Atomictumor

Another song title doubles as the posts title.  I don’t know if its relevant, but I like the phrase.

I don’t like nights too much.  What is it about the sun, or our circadian rhythms, or evolution, or God, or whatever that makes nights more tender, and tenuous, than the day?

I called Mom before I talked to you, so she took the undiluted full brunt of my thoughts.  Normally I diffuse them between all of you, and it makes it easier for all of us.  I’m not nearly as good at one to one communication, which might be why I duck my Grandparents in Canada when they call, and never think to call them back.  I give good phone professionally (that is to say, I’m good at tech support, escalations, things like that on the phone.  I’m told I have a soothing, authoritative voice, or some such).  That, and they have a knack for calling when I’m busy.  Sorry, and sorry that I don’t call back.

I know, I said I wouldn’t be sorry for things today, or beat myself up today.  I made it *almost* the whole day!

The music for tonight is one that I’ve been putting off, but superstition is dumb and breaking it is… interesting.  Its a band you’ve never heard of called Neutral Milk Hotel.  The singer is a tortured genius.  They’re from the late 90s, indie kinda band, did two records, and he took off.  Couch flopping, occasional appearances and disappearances.  He is tortured by something within him that allows him to create such disjoined beauty in his music.

He’s not the most melodic of people, but its cathartic.   For me, for him, for you, for who listens.  Their second album, “In the Aeroplane Over The Sea” is supposed to be about the pain he felt after reading Anne Frank.  His songs talk about “blazing fingers through the notches of your spine”, and it comes through so lovingly.

I can’t explain it.

Its what I was trying to say earlier, and lost my train of thought (seriously, I do that).  With writing, I’m using a sledgehammer, blunt tools, bloody, destructive, hard, crude, to put these thoughts in your head.  They go there quickly, but not… whats the word… with precision.

With music, if you are in the right place (stoned, meditating, and in grief, are the three winners I’ve found), the thoughts are put in your head, right where they need to be.  Laser precision.

Writing crushes those obstacles, if done well.  Music sneaks by them, if done well.  It works better.

Goldaline my dear
We will fold and freeze together
Far away from here
There is sun and spring and green forever
But now we move to feel
For ourselves inside some stranger’s stomach
Place your body here
Let your skin begin to blend itself with mine

I know, I’d read that too, and see weirdness.  Look deeper, and its there.  Its there.

—

Wow, I’m rambling.

As I was saying, I was falling back on my strength of today.

There was a new nurse today, Pam, and she was distant and professional.  She was professionally friendly.  She didn’t know how to take the calm, smiling, soft spoken giant (well, I guess I’m not THAT big), so she uses her training.

She asked that I take her bags back home.  I kinda didn’t want to, and I told her that, but she asked, because she didn’t “want them to get scattered”.

Whatever.  Thats the supersitition, and listing to NMH has been good so far, so I don’t mind the bags.  Lets catalog them, shall we?

Getting them from the car now.

—

Two bags. For clarity’s sake, lets name them.  We have bag Pierre, and bag Octopus.

Bag Pierre contains:

• Two (2) shoes: Black Leather Suede Vans - Size 9 - Style: Petal -  Flower design stitched to side.  Both tied, because GAC slips them on, and because I didn’t untie them when I took them off of her in the ER on Thursday (Wednesday? No.  Thursday- a week ago tomorrow).  Old.  She bought these shoes years ago in Gatlinburg, at the Vans outlet store.  Different times.
• One (1) Sweater: Thermal - Eddie Bauer - Green - Well worn.  Not sure how old it is, but one of her favorite comfy clothes that she (and probably every girl) loves so much.  Smells very much like her.  (didn’t smell the shoes, I’m not one of those kinda guys)  Smells VERY much like her, and makes my heart rush.
• Seriously, put the sweater down, dude.
• For real.
• One (1) Pair Socks: Knit - Old - Grey:  All of her clothes are old.  She takes forever picking them out, and hates to spend the money.  I would take her to Torrid, or somewhere, and she would try on and try on and try on, we’d take hours, she’d keep asking me if I want to go, and HOLY CRAP I did, but I smile and say “Keep looking baby, I wanna get you something before you go.  Quit being a pain in the butt” and she’d stick her tounge out at me and wrinkle her nose, and look some more.  Not smelling the socks.  See above.
• One (1) pair mens pants - Cotton - Grey: We bought these recently at Target, which would make Busymom happy.  She was really wanting flannel pants, but couldn’t find any. We were going Labor Day camping, and had money to kill (we thought, we were stone broke a few days later and had to return most of what we bought).  Not really going to smell her pants either.  Thats, again, just kinda… no.
• One (1) tank top/bra combo - Cotton - Black: She’s fairly fond of these, she has a black one and a grey one.  Between you and me, I like what they do to her boobs.  She didn’t wear it since it was last washed, because I packed it for her when I still thought I’d be spending the night, way back last Wednesday.  The first night I spent alone in a very long time, and one of only about 3 that I spent alone since we started whatever we have.  Not marriage, we kinda slept together before that.  Smells like the wash, which doesn’t do me any good, because I had washed it.

