she's just saying...

Top Ten Tuesday - random queries

Things I've researched on the Google this week:

1. Why does almond butter taste nothing like almonds?
2. How to fix the leak in my drip irrigation pressure regulator
3. Mother's Day, Mothers' Day or Mothers Day?
4. Drop 7 strategies
5. How to break an addiction to Drop 7
6. Whether "Awake" will be cancelled by NBC
7. Mean, mode and median - which is which, again
8. Why do I have tennis elbow in both arms, when I don't even play tennis?
9. Where to buy Woodsy Owl dolls wholesale (seemingly nonexistent)
10. Size 28x32 men's jeans - also don't exist

I guess that kinda sums it all up these days.

 

It's the way you tell it...

Do you know that joke about the comedians who know each other's jokes so well that they refer to them by number?* That's how I feel about my blog these days. Anything I have to say I've already said. I'm currently on vacation back east. Rocking chairs in the Asheville airport: blogged. Summer in North Carolina: here. Life at the beach in Connecticut: done. Fireworks in Bend and the butte catching fire: covered. Been there, blogged that every year. And I really have nothing new to say about any of it.

I'm not complaining, really. There's something to be said for patterns, rituals, tradition. The word I'm using these days is stable. My life is stable. It's where we are right now. A confluence of circumstances - work, Henry, money, single status - are combining to keep my life on a repeating cycle with little variation. I know this is temporary in the scheme of my life. Enough has happened to me in the past that I can coast for a few years without turmoil. I know change  will come again. I know that some will be positive and exhilarating, some not so much.

Meanwhile, I think I'll put this blog on hold for a bit, until I find inspiration in the day-to-day again. I might post a recipe or two, or share some photos via my new super-cool Android phone, but I'm not going to write regularly. I've been wrestling with guilt about not posting and I really don't need more guilt in my life, on top of not walking the dog enough or drilling Henry on multiplying fractions during the summer. I think I'll end for now with a recent comment I received that maybe says it all:

Air Max1 said...

Many thanks sharing! The goal of your site is to report your lifetime and show your personal thoughts. Several thought tend to be specific with me yet incredibly exceptional. What you would like to supply to the modern-day society, I do think I have already been acknowledged that. As long as all of us do good and assume that.

 

Um, thanks, Air Max1! Same back at'cha. Ciao for now.

 

*Oh, the joke:

Three comedians are shooting the breeze at the back of a nightclub after a late gig. They’ve heard one another’s material so much, they’ve reached the point where they don’t need to say the jokes anymore to amuse each other – they just need to refer to each joke by a number. “Number 37!” cracks the first comic, and the others break up. “”Number 53!” says the second guy, and they howl. Finally, it’s the third comic’s turn. “44!” he quips. He gets nothing. “What?” he asks, “Isn’t 44 funny?” “Sure, it’s usually hilarious,” they answer. “But the way you tell it…”

Becoming the church lady

In the religion section of online dating surveys (so I've been told) there's a popular answer option of "spiritual but not religious." I need the opposite: "religious but not spiritual."

I'll say it right up front here: I'm not a Christian. I don't actually believe in a God. But I do go to church, every week, and I have on and off for most of my life. I've attended the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Central Oregon as a member for fifteen years. As we say in the opening words, it's "a place of solace, comfort and community" offering "encouragement to pursue your spiritual journey." Sounds a little whoo-whoo, but if you know Unitarians, it's really not.

I won't go into UU beliefs and principles; it's all here if you're interested. Suffice to say that it's a religion that embraces diversity in all ways. We have a minister, we light candles and sing hymns. We hold Sunday school and bake sales and talent shows. It feels "churchy." We just don't all adhere to the same dogma.

I grew up as a Unitarian, which is fairly unusual in UU congregations. Most members are lapsed something-elses. So for me there's an additional layer of familiarity and connection on top of the fellowship and spiritual fulfillment I receive. And now I've morphed into my parents: I've joined the Church Board.

