On Friday night my mom drove me home. Dad was back at the hospital with my aunt.
"Are you going to be okay?" she asked.
I nodded but the tears were coming.
"Are you sure? You can come and stay at our place," she said.
"I just want my dad," I said in tears as she pulled me in for a hug.
My uncle died on Friday afternoon. They were not able to control the swelling in his brain that was connected to the stroke and it eventually killed him. I was in a family room at the St. Boniface Hospital with my family, my cousins and some of their mom's family when they announced that it was over. Tracy and I hugged dad. I felt grateful at that moment because I had a dad that I could hug. I didn't want to let go. But I also felt bad because my cousins were in the room and they wouldn't ever get to hug their dad again. I wondered if they saw us embracing and if we made the moment for them even worse. I hope not.
Even though it was over, it wasn't. Dad had to be there for other people a lot --as a brother, a brother-in-law, a son, and just for himself as a grieving person, and I found myself missing him terribly when I couldn't be with him. I am aware now of how I take for granted all the time I think I have with him, because I saw how in an instant that can be cut off.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I was supposed to go to Lisa's tonight for dinner.
She emailed me yesterday to say that she couldn't remember if she'd told me or not that she couldn't do dinner this week (we get together every Thursday) because she was going to the baseball game with her office.
On Sunday, Father's Day, my sister and her live-in man friend had invited me to join my parents at her place on Thursday night for dinner. I had said I probably couldn't because I was supposed to get together with Lisa. I texted her yesterday as soon as I found out that my plans with Lisa were off and I was free.
And so it was set. Thursday night the family four and Carlos, her man friend, would be together at her little house for dinner. Tracy would be nervous, Carlos would be super-duper nervous, but it was a sunny and warm day in the city and Dad was actually in a chipper, talkative mood.
Early yesterday morning my uncle, Dad's younger brother, went to hospital because he had suffered a stroke. He had been working security at the Eagles concert the night before, came home late and went to bed. The dog woke my aunt up in the early morning. She turned to wake her husband except he wouldn't wake up and she called the ambulance. He was rushed to the hospital and it was hailed a miracle that they had caught the stroke early enough that they were able to give him super strong clot busters to help. Thank goodness for the dog.
My mom phoned me yesterday while I was on training in the call centre. She left a voicemail to let me know about my uncle. I didn't phone back until I got home from work because I was in meetings for most of the day and it sounded like he wasn't well but would be okay.
Tonight when my mom, dad, sister and Carlos got together my dad sounded optimistic. He had gone to see his brother in the afternoon. Some of the doctors seemed to suggest that my uncle would be okay although there could be a long road ahead. One doctor, a specialist, didn't have such a cheery outlook but we dismissed this as the outlier opinion. Of course he would be fine. He was only 54 and an otherwise healthy and active man with a wife, son, daughter and grandson.
The five of us went in and sat down to dinner. Dad, who is known as much for his laid-back nature as he is for his moodiness, was in high spirits. He was teasing Carlos and digging into the meal without his usual grunting complaints about overcooked carrots or weird vegetables. Tracy had done a great job of barbecuing. We were abnormally normal and happy.
Dad got a call on his cell from my aunt, his sister. He took it outside. Carlos at some point looked out the window and noticed that Dad looked upset. Tracy stood up and looked. Dad was wiping tears, she said. Mom went out to see him.
They came back inside. Dad spit out the update. It wasn't good. There was swelling in the brain. My uncle wasn't stable and they were not able to move him to the Health Sciences Centre where they could do what needed to be done to help him. Things suddenly were not looking so optimistic. The road to recovery was suddenly dust. My Dad kept apologizing as he wiped his eyes with a paper napkin.
I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen my dad cry. The truth is that my mom is the rock in this family. You'd never guess that if you were meeting them for the first time or the twenty-seventh time. My dad is an M&M--hard and crusty on the outside but soft and easily melted on the inside. On top of that, he hasn't had a very close relationship with his brother over the past two decades or so. Family gatherings have always felt a bit tense for us. They're just different people. So to see him A) broken up, and B) broken up about this person who he always seemed mostly indifferent towards...I don't know how to put it into words but I tried really hard to be strong for him and I almost was able to hold it together. Not like my mom though--she's amazing.
We didn't get to eat the dessert mom brought. Mom and Dad went home and then to the hospital. I stayed at my sister's for a while longer. As soon as Mom and Dad left I started asking questions of Tracy and Carlos, the medical experts of the family. Carlos works at the hospital where my uncle was at and had already put in a call to his co-workers to request updates.