Bag Pierre is empty.

Bag Octopus contains:

• Oh shit, her glasses.  I didn’t know that.  She’s blind without them, like 20/600, I think.  Might be worse.  She always corrects me.  I tried to get her to do lasik, and she did contacts for a while (which, I know, is a pain in the ass), but she likes wearing glasses.  She picks out good ones, I love this pair.  Looking at them on the computer table was unexpected.  Not right.  I think I need to put them somewhere save, and out of sight.  She’ll need them back.  Moving on, but when I get back from putting these somewhere that they don’t stare at me.

  (I put them in a bowl that Bos and Eaves were kind enough to get us for our wedding renewal a few weeks ago. I was hoping to find a use for the bowl, its handmade by an artist in Bos’s hometown, and… lost my train of thought. Man, her glasses.  Well, she’s asleep, and she doesn’t need them yet.)
  MOVING ON.

• One (1) Tin, fairly large, with “Biscuits Delacre: Since 1891″ and some kinda 1800s’ish picture of a lady in a yellow dress and sunflowers.  Its very French.  We got it years ago, and its a little dented (excuse me, I have to put on a new record - survey says: Ziggy Stardust - yeah, thats good stuff).  It contains the cards we were going to play.  I didn’t figure she’d get much sleep, she was hurting, and I was going to stay up and play cards with her.  It didn’t work out that way, as you know, because I went home alone, and she went to the Step Down PCU room, the next morning to the ICU, to surgery, to ventilation, unconsciousness, Ziggy Stardust, and bags with tins with cards.  Sorry, my emo is slipping.
• One (1) empty envelope: Oak Ridge Florist - Mom, Dad, Jen, Dusty bought a beautiful, beautiful pot of flowers.  We both liked the pot a lot, the flowers were nice.  GAC got both while being wheeled down to the PCU.  The florist delivery guy almost missed us.  GAC, in her pain, was obviously grateful.  I love her so much.
• One (1) hardcover book: America (The Book) by the Daily Show.  She didn’t read it, but she’s read most of it before.  It was in the bathroom for a few days.  Yeah, we all like bathroom reading.
  I didn’t smell it.
• Two (2) graphic novels: Frank Millers Dark Knight Returns, and Dark Night Strikes Back.  I was onto her to read these for a long time, and she didn’t.  Just as well, she probably wouldn’t like em.

  (Damn, this is a long post.  Gonna check the shoutbox.  Is this considered talking to myself?  Bowie still going strong)

• One (1) note from envolope from florist: Uh, this is the note from the envelope from the florist.  It was still very sweet.  And so fast!  Thanks again, Blueberry Farmers
• One (1) bandage or something:  Looks like it has dirt, or blood, or something.  Its about one square inch, very hospitaly.  I wonder what it was on.

  One day a few days ago, as I kissed her lips, I had a taste of the blood coming out.  It was unintentional, and tasted very artificial.  It tasted like the smell thats on my hands when I leave the hospital, the smell thats all over my sweet girl.  I still smell her when I bury my nose in her hair to tell her my heart, but I smell hospital the rest of the time.

  Throwing the bandage away.