Up til recently, I was uncomfortable telling people I go to church and I'm involved in church activities. I sensed a change in the way my co-workers and acquaintances assessed me. I'd fight the urge to clarify: "I'm not religious - I'm not even Christian - I'm really a Buddhist. It's a liberal fellowship that..." blah blah.

But I've begun to enjoy watching people reconcile what they know of me and their image of a faithful churchgoer. I relish privately the irony that they are probably so much more "religious" than me, if that's defined in a traditional narrow sense of being a believing Christian. Often, they'll rush to make excuses for why they don't go anymore, as if I might be judging them.

It's a little perverse to be a faithful church-going atheist (which is possibly one of the reasons I am). But just like so many other families, the church has become an important part of our social and spiritual life. Though Unitarians strenuously don't prostheletize, if you're interested in going with me one of these days, just let me know. There are many ways to be religulous, as the movie says.

gall-less

Surgery update: all went well!  I'm sore and woozy tonight, but not too bad. Henry made me buttered macaroni for dinner, my family's comfort food of choice. Haven't seen the aftermath in the kitchen yet...

They sure were eager to get rid of me at the surgery center. A mere 2 1/2 hours after being wheeled into the operating room I was wheeled out to the curb. Very efficient. Cut and dried, so to speak.

An interesting side note is that after writing my post this morning, I've heard from five friends and counting who've also had their gallbladders out. Who knew? I'm honored to have now joined the secret society of the gall-less.

Thanks for the best wishes and warm thoughts. Now to catch up on some movies.

What gall

There is nothing about the gallbladder that's appealing. The name itself, that fact that it holds bile, stones and sludge (yes, it's called sludge), or the pain it causes me at 3 in the morning. So I've decided to get rid of mine. Today.

I've been pretty attached to my gallbladder all my life, but the time has come to part, it seems. As my rather breezy doctor said: "Yeah, if you've got stones and they're bothering you, let's just pull it. You don't need it anyway." I figure Friday the 13th is as good a day as any for abdominal surgery -- at least there should be some good jokes in the operating room.

So, okay! Let's do this thing! I'm going under shortly and will talk to you all on the other side.

I couldn't subject you to disgusting shots of a gallbladder, so here's picture of the High Desert Museum's new baby porcupine instead. Enjoy.

Another evening on the farm

Every so often on this blog, I indulge in a little self-congratulatory strut. After all, it's my blog. It generally follows the same theme: most of the time I feel like a complete sloth and that the details of life are about to swallow me up, but occasionally I chance to look back and realize I just accomplished an impressive list of chores.

Last evening, after work and before bedtime, I accomplished the following:

• Took Bindi for a vet visit and to the dog park
• Made grilled salmon caesar salad for dinner
• Made banana cream pie (delayed from National Pie Day)
• Finished, washed and blocked a knitted lace shawl
• Did a load and a half of laundry
• Prepped a chicken for brining
• Cleaned out the fridge to fit in the pie and chicken
• Slaughtered a hog and framed the barn

OK, not the last two, but it felt like it. And then I wrote this blog post.

Photos of the shawl to come, because photos of a brined chicken and half-eaten banana cream pie are not that appetizing, really.

 

 

The Color Purple

Over my life, I've fallen in and out of love with many different... colors. [I bet you thought I was going to say men. That's also true, though a topic for another post.]  As a child, gazing at pink and blue together actually gave me a physical thrill. That's no longer true, sadly. I went through a red phase, including painting a bedroom wall deep enamel red in high school which my mother approved, bless her heart. Pink and coral are still perennial favorites, though not with blue, and brown has wormed its way back into my wardrobe, almost supplanting black, though not totally. And you may remember my recent fling with chartreuse that continues still.

But as #1 Sister knows, I've always intensely disliked the color purple. This makes me an anomaly in my family: it's MyBigBro's favorite non-black color, my mom and #1 both like it, and Dr. Sister likes "jewel-tones" including purple; but me, not. [Note to self: query dad re: opinion of purple.]

That's why I was more than a little freaked out when I realized that the last six balls of yarn I've purchased have all included purple. Real purple, not just a certain shade of blue-ish lilac which I've always kind of liked.

