It can literally fly off in chunks, hitting other cars. Maybe you'll get lucky and that huge bit of snow on your roof that has melted slightly will come off in one big sheet and hit the ground. That's great! Till the sun goes down and that humble slab of snow-ice freezes and now you have a road hazard. All because you didn't have the same strength and agility as a mildly gimpy, chronic pain-addled, asthmatic, short and fat chick. Or her stroke-disabled husband. Yeah, he can clear his full-sized truck off using a broom and he does it one-handed. I hope you feel bad about that... because all these people should. And, it turns out, in some places, this is against the law. THE LAW. AGAINST IT.

All photos were taken today, on the drive to/from the grocery store. At stop signs and in the parking lot(s) where I stopped my vehicle to get the photos. I get road rage, I don't cause it... I mean, at least I don't try to cause it.

If you click the picture, it'll get bigger.
That's what she said!
This time, she did say that.

Come on, people. Really? REALLY!?

Dreaming about Sunshine...

We've had so many cloudy days that I've had dreams about sunshine. They're totally normal dreams, like I'll wake up (in the dream) and see sunlight shining through my bedroom window. In the dream, I sit up in bed and look out into my backyard through the blinds and see lush green grass and trees, with golden morning sunlight streaming through. Only to wake up and see nothing but clouds (or, darkness, depending on the time).

And, of course, with the clouds, we've had rain. So much humidity that even when it wasn't raining, the ground stayed wet. Fog nearly every night. I don't have to tell you how much pain I've been in- you can assume
"a fuck-ton" of pain. And, with that pain, I've had the drag-me-to-the-floor exhaustion. Most nights, when I get in bed, it almost feels like my muscles are vibrating with pain.

AAAANNND... I'm on day seven of the generic of Cymbalta. The "mild" side effects I've had have been slight dizziness and a little nausea. Nothing I can't deal with, but having that on top of everything else has been a wonderful little trip through a suburb of Hell. I suspect actual Hell has lower humidity. "Actual Hell"... Hell Proper, really. Back to the generic of Cymbalta- it does seem to be helping me sleep better. I'm still taking one muscle relaxer at night (with my Vicodin, still) and one in the morning. The pharmacist told me to stop taking those as I needed and that the side effects would last about a week or two.

I'm just waiting for the "makes the pain go away" part. That's all I want.

The other day, I was reading an article or something about fibro (because, why not?) and it gave an excellent description of how fibro feels. I've likened it to being hit by a truck, thrown from a horse, post-workout pain, lactic acid overload, and so on. The article- and I can't find the damn link now- said it somewhat like this: "When someone is poked in the arm, they feel pressure. Their brain receives the signal that pressure has been applied to the area. A person with fibro feels pain." So, where a normal person feels acknowledgement of touching, a fibro sufferer feels like they're being stabbed with an ice pick.

The "ice pick" analogy is my own. Just don't poke me in the goddamn arm, okay? Or stab me with an ice pick. A hug is way nicer than both of those things.

As for the "talks about photography" part of this thing- about a week and a half ago, I got to do something cool...

~Thee Bluebeard Visits Santa~ (and Santa is a familiar face from Bristol).

And later that week, I caught a couple photos of a cardinal. Normally, cardinals in my yard fly away and sit just out of zoom lens range for me. But I was in Racine and this cardinal apparently hadn't gotten the memo from the others to avoid me.






And because the holidays are being crammed down your throat, here are a few photos I've taken in the last couple years. Happy Whatever Holiday You Celebrate!

And now we're going back...

Back to the muscle relaxers and hydrocodone cocktail.

I didn't call the doctor after my last blog post. I waited a week. Just in case... I wanted to give the new dose time. Well, I called yesterday. She called me back today. And for now, we're going back to the Flexeril (cyclobenzaprine) and Vicodin (hydrocodone) that I've been taking.