Tracy's special dinner didn't turn out the way we had hoped. I told her that it was a good thing though because she was able to have us all together and happy, if only briefly. Imagine if we had all been at our separate homes. We were meant to be together tonight.
My dad is due to retire this September. For the past few months I have silently worried about him because I have not ever before seen him work as hard as he has been for the past eight months or so. He doesn't lead the healthiest lifestyle and he needs a break. Dark thoughts have crossed my mind on numerous occasions about him not getting the chance to realize his dream of retirement because the stress of work and his bad habits contributed to stealing that time away from him. I am feeling selfish, in a way, right now. I am not thinking of my cousins, my aunt or my grandmother. I am thinking of my Dad, because I cannot stand the idea of him crying over his brother. My dad doesn't deserve, can't handle that kind of sadness right now. It's just not right. He shouldn't have to watch his brother go through this stuff yet. He shouldn't ever have to see that; he's the older one. He should be old and senile before this was to happen. So while Tracy, Carlos and I sat at the table in her un-airconditioned kitchen, my only prayer was, please, don't do this to my dad. Don't put him through this shit and don't you dare make him cry.
I'm at my mom's and dad's right now. Dad called Tracy to update us and let us know that they have stabilized my uncle by inducing him into a coma. Tracy said he sounded better, more hopeful. I guess they are going to try to keep him stable until morning and then assess if they can transport him to the other hospital where they can operate on him to relieve the pressure on his brain. Dad asked if I could swing by the house on my way home to let Elmo out.
I let him out. Now I'm stuck here worrying about my dad and wishing I could be there to hold his hand. And I'm blogging. Because you are all I have to talk to right now and words on a page are all I know.
She emailed me yesterday to say that she couldn't remember if she'd told me or not that she couldn't do dinner this week (we get together every Thursday) because she was going to the baseball game with her office.
On Sunday, Father's Day, my sister and her live-in man friend had invited me to join my parents at her place on Thursday night for dinner. I had said I probably couldn't because I was supposed to get together with Lisa. I texted her yesterday as soon as I found out that my plans with Lisa were off and I was free.
And so it was set. Thursday night the family four and Carlos, her man friend, would be together at her little house for dinner. Tracy would be nervous, Carlos would be super-duper nervous, but it was a sunny and warm day in the city and Dad was actually in a chipper, talkative mood.
Early yesterday morning my uncle, Dad's younger brother, went to hospital because he had suffered a stroke. He had been working security at the Eagles concert the night before, came home late and went to bed. The dog woke my aunt up in the early morning. She turned to wake her husband except he wouldn't wake up and she called the ambulance. He was rushed to the hospital and it was hailed a miracle that they had caught the stroke early enough that they were able to give him super strong clot busters to help. Thank goodness for the dog.
My mom phoned me yesterday while I was on training in the call centre. She left a voicemail to let me know about my uncle. I didn't phone back until I got home from work because I was in meetings for most of the day and it sounded like he wasn't well but would be okay.
Tonight when my mom, dad, sister and Carlos got together my dad sounded optimistic. He had gone to see his brother in the afternoon. Some of the doctors seemed to suggest that my uncle would be okay although there could be a long road ahead. One doctor, a specialist, didn't have such a cheery outlook but we dismissed this as the outlier opinion. Of course he would be fine. He was only 54 and an otherwise healthy and active man with a wife, son, daughter and grandson.
The five of us went in and sat down to dinner. Dad, who is known as much for his laid-back nature as he is for his moodiness, was in high spirits. He was teasing Carlos and digging into the meal without his usual grunting complaints about overcooked carrots or weird vegetables. Tracy had done a great job of barbecuing. We were abnormally normal and happy.
Dad got a call on his cell from my aunt, his sister. He took it outside. Carlos at some point looked out the window and noticed that Dad looked upset. Tracy stood up and looked. Dad was wiping tears, she said. Mom went out to see him.
They came back inside. Dad spit out the update. It wasn't good. There was swelling in the brain. My uncle wasn't stable and they were not able to move him to the Health Sciences Centre where they could do what needed to be done to help him. Things suddenly were not looking so optimistic. The road to recovery was suddenly dust. My Dad kept apologizing as he wiped his eyes with a paper napkin.