Check this out:

So clearly I can no longer categorically state that I don't like purple.

However, I can still say that I really dislike dark green. And burnt orange. Especially together, or when they're with purple. I don't think that will change, but you never know...

I think it's interesting that color preferences can change. Have you warmed up to a formerly-rejected color, or fallen out of love with a certain hue?

End-ing Up

I was playing a game with a friend the other day, and he asked: "What was the most fun day of your life?" It wasn't a day, but an entire weekend, the one when I turned 50.

After the usual backing out, reconsidering and re-making of plans, Neighbor X and I flew to San Francisco. A friend of his ran a grand old hotel there and upgraded us into a lovely room with a stunning bath (the crucial part of any hotel room). We got there in the evening and got ready to hit the town.

Our destination was the legendary End Up, a dance club/bar/garden/lounge scene. It was Gay Night and we got there in time for a silly transvestite performance that set the tone. They were pumping fresh air into the dance floor filled with hot shirtless guys dancing to deep house thumps and disco remixes. The dance floor and lounge opened onto a garden patio with private areas, twinkly lights, tropical plants and fountains, very magical in the early morning hours.

We hung out for awhile with a bunch of little gay asian guys who were funny and sweet. Everyone kept asking us "Where are you from?" (I guess our fleece jackets gave us away)

and "Are you having fun?" Later on, the after-hours crowd started coming in, more hetero but still cool. The party went all night and picked up more steam early Saturday morning when a drummer came in to accompany the house d.j.  At one point they stopped serving alcohol for an hour or so with no visible decline in the happy level for reasons I needn't explain. It was a fun, friendly, exhilarating scene.

We danced, drank and visited til sometime the next morning, left the still-pumping party, took off with some new best friends and hung out at our hotel. We had plans that evening to go out for dinner, but never made it. We relaxed with room service, long baths and a movie.

The next day we drove to Calistoga, touring wineries along the way. Schramsberg had a champagne cave built into a hill, very romantic, where we toasted to my birthday with some other guests.

Opus One had all that is Opus One. Classic elegance and classic wine.

We ended the weekend in with mud baths, champagne, shopping, wonderful lunches and a picnic in the vineyards.

Once home, we went back to the frustrating dance of attraction and separation, never to change.

I've moved on from that relationship; still, I keep the memory of that wonderful weekend and take it out now and then to savor.

So, think about it -- what is your favorite weekend/day/night memory?  Is it one you can share?

Anosmia

Meaning: a lack of functioning olfaction, or in other words, an inability to perceive odors. I've been plagued with this condition for periods in my life due to sinus conditions, and let me tell you, it stinks.

I'm motivated to write this today because this latest cold has killed my sense of smell again.  And with that, the ability to taste anything subtler than thai chili paste. I was making a chicken dish last night and snipped some tarragon to add to it. I chewed on a few leaves and thought: my tarragon is a dud! What happened? It was like I was eating a piece of grass. I asked my resident taster, Henry, to chew on some and tell me what he thought. He was at a loss to describe it but definitely tasted something. ("Not really  mint, but green, kind of like that other green stuff [basil] but not really. More weird. Kind of bitter, but a little sweet...")

So, tarragon is gone. As is chocolate and vanilla and any other pleasurable flavor, really.

I went through almost a year of no smell a few years ago and actually got pretty depressed. There's no good season for it: you miss spring lilacs, summer grass mowing, fall cider and Christmas trees. Unfortunately I didn't lose weight, as I kept on eating trying in vain to capture some hint of flavor. I found I gravitated toward fried food as there was at least some satisfaction in the "fatty mouth feel" as we used to say in the snack biz.  I think the worst was eating a brownie: absolutely nothing.

This is how I test my sense of smell: I open a bottle of rubbing alcohol and sniff. If I get nothing, no good. The only good news that I've found is that the world actually smells more bad than nice and you skip those odors as well. It was a good time to be at the diaper stage, for one thing. And when my smeller comes back, it's always a surprise how many things smell. Dishwashing liquid, hand cream, the garbage bin, office supplies, Henry's laundry hamper, cat food - I'm bombarded with a cacaphony of scent.