• One (1) tube Chap Stick: Thats where the bastard is.  Shes a big, big fan of her Chap Stick, and she asked me to bring it when I brought her clothes and my sleeping stuff, and I brought it, but couldn’t find it.  I’ve been keeping a tube in my pocket since then, just in case, but she hasn’t needed it.
  Well, she needs it in the worst way, but I don’t think she knows that.  My poor, poor baby.  Her lips are raw, and sore.  She bites that tube, and they had to put a plastic plug between her teeth.  My poor baby.  What have we done to you?
  Now I have two tubes of chapstick in my pocket.  If you need chapstick, I’m totally your man.
• One (1) game Yahtzee: This was a gesture.  I hate Yahtzee.  I totally hate Yahtzee.  We played it a while back, and it actually became part of one of my favorite early posts, a year or so ago - tried to link to the post, but after the server move the other day it appears to be missing.  I’d give a shit about that, normally.  It was a good post, called Aw Geez, Go Away Infinity.
  I digress
  Point is, I wanted to play Yahtzee, because she loves it.  She enjoys it.  I was going to suck it up and enjoy it too if it’d ease her for a moment or two.  I was kinda looking forward to it.

Those are the contents of bag octopus.

—

GAC is still fine.  Its becoming clear to me that the numbers, that I have been clinging too so hard for the past few days, are becoming meaningless now.  They’re getting jumbled up in my head, and I don’t remember.  Pulse, BP, all that was good at 8:30.  Dialysis, tomorrow, maybe.  Pam didn’t know.  She was friendly, and is probably sweet, but the way she looked at me made me not want to ask the questions any more.

Tonight, BJ’s face was twitching.  I was told she did this last night, but I didn’t see it.  Its the muscles in her cheekbones (flipping the record, time for Lady Stardust - the chorus “and it was allllll right” is nice), her nose, her eyes.  Its totally involuntary, but its ALL THE MOVEMENT I’VE SEEN TODAY.  There was none of the tightening of the eyes that tore my heart out, the desperate squeezes of my hand.  None of that today, or yesterday. We’ve had hope, but I haven’t had that reassurance that she’s there.

I’m told the twitches are involuntary.  I saw her doing it, and tried to calm her to see if it would work.  I whispered my mantra in her ear, and it didn’t work.  I kissed her cheeks, and it slowly abated.  I think it was just because there was another reaction there.  I don’t think BJ was doing that, it was just her body, and she’s so far away.

I don’t feel her.  I feel exhausted, and love, and I still see the beauty if I let myself, but I’d rather see those glasses in that bowl in the bedroom on her face.

No mantras tonight.  I’m OK.  I’m truly OK, I want you to know that.  The kids are fine, MastaG was watching Lost when I called, Pigpen was asleep in the trailer.  Don’t tell me whats happening, I’m not watching Lost until she does with me, nor am I watching The Office, or My Name Is Earl.  We’ll download em and watch em in the bedroom, with my arms around her, and the reassurance that everything is OK.  If not normal, than OK.

That I have my love back.  That’ll be nice.

I love you, my precious girl.  I love you so much.  Its all right.

This morning, Pigpen woke up.  He was sharing a room with my mom, she was sleeping in MastaG’s bed (for reasons I still don’t understand, Mom professes that G’s bed was more comfy, G professes that the couch was more comfy).

She told him that she might go back to the Blueberry Farm today, and he said “No!  Wheres my Mommy?”  She talked further, and the subject came up, and Pigpen said “No!  Wheres my Mommy?”

Today was share day, and he took Wolverine with him, as I said earlier.   He’s clutching Wolverine.  Wolverine is keeping the trouble, the sick, at bay.  I asked him what would happen if Mom went back to the Blueberry Farm, later on, and he told me that the house would get sick.

He’s going there with her.  He needs a mother figure, and yesterday I would have agonized about taking him away from GAC (as dumb as that is), but today, because I’m not doing things like that, I’m OK with it.

Truly?  He’s BJ’s kid.  He is little BJ.  Having him gone is erasing the moving representation of her.  Not that its all bad, because now I don’t have to look after a four year old.

