Lithus has been out of town for two weeks. Now, don't get me wrong ~ when he's gone, I don't just sit and mope and wander around in a haze of depression and malaise. However, when he gets home, I am happier. And the night he gets back, I'm practically giddy.
He got home Friday night. As I headed out to the airport to meet his plane, the woman at our door, Kay, asked where I was heading. I told her my baby was coming home ~ and then I giggled. I admit it.
So, Saturday, it was time to restock the refrigerator; we headed to the store. And had to walk past Kay again, who welcomed Lithus home, and told him how much happier I am when he's in town. She even noted that I was strutting. I grinned and replied that strutting was not a problem.
At which point, she crossed the lobby with her hand up, saying "I have to high-five your husband. Any man who can make a woman strut like that deserves it!"
He is so cute when he blushes.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
Laughing and Crying
DOMA overturned! Oppressive women's health care laws denied! Corporate America Putting Its Money Where Its Mouth Is! Voters' Rights Acts...oh...wait a minute. I.D. laws... Immigration reform... *sigh*
It's been a week, hasn't it? We take such great strides, and manage to fall backwards at the same time. How do we do this?
I am thrilled about DOMA. I am. But it leaves so very much undone. There are still states where marriage equality doesn't exist, even now, under these new federal guidelines. And what about ENDA? What about the rights of transgendered men and women? What about the homelessness and violence and fear that stalk LGBTQ people every day that really make being able to be legally wed, in some states, seem not terribly important?
Wendy Davis is my new heroine. She should be everybody's new heroine. But she's not. Why was what she did necessary in the first place? And how fast is Rick Perry going to reconvene a special session to undo her remarkable feat?
As for our "post-racial society," I'd really like to see it. Because funny enough, we continue to look, sound, and legislate like a society that is pretty damn racial. On one hand, company after company has dropped their association with Paula Deen (and particular kudos to Food Network, for continuing to do the social justice thing the right way ~ subtly, quietly, as if it is simply a fact and the norm). On the other hand, that Voters Rights Act that got decimated? That i.d. law that got overturned? Those aren't about the white folks.
ARGH! I don't mean to be a downer. I don't intend to rain on anyone's parade. Again, some really exciting, really thrilling things happened this week. It just concerns me that we don't always see what's left over, what gets slipped in under the cover of the party. Or worse, what we ignore because the party is more important.
It's all important. The good, and yes, the bad.
It's been quite a week.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
It's been a week, hasn't it? We take such great strides, and manage to fall backwards at the same time. How do we do this?
I am thrilled about DOMA. I am. But it leaves so very much undone. There are still states where marriage equality doesn't exist, even now, under these new federal guidelines. And what about ENDA? What about the rights of transgendered men and women? What about the homelessness and violence and fear that stalk LGBTQ people every day that really make being able to be legally wed, in some states, seem not terribly important?
Wendy Davis is my new heroine. She should be everybody's new heroine. But she's not. Why was what she did necessary in the first place? And how fast is Rick Perry going to reconvene a special session to undo her remarkable feat?
As for our "post-racial society," I'd really like to see it. Because funny enough, we continue to look, sound, and legislate like a society that is pretty damn racial. On one hand, company after company has dropped their association with Paula Deen (and particular kudos to Food Network, for continuing to do the social justice thing the right way ~ subtly, quietly, as if it is simply a fact and the norm). On the other hand, that Voters Rights Act that got decimated? That i.d. law that got overturned? Those aren't about the white folks.
ARGH! I don't mean to be a downer. I don't intend to rain on anyone's parade. Again, some really exciting, really thrilling things happened this week. It just concerns me that we don't always see what's left over, what gets slipped in under the cover of the party. Or worse, what we ignore because the party is more important.
It's all important. The good, and yes, the bad.
It's been quite a week.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Turning Left, Turning Right
At some point in my kidhood, I heard somewhere that, if you ever wanted to solve a labyrinth, you should always turn left when forced to leave the main path. This stuck with me. For some reason, I expected the need to navigate terrifying mazes to be something I would have to do far more often than life has actually demanded of me. However! I was ready. I knew to turn left.
Then, for a while, we were told that, when given a choice between two lines, Americans would take the one on the right, so left lines tended to be shorter here in the US. Which took me to the left.