As an anosmiac,  you get no sympathy. If you lose any other sense (hearing, vision, touch) it's taken seriously, but losing your sense of smell is seen as kind of a joke. Or at least trivial. There's a web forum for folks like me (of course) where we console each other and discuss possible treatments and the inconvenience of it all. It has the tone of nobody knows the troubles we've seen: really, it's a disability! It's dangerous! You could miss a gas leak! a fire! or poison yourself with sour milk!

Anyway, I'm hopeful that this time it's a temporary cold-related differently abledness. I'll let you know. Meanwhile, if I faint, don't bother with the smelling salts.

totally sick

I'm sick. Really sick. It's supposedly just a cold, but I've never had one this bad. I'm suspicious that it may even be the flu, though no one supports me on that. I've got it all:

• headache
• sneezing
• congestion
• runny nose
• sore throat
• body ache
• fatigue
• fever

And it's gotten worse at the week has gone on. Poor me. And poor Henry! The first thing to go was my patience, unfortunately. I won't go on about how hard it is to be a single mom when you're sick - it's too whiny and pitiful. But it's hard. Anyway, no posting til I feel better. And no photos, as piles of tissues are hard to shoot.

 

 

The conservation of bustedness

Part of my August blog-cation: rerun from August 2008 (as are the first 3 comments...)

My big bro Steve has always espoused the theory of the "conservation of bustedness." In essence, it means that if you successfully fix something, something else must break. I always thought it was one of his semi-serious paranoid delusions, but allow me to pour myself a BIG glass of wine and tell you about my day.

I won't talk about Mary-who-stays-with-me-weekends's 55-pound puppy who frolicked in my carefully landscaped pond, tried to pick up the kitten with her "soft" mouth, ripped up Flash's special frisbee and chased both my cats, all before noon. No, this is about the smoke alarms.

I have seven interconnected smoke alarms in my four-bedroom home. That means when one goes off, the others all chime in helpfully. Today one of them went off (false alarm) but of course we couldn't tell which. So Mary and I ran around with our fingers in our ears changing the old batteries, and thought that was the end of it. Of course, fixing them meant something else had to go bust (according to the theory), so when cleaning up the mud the ladder left behind, I realized my fancy-schmancy vacuum cleaner could barely suck through a straw. Then a smoke alarm went off again (with all new batteries!) so we went running around trying to pinpoint the offender again.

Meanwhile, Flash (just a tad neurotic) panicked over the alarms, bolted out of the house and down the street, the labrador puppy gleefully following. We had to drive around the neighborhood for some time til we located them, brought them home and tried to figure out the smoke alarms again. Of course we couldn't pull the car all the way into the garage because Henry's bike was in the way (did I mention I ran over his bike Friday and had to get it fixed for $99?). Henry came back from looking for Flash and pushed the garage door closer which began to bang rhythmically on the roof of my car, having run off its rails and gone berserk, finally crumpling in defeat.

So now I need new smoke alarms, a new garage door and a vacuum repaired. How was your Sunday?

Hair Play

Another account I worked on in LA was the Mattel advertising account. I only worked on one small part of it, as it was a vast empire made up of divisions such as Matchbox, Large Dolls, Boys Toys, Polly Pocket and of course, Barbie. (I worked on Boys Toys including some weird air hockey puck, WWF wrestling dolls and the Ren & Stimpy Talking & Farting Dolls. Ah, those were the good times.)

One of my favorite things about the account was the unique language used (love weird niche vocabulary). For example, to brief the creative team, we had to identify the wow factor of each toy. And the Barbie and Small Doll folk frequently discussed the intricacies of Hair Play. 

I am reminded of this lately because I'm engaged in some Hair Play myself. I've been growing my hair longer and have hit the level of Below The Collar Bone, the longest I've ever had my hair. I've always been a short hair person, and am having a bit of adjustment to being a long hair person. Do you put it inside your shirt collar or outside? In front of your shoulders or back? How often do you wash it? How do you style it? All questions I never had to deal with before.