I asked MastaG when I picked him up from school if he wanted to go with Pigpen.  To where the cats are, where his best pal Katy is, where he won’t have to go to school, and to my deep deep amazement, he said he’d rather stay here, for me.

I convinced him that I don’t need looking after, that I’m fine, that I’m happy that Mom’s stable (she is, according to the nurse… notice that today the posts haven’t been as much about her, as about me?  Hee), that I’m having a great day.  He went with what he really wanted to do, which is head to the farm.

So, got me an empty house.  It sounds sad, but right now its not.  Its liberating.

I’m still having a great day.  I get exhausted easily, and the enthusasm is gone from earlier, but I see the beauty again, like I’ve seen all day.  My music is helping me with that, as I mentioned earlier.  I hope everybody finds what they need to see the beauty.

Along with fatigue, I was starving after the 3 o’clock show, so I swing by Betty’s here in town, the Magic Wok (which instantly means anything to any Oak Ridger).  She has the best wontons and eggrolls in the world.  A little Asian lady, who I’m told is well off, who just likes to serve food from this tiny little crappy trailer.  Eggrolls the size of Pigpen’s arm, full of everything but the kitchen sink.  Wontons which drip with tastiness.  I don’t usually sample her meals, because its SO MUCH food, and I’d waste most of it.  I wanted a snack, because I intend to have a pizza later, and a beer, and maybe finally get around to either:

• A timeline of events, because its hard to remember when this happened, or (gotta flip the record, hang on)
• That story I promised you the first night (see, I don’t remember which night it was) about how we met.  I don’t feel the same urgency to write it as I did, but it’s a sweet story
• Watching “So I Married an Axe Murderer” or “Hero”. Seen em both.  The former is one of GACs longtime (since before we met) favorite movies, the latter is one that I’ve been wanting to see again.  Gotta love wire-fu
• Spending some quality time with my new internet buddies

Not sure which will win.

When I was there, at the Magic Wok, a lady beside me, who Betty must know (she has a capacity to know everybody) was talking about her living so far away, on a farm, and Betty told her that its good for kids to be close to nature.  That God is in nature. The city has man, and its not good for too long.

I told her that I’ve never understood things like that until this week.  That its been a strange week.  I’m glad she didn’t ask why, because I’d have told her, and theres no sense just going around making people cry.
—

The facts, as they stand.

Pulse - 133

BP - 110

Temp - 100, to let the body help fight the infection, apparently.  fine by me.

Atavan - heavily sedated all day.  No eyebrow furrows, no hand squeezes.  That was nice, but hope is nicer.  I think Saturday and Monday she was telling me to be strong, and she knows I’m OK now, and is convinced to take care of herself.  Maybe.  Maybe she was just heavily sedated.  It doesn’t change anything now.  I miss her, but I’d do that anyway, and just breathing in her scent when I’m with her is a blessing.  Just that she’s still there.

Liver - Was encouraging this morning, they might not start checking it every day.  I have faith that they know what they’re doing much better than I do.  We seem to have run off the docs in the audience, if there are any left, please tell me if you think differently.

Heart - Good rhythm.

Pressors - Gradually turning down the quadruple strength livosec (?) blood pressure medication.  This morning was 28.5, then 26, now 24.

She’s been deflated, after last nights, and this mornings dialysis.  Her cheekbones are back to normal.  She’s so beautiful.  She is absolute beauty.  Her dark hair, her flawless (well, the two moles and chicken pox scar, to me, add to the beauty) pale skin, her eyebrows and long lashes, her red lips clutching that vent tube, is perfection to me.

I like to whisper in her ear.  Sometimes I tell her a mantra, or sing her a song.  Sometimes I just sit there and say “I love you” over and over and over again.  I never feel like I’m there long enough when I feel myself compelled to leave (never by the nursing staff, or old men with clipboards).  I just have to get out, or I’d lose myself in her.

I hold her puffy hand.  She has some sort of cream on her feet and right hand in the hope of restoring circulation to them.  I was told that if I touched it, it would lower my blood pressure and I’d pass out.

Sounds kinda like a ride.

Its a long shot, Linda mentioned offhandly.  Thats something for tomorrow, I think. I’d sure love to have those hands, and those feet back.  Particularly those feet, because I adore BJ’s stubby toes.