Now, if we recall, I was on Gabapentin for a while and it made me swell. Then we went back to the muscle relaxers and those worked till last Spring when they stopped working. Speaking of swelling... after the swelling from the Venlafaxine went away, I went down a jeans size. So, hopefully, these will work for me while we wait on the request for Cymbalta. (I just saw my friend roll his eyes again- and I'll see it in person when I see him next week)

I'm all for it, if it will get me through Teslacon. That's in a week and two days. And goddammit, I want to have fun. (who am I kidding? I'm going to have fun even if I'm in pain because TESLACON!).

I've had a couple more late nights since that last blog post (last night was one of them) and my pain has been off the charts on a few days. (more than a few, most. Most days I feel like hammered shit). Today, most of the pain is focused in my hands and wrists. And one shoulder, because fuck being able to use my arms. (I still have to finish up some costume stuff for Christine and Casey for Teslacon). In fact, typing is killing my right hand/wrist right now.

So, to wrap up this short update... here are some photos from my Instagram. Yeah, I have one of those too.

My sofa companion for season 2 of "House of Cards". #chihuahua #dog #pet

A photo posted by Patty (@pahz_on_instagram) on Oct 10, 2014 at 4:24pm PDT

Moved to the bigger sofa, got a bigger companion... well, this one and two more Chihuahuas as well. #dog #germanshepherd #GSD #pet

A photo posted by Patty (@pahz_on_instagram) on Oct 10, 2014 at 5:21pm PDT

Luna... this is what happens when your human is a photographer. A typical "stare while human eats" turns into a dramatic photo shoot. And then INSTAGRAMMED! #chihuahua #dog #pet #shadows

A photo posted by Patty (@pahz_on_instagram) on Oct 10, 2014 at 10:40am PDT

Busted. He caught me. #chihuahua #dog #pet

A photo posted by Patty (@pahz_on_instagram) on Oct 10, 2014 at 12:54pm PDT

Day seven... 7 days... a full week...

At what point can we change it from: "I'm having a fibro flareup" to "Well, this is a bad fibro spell..."? Because I've been having a flareup for seven straight days so far. Every day, I chomp down extra pain meds just to get through my day. And gods forbid I have to do anything on those days. I've been taking daytime pain meds just to deal with sitting around my house in pain. The days I have to leave the house, I take my pain meds to time with my activity. Just yesterday, I waited till 12 noon to take my pain meds, so they'd be in full force when I got to my daughter's college (her dorm room is on the third floor, no elevator! Maybe its the second floor, I don't really know, there's a lot of stairs).

Since I put off those meds till I left, I spent hours in a joint-crushing agony. My muscles burned, my joints felt like they were being smashed together. Even my robot knee felt like a human knee. I'm sure that sensation was merely muscle/tendon pain, since the actual joint is, you know, cyborg. About 45 minutes into my 70-ish minute drive, I felt the Vicodin kick in... and it was like a wave of relief. It didn't kill the pain (never does), but it eased the pain enough that I was able to relax my body somewhat. Upon arrival, I conquered those stairs, then I went down to Lake Michigan to take a short, text-able video for the Disabled Guy. And of course, I took some photos.

When I got home at 6 PM (that would be me being gone for literally exactly six hours), the Vicodin had started to wear off and all my muscles were stiffened up when I had to climb out of my vehicle.

And now today... day fucking seven. I'm officially changing the name of this "flareup" to "spell". I'm  having a fibro spell. This is a hellish session. I'm hoping this incident doesn't last much longer. This fibro term can't keep going. How about outburst? Fibro explosion? No, that sounds like "flareup".

With this week-long session of Hell, I've been simultaneously aware of my body and completely out of touch with it. I usually have spatial awareness, as in, I know how fat I am. But these last few days, I've bumped into things that I normally swing by without a problem. And no, I'm not bumping into things because of a neurological issue. Its because I'm shuffling and limping, so my body is swinging around in an abnormal way.