It was looking more and more like cotton candy and not in a good way so I got it trimmed this week. My hairdresser is so good that I hesitate to give out her name.* We've been together 14 years. I'm not the best advertisement for her because I've got weird hair, fine but wavy and regrettably frizzy. But she always makes my hair look fantastic for the first couple of weeks.

She did it again Monday. She got out a hair iron and "product" (another word I love) and totally changed the texture of my hair. It's silky. I've been tossing my head like a hair model, running my fingers through it and flipping it around. Barbie's got nothing on me this week. At least in hair play.

Before

After

*But I'll tell you anyway. Traci Klune at Salon Indulgence. Tell her Melissa sent you.

Yes or No?

OK, another random wacky meme, this one from a few Facebook pals. I'm only doing this because I want a certain someone else to answer as well. Those who wish to play can copy/paste into an email or Facebook note. C'mon, try it! It's fun! Or at least it's a good way to waste five minutes at work.

"You can ONLY answer Yes or No.

You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone asks, and believe me, the temptation to explain some of these will be overwhelming. Nothing is exactly as it seems.

Tag your friends, etc. etc."

Kissed any one of your Facebook friends? -- Yes
Been arrested? --- No
Been in a fight? --- No
Fallen fast for someone? -- Yes
Regretted a relationship? --- No
Been in a tornado? --- No
Stayed in bed all day? --- Yes
Kissed someone you didn't like? -- Yes
Slept in until 5 PM? --No
Fallen asleep at work/school? --- Yes
Held a snake? -- Yes
Ran a red light? --- Yes
Been suspended from school? ---No
Experienced love at first sight? --- Yes
Totaled your car/motorbike in an accident? ---No
Been fired from a job? --- Yes
Fired somebody? --- Yes
Sang karaoke? --- No
Pointed a gun at someone? --- No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? --- Yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? --Yes
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? --- Yes
Kissed in the rain? --- Yes
Swam in the ocean? --- Yes
Been to a concert? --- Yes
Laughed till you cried? ---Yes
Kissed on the first date? -- Yes
Had a close brush with death (your own)? --- No
Seen someone die? --- Yes
Played spin-the-bottle? --- Yes
Sang in the shower? --Yes
Smoked a cigar? ---Yes
Sat on a rooftop? --- Yes
Smuggled something into another country? --- Yes
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? ---Yes
Broken a bone? --- Yes
Skipped school? --- Yes
Got a speeding ticket? -- Yes
Eaten a bug? --- Yes
Sleepwalked? --- No
Walked a moonlit beach? ---Yes
Rode a motorcycle? --- Yes
Dumped someone? --- Yes
Seen a baby born? --- No
Lied to avoid a ticket? ---Yes
Ridden in a helicopter? --- No
Shaved your head? --- No
Played a prank on someone? --- Yes
Hit a home run? --- No
Cross-dressed? --- No
Been falling-down drunk? --- Yes
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? --- Yes
Eaten snake? --- No
Marched/Protested? --- Yes
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? ---Yes
Puked on an amusement ride? --- No
Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? ---Yes
Been in a band? --- No
Knitted or crocheted? --- Yes
Been on TV? ---Yes
Shot a gun? ---No
Skinny-dipped? ---Yes
Gave someone stitches? --- No
Eaten whole habenero pepper? --- No
Ridden a surfboard? --- No
Drank straight from a liquor bottle? --- Yes
Had surgery? --- Yes
Streaked? ---No
Taken by ambulance to hospital? ---No
Passed out when not drinking? ---Yes
Peed on a bush? --- Yes
Donated Blood? --- Yes
Grabbed electric fence? ---No
Eaten alligator meat? --- No
Eaten cheesecake? --- Yes
Eaten your kids' Halloween candy? --- Yes
Killed an animal when not hunting? --- Yes
Peed your pants in public? --- No
Snuck into a movie without paying? ---Yes
Written graffiti? --- No
Still love someone you shouldn't? --- No
Think about the future? --- Yes
Been in handcuffs? --- Yes
Believe in love? --- Yes
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? --- Yes
Been walked in on having sex? --- No
Forged a signature? --- Yes
Stolen from a store? --- No
Been bungie jumping? -- No
Won the lottery? --- Yes
Visited more than 15 countries? --- Yes
Gambled in a casino? --- Yes
Given a public speech?---Yes

Can this blog be saved?