Finally, married to the SGM, he would complain bitterly about soldiers under his command who would wander aimlessly during trainings, making that much harder to ensure their safety. To which I would reply, "Well, then, if you're ever looking for me, I will have stayed straight until I couldn't any longer, then I'll turn left." Very much like the labyrinth, not being a Green Beret, this never came into play for me. But we had the leftward traveling plan.
As such, now, whenever I leave a building...a parking lot...a turnstile...just about anywhere, I turn left. Last night, however, was 2013's supermoon and wow, was I hoping to see it. So, when I walked out of my apartment, I turned... right.
Good lord! The movie set was gone. The movie set that had been there Sunday was now gone on Monday. This:
Had become, this:
I was astounded.
Then, for a while, we were told that, when given a choice between two lines, Americans would take the one on the right, so left lines tended to be shorter here in the US. Which took me to the left.
Finally, married to the SGM, he would complain bitterly about soldiers under his command who would wander aimlessly during trainings, making that much harder to ensure their safety. To which I would reply, "Well, then, if you're ever looking for me, I will have stayed straight until I couldn't any longer, then I'll turn left." Very much like the labyrinth, not being a Green Beret, this never came into play for me. But we had the leftward traveling plan.
As such, now, whenever I leave a building...a parking lot...a turnstile...just about anywhere, I turn left. Last night, however, was 2013's supermoon and wow, was I hoping to see it. So, when I walked out of my apartment, I turned... right.
Good lord! The movie set was gone. The movie set that had been there Sunday was now gone on Monday. This:
 |
| Movie Set |
 |
| No Movie Set |
I was astounded.
At this point, in order to get to the grocery store, which was my other reason for going out, I had to turn left again, and so I did. But good grief, even that was a new experience. New shadows. New groups of kids on the corners. Less light on the street, more light in office windows of people working late. Different stories to create, different characters to visit. Suddenly, the grocery became not just another place that was open, but the only place that was open. The haven shining into the surrounding darkness. It was mysterious and wicked and just a little naughty to be here, at this hour. All of one block up.
I like turning left. I know I will continue to do so. But I was reminded last night that turning left is only unique if, occasionally, you turn right, too.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
From One Southerner To Another
Dear Paula ~
I know I don't mention it often, but I am indeed a southerner. My heart has me from New England, but that is my heart. My heritage is all South.
I want to tell you I understand. That I get that the south is different. That it used to be even more different. That our culture is more resigned to racism and that, while we don't condone it, we also understand the difference between true racism and what you have been doing. I know these arguments. I have heard these arguments. I can quote them, chapter and verse. After all, I am a southerner.
Which is the issue here, Paula. I am a Southerner. I was raised by Southerners. While you are older than I, you are younger than my father, only a few years younger than my mother. You are barely the babysitter generation to me and my peers. And my parents never used the words you claim to have learned not to use. They never held the attitudes you say you have lost.
My parents were white and privileged, so I guarantee you they were not perfect. No more than I am. But I guarantee you, Paula, they didn't require a lawsuit to check that privilege. And they certainly didn't need one to check mine. I remember being 13 or 14, when I announced that I had come to learn there were black people and then there were n*****s and they were totally different. Those parents ~ those Southern parents who were not that much older than you are ~ shut that shit down. They shut that shit down hard.
I want to tell you I understand, Paula, because I have always liked your on air persona, and feel that perhaps it matches your real life one. You are funny and bubbly and kind and I liked what I knew of you. Plus, there's that Southern thing, that as much as I run from it, I do find comfortable and familiar.
I want to tell you I understand ~ but I can't. The arguments don't hold water. The explanations aren't true. You have no excuse.
You say you are learning. Good. I hope that's true. I will never begrudge someone a life lesson. They are always reason to celebrate. But I want to see you learn. I want to see you live it. I want to see you change your thoughts the same way you changed your diet. Otherwise, Paula, they are just words. Words I don't understand.
Sincerely,
The Boston Pobble
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I know I don't mention it often, but I am indeed a southerner. My heart has me from New England, but that is my heart. My heritage is all South.
I want to tell you I understand. That I get that the south is different. That it used to be even more different. That our culture is more resigned to racism and that, while we don't condone it, we also understand the difference between true racism and what you have been doing. I know these arguments. I have heard these arguments. I can quote them, chapter and verse. After all, I am a southerner.