I'm also in a love-hate relationship with my clothes. I need to wear clothes, but I don't want to wear them. I need soft clothes, but then, I need to do laundry. These are things that I don't want to deal with... can't I just wear jeans and a shirt without having to decide if the fabric is soft enough? Speaking of jeans- that's the one piece of clothing I have no choice in... jeans are jeans. Not much I can do about that. And I'm sorry all you yoga pants wearers, you may look fabulous in a pair of yoga pants, but I do not and I am not wearing them out in public.

"But what about YOUR comfort? Fuck the haters!" I hear you saying. Well, I'm more comfortable in jeans in public. I don't know how to explain it. It's a mental thing- jeans or ren faire clothes. That's all my ass will be covered in when its out there in public.

I'm gonna wrap this up because I'm hungry and I'm going to make myself a sandwich for dinner. Maybe two. (turkey on whole wheat with Swiss cheese and lettuce- because I know how to party hard on a Friday night!). Also, the dogs need to go out and there isn't anyone else who can work the doorknob.

"Have kids," they said, "They can do chores," they told me. Well, They failed to mention that those kids grow up and move out and have "lives" and "jobs" that make it impossible for them to come here and be at my beck and call. Damn kids...

Well Played, Fibro, well played...

*slow clap*

I've been procrastinating. I've put off writing this blog for almost a whole week. Lack of motivation, exhaustion, pain, stress... take your pick. On Monday, I procrastinated writing this by going to the store. And we all know how I hate going to the store.

I am a goddess when it comes to procrastination. And the weird thing about that is that when I used to do it, I would suddenly become more creative or become inspired. I had a deadline for homework or something and if I waited to the day before it was due, it would end up being some of my best work. I was even late on a photography assignment. And the teacher had a policy- if you were late, she took points off per day that you were late. I handed in my assignment on panning two days late. I should have had an entire letter grade taken off for that. She gave me an A anyway, because "it was too good for me to give it a B..." her words to me.

My body has decided that since I won't write a blog post in the daytime, it would help me get it out in the nighttime.
Well played, Fibrofuckingmyalgia, well played...

So, one would think that procrastinating this blog post for a week would result in something fantastic. Nope. Not so much. What we are getting, though, is a blog post brought to us by Insomnia Lite. And did I even start this when I got out of my wide-awake bed? No. I went to Facebook where I replied to some posts and then bitched about the fake insomnia. And then I read a really cool Buzzfeed article about one of the jousters I know.
AND THEN I WROTE MY BLOG POST   Nope! Not even then! I opened Photoshop and dug out my backup hard drive to find some photos from last year's Janesville Ren Faire to add text saying: "Soon". But then I stopped myself, because c'mon, I needed to type this up, right?

Here I am, having the all-over-itchy-body thing. And don't get me started on the muscle thing. I'm having the pain, of course. But not just pain, I have an all-over tightness in my muscles too. I feel like I need a good stretch.

"Why don't you just take a moment and stretch things? You used to be athletic, right? You know how to stretch properly..." 

YOU WOULD THINK SO, WOULDN'T YOU?!

As I lay in my bed (Laid? Lied? Lain? Slain?), itching and awake and achy, I decided to do some stretching to ease that muscle tightness. It didn't go exactly as planned... my quad- that's that big-ass muscle in the back of the thigh, right? You know, right under the ass? That big-ass muscle on the back of my thigh decided to remind me it existed by getting a cramp of Charlie Horse proportions. So... that. I started to stretch my arms and shoulders, but I felt that sharp tightening, so I stopped before it became a full-blown Armlie Horse.

To add to this general discomfort, my desk chair broke a few weeks ago (it had a good and busy life, supporting my ass- through the knee replacement and everything, so it was at least five years old). So I took my dad's. I mean, c'mon, he's not using it. Apparently, his ghost was, because it lasted a week in my house before it broke. (I have no idea how old his chair was). So, the Ghost of Dad decided that he didn't like me taking his chair and it broke... it literally broke beyond use the day I ordered a new office chair online (it should be here Friday!). I'm sitting on a hard metal folding chair with a sofa throw pillow on it. I would have thought with an ass as large as mine that I'd have a little built-in padding. Turns out, that's just for show. I'm sitting up so perfectly straight that my 8th grade typing teacher would be proud. (I'm also typing without looking at my hands, because that's how I was taught and my keyboard is on a little shelf under the top of my desk- good thing schools taught girls how to type in the early 80s, right?).