I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen my dad cry. The truth is that my mom is the rock in this family. You'd never guess that if you were meeting them for the first time or the twenty-seventh time. My dad is an M&M--hard and crusty on the outside but soft and easily melted on the inside. On top of that, he hasn't had a very close relationship with his brother over the past two decades or so. Family gatherings have always felt a bit tense for us. They're just different people. So to see him A) broken up, and B) broken up about this person who he always seemed mostly indifferent towards...I don't know how to put it into words but I tried really hard to be strong for him and I almost was able to hold it together. Not like my mom though--she's amazing.
We didn't get to eat the dessert mom brought. Mom and Dad went home and then to the hospital. I stayed at my sister's for a while longer. As soon as Mom and Dad left I started asking questions of Tracy and Carlos, the medical experts of the family. Carlos works at the hospital where my uncle was at and had already put in a call to his co-workers to request updates.
Tracy's special dinner didn't turn out the way we had hoped. I told her that it was a good thing though because she was able to have us all together and happy, if only briefly. Imagine if we had all been at our separate homes. We were meant to be together tonight.
My dad is due to retire this September. For the past few months I have silently worried about him because I have not ever before seen him work as hard as he has been for the past eight months or so. He doesn't lead the healthiest lifestyle and he needs a break. Dark thoughts have crossed my mind on numerous occasions about him not getting the chance to realize his dream of retirement because the stress of work and his bad habits contributed to stealing that time away from him. I am feeling selfish, in a way, right now. I am not thinking of my cousins, my aunt or my grandmother. I am thinking of my Dad, because I cannot stand the idea of him crying over his brother. My dad doesn't deserve, can't handle that kind of sadness right now. It's just not right. He shouldn't have to watch his brother go through this stuff yet. He shouldn't ever have to see that; he's the older one. He should be old and senile before this was to happen. So while Tracy, Carlos and I sat at the table in her un-airconditioned kitchen, my only prayer was, please, don't do this to my dad. Don't put him through this shit and don't you dare make him cry.
I'm at my mom's and dad's right now. Dad called Tracy to update us and let us know that they have stabilized my uncle by inducing him into a coma. Tracy said he sounded better, more hopeful. I guess they are going to try to keep him stable until morning and then assess if they can transport him to the other hospital where they can operate on him to relieve the pressure on his brain. Dad asked if I could swing by the house on my way home to let Elmo out.
I let him out. Now I'm stuck here worrying about my dad and wishing I could be there to hold his hand. And I'm blogging. Because you are all I have to talk to right now and words on a page are all I know.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Sunshine and Rainbows
Around 5:40 tonight, the first evening of summer 2010, as I was heading out to pick up Nigel for another night of sketching I looked up and saw a perfect rainbow in the sky. It was a full and vibrant arch from north to south. I don't think I've ever seen a rainbow like that before. It was surreal, and that about sums up how my world has been these days.
I haven't blogged in a while because I really haven't had a story to tell for some time. A story needs a conflict and drama to give it a plot and I haven't had anything like that for a good week now. Good stuff just keeps coming around to me. It's a little weird but I'm not going to say no.
Anyway, my boring story today is that I went sketching tonight. I wore my new Artsy t-shirt--a $5 special that my mom bought for me at the Grand Forks Arts & Crafts show we browsed two weekends ago. I love the shirt--way cooler than anything I saw in the mall that weekend--and I wanted to save it for the next time I went to a life drawing session. As I said to Nigel, it's like a band t-shirt, it's not cool to wear the item at the event it names, but completely cool to wear it to another event of a similar nature or audience.
The sketching went well. My favourite sketch was my last one. It doesn't look anything like anyone else's, but I like it, I'm proud of it and I don't care what anyone else thinks of it.
I brought my new umbrella with me, just in case it rained and I needed to protect my sketchbook. Rain is normally a reason to frown, but I bought this new colourful umbrella and it makes me happy every time I pop it open.
After sketching Nigel and I headed over to the Kings Head for beer, fries and catch up. It was perfect. So boring, I know. No boys, no people getting in my way, no worries or cares. Bad for the writing business but good for everything else. Oh, and next week I will be on vacation! Yay! It's been almost a year since I've had anything more than a long weekend.
Anyway, I'm sorry and yet not sorry for being boring, and I hope you may all enjoy this brand of boring from time to time.
I haven't blogged in a while because I really haven't had a story to tell for some time. A story needs a conflict and drama to give it a plot and I haven't had anything like that for a good week now. Good stuff just keeps coming around to me. It's a little weird but I'm not going to say no.