I love her so much.

BJ, honey, I love you.  Today is a good day.  The world, BJ, is so full of beauty.  Its full of people who care, not because they have to, but because…

Fill in the blank.  I don’t have the end of that sentence.

I can’t wait to see what your answer is, honey.  I’m on my way to see you now, and I love you so so much.

Rolling Stones is playing. I firmly believe that the four albums, Beggars Banquet, Let it Bleed, Sticky Fingers, and Exile on Main Street, are the best run in music ever.

I love music. I’m an artist in soul, and played guitar off and on for 15 or so years, but I’m not any good. Sure, I can cover a White Stripes song, back when BJ was my Meg and played the drums, but it was only mediocre.

I love music, because it gets right to what needs to be said. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense until you need it. Like “Nothing to fear, nothing to doubt” made such a sublime sense a few days ago.

Theologians, by Wilco, on Ghost is Born (the same record that produced Hummingbird, the song playing as I prepared to say good-bye to her, and about 9 other amazing songs that always meant a lot to GAC) is another good one.

I’ve always listened more to the music than the lyrics, but mebbe the lyrics say something to parts of your brain when you’re looking the other way.

Vein of Stars, on Flaming Lips “At War With The Mystics” really spoke to me this morning. As I said, MastaG picked it out on his way to school. The first two songs are great. I always felt that the album was unbalanced, however, because the first two songs are silly, giddy, weird pieces of escapism, followed by this slower, quieter, not ballad song, but just a subdued song.

Who knows
maybe there isn’t a vein of stars callin’ out my name
they’ll glow from above our heads
nothin’ there to see you down on your knees
25, 26, 27
back from the future maybe there aint no heaven
there’s just you and me
maybe that’s all whose left
& if there aint no heaven
maybe there aint no hell

Man, thats great. God is what God is. It might be a vein of stars. It might be “the force”, as one of you suggested yesterday. It might be the dwarf I talked about (I’m not crazy about that anymore. I think now he’d look like Joel [not to bestow godhood on you, buddy, but to say that God would exude intelligence, wisdom, and peace])

Point is, I’m not looking for him, I’m open to him. When I look for things, I get tunnel visioned. When I relax my mind, open my senses, feel my perspective widen, and relax, it turns up.

That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Maybe instead of the Bible, the God who I’ll deal with talks through the Stones and the Lips. And Wilco. And Radiohead.

Through the superheros of my children. The love of my family (and you are all my family).

Gotta flip the record. Figure I’ll make coffee.

“Love, sister. Its just a kiss away.”

BJs doing a lot better now. Swelling has gone down dramatically, except for the bruses around her eyes (poor, poor baby) she looks like she has her face back. Her pores are all open, and her skin looks amazing, because of all the fluids. I’m told that it gets rid of wrinkles, so, hey ladies, acute renal failure and septis may just been the next Botox, huh?

I’m doing a lot better now. MastaGs at school, and wants to come home, but I want him to see that he can spend a day in school. Tough love.

Pigpen is showing Wolverine to the class. Maybe he’s telling them that he’ll save Mommy.

No tears today, no grief. Hope, but easy, loving hope.

I’m having a good day, right now.

I love you. So very much. So very much.

Posting from Bos’s house.  I left this morning, to drop the kids off at school, after my most recent post.

Well, let me preface this by saying I feel SO GOOD right now.  I’m excited, I’m happy, I’m me.  There are reasons for this, we’ll get to that, I have to hurry tho…

So, driving to school.  G wanted to listen to Flaming Lip’s new record, and Pigpen sang along with the Yeah Yeah Yeah song (”yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah”, and so on)

We said our little morning drive to school prayer, and said “hi” to Mommy as we passed the hospital.

Walked G into school.  He was scared to go, but he’s so tough he did his best.  He didn’t tell many jokes on the way in.  I think it’ll be good, but I’m here to pick him up if need be.  Might call to check on him later.

Today’s share day at the preschool.  Pigpen brought his new Wolverine toy (I call it a doll, to my childrens protests, because its about a foot tall, and not terribly movable).  We talked about Wolverine, and I said I think Wolverine could totally save Mom.  He said “Yeah.  Mommy’s bed is going to blow up!  Wolverine is going to kick the bed’s bootie.  He’s going to SAVE Mommy.”