Oh, I do have one good thing to say... remember how excited I was about having that shot in my foot? Well, less than a week later, it was back to its usual level of Railroad Spike Hammering pain. I waited another few weeks, because I wasn't sure how long it should take to go into full effect. The last time I had it done was while I was under anesthesia for my total knee replacement and I was on the fabulous pain medication known as Oxycontin. I even had Morphine the day after the surgery. That was a fun drug. As the nurse put the needle into my IV tube, I was writhing in pain and as she pressed the syringe plunger (that's what that thing is called, right?), I asked: "How long will it be before this takes effect?" Except I said it more like this: "How long till ThIs TaKeSSssss uhhhhffff-ehhhcktuh?" And then I woke up four hours later.

So you can see that I wasn't sure how long that shot would take to work. I went back after four weeks and the doctor discussed my options with me. And so as not to bore you to bits again, I covered that in a blog post on Conversations with the Disabled Guy. To summarize- my choices were "another shot and hope for the best" or surgery. And the surgery needs 6 weeks to recover. And I won't have that kind of time till November. Just a reminder- my fibro made my knee replacement recovery last a year and a half instead of just a year. So quite obviously, I can't count on my body going along with that 6-week timeline.

We opted for the "another shot and hope for the best" option. And good news- it worked this time. Now the only pain I have to deal with is the fibro (and the tendinitis in my feet and shoulder, and the arthritis in my hands and wrist... but hey, that's okay!).

I'm sitting here, in the middle of the night, on a horrible metal folding chair and sofa pillow, listening to Flo Rida, and itching like I've got some kind of medieval disease.

But at least my left foot doesn't hurt.

And we've got 39 days till the Janesville Renaissance Faire.

Bring it.

It shouldn't have been unexpected, but it was...

"Plans? You-chuckle-you had plans?!" [insert maniacal laughter]

That's what Fibrofuckingmyalgia said to me today. I started out the day with such high hopes. I did. We finally got past our bitterly cold weather. A couple weeks ago, I unplugged the space heaters that we have in the kitchen to keep our pipes from freezing. And I decided that it was time to go ahead and put those heaters away for the year and put all the crap back in the cabinets so I could have full access to the rest of my kitchen. (we take most of the stuff out of the cabinets when we use space heaters, lest we become a statistic).

I had to go to the store today. I had to. The youngest kid will be home this week for Spring Break and I didn't have any food that she would need for, you know, living. She's been super-stressed out, so I told her I'd get comfort food ingredients. (she even quoted me on Facebook with that fact). So, I had to go to the store.

And the store was crowded. And it ended up taking me a lot longer than I expected. So, after zig-zagging the most giant of all giant grocery stores, I got home, got my stuff inside, put away the stuff that could be put away... and then my body said: "You're done. Sit down. SIT DOWN NOW OR I WILL DRAG YOU TO THE FLOOR LIKE A WEAK MUNCHKIN!"

So, I sat down. I spent the next couple hours trying not to fall asleep sitting upright. I didn't want to take a nap because I don't want to screw up my sleep cycle (again). After sitting for a while, I had trouble getting up. And by "trouble", I mean that I rocked back and forth and flailed like an upturned turtle till I had enough momentum to thrust my body into a more solid position for putting my feet on the floor.

On top of this mind-numbing exhausted feeling, I now have pain. All through my arms and legs. And by "legs" I mean "the entire area from my waist down and a little bit of my waist-up, but not all of it".

The weather changed again- it had gotten warm. So warm that not even a jacket was needed yesterday. Today? Its about 20° cooler and windy. Every time I take the dogs out, I can feel the cold seeping into my muscles.