Anyway, my boring story today is that I went sketching tonight. I wore my new Artsy t-shirt--a $5 special that my mom bought for me at the Grand Forks Arts & Crafts show we browsed two weekends ago. I love the shirt--way cooler than anything I saw in the mall that weekend--and I wanted to save it for the next time I went to a life drawing session. As I said to Nigel, it's like a band t-shirt, it's not cool to wear the item at the event it names, but completely cool to wear it to another event of a similar nature or audience.
The sketching went well. My favourite sketch was my last one. It doesn't look anything like anyone else's, but I like it, I'm proud of it and I don't care what anyone else thinks of it.
I brought my new umbrella with me, just in case it rained and I needed to protect my sketchbook. Rain is normally a reason to frown, but I bought this new colourful umbrella and it makes me happy every time I pop it open.
After sketching Nigel and I headed over to the Kings Head for beer, fries and catch up. It was perfect. So boring, I know. No boys, no people getting in my way, no worries or cares. Bad for the writing business but good for everything else. Oh, and next week I will be on vacation! Yay! It's been almost a year since I've had anything more than a long weekend.
Anyway, I'm sorry and yet not sorry for being boring, and I hope you may all enjoy this brand of boring from time to time.
Friday, June 11, 2010
My heart skips a beat and I feel weak
Well if something is going to be wrong with me, let's at least make it something I can laugh at, because that distracts my over-imaginative mind from going to places it should not.
I had an appointment scheduled with my doctor on Thursday. I thought that I'd hear the results of my echocardiogram since the tech told me the results would probably be sent to my doctor sometime today. No such luck. I did get to hear about my Holter test results though and was completely surprised that there was actually something of interest to report.
"The patient was monitored for a total of 24 hours. There were rare ventricular and supraventricular ectopic beats of low complexity. Translation: some recorded incidences of abnormal heart rhythms."
"A review of the provided rhythm strips shows episodes of Wenckebach..."
Wenckebach, pronounced Winky back. Yeah, when the doctor told me this my first thought was, "I have a Teletubby in my heart?" Dipsy, Laa Laa, Po, Tinky-Winkyback!
"...and also has some ectopic atrial beats with a Wenckebach type phenomenon..."
Basically, the little gadget found that sometimes my heart dropped a beat and sometimes it skipped a beat, which may all have something to do with why I collapsed on the sidewalk last summer after I sprained my ankle. Let's laugh at this, shall we?
My heart isn't broken, it just has a bad sense of rhythm. So if you told me to dance to the rhythm of my heart I'd be bopping along and then I'd trip, then take a double step to get back in time, bop along, and trip again. Yup. Sounds exactly like me.
I explained the thing to a few people and the general consensus is that I should swoon more when I meet a particularly handsome dude and then just blame it all on the Wenckebach. A tendency to swoon and have my heart skip a beat--doesn't it sound so romantic? And again, is this not me? And how about the fact that my heart is afflicted with something that sounds like a returned flirty gesture?
My doctor isn't really concerned, but he's sending me or my files or something to a cardiologist. Weee. Guess I'll be going back to the Twilight Zone that is St. B Hospital. As my mom said to me, I finally get some return on the taxes I've paid to fund our healthcare system.
I'm not sure really what to make of this. I'm not supposed to worry but I'm 28 and I have to go see a specialist about my heart. That's kind of not cool with me. And my doctor also said, "well, if you were driving on the highway and your heart skipped and your blood pressure dropped...", which made me nervous because the government takes drivers' licences away for stuff like that. But instead of letting my brain take the fretting and worrying to the extreme, I'm going to try focusing on the funny stuff, continuing to live like each day is my last and dancing like no one is watching me miss the beat.
Some U of Alberta students with a sense of humour spoofed Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back song.
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I had an appointment scheduled with my doctor on Thursday. I thought that I'd hear the results of my echocardiogram since the tech told me the results would probably be sent to my doctor sometime today. No such luck. I did get to hear about my Holter test results though and was completely surprised that there was actually something of interest to report.
"The patient was monitored for a total of 24 hours. There were rare ventricular and supraventricular ectopic beats of low complexity. Translation: some recorded incidences of abnormal heart rhythms."
"A review of the provided rhythm strips shows episodes of Wenckebach..."
"...and also has some ectopic atrial beats with a Wenckebach type phenomenon..."
Basically, the little gadget found that sometimes my heart dropped a beat and sometimes it skipped a beat, which may all have something to do with why I collapsed on the sidewalk last summer after I sprained my ankle. Let's laugh at this, shall we?
My heart isn't broken, it just has a bad sense of rhythm. So if you told me to dance to the rhythm of my heart I'd be bopping along and then I'd trip, then take a double step to get back in time, bop along, and trip again. Yup. Sounds exactly like me.