Which is the issue here, Paula. I am a Southerner. I was raised by Southerners. While you are older than I, you are younger than my father, only a few years younger than my mother. You are barely the babysitter generation to me and my peers. And my parents never used the words you claim to have learned not to use. They never held the attitudes you say you have lost.
My parents were white and privileged, so I guarantee you they were not perfect. No more than I am. But I guarantee you, Paula, they didn't require a lawsuit to check that privilege. And they certainly didn't need one to check mine. I remember being 13 or 14, when I announced that I had come to learn there were black people and then there were n*****s and they were totally different. Those parents ~ those Southern parents who were not that much older than you are ~ shut that shit down. They shut that shit down hard.
I want to tell you I understand, Paula, because I have always liked your on air persona, and feel that perhaps it matches your real life one. You are funny and bubbly and kind and I liked what I knew of you. Plus, there's that Southern thing, that as much as I run from it, I do find comfortable and familiar.
I want to tell you I understand ~ but I can't. The arguments don't hold water. The explanations aren't true. You have no excuse.
You say you are learning. Good. I hope that's true. I will never begrudge someone a life lesson. They are always reason to celebrate. But I want to see you learn. I want to see you live it. I want to see you change your thoughts the same way you changed your diet. Otherwise, Paula, they are just words. Words I don't understand.
Sincerely,
The Boston Pobble
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Overheard In NOLA
I can fix your motor. Make it a hotrod. I'm just saying, not everything has to be about Jesus.
I can't argue the point.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I can't argue the point.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
FREEDOM!
As of today, the Lovely Cats is divorced. Too many years, too many stories, too much abuse. And it's over. Welcome back, my friend.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Recovery
Is going so well, it's easy to forget I had surgery at all. At least until I drag the thing I am carrying ~ because I'm allowed to carry, again ~ down my hip and scrape it across the incision point. Other than that, and the very occasional twinge in the heart itself (to be expected, and not a source of concern), I am well, well, well. Even traipsing around NOLA with my mother, as proven by our trek down Bourbon Street.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
It Runs In The Family
When I was in secondary school, my maternal grandparents were in town frequently. Sometimes business, sometimes for alumni events, sometimes "just" to visit us. Regardless of why they were in town, my grandmother, Mama Bear, always made sure there was plenty of time with us. As adult, I realize I have no idea how old she was. 60s? 70s? I know it's a hell of a lot younger from my perspective now than it was then.
Anyway, I remember one trip when I was in middle school, she decided she wanted to take Crow and me for lunch. We had no idea where we should go with our grandmother for lunch. Somehow or other, and I truly don't remember how, it might've been her, the idea of pizza was floated. And oh good lord, she was up for it. At which point, I proclaimed her to be "a cool old broad."
The lunch date came and we headed out. My parents asked where we were going and I (or perhaps Crow, one of us) said "Pizza Inn." My grandmother never missed a beat, but looked up the stairs and said "Yeah, I'm a cool old broad." As it turns out, my mother wasn't the least bit surprised and already knew her stepmother to be a cool old broad. For me, though, it was delightful enough that I remember it some 30 years later.
Last night was Saturday night. In New Orleans. My 70 year old mother looks at me and says "I think I should at least see Bourbon Street on a Saturday night."
...
...
...
Well, okay then.
Yeah, it runs in the family.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Anyway, I remember one trip when I was in middle school, she decided she wanted to take Crow and me for lunch. We had no idea where we should go with our grandmother for lunch. Somehow or other, and I truly don't remember how, it might've been her, the idea of pizza was floated. And oh good lord, she was up for it. At which point, I proclaimed her to be "a cool old broad."
The lunch date came and we headed out. My parents asked where we were going and I (or perhaps Crow, one of us) said "Pizza Inn." My grandmother never missed a beat, but looked up the stairs and said "Yeah, I'm a cool old broad." As it turns out, my mother wasn't the least bit surprised and already knew her stepmother to be a cool old broad. For me, though, it was delightful enough that I remember it some 30 years later.
Last night was Saturday night. In New Orleans. My 70 year old mother looks at me and says "I think I should at least see Bourbon Street on a Saturday night."