All this time, while fighting the pain, my brain keeps fighting with the exhaustion. My attention span is almost to Goldfish Levels and I can't focus even on "The Princess Bride" which came on cable while I was upturned-turtling. (they're at the wedding scene- "Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us togevah today"- and I don't even care. Dread Pirate Roberts is here for my soul and he can have it. Maybe he can do something with it).

On top of all that, it looks like its going to be a gorgeous sunset evening. And I really want to go get some photos of that. But I also don't really want to stand outside and let the cold make my fingers so stiff I can't move them. But it looks like its going to be really pretty out there.

What I need right now is for clouds to move in and block out the sun- that way I won't have to go take photos of it. I also need a chef to come cook me dinner- that way I don't have to go cook dinner for myself. I also need a maid- that way I don't have to reassemble the lower cabinet areas of my kitchen by myself. And I need a dog walker- that way I don't have to take the dogs out.

I guess I should go ahead and charge my camera battery. And find something for dinner. And take the dogs out.

The cabinets can wait till tomorrow.

Or the next day.

EDIT- the clouds rolled in and I decided not to drive out for sunset photos. 

Questions and Answers, translated

Over on my Facebook, I don't want to be "that guy". I don't want all of my status updates and posts to be all whiny and seemingly attention-seeking. I mean, in general status updates ARE attention-seeking, because c'mon, do you really care that I can hear my clothes dryer while wearing my hearing aid? But I don't want people to give me head-pats and imaginary hugs for having this stupid disease. I don't mind when I get actual hugs (even if I'm having a flareup and it hurts, because that happens sometimes) and I hate to put on a smile and get medical advice from people because their mother's sister's aunt-in-law tried something and it worked for them. (c'mon, everyone with a chronic anything has heard THAT story before).

But in real life... there are times in my life when I have to leave the house that don't actually involve putting on awesome clothes and hanging out with several hundred people dressed in similar (and better) awesome clothing. And, sometimes, there are people out there who ask seemingly benign questions. And I've mentioned this before- but I'm too lazy to look up my own blog link, so I'm probably going to repeat myself a bit. But these people, they generally don't really want to know the real answer to the questions they ask, because they work in the industry that requires them to ask the questions or at least be polite (which sucks for them, because not everyone is like me or my kids and those jerks tend to take out frustrations on those people despite them having no control over what's happening).

Let me get back to the questions. The most loaded question I get these days is: "How are you?" And it comes in a few varieties- "How are you?", "How is everything", "How's things?", "Everything good?"

Of course, I answer these questions with: "Fine" or "Good", even the slightly truthful: "Okay" but things aren't okay. On any given day, I could answer with: "Well, I'm still feeling sad that my dad died. And I also feel guilty, because my mom died two years ago and I don't remember it being this hard on me. And I know that's because I still had Dad around, but the guilt is still there. I just really miss my parents."

Today's answer would have been: "Well, my skin is aching like a giant scraped knee and I'm feeling slightly itchy, so you can imagine how thrilled I am to be wearing clothes right now" but I didn't think that was the appropriate thing to say to the cashier at the grocery store.

"I have a red-hot railroad spike being hammered into my heel with every step I take."

"I considered going to the housewares aisle and using that ergonomic handled vegetable peeler to peel off the itchy layers of my skin."

"My muscles hurt so much right now that I feel like I'm on fire. On fire and recently hit by a truck. Probably a truck full of broken glass and gasoline, but otherwise I'm fine."

"The pain in the bottom of my foot feels like my tendons are being pulled so tight that they're shredding apart..." (alternate answer- "...my tendons feel like they're being sawed on with jagged glass.")

"My legs are swollen. These are boot-cut jeans and I can't feel where the fabric ends and my leg begins."

"I really wanted to take a nap in the bin full of pillows over there."

Well, that last one could be said by anyone, I'm sure.

There are only a few people in my life that ask me how I'm doing and I'm sure they want to really know. A couple of them carry swords, so if I'm not near a housewares aisle, I could still get my skin flayed if I were having that type of flareup near them. We could do a demonstration for the patrons. Educational! But for the most part, nobody wants to hear the real answers. And I can't say I blame them. I don't want to tell those real answers to most people.