It occured to me that the whole thing with Wolverine is that he heals.  He gets cut, shot, hurt, and he instantly heals.  He doesn’t get sick.  I don’t think thats lost on Pigpen, and I don’t think its been the whole time.

4 year olds are AMAZING.  Or maybe its just Pigpen.

Anyway, I said that I bet Wolverine would show Mommy how to heal like that.  He concurred.

I dropped him off, and his teacher was staying home today.  She’s a great lady, she’s about my age, hung out with us in the hospital.  She’s the type of gal that GAC and I would have enjoyed hanging out with, and very well might enjoy hanging out with in the future.  She’s had hard times, and she’s made it through with a lot of goodness.

She can stomach a roomfull of 3-4 year olds.  Dayam.

I dropped him off with the assistant, who is also a great woman, who’s had more pain in her life than you or I would ever know.  She has more love.  She is a jewel on the earth.

I left, and called the hospital, and Linda said the magic words:

“She is tolerating dialysis well.”

She also said that there’d probably be a 10 o’clock show today, because she’d just be getting off the treatment.

Life is good

—

I’m not going to beat myself up today.  That is my resolution.  That is my little step, and its been working.  I’ve been seeing the beauty.

I’m going to distract myself when I need to.  If I need to, I’m going to get angry.  I might just let it show.  If I’m sad, I’ll let that show too.

I’m not going to beat myself up.  That helps my mantra mean more.

There is nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.

Thats from a Radiohead song.  Can’t remember which one, it was on either Kid A or Amnesiac.  If thats your cup of tea, great.  If not, its a good song.

—

Dammit, seems like there was something else to say.  I gotta run.  I’m gonna grab me a chik-fil-a biscuit.

OH YEAH, the Dr Dave situation.

Some comments are getting blocked.  I emailed Califdudes about that, because it seems like Dr. Dave was really kicking her around.  Spam Karma can be an unforgiving thing.

I’m not deleting comments.  Even if I had the time, or the mental energy, theres only been one time I’ve deleted a comment that was posted on this website in its life, and thats because I posted it.

I don’t delete comments.  If I don’t want to hear what you say, I’ll tell you.  I won’t delete it, and there isn’t a line to cross.  I very close cousin got me riled up yesterday, and produced one of my thoughts in a previous post.  I love him very dearly, and he knows that.  If I get pissed at what somebody says, I’ll call em out.

Hee.

I’m not beating myself up today.

—

GAC, my BJ, my wonder, my doll.  I love you so much.  I love you with… well, you know.

I feel better today, baby.  I feel really, really good.

I love you, too.

They blindsided me when I called at 6:30, after a fitful night where my mind showed me glimpses of that pain I wanted to see yesterday, and that I don’t want to see anymore.

They told me they’re starting dialysis again.  I didn’t have time to gird my loins, like yesterday, and pray that she can take it.

2 liters of urine left her last night.  She’s 7 lbs lighter.

Liver is encouraging, according to Gary, who has a few days off in about 10 minutes, but all the numbers seemed about the same to me.  I’m assuming he knows better, because I think he knows me well enough that I don’t want things sugar coated.

Please phone, don’t ring.

Gotta take the kids to school in a bit, and all I wants to do is lounge around in the bed.

The computer in her crapped out on the wireless connection, so I left abruptly.  I went to sleep, and it felt goooood.  You guys are right.  I just don’t like listening, because I’m that way.  I like listening to her, but I don’t always do what she says.

She’s the boss in the house.  Theres not much bone about that.

Anyway.

BJ.  Little BJ, today, right now, I know you’ll come back as you.  The humor, the fire, the sweetness.  The loyality, the sarcasm, the competitiveness, the skill, it will all be back.  We’ll never laugh about this, never, and we’ll probably only speak of it rarely and fleetingly, but you’ll be back, because thats the way we are.

I love you, my sweet one.  Words don’t describe.  I love you so much, little girl.  When you read this, I’ll be so happy.

NTF, NTD.

I love you, BJ.