I don't think anyone loves their job quite like I do. Todays big duty: test out a java beta. Translation: install a script then play java games all day to make sure it's working properly. How cool is that?
Kevin and I didn't have so much as a squabble last night, so I think our initial problems are getting smoother. I love him so very much. He's losing weight at a rate of knots. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm very glad that he's getting healthier. No question. But sex is significantly less fun with lots of loose skin. And it sucks that I have to watch what I eat really carefully, where he scoffs junk food left and right and just drops the weight like nothingl. This is making my increasingly grumpy. But mostly I'm just glad that he's getting healthy. Type 2 diabetes runs in his family, and lowering any risk factors is so important.
I think chocolate milk might be my new addiction. Mm, I want a meat pie. It's time for lunch anyway. Food is so good right now. I dumbly bought 200$ of groceries last night, I think I'm just showing off how much better Australian food is than American food.
A friend came round last night and we cooked dinner. He works at a fish store, so he brought around come rainbow trumpeter. It was so very, very good. he did this chilli-cream sauce, and I made some rice, asparagus and sweet peas. Mmm, all this food talk is making me hungry. Tonight I think I'll make some tandoori beef with jasmin rice. That sounds good. I wanna get more into cooking curries.
TTC is making me nostalgic. When I was little my dad used to make the most amazing food. Well, he still does, I'm just not around to eat it. Still, his cooking got lazier as I got older. We used to have these unbelievably delicious curries, I have to find out how he made them. And the roasts! Oh, the roasts. I bought a leg of lamb, I'm not so bad at roasts myself but whenever I make these things it always feels like something is missing. I perfected his spaghetti bolognaise years ago, I make a better salad than him, but curries, roasts and stir fries I have yet to perfect.
Enough food talk, at least until after lunch.
I've been frequenting the debate forums. It's probably not good for my health. I'm reminded of the impromptu social experiment I accidentally performed when I was in highschool.
We were given an assignment for English. We had to write an argumentative essay and then present it to the class. Our choice of topic. I was always something of a savant at English so at this point assignments were a joke for me. The usual display of arguments came up. Abortion, contraception, culling of dingos and kangaroos, animal testing, anything a 15yo could think to debate. These were quietly tolerated by the class, but sparked no serious opinions. But mine... mine was a point of furious debate. Voices were raised, names called, the debate raged on for days. What was the topic of my essay, you ask?
Is coffee better than potatos?
Truly, this was a revelation to me about the debate mentality. I'm not entirely sure what conclusion I formed, but I've generally avoided provoking debate ever since. Let this be a lesson to you all.
Okay, that meat pie is calling me, I'll report back on its deliciousness.
What a weekend.
I swear all I wanted was a sleepin. That's it. That was the totality of my wishes. The house could have burned down and so long as I'd had my late, sleepy morning, I would have counted it as a win.
On Friday afternoon, I came home early, feeling like I'd just eaten two kilos of gluten. I don't even know what gluten is, it just sounds appropriate. I was not feeling well.
But neither was Kevin. After a couple of hours of him totally insisting that he wasn't having an attack of his recurrent diverticulitis, it became apparent that in fact that was exactly what was happening. He apologised. Kevin has no medical cover in Australia. So forgoing the absurdly expensive ambulance service, me, Kevin, his intestinal agony and my rambuctious migraine taxid our way to the emergency department. He apologised.
Diverticulitis, for those of you who don't know, is the formation of small cysts, or diverticuli, in the lower intestine and colon.
We got to the emergency room, the nurse was rude when I tried to get him to sit down while I told her what was going on. She forced him to stand although that put him in agony and tried for what felt like forever to get answers from him although he could barely speak through the pain. Inevitably after every question she would look to me for the answer. That pointless and painful exercise aside, they brought him a wheelchair and we were allowed to sit in the waiting room. He apologised. My head ached, my stomach turned. His deal was worse, I'm not complaining here, I'm just trying to emphasise exactly how unpleasant this evening was for all involved. He apologised. Every minute we were in the waiting room he was crying, begging me to make them see him quicker. Thankfully it only took about half an hour.
Our doctor was a girl named Emily, who looked about my age and was dressed more to go out for coffee with the boy she liked than to give us serious medical advice and professional treatment. What intern puts on her fake eyelashes to pull nightshift? I do not know. She was an orthopedic intern, which I found delightful, since she was so skinny that every one of her joints was on full display. But she was lovely, letting me give the medical history instead of him. He apologised.