Be warned- good people of Earth- if you ask me how I'm doing and I give you the bland "Fine" answer and you ask how I'm REALLY doing because you really want the honest answer- I might start crying. If you hug me, I can't guarantee that I'm going to let go. Things are gonna get awkward, people. Very awkward. But don't worry, no matter how awkward things get, rest assured that I leave my house fully clothed no matter how much my skin hurts. Because that's a level of awkward that even I can't deal with.

I leave you now with a mobile phone photo of how I sit while watching TV.

The longest 2 1/2 weeks of my life so far...

If you're on my Facebook, then you already know. My father passed away on November 4th. It was sudden. We certainly weren't expecting it. He called me that afternoon. He asked me how Teslacon went (it was fantastic, in case you were wondering), we talked about the kids and what they were up to, and he asked to borrow a nail gun. No rush on it, he was done traveling for the year and was going to winterize his RV. It was about a fifteen minute call, around 130 PM.

At 1130 PM, I got the call from the ER in town. I had just gone to bed because I was editing my Teslacon photos. I had just literally hit the pillow with my head when the phone rang. Of course, they wouldn't tell me anything over the phone. I rushed to the hospital the same way I did when Dad called me about Mom. I ran a red light or two, ran a stop sign or few. [here's the blog post about my mom]

At the ER, they took me to the "Quiet Room". That's what the room is actually called. I knew something bad was happening. Because "Quiet Room", really? I was hoping they'd come in and tell me he had a heart attack, they found more blockages, he was sedated, they would do surgery soon... because he was fine. Moments after they left me in the Quiet Room, the ER nurse came in. Before she even completed the sentence, I burst into tears. I sobbed, I don't remember what she told me during those moments.

I asked if I could see him. Because it didn't feel real. It couldn't be real. It hadn't been two years yet, since Mom died. I wasn't ready for this. While leading me to the room, she was telling me things like how he would have tubes in him, the medications they pumped into him caused some bloating, and I said: "I was there when he had two bypass surgeries, I've seen him like that." Or something similar. My point was that I've seen him looking terrible and full of tubes.

He looked normal. His eyes were open. I paced a bit in that big room, as the two nurses (I don't know where the second one came from) gave me details. He was at a neighbor's house. The paramedics shocked him six times. The ER another five times. Since he wasn't in his own house, they didn't have his emergency paper that had the list of his medications and my contact information. They looked in his cell phone (an extremely old flip-phone) and didn't know who to call. I was first in the list. "A-Patty Daughter Home" and "B-Patty Daughter Cell" because he wanted my phone number at the top of the list. (he changed that in his phone when my mom became too sick). They called and left a message on my brother's cell phone. Then they called my cousin in Arizona- because they had the same uncommon last name as my dad.

My name? Smith.

The nurse remembered the name- because my mom was a home health aid, so she searched the internet for my mom's obituary. And found my name. And called my home phone from the local phone book.

So, pacing a little. It was probably three steps, turn, three steps. The nurse asked if I had any questions. I said: "No." I looked at my dad and said: "Dammit, Dad. I'm not ready for this." and I looked over at the nurse: "I wasn't done with him yet, you know? I still needed him."

They gave me his belongings. They took the Masonic ring off his hand and gave it to me. He had his and Mom's wedding rings melted down and made into that one ring. They led me back to the Quiet Room. I called my house and told the Disabled Guy he needed to come to the hospital. Then I called my Uncle David and Aunt Sandy. That's my mom's brother. I didn't know who else to call yet. After Aunt Sandy offered to come to the hospital, I called my kids. My daughters live out of town, both are in college. My son lives closer. He came to the hospital. Somewhere in the middle, I called my brother from my dad's phone. I actually called his wife's cell phone.