What, you've given up on me and stopped reading? Okay, I admit, I've been a bit distant lately - maybe it's my fault. Let's try again! I know we can get back on track. How can we work this out? Or is it too late for us?

This is a two-way relationship, you know. You're all just take, take, take. You could step up here and fill in for me - that's what friends do, right?  Are you incapable of picking up the keyboard and doing a little post now and then? Am I asking so much?

Sorry, you're right; it's me, not you. I'm just so unmotivated lately. Maybe I need vitamins. I don't know, it's all just so much sometimes. It's just that you expect so much from me -- I've got a lot on my plate, you know. I could just use a little support.

No, no, I know you support me. I love it when you comment - it makes me feel so loved. You're really good to me, really. You do so much. I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You're the best.

But really, why is it all on me? Yes, yes, I know it's my blog and you shouldn't be expected to do my work. You have your own blogs to manage, I realize. But, really, aren't we a partnership? I know I'd help you in the same situation. I don't want to play the blame game. I'm not blaming you, really. I'm sure you mean well.

You know, let's just drop it. We're both a little upset right now. Maybe we need a little time apart. Or maybe we just need to spend a little more time together, just enjoying each others' company with no expectations. But of course, somebody's got to post around here. I mean, this blog isn't going to just take care of itself. Fine. I'll do it. No, it's fine, really. It's no problem. I'd love to. I do it all for you, you know. It's the least I can do. Love ya', mean it!

Confessions of a sleepaholic.

Mmmmm, sleep. What is more delicious than sleep, really?

Last year was a personally challenging period as I dragged myself through repeated breakups and eye surgeries. Sleep was my refuge and reward. I started going to bed earlier and sleeping later until I was up to about nine and a half hours a night.  Sometimes nothing was worth staying up for, sometimes it was my escape from obligations, sometimes I was just very tired. But it got me through the year in a relatively stable state of mind.

This year I have no good excuses, but now I'm hooked on it. And I have no interest in kicking the habit.

I'm a really good sleeper. I fall asleep within two minutes of hitting the pillow and don't wake up until  Flash's senior-dog bladder kicks in, the alarm goes off or cats start sitting on my chest. On the weekends, I get up, throw them all out and go back to sleep for another hour or two. I guard my sleep time and don't let anything interfere. Henry has learned to his peril not to wake me NO MATTER WHAT. Last night I slept over 10 hours. And I can't wait to get back to bed!

I don't think I'm suffering from depression or a low-grade illness. I just enjoy sleep, and it seems the more I get the more I want. (Isn't that the first sign of addiction?)

Kathi D says that getting a lot of sleep is the latest trend. (Her latest blog post is titled "Sleep is the new awake," a great title IMO). Who knew? I feel mildly disappointed that my recent obsession with sleep is just another car on the trendtrain, but that happens when you're smack in the middle of the baby boom. Nothing we do is original, ever.

I might feel slightly bad about all the time I "waste" asleep, except that I credit it for my mental and physical health. It's the only pleasure I indulge in that's actually good for me. 

I figure I'll eventually get enough, and will find a more balanced equilibrium between sleep and awake. But for now, I'm going to bed. Sleep tight and sweet dreams.

It's your birthday! Take another vicodin!

I can pinpoint the moment birthdays ceased to be exciting. November 13, 2007, when I turned 51.

My fiftieth was fantastic, actually: an all-nighter at a club in San Francisco followed by a tour of the wine country from a little inn in Calistoga. My (younger) boyfriend didn't freak out about my turning fifty (at least not that weekend) and my gal pals took me out for a wonderful dinner and celebration.

51 was unmemorable - I think Henry and I went to Red Robin. And last year on my 52nd I had a migraine and went to bed.