She decided to do a rectal exam. He apologised. At this point I did the most hopelessly inappropriate thing. I don't know if it was my total exhaustion combined with illness and worry making me giddy. I don't know if it was the sheer absurdity that he was in agony, about to get a rectal exam done by a dolled up stick insect, and he was apologising for MY inconvenience. Whatever it was, I wish it had forestalled, because I did the worst possible thing. I laughed.
He burst into tears though I don't think he noticed my laughter through his pain. I feel worse about it than him I think. He hugged me so tightly that I couldn't breathe and just cried into my neck. He was still apologising, but it seemed like his tears were more of pain and fear and anticipated humiliation. I held his gaze and his hand through it. I couldn't believe he was still apologising. Like any amount of money I had to cough up, or any number of sleepless nights I had to spend were anything compared to what he was going through.
He needed X-rays for reasons unknown to us.It was physically painful to have to let go of his hand as he was wheeled into the room. The door had a peephole that I watched through the entire time, but I still wanted to be in there. He was wheeled out and he apologised.
I'm going to stop saying he apologised. I think you have the idea now that I was receiving unwanted apologies every available opportunity. This is still going.
Thankfully Emily now ordered us up some morphine. But rather unfortunately, I had jinxed it. I had asked Kevin the night before, "in the case of needing an injection, how do you find a black person's veins?" It turns out the answer was: "you pretty much don't."
For 45 minutes Emily tried to find a vein. Right elbow, left elbow, right wrist, left wrist, right hand, left hand, rinse and repeat. She was even thinking about going for the foot. Finally she agreed to see another doctor about finding one. We were introduced to Kylie, who was more appropriately aged and dressed, but oddly just as emaciated. After another 15 minutes, we finally had a drip in place.
I don't know who the morphine helped more, him or me. I've never been more happy than when I finally saw his whole body relax and a drugged up smile cross his face.
I hope I never see him go through that kind of pain again.
I was so tired at this point that I couldn't wait to get him home into a comfy bed, and that was all he wanted to. That's when Kylie returned to tell us that he had to be admitted, he'd need intravenous antibiotics for 24-48 hours. Also, the surgeon would be in to see him soon.
Our reaction was pretty much identical... "SURGEON?!"
... you know I hate to leave a cliffhanger, but I'm actually about to fall asleep in my chair, I'll continue this tomorrow.
Okay, so, continuing the story.
So it turns out that the X-rays were done because in the case of a diverticulitis attack, the diverticulum can burst, causing gas to leak internally. If the gas reaches the diaphram, you can say goodbye to breathing.
So the surgeon came to see us, he was a gorgeous guy with incredibly blue eyes. His name was Phil which of course led to him being called Dr. Phil. He did a full examination of Kevin, (my favourite part was the hoist of the gown with the question "Are your nuts okay?") and told us that the X-rays were good but he'd need surgery in two or three months time to remove the infected part of the bowel.
Things got better from there, Kevin was still scared, but dopey on morphine. We waited until 2am for him to be admitted. We tried everything to get me a place to sleep for the night. I would have been happy with the chair next to his bed, but since he was in a four person room they wouldn't allow it. And the sitting room for surgical was taken up by the family of a critically ill patient. They offered me a chair in the waiting room for the emergency ward. Kevin wouldn't let me take it.
I watched him go, and one of the nurses escorted me out. Then she said to the triage nurse, "Could you call Mrs. W a taxi?"
It was the most innocent comment, but all I could do was cry. That was the first time I had been called by my married name.
The next day he was in a bad way, still on morphine, still unable to move. They were fasting him so his throat was constantly dry. It was very unpleasant to see him in so much discomfort. And he was so worried about how much it was all costing.
But Sunday morning when I walked in he was fully dressed and sitting up. We even got to walk down to the cafeteria for a smoke. It was so good to see him eat a full meal again that night.
He was released this morning, good as new. Even though I've slept about 4 hours in the last 4 days, I have to say I'm so grateful to the doctors and other hospital staff. In America he was just given painkillers and sent home. He's been so well cared for and it's nice to know that this time we can keep him healthy. And of course get him some insurance.
So now I'm back at work, hoping I can pay off this hospital bill. But he's healthy, any amount of money we have to spend is worth it.
This is probably going to sound like a really stupid thing to say, but I'm having trouble getting exciteed about things today. The whole day feels quite surreal, like it's not really happening. I suppose my weekend threw me off, it lasted 4 days and felt like it lasted 4 weeks, so I guess it's normal that I'm feeling thrown off by being back at work.