...
...
...
Well, okay then.
Yeah, it runs in the family.
 |
| Complete with beads tossed from a balcony |
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Issues, Subscriptions - Vol. 43
I have issues. This is not something I try to hide or am remotely embarrassed about. I am nowhere close to perfect. We all have issues. Honestly, I handle my issues pretty damn well, and far better than many people. Self-esteem isn't one of them, never really has been. Ego isn't much of one. Notice I say "much." That's intentional, because I have realized I do have some ego.
I don't need credit for things often. Someone else's journey is certainly not anything I need ~ or want ~ to take credit for. Taking credit means I also have to be willing to take responsibility, and, potentially, blame. No thank you. If someone needs to learn something and they learn it from me, I'm flattered. But if I've been saying it for years and they are finally able to hear it from someone else, I'm just as good with that. It's not about me being the one who gets the message across.
Just recently, though, I've had the same thing occur several different times and have learned it makes me crazy. I have suggested something to someone and then, within a matter of hours, had that same someone tell me they were going to do what I had suggested, but say it in such a way that makes it sound as if I had never suggested it in the first place, but that it was solely their idea. Explain it to me ~ once, almost verbatim ~ and then wait for the praise that came with coming up with this great idea. But...but...It was just this afternoon! Believe me, I remember giving you this idea! You have thought of this because I told it to you!
And that's when I have to take a step back. That's when I have to remember that it is not about getting credit. It's not about being the source of the information. When I need to remember that, while this is not exactly the same thing, it is very close to not having ego around someone else's journey.
I am amused at myself. I am amazed at how very often it happens. And I am learning to shake my head and let it go. I'm nowhere close to perfect ~ especially on the shaking my head and letting it go, part ~ but I'm working on it. That's gotta count for something. Right?
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I don't need credit for things often. Someone else's journey is certainly not anything I need ~ or want ~ to take credit for. Taking credit means I also have to be willing to take responsibility, and, potentially, blame. No thank you. If someone needs to learn something and they learn it from me, I'm flattered. But if I've been saying it for years and they are finally able to hear it from someone else, I'm just as good with that. It's not about me being the one who gets the message across.
Just recently, though, I've had the same thing occur several different times and have learned it makes me crazy. I have suggested something to someone and then, within a matter of hours, had that same someone tell me they were going to do what I had suggested, but say it in such a way that makes it sound as if I had never suggested it in the first place, but that it was solely their idea. Explain it to me ~ once, almost verbatim ~ and then wait for the praise that came with coming up with this great idea. But...but...It was just this afternoon! Believe me, I remember giving you this idea! You have thought of this because I told it to you!
And that's when I have to take a step back. That's when I have to remember that it is not about getting credit. It's not about being the source of the information. When I need to remember that, while this is not exactly the same thing, it is very close to not having ego around someone else's journey.
I am amused at myself. I am amazed at how very often it happens. And I am learning to shake my head and let it go. I'm nowhere close to perfect ~ especially on the shaking my head and letting it go, part ~ but I'm working on it. That's gotta count for something. Right?
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Muchness
Several years ago now, two koala bears survived horrific fires in Australia. They found each other and became mated at the animal rescue center where they were taken for rehabilitation. The vets in charge of their care said they had "a muchness between them."
I write about Lithus, often, but I don't write about him nearly as often as I could. For as open as I am, I am also known for being private. I hug and laugh and will talk about the things no one else wants to talk about. I believe in feeling whatever we are feeling in the moment and feeling it without shame. And still, there is a reservedness that I know I have.
That being said, sometimes, you have to say something. Sometimes, you are loved so big, and you love so big, and it is all so complete, that you have to say something.
We have a muchness between us. Or mutual weirdness. Probably both. And I am so grateful.
Those are truly blessed Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I write about Lithus, often, but I don't write about him nearly as often as I could. For as open as I am, I am also known for being private. I hug and laugh and will talk about the things no one else wants to talk about. I believe in feeling whatever we are feeling in the moment and feeling it without shame. And still, there is a reservedness that I know I have.
That being said, sometimes, you have to say something. Sometimes, you are loved so big, and you love so big, and it is all so complete, that you have to say something.
We have a muchness between us. Or mutual weirdness. Probably both. And I am so grateful.