I explained the thing to a few people and the general consensus is that I should swoon more when I meet a particularly handsome dude and then just blame it all on the Wenckebach. A tendency to swoon and have my heart skip a beat--doesn't it sound so romantic? And again, is this not me? And how about the fact that my heart is afflicted with something that sounds like a returned flirty gesture?
My doctor isn't really concerned, but he's sending me or my files or something to a cardiologist. Weee. Guess I'll be going back to the Twilight Zone that is St. B Hospital. As my mom said to me, I finally get some return on the taxes I've paid to fund our healthcare system.
I'm not sure really what to make of this. I'm not supposed to worry but I'm 28 and I have to go see a specialist about my heart. That's kind of not cool with me. And my doctor also said, "well, if you were driving on the highway and your heart skipped and your blood pressure dropped...", which made me nervous because the government takes drivers' licences away for stuff like that. But instead of letting my brain take the fretting and worrying to the extreme, I'm going to try focusing on the funny stuff, continuing to live like each day is my last and dancing like no one is watching me miss the beat.
Some U of Alberta students with a sense of humour spoofed Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back song.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Is there an echo in here?
Okay so yesterday I had an appointment at the St. B Hospital again, this time for an echocardiogram. An echo-what? I know, that's what I said. My doctor was sending me for the test to help rule out heart problems in relation to that fainting spell I had last summer. When I got the call last week about the appointment I couldn't remember if my doctor had said he was going to set me up for this test along with the Holter monitor test (which I did in January, remember, suicide bomber?) or if this was some kind of bonus test that I was getting now because of something that showed up on the Holter results. It made me nervous.
I Googled Echocardiogram and learned that it is is a test that uses sound waves to create a moving picture of the heart. The test can detect things like abnormal heart valves, damage to the heart, infection in the sac around the heart, congenital heart disease...need I go on or are you freaking out as much as I am?
I called my mom to tell her about the upcoming appointment. Her optimistic words of support?
"Maybe you just have a heart murmur or something. You know Grandma has a heart murmur and look how good she is."
How about maybe I don't have a single freakin thing wrong with me? I remember waaaay back last summer when I had the fainting spell that the paramedics and my doctor said it was probably all just due to a low tolerance for pain and I vehemently disagreed because I, Jillian, can take all sorts of pain. I may whine and cry about it, but it has to be super bad before I'll take a single Advil. Now, facing another test to check out my heart, i.e., the very thing keeping me walking and talking and tripping over myself in Zumba class, I am fully ready to accept a diagnosis of "low tolerance for pain" just to put the whole mess behind me.
I had one of the first appointments of the day. Having been to the hospital once before now for a test I figured I knew where to go to check in. No, I was wrong. Apparently they have numerous places to check in. Who thinks these things through? Hospitals are big and kind of scary because you're not often there on good terms. If I were designing the place I'd have a big check in desk right at the front, that is staffed at least 7:00 am to 5:30 pm with happy, smiley, warm people. You'd give them your name, they'd enter you into a computer and then offer a friendly happy volunteer to walk you to whichever department you need to get to. where you can then complete the check in process.
Anyway, I was redirected to the correct reception desk in the Heart Sciences area. I was told to take an elevator. Ooooh, she's going for an echocardiogram, better not send her to the stairs, she might have a bad heart. I kept my eye out for a staircase but couldn't see one so I reluctantly took the stupidly slow elevator. I sincerely hope they don't use that thing for emergencies. All the heart research in the world ain't gonna help if every heart attack victim has to wait for an elevator.
When I got up to the heart department--which has things like pacemakers and information on the effects of smoking hanging on the wall--I was the second person in line to check in. Ahead of me was a rather large woman who used a wheeling-walker thing and had laboured breathing. Hm. I thought to myself, one of us has a heart problem. Please don't let this be the picture perfect public serivice announcement with a surprise twist ending.
When it was my turn to speak to the clerk at the desk I gave her my name. She looked on her screen.
"Jillian Shannon?"
"Yes."
"Oh! Jillian and Shannon are the names of my daughters," she smiled. She confirmed with me my phone number and address, even asked my religion. Next she asked for my emergency contact person and then she said, "oh wait, I have it here, oh my goodness, your mom's name is Bev, that's my name."
Cute, Universe. Cute. Way to play the name game. Is this supposed to calm my nerves? Can we just get this over with please so I can get on with living a very normal and healthy life?