But nothing feels right, food isn't as tasty, smokes aren't as satisfying, and I'm not even looking forward to going home to Kevin. This day just feels like it needs a restart, like once I've had a good night's sleep and woken up tomorrow morning things will slip back into place.
Quitting smoking has FAILED. As soon as I got to the emergency room I just kind of went "stuff it" and went around botting smokes off people. When did so many people start smoking menthols? The best thing those things can give you is cancer. Now I feel like I could smoke an entire pack in about 3 minutes. Mmm, delicious cigarettes.
I got my hands on some more wedding photos and these ones are gorgeous. I'm so happy with them. I can start doing some photo albums now.
I've been getting into The Sims 2 again. That game has some kind of hold over me, I can't help myself. I'll set down and happily play it for a week straight, only stopping to eat and sleep. Maybe not sleep. My neighbourhoods rock.
I'm thinking of chopping off my hair. It was straightened so much for the wedding that all the ends have split. Also, Kevin has a thing for blondes so I'm guaranteed some awesome sex if I go blonde. Who knows? I could go with a new look.
Okay, enough of my rambling for now. Enjoy some pictures.
You know it's just occurred to me how very out of place my journal is. I've only reada few of the other girls, but there are so many stories of family breakdowns, dealing with illness, self-empowerment, rather poignant stuff. And here I am chatting about the virtues of meat pies, caffiene sculptures and my favourite video games.
Ah well, I've had a lot of positive comments on this journal. My life seems to be more interesting than I thought. Guess I'll keep going with it.
<div style="width:400px; text-align: center;"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" src="http://w173.photobucket.com/pbwidget.swf?pbwurl=http://w173.photobucket.com/albums/w79/cavussyrinx/38cc9d8e.pbw" height="120" width="400"><a href="http://i173.photobucket.com/redirect/album?action=slideshow&landing=/slideshows&type=4" target="_blank"><img src="http://pic.photobucket.com/slideshows/btn.gif" style="float:left;border-width: 0;" ></a><a href="http://s173.photobucket.com/albums/w79/cavussyrinx/?action=view¤t=38cc9d8e.pbw" target="_blank"><img src="http://pic.photobucket.com/slideshows/btn_viewallimages.gif" style="float:left;border-width: 0;" ></a></div>
A few of the choicest images from my photobucket.
I like Chinese thought,
The wisdom that Confucious taught.
If Darwin is anything to shout about,
The Chinese will survive us all without any doubt.
I like Chinese.
I like their tiny little trees,
Their Zen, their ping-pong, their yin, and yang-ese.
You know this whole thing with the olympic flame is getting out of hand. No pun intended. There's really no need to be jerks about this. I'd hardly count myself as a fan of China's internal or international policy, but let's be reasonable.
The real irony is that the most ancient peace practise to still be going is being sabotaged by violent protestors. Who is that helping? I think we should all urge China to obey the UN's human rights agreement, and provide support to Tibet, but this is not the venue to do so in a vicious manner.
Beijing hosting the biggest conference of international tolerance in the world is NOT a step in the wrong direction.
It's truly shameful that while all the governments are setting aside their differences in the way that has been traditional for hundreds of years, the people around them are having to be subdued with tear gas, the carriers of that flame of peace are under attack, and the representatives of the great countries are being urged to not participate.
Let's all remember why the Olympics came about. They were a sporting event to prevent war in Greece, where grudges and contests could be taken out on the sporting field, not the battlefield. 2008 is not the year that this tradition should fall.
I like Chinese.
They only come up to your knees,
Yet they're always friendly, and they're ready to please.
I like Chinese.
They come from a long way overseas,
But they're cute and they're cuddly, and they're ready to please.
What's with everyone in the baby names forum being so negative? C'mon now girls, variety is the spice of life!
Way to make women feel bad about the names that they, their husband, or both, absolutely love! I know that if the name Kevin and I had decided on was a travesty to humankind and an insult to God, I would still keep it just to avoid reopening the argument.
Let's be more supportive!
I wish I was good with photies. Some people have this amazing documentation of their life through artistic shots. I'm specifically referring to my dear friend Leslie. Her life is blogged in perfect snapshots of happiness or sadness or friendship or general beauty. My favourite was a slideshow of myself, when we first talked about religion. She simply had her camera there and took shots as I talked, and somehow managed to capture my passion and openness in just a few shots.