Those are truly blessed Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Early This Year
While I pride myself on being spontaneous, in some ways, I am remarkably predictable. Every holiday season, I write a PSA about giving. Every October, I write about National Domestic Violence Month. And usually sometime right around the 4th of July, I remind people of the definition of the word "evacuate." That last one isn't waiting until July this year. Thank you, Colorado.
Sadly, there are wildfires in Colorado already this fire season. Even more sadly, homes are being destroyed. The area in question was even under a mandatory evacuation order. Most people listened, and left. My sympathy for them knows no bounds.Then there were the people who stayed. Who are now asking for help. Kind of like for evacuation. Yeah...
Funniest thing about that one; I have no sympathy for them. None. Because you know who would've risked his life to save their homes so they didn't have to stay and try to save their homes themselves? Lithus, and the other pilots like him. You know, the love of my life and my friends.
Guess who are now having to risk their lives even more, because the fires are even closer, are hotter, are more dangerous? Guess who can't just say a building isn't worth risking their lives and stay safe, because it's not just a building any longer; it's people. Who didn't fucking evacuate. When they were ordered to do so.
So, people, it's fire season. Think about your homes, your belongings. Absolutely. But think about your lives first. And then, even before your damn house, think about the lives of the people who will come get you out of the conflagration when the shit really comes down. And move your fucking ass.
Thanks.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Sadly, there are wildfires in Colorado already this fire season. Even more sadly, homes are being destroyed. The area in question was even under a mandatory evacuation order. Most people listened, and left. My sympathy for them knows no bounds.Then there were the people who stayed. Who are now asking for help. Kind of like for evacuation. Yeah...
Funniest thing about that one; I have no sympathy for them. None. Because you know who would've risked his life to save their homes so they didn't have to stay and try to save their homes themselves? Lithus, and the other pilots like him. You know, the love of my life and my friends.
Guess who are now having to risk their lives even more, because the fires are even closer, are hotter, are more dangerous? Guess who can't just say a building isn't worth risking their lives and stay safe, because it's not just a building any longer; it's people. Who didn't fucking evacuate. When they were ordered to do so.
So, people, it's fire season. Think about your homes, your belongings. Absolutely. But think about your lives first. And then, even before your damn house, think about the lives of the people who will come get you out of the conflagration when the shit really comes down. And move your fucking ass.
Thanks.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Sunday, June 09, 2013
Fixed!
Heart surgery. Those are still weird words, and an even weirder concept. But I feel really good. And I'm fixed, which is amazing.
Starbuck had suggested I wear my stilettos into surgery. Sadly, that couldn't be arranged. However! Lithus ran with the idea, and I was at least able to be colorful.
Only in Louisiana can you have heart surgery on Day One and on Day Two be served sausage and biscuit for breakfast. I drank my coffee and had a banana.
For 24 years, I have been ignored and written off and condescended to around this issue. Then there was this man: Dr. Daniel. If you ever need anything done to the electrical system in your heart, contact me and I will give you his full name, because this is the guy you want. After 24 years, he found it, and fixed it, in thirty-seven days. With a bedside manner and grace that are hard to come by in specialist doctors. Plus, he got to NOLA from Boston, via Worcester. What's not to love?
Need I say that Lithus was brilliant? And continues to be so? He never left my side. He talked when I needed company and was quiet when I needed peace. Every time I reached my hand out, he was there. Some of the details are too personal, even for here. Some, can't be adequately described, even by me. This is not a pain-free procedure. It is not a mess-free procedure. And Lithus was there, through it all. See that window seat down there? That was his "bed" for the night. And he never complained.
And finally ~ finally ~ I got to go back outside. It was a beautiful day.
It's only day two and I'm already bored. Luckily, heavy rest is up after today. Then I spend a week still being easy, but at least more functional. It's all worth it, though. I'm fixed.
 |
| A pre-surgery pose |
Starbuck had suggested I wear my stilettos into surgery. Sadly, that couldn't be arranged. However! Lithus ran with the idea, and I was at least able to be colorful.
 |
| Electric pool blue toes |
Only in Louisiana can you have heart surgery on Day One and on Day Two be served sausage and biscuit for breakfast. I drank my coffee and had a banana.
 |
| The morning after |
 |
| Favorite doctor *ever* |
 |
| Favorite person *ever* |
 |
| Note: beautiful day |
It's only day two and I'm already bored. Luckily, heavy rest is up after today. Then I spend a week still being easy, but at least more functional. It's all worth it, though. I'm fixed.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
Current Favorites
I often post commercials that make me happy, or piss me off, or give me pause, or whatever. It's that time again.