A few minutes later I went in for the test and the cardiologist notices my name and tells me, "that's my daughter's middle name. Her first name is Claire." So then I told her the story about the woman at the front desk and then she said,"well I guess you were just meant to be here today." Meant to be at the hospital is not really what a supposedly young and healthy woman wants to hear while she is getting her heart checked out, but sure, I suppose the coincidences were somewhat entertaining. Or weird. One of those.
So the echocardiogram itself is essentially an ultrasound on your chest. There's a wand and goo and a fuzzy picture in a pie shaped area on the screen. I didn't really watch. Once in a while she would turn on the sound and I'd hear my heart but this, for me, was not all amazing like it is when a woman hears her baby's heart beat in the womb. Mostly I was sitting there wondering, is that supposed to sound like that? I suppose pregnant ladies get to hear things like, "your baby's heart is looking and sounding very good!" I was just laying there feeling smothered by my own name, trying to breath normally so my heart wouldn't race, hoping that I was normal and healthy and wondering what time I would be able to get into work at.
The test took 20 minutes or so. I found my way out of the hospital, paid for parking, fought with morning rush hour traffic to get home only to miss the next bus out by 30 seconds. I decided to walk in the drizzle. I sped past a senior couple and a daycare group. I had my iPod on and tried to get lost in a favourite song.
I don't want to have a heart problem. I don't want to have coincidence keeping me company at a hospital appointment. I don't want to get old and do all this stuff without someone holding my hand. I don't want to but I am. I don't know about my heart, but my spirit has strength, and of the two I think that's the harder one to apply medicine to if it needs repair.
I Googled Echocardiogram and learned that it is is a test that uses sound waves to create a moving picture of the heart. The test can detect things like abnormal heart valves, damage to the heart, infection in the sac around the heart, congenital heart disease...need I go on or are you freaking out as much as I am?
I called my mom to tell her about the upcoming appointment. Her optimistic words of support?
"Maybe you just have a heart murmur or something. You know Grandma has a heart murmur and look how good she is."
How about maybe I don't have a single freakin thing wrong with me? I remember waaaay back last summer when I had the fainting spell that the paramedics and my doctor said it was probably all just due to a low tolerance for pain and I vehemently disagreed because I, Jillian, can take all sorts of pain. I may whine and cry about it, but it has to be super bad before I'll take a single Advil. Now, facing another test to check out my heart, i.e., the very thing keeping me walking and talking and tripping over myself in Zumba class, I am fully ready to accept a diagnosis of "low tolerance for pain" just to put the whole mess behind me.
I had one of the first appointments of the day. Having been to the hospital once before now for a test I figured I knew where to go to check in. No, I was wrong. Apparently they have numerous places to check in. Who thinks these things through? Hospitals are big and kind of scary because you're not often there on good terms. If I were designing the place I'd have a big check in desk right at the front, that is staffed at least 7:00 am to 5:30 pm with happy, smiley, warm people. You'd give them your name, they'd enter you into a computer and then offer a friendly happy volunteer to walk you to whichever department you need to get to. where you can then complete the check in process.
Anyway, I was redirected to the correct reception desk in the Heart Sciences area. I was told to take an elevator. Ooooh, she's going for an echocardiogram, better not send her to the stairs, she might have a bad heart. I kept my eye out for a staircase but couldn't see one so I reluctantly took the stupidly slow elevator. I sincerely hope they don't use that thing for emergencies. All the heart research in the world ain't gonna help if every heart attack victim has to wait for an elevator.
When I got up to the heart department--which has things like pacemakers and information on the effects of smoking hanging on the wall--I was the second person in line to check in. Ahead of me was a rather large woman who used a wheeling-walker thing and had laboured breathing. Hm. I thought to myself, one of us has a heart problem. Please don't let this be the picture perfect public serivice announcement with a surprise twist ending.
When it was my turn to speak to the clerk at the desk I gave her my name. She looked on her screen.
"Jillian Shannon?"
"Yes."
"Oh! Jillian and Shannon are the names of my daughters," she smiled. She confirmed with me my phone number and address, even asked my religion. Next she asked for my emergency contact person and then she said, "oh wait, I have it here, oh my goodness, your mom's name is Bev, that's my name."
Cute, Universe. Cute. Way to play the name game. Is this supposed to calm my nerves? Can we just get this over with please so I can get on with living a very normal and healthy life?
A few minutes later I went in for the test and the cardiologist notices my name and tells me, "that's my daughter's middle name. Her first name is Claire." So then I told her the story about the woman at the front desk and then she said,"well I guess you were just meant to be here today." Meant to be at the hospital is not really what a supposedly young and healthy woman wants to hear while she is getting her heart checked out, but sure, I suppose the coincidences were somewhat entertaining. Or weird. One of those.