The conversation that I had was absolutely, stunningly ridiculous. I started to cry again while talking to them. I had to repeat myself over and over that it was Dad. And he died. I was at the ER and Dad died. And there I was, having the stupidest conversation in the world with the brother who cut himself off from the family for almost a decade. In the two years since Mom died, it wasn't much better. The whole time I was talking to first his wife, then my brother- all I could think was: "I'm having the Jackie conversation right now."




I wish I was exaggerating. Of course, I didn't end it the same way, but that's essentially how it went. (with sobbing in between, of course).

My aunt and uncle showed up shortly after the Disabled Guy arrived. My son showed up. The coroner showed up and we went through the paperwork part of a relative's death.  Then the brother and his wife. Aunt Sandy called my Aunt Janet (Dad's sister). The brother kept saying: "I just talked to him. I just talked to him on his birthday."

Really? His birthday. His birthday on September 5th. You just talked to him two months ago. Oh. Okay. Well, I had just talked to him about nine hours before the ER called me.

My daughter- the older one- lives about forty minutes to the north of us. The younger one lives in the dorm at her college in the same town with the ren faire (an hour and a half away from us). Kat and her boyfriend, Tyler, drove out to Christine's college and picked her up. In the almost-two-hours it took them to get there, Christine's friends were with her.

The one thing I did that night that I absolutely regret- I gave my brother that ring. My dad told me a year ago that he had it made and that it was with their wedding rings. Since it was a Mason ring, I was supposed to give it to the brother, because he was a Mason. Even though he hasn't been to a Mason meeting or event in about 15 years. Even though he cut himself from the family for almost ten years. Even though he was a terrible brother and an awful son and even less of a Mason. The next day, I wished that I hadn't given it to him. He doesn't deserve it.

The memorial service at the funeral home was a special piece of hell. But, they had forty-three Masons in attendance. The funeral home guy said that it was the most Masons they ever had before. He said usually there's ten to fifteen, sometimes twenty. I'm friends with a few of the Masons on Facebook because I've taken photos of the Masonic events (I've been to more Mason-related events in the past year than the brother has in the last fifteen years) and I was told they ran out of aprons. (the Masons wear aprons- if you weren't aware). The Mason funeral service is amazing. And it took ages to get through all those Masons who attended. After they did their thing, they lined up and filed out of the room, pausing to shake hands with the family.

Well, they shook hands with the brother, his wife, the stepson, then Christine, then me. When the Disabled Guy sat down, in an effort to stay out of the way, he sat in the third row back instead of the first. And my kids sat with him. Before the Masons started their service, Christine came up and sat with me. But it should have been just us up there. Me, the Disabled Guy, Kat, (with Tyler), Jason (with Courtney), and Christine. That's it.

As they filed by, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I had tissues in my left hand and I just sobbed into my hand as they took my right hand and expressed their condolences. They grasped my hand, said a few words, and passed my hand off to the next person. I don't even know how I held my hand up- they were probably holding my hand up for me at that point. The Masons I knew paused to hug me.

I'm the executor of the estate. The amount of emotional turmoil I'm having mixed with the stress- it has been surprisingly mild on my fibro. I'm still in pain, but my body is coping with the stress which is helping me muscle through the pain. My hot spots have been absolute agony and the first two weeks, I didn't take any daytime pain meds because I wanted to be absolutely clear-headed.

There have been a few moments when I absolutely cannot go on and end up in tears. Mostly when all the complicated estate stuff comes up. Because I have so many questions and the person I would have called is Dad. He has a guy for everything. Well, now I have some of his guys. They're my guys now. 

Here's my 365 from the morning after the ER. Just like Mom's. 

These last two and a half weeks have been awful and doing my 365 feels more like a chore than anything enjoyable. This may be my last one- I'm going to finish this one (I have less than 90 days left) but I don't feel like I want to start year five. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Oh, one thing- my parents used to joke that they wouldn't die "during faire season" because they knew how busy both Christine and I were during faire season. Dad died the day after Teslacon- which was my last event for the year. (its a Steampunk convention, but most of the cast and tons of patrons were from my faire family). We did have a chuckle about that- perfect timing, Dad.