That brings us to this year. It started with an argument and tears about homework (Henry cried too). My eye is blood-filled (sorry), swollen and bruised and I'm spending the rest of the day in bed. Don't worry, I'm not alone: my cats and dog are happily lying on top of me.

But it's really not all bad. A friend came by with flowers, and she and other friends are bringing over dinner tonight. My facebook wall and blog comments are filled with best wishes, another compelling example of the power of social media. And best of all, the entire nursing and office staff at my eye doctor's entered the exam room this morning, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a brownie and candle.

As my sweet doc said: "We feel like you're part of the family." Hmmm... Is that a good thing?

Potatoes? For me? You shouldn't have!

At least I get more intravenous drugs

Rogier van der Weyden's Descent of Christ, Proda Museum

Tuesday it's back to the surgery center for another poke in the eye with a sharp needle.

My eye is still not healing, and after 24 visits to my favorite eye guy in the last two months, we've decided it's time to act.

Warning to the squeamish: gory details in the next paragraph!

[The good news is that the "trap door" created by the first surgery (the trabeculectomy) to relieve the intraocular pressure is still functioning well, the point of the whole exercise. But the conjunctiva surface has never healed completely, and my eye is leaking a bit and is in danger of major infection in the inner eye. So Dr. D is going to haul up the remaining conjunctiva and re-suture.]

It's a quick procedure with shorter recovery and my vision should improve, so no biggie. I don't think I'll need to trigger the casserole parade this time. But it's still a good excuse for a pedicure.

More than you wanted to know

The diagnosis:

Glaucoma, with slight but measurable vision loss in the left eye.

The definition:

"Glaucoma refers to a group of diseases that affect the optic nerve... Raised intraocular pressure is a significant risk factor for developing glaucoma. One person may develop nerve damage at a relatively low pressure [that's me], while another person may have high eye pressure for years and yet never develop damage. Untreated glaucoma leads to permanent damage of the optic nerve...which can progress to blindness."

The recommendation:

Reduce the pressure as much as possible. Since laser surgery and multiple medications have not worked well enough, the next step is filtering microsurgery, i.e. trabeculectomy.

The procedure:

During trabeculectomy a piece of tissue in the drainage angle of the eye is removed, creating an opening. The opening is partially covered with a flap of tissue... This new opening allows aqueous humor to drain out of the eye, bypassing the clogged drainage channels of the trabecular meshwork.

The weird diagram:

 

The risks:

Bleeding, infection, swelling, scarring, retinal detachment, a droopy eyelid, double vision, loss of vision or even loss of the eye.

The result:

I'll let you know...

How to prepare for eye surgery

1. Go to Costco.
2. Clean the house.
3. Freeze casseroles.
4. Mow the lawn.
5. Wash the dog.
6. Begin Pinot Grigio detox.
7. Hit the bank, return library books, rent movies.
8. Get a pedicure.
9. Update the iPod.
10. Remove toe ring.
11. Buy pretty panties.
12. Clean the fish tank.
13. Prepare low-vision knitting strategy.

I think I'm ready.

What would be on your list?

Beestung

Clearly, the universe did not want me to go up to Portland.

First I developed a sinus staph infection (a mere 3" away from my eye as the nurse said), then Henry woke up with pinkeye (can't operate with conjunctivitis in the house), and then, just now, I was stung by bees, one spot of which is a half inch from the operation eye, which has reddened and swollen up prettily.

OK, I get it! Bad idea sliding down into the Neighbor X tarpit! But don't you think the bee was a little overkill?? Sheesh.

(For those who didn't know, I was going to stay at his place in Portland (conveniently 5 blocks from the hospital); I stayed there for the pre-op appointment, we're communicating again and...)

Thank the gods, the goddess, Shiva, the heavens, my angels, a Bodhisattva, the universal spirit, whatever. I got the message. Really. I did cancel the flight, even after a (lukewarm) invitation to come up anyway.

When we're weak, the universe supports us and shows us the way. We just have to listen.

 But really, there's no need to send bees.