B and B

It's 11:00 a.m. and I'm just back from the morning routine at the hospital. My mornings are looking something like this:

5:15 (or as late as 7:00 on a good day) I wake up to one or two lovely little girls patting me gently (or not) with words such as "Auntie Carol it's morning time, get UP!"

6:30 or 7:00 My sister-in-law comes home from the hospital and I transition from home to hospital.

8:20 We start the preparations for my brother's daily trip outside, where his girls come to visit every morning. Preparations include:

• pillows on the wheelchair
• check to see that the heparin and morphine supplies are sufficient for a few hours
• get shorts or pants on (this a purely male bonding event)
• sip coffee (this morning there was Tim's and Starbuck's)
• empty catheter bag
• move furniture out of the room so we have enough space to manouvre
• hook IV lines onto the handle of the wheelchair to prevent an accidental pull on an IV site (these are precious)
• take the morning doses of pills
• examine the breakfast tray to varying degrees of horror

I'm sure there's more, but much of this is now done on auto pilot..........

We head out of the hospital, one person pushing the chair, one with the IV pole, and often a third person to hold doors open and prevent elevator doors from closing on my brother's legs. Out to a gorgeous spot with trees, sunshine, shade, and fresh air.

There's a white board on the wall facing my brother's bed, on which are written the nurses name, various phone numbers, a record of his eating for the day, etc.

This morning he asked me to write "B and B" on the white board. This is a big event.

Today is bath and bowel movement day.

Our new routine.

B and B.

Jewels

In the midst of the nightmare that has become reality for my family over the past few weeks, there have been jewels, little and big blessings that keep renewing my faith in God, people, family, and the incredible power of love. I have moments of feeling guilty about some of the jewels, then come back to my senses and remember that it's okay to feel blessed, even when life in general looks pretty grim. Here's a little list of my jewels.

1. Developing a closer relationship with my brother's little girls. Generally, I'm so busy running in circles, that I don't have time to spend hours and hours playing, reading stories, splashing in the wading pool, going for walks, and getting to know and love these 2 beautiful little girls.
2. Sitting outside their house in the evening as the girls sleep and visiting with their wonderful friends, who also happen to be neighbors.
3. Standing on the top rung of a step-ladder (you know the one where it says "Don't stand on here - YOU COULD LOSE YOUR BALANCE") and blasting environmentally friendly stuff on a wasps nests. CAll me sick in the head, which is actually an accurate assessment, but I enjoy watching what happens during and after these localized thunderstorms.
4. A phone call that I received while waiting in line to get my car washed. A friend had redone the grout and silicone in my bathroom, and laid down new linoleum. The phone call was to say "Don't send any money. This is our gift to you." Out of the blue, unexpected, and oh so kind.
5. Family
6. Being real.
7. Love

My jewels.

Lost in the wilds of cyberspace

I have been valiantly trying to publish a posh I wrote a few days ago. For some reason, I keep getting informed that it's been published, but it is not being released from its status as a draft.

I also keep hoping that my family will wake up from the bad dream we're in; hoping that my brother will leap out of bed and start baking bread again. Hoping that all the fear, anxiety, and worry is just a great big mistake and we accidentally turned on the wrong channel for a few weeks.

The only thing that makes sense these days is love. Fortunately there is a lot of that around. I don't know how anyone goes through these things alone.

Where's the calendar?

Many of us run our lives by calendars. When I work, I am completely useless if I have left my daybook behind, and have been known to spend 45 minutes of a work day running home to get it so that I can be somewhat useful.

Every year, in May or June, I set out my travelling schedule for the upcoming year. 44 schools, 15 or 20 communities, multiple contracts, various co-workers, this is my life and there's something mathematically satisfying about seeing my year in advance, all neatly laid out.

Then comes the summer calendar. Print out June, July, August. Plug in the Folk Festival, the annual canoe trip with the girl-friends, the canoe trips with neices, nephews, and their friends. A road trip to Kananaskis to meet a friend for some awesome hiking, paddling, and white-water rafting.This is all familiar and friendly territory.

Not so the reality of this summer's calendar.

On June 27th, my brother learned he was seriously ill. Everything changed overnight. Now a calendar floats via internet to friends and family, with slots for childcare, meals, cleaning the house, and doing anything else to help him, his wife, and 2 young girls manage from day to day.

I can manage calendars. I can manage tasks. How to manage emotions that ride violent rollercoasters day after day, that's a much tougher one to deal with. The unpredictability and vulnerability of one's health can change without rhyme or reason, at any time, without seeking our permission or cooperation.

No neat little boxes in which to slot in events.

No nice predictable calendars.