I'm much more factual about things. A photo is simply what my eyes see at the time. Heck, maybe I just don't carry my camera around enough. Although my camera is my phone. And yeah, that's with me a lot. But my shots are kind of like "check out this large spider" or "here's a skeleton in a vest". It's not really in depth.
Speaking of religion, it's a topic I'd like to avoid. I will say this though. Leslie is why I don't like religion. Well, Leslie and people like her. She used to be a hardcore heroin addict, had an illegitimate child, was not a particularly focussed person in general. Then she found Jesus. Now don't get me wrong, it was definitely a positive step in her life. Now I can't imagine anyone more wholesome, she has a happy, healthy home, her daughter is well cared for and she's married to a guy she loves.
But she does this thing. Well she does two things.
The first thing is the self-hating. We have fun together, me and her, but she's a flip-flopper. Some nights there's nothing more fun than a couple of glasses of wine, some talking, a game of scrabble that inevitably turns into nonsense. It's good clean fun. We laugh, we talk, we share, there is no malice there. And yet the next day she almost always feels guilty that she said something while caught up in the fun.
My possible favourite example would be the Ark of the Covenant. I'm all about the spirit of God, but the actual lore behind modern Christianity is beyond me. So she decided to educate. She told me in terms I would understand, which went something like, "the glory of God used to be kept in a box, and the box was in a tent. But now we are the box." I don't think she intended for it to come out that way. But it did and we laughed, titling the Ark and ourselves as the "Godbox." After church we went to KFC and got some snacksized chicken popcorn, and I happened to say "My Godbox is snacksized." More howling with laughter ensued and it became a catchphrase.
Now I know that some people reading, especially my ladies over on the catholic forums, might be mortally offended by my snacksized Godbox, but that's not how it is. Leslie and I are friend, we know that when we say stuff like that it isn't to mock the Lord, because we know each others' faith is strong and sincere, we were really mocking our own understanding of the Lord and my late education. Once again, stupid perhaps, but innocent. And yet the next day she was mortified that she had laughed at such a thing, because she is not certain in herself, and it drives me nuts.
I understand her need not to relapse into her old ways, but there's both an element of being too strict on herself and also not addressing the root of a problem, just trying to bury it under layers of prayer.
The second thing that she does is something far more common in the world of the religious. It's neglecting your people in favour of Jesus. It comes in a wide variety of forms. I'd like to state right now that I'm not a Christian focussed on getting to heaven. I try to be a good person because that's what lets me sleep at night, and if when I die He decides I'm fit for heaven, then that's awesome. But I think right now I'm on Earth, which is filled to the brim with God's greatest gifts, first and foremost the people we get to share it with.
But forgetting that is a multi-facetted beast. One example is when someone does something nice for you, and instead of thanking them, you thank God. Maybe both is in order, but not giving credit to people here with you is one facet. Another is going to church 1349234744 times a week and refusing to miss a session in favour of a friend that needs you. Leslie is a perpetrator of both.
Now having said all that, I adore Leslie. She is a blast, she is so giving and kind, she always makes good things better, and bad things not so bad. Her devotion to faith is admirable, and she is a loving mother and wife. All people should go through life with her grace. She just needs to stop picturing God with an iron fist.
TTC is not for the faint of heart, I'll give it that. I swear when I get a BFP I'm framing the damn stick.
Other people: "Did you pee on that?"
Me: "Hell yes I peed on that."
I think the digital tests are meant to be soul destroying. "YOU ARE NOT PREGNANT" They may as well come under those coke bottle caps, the ones that are all like "better luck next time" or "try again". It'd be nicer if the stick said something comforting if you got a negative. You know, sort of like "not pregnant, but my word your hair looks nice today." or "not pregnant, but please find enclosed a voucher for a free tub of icecream." or "Not pregnant, I can't believe it! You're glowing!" You know, something to soften the blow.
But to actually tell the story, last night I POAS, and the digital part said negative, but the analogue part had a faint positive. So it's a BFM. Better than a BFN, not as good as a BFP, but I'll take what I can get.
In more depressing news, I got the bill from the hospital today. It turns out that I really should have just taken him to the best hotel in the country for a few days recovery, it would have cost less. I mean, I could literally have paid 600$ a night and come out ahead. Oh yes, that's right, 4 days in a hospital is just on the plus side of 2400$. I'm hoping the local charities can help us out, this seems right up their alley.
So in short I'm eating a little honeycomb chocolate and smoking too much, which is making me feel a lot better.