Kudos to Audi, for making black females their target audience. No great fanfare. No great flashing neon signs screaming LOOK AT ME! Just a mom and daughter, living their lives, coming off as intelligent, articulate, well-off, and happy. You know, just like real black families.
And this one, the infamous Cheerios commercial. That also dares to show a loving, united, nuclear family that recognizes the changing face of American families.
I'm a vote with my pocketbook type 'o gal, and would love to throw my support behind both of these. That's not gonna happen anytime soon, given that I'm a long way out from being able to afford an Audi. But there are Cheerios in my pantry, even as we speak.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Kudos to Audi, for making black females their target audience. No great fanfare. No great flashing neon signs screaming LOOK AT ME! Just a mom and daughter, living their lives, coming off as intelligent, articulate, well-off, and happy. You know, just like real black families.
And this one, the infamous Cheerios commercial. That also dares to show a loving, united, nuclear family that recognizes the changing face of American families.
I'm a vote with my pocketbook type 'o gal, and would love to throw my support behind both of these. That's not gonna happen anytime soon, given that I'm a long way out from being able to afford an Audi. But there are Cheerios in my pantry, even as we speak.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Saturday, June 01, 2013
Heart...Surgery?
On June 6th, I'm having heart surgery. It is a strange thought, and not at all comfortable. Heart surgery. Wow.
Now, before anyone worries, or warms up their best pep talk, everything will be fine. What we expect is happening (AVnRT) is the most common, and most easily remedied, of the tachycardia(s? ae?). I was going to link an explanation, but none of them are as easy to understand as the one I've come up with. It means this:
I have an extra electrical pathway in the right upper chamber of my heart. Normally, the electricity would flow from the right upper chamber to the right lower chamber, causing my heart to pump correctly. However, if we are correct and it is AVnRT, sometimes the electricity runs down the pathway and gets snagged by this other, spare, connected pathway, and it sends it back up into the right upper chamber instead of allowing the electricity to flow through the right lower chamber.
Which is all kinds of clinical and removed and not at all how I'm feeling about it. So, I'm trying not to think about it. Much anyway. Because, yes, I am scared. And, I'm okay. Both/And, you know?
My friend, Starbuck, even sent me googly eyes and stickers for the equipment that lives on my hip at all times. As I told her, if I have to live with this for the next 18 months, it might as well be a friend. So, she helped make that happen.
I'm ready for this. Lithus is going to be by my side every step of the way. My doctor is brilliant and I feel safe in his care. It's all good.
Now, before anyone worries, or warms up their best pep talk, everything will be fine. What we expect is happening (AVnRT) is the most common, and most easily remedied, of the tachycardia(s? ae?). I was going to link an explanation, but none of them are as easy to understand as the one I've come up with. It means this:
I have an extra electrical pathway in the right upper chamber of my heart. Normally, the electricity would flow from the right upper chamber to the right lower chamber, causing my heart to pump correctly. However, if we are correct and it is AVnRT, sometimes the electricity runs down the pathway and gets snagged by this other, spare, connected pathway, and it sends it back up into the right upper chamber instead of allowing the electricity to flow through the right lower chamber.
Which is all kinds of clinical and removed and not at all how I'm feeling about it. So, I'm trying not to think about it. Much anyway. Because, yes, I am scared. And, I'm okay. Both/And, you know?
My friend, Starbuck, even sent me googly eyes and stickers for the equipment that lives on my hip at all times. As I told her, if I have to live with this for the next 18 months, it might as well be a friend. So, she helped make that happen.
 |
| The first attempt at the case, but the stickers came off |
 |
| Successful googly eyes on the case |
 |
| And the activator itself, for when I have to take it out and use it |
I'm ready for this. Lithus is going to be by my side every step of the way. My doctor is brilliant and I feel safe in his care. It's all good.
Still, every now and then, it hits me: I am going to have heart surgery. Yeah. It's a little weird.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
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