So the echocardiogram itself is essentially an ultrasound on your chest. There's a wand and goo and a fuzzy picture in a pie shaped area on the screen. I didn't really watch. Once in a while she would turn on the sound and I'd hear my heart but this, for me, was not all amazing like it is when a woman hears her baby's heart beat in the womb. Mostly I was sitting there wondering, is that supposed to sound like that? I suppose pregnant ladies get to hear things like, "your baby's heart is looking and sounding very good!" I was just laying there feeling smothered by my own name, trying to breath normally so my heart wouldn't race, hoping that I was normal and healthy and wondering what time I would be able to get into work at.
The test took 20 minutes or so. I found my way out of the hospital, paid for parking, fought with morning rush hour traffic to get home only to miss the next bus out by 30 seconds. I decided to walk in the drizzle. I sped past a senior couple and a daycare group. I had my iPod on and tried to get lost in a favourite song.
I don't want to have a heart problem. I don't want to have coincidence keeping me company at a hospital appointment. I don't want to get old and do all this stuff without someone holding my hand. I don't want to but I am. I don't know about my heart, but my spirit has strength, and of the two I think that's the harder one to apply medicine to if it needs repair.
Men at Work talking about the land of Oz
On Tuesday night a travel services company hosted an information night on visiting Australia and New Zealand. The particular tour company they were featuring that night specialized in packages for the 18 to 35-year-old group. The event was being held at a popular downtown watering hole.
Travel.
18 to 35-year-olds.
Fun location.
Sounds like an opportunity to learn more about something I have an interest in and possibly meet other people in my age group, possibly of the guy-variety who also share this interest. Can you picture the twinkle in my eyes?
I told Lisa about it and she said she'd love to go since she had always dreamed of going to Australia. I didn't know that about her. I, honestly, didn't have any deep yearning to see the place. I also am having a hard time right now imagining a time when I will have $2000 or so to jet off across to the other side of the world for fun, but as I noted, my motives for attending the event were more social. Whenever someone writes into Miss Lonelyhearts complaining that they just can't meet people, she always tells them to join things, volunteer, get out there. Well this is me, out there. You know I'm out there, right? I'm a joiner. I try things all the time. I do always have some kind of fun.
Miss Lonelyhearts, I'm calling bullshit on this strategy. Only girls showed up to the event. There were seven of us. We outnumbered the travel staff by just one.
The presentation was good. It actually made joining a tour sound like fun. You fly yourself to the destination, meet up with your group and spend the next three to 16 days travelling and doing excursions with them. You get a tour bus, nice looking accommodations, nightly entertainment and a tonne of choices in activities like surfing, skydiving, sailing, rolling down a hill in an inflated ball. Hey, this was starting to sound like something worth saving up for.
After the tour company rep gave her presentation one of the guys from the travel services company who sponsored the event got up to speak. That's right, I said one of the guys. There were two of them. One was geeky cute but made mention of a girlfriend. The other one (the one who got up to speak) was tall, dark and handsome. I don't know his marital status, never did find out, but he helped a great deal to turn the social aspect of the evening right around.
After the presentation was done, TD&H drew names for door prizes. Guess who was the last name called? Yup. I got the best prize of all--a big fat guide book of Australia.
The others got up and left once the speaking was done. Lisa had just turned to me and said, "well...?" when the geeky-cute girlfriended guy came by and asked us about our travel plans. We explained to him that we didn't really have plans yet, that we were just starting to investigate our options. He moved on and then TD&H came by to chat with us. He gave Lisa the tote bag that he has pulled the names out of and asked us about our travel plans. He talked. A lot. Which was completely fine by me. I tried to be very encouraging of this by nodding, asking questions, answering his questions, although he didn't need much encouragement so mostly I just got to sit there and enjoy studying him. He had two earrings in his left ear and looked like he had spent the last 10 years or so playing football. I'll bet he had a motorcycle.
So the night was a win. I got a free book and a TD&H personal resource should I ever wish to explore The Down Under.
Travel.
18 to 35-year-olds.
Fun location.
Sounds like an opportunity to learn more about something I have an interest in and possibly meet other people in my age group, possibly of the guy-variety who also share this interest. Can you picture the twinkle in my eyes?
I told Lisa about it and she said she'd love to go since she had always dreamed of going to Australia. I didn't know that about her. I, honestly, didn't have any deep yearning to see the place. I also am having a hard time right now imagining a time when I will have $2000 or so to jet off across to the other side of the world for fun, but as I noted, my motives for attending the event were more social. Whenever someone writes into Miss Lonelyhearts complaining that they just can't meet people, she always tells them to join things, volunteer, get out there. Well this is me, out there. You know I'm out there, right? I'm a joiner. I try things all the time. I do always have some kind of fun.
Miss Lonelyhearts, I'm calling bullshit on this strategy. Only girls showed up to the event. There were seven of us. We outnumbered the travel staff by just one.
The presentation was good. It actually made joining a tour sound like fun. You fly yourself to the destination, meet up with your group and spend the next three to 16 days travelling and doing excursions with them. You get a tour bus, nice looking accommodations, nightly entertainment and a tonne of choices in activities like surfing, skydiving, sailing, rolling down a hill in an inflated ball. Hey, this was starting to sound like something worth saving up for.
After the tour company rep gave her presentation one of the guys from the travel services company who sponsored the event got up to speak. That's right, I said one of the guys. There were two of them. One was geeky cute but made mention of a girlfriend. The other one (the one who got up to speak) was tall, dark and handsome. I don't know his marital status, never did find out, but he helped a great deal to turn the social aspect of the evening right around.
After the presentation was done, TD&H drew names for door prizes. Guess who was the last name called? Yup. I got the best prize of all--a big fat guide book of Australia.
The others got up and left once the speaking was done. Lisa had just turned to me and said, "well...?" when the geeky-cute girlfriended guy came by and asked us about our travel plans. We explained to him that we didn't really have plans yet, that we were just starting to investigate our options. He moved on and then TD&H came by to chat with us. He gave Lisa the tote bag that he has pulled the names out of and asked us about our travel plans. He talked. A lot. Which was completely fine by me. I tried to be very encouraging of this by nodding, asking questions, answering his questions, although he didn't need much encouragement so mostly I just got to sit there and enjoy studying him. He had two earrings in his left ear and looked like he had spent the last 10 years or so playing football. I'll bet he had a motorcycle.
So the night was a win. I got a free book and a TD&H personal resource should I ever wish to explore The Down Under.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
A sucker is born every minute but at least she has good skin
So Lisa's been doing some fundraising for her upcoming trip to Uganda and last night she hosted a party for a certain cosmetics and healthy lifestyle company. Let's call the company BonneAr and call me dyslexic because I don't want to attract any unwanted attention here. I mean good Lord, I already get enough people landing here looking for the lyrics to a imitation cheese product, sleeping accommodations in a truck bed and stories about extramarital affairs. Everyday. I see the stats.
Unfortunately, this event came during the first of a two month period in which I am attempting to seriously cut back on my spending. Last month was a tough one with three mortgage payments, driver's licence renewal and the annual purchase of my contact lenses. On top of that I also splurged on the ticket to the wine show, the new dress for the wine show and several lunches and dinners out. Normally I would not have blinked at dropping $35 for a fancy moisturizer, especially in the name of supporting a friend, but during my period of reduced spending I've decided to put the credit card on ice and give myself a strict cash-only limit. I have never carried a balance on my credit card, but going cash only makes me more conscious of my spending.
I figured my best bet would be to buy something for my mom, since her birthday is coming up next month, but I could envision the look on her face when I would present her with a tiny box of $65 eye cream. The look would say, "oh Jillian, thank you, you dear, sweet kapusta head, but I really would have preferred lunch to wrinkle cream." (FYI Mom, you're not getting European wrinkle cream for your b-day.)
So instead I flipped through the catalog to find a product for myself. Ugh. No I do not need another eye shadow, lip gloss or fancy powder even though I do love these things. Last week though I used my willpower to deny myself a $10 lip gloss from Avon and I was so proud! I sampled the lotions the rep had brought. They made the backs of my hands feel so silky. Oh the things I could do if only I had silky feeling hands! I bet with one silky handshake I could land a super dream job and a handsome prince of man.
Once all the guests had arrived the sales rep took a few minutes to introduce us to the products and the company that, just recently, has awarded her a white Mercedes. As I sat there and listened to her story I actually thought she was a very honest, sweet, lovely person who had found the perfect employment solution for her and her family. And on top of it all she was going to give Lisa all her profits from the sales made during the party--35% of the retail price of every item. And this company did indeed sound very worthy of my support--environmentally friendly, vegan friendly and sensitive skin friendly. I kind of fell for it. I wanted so very much to give it my cash. I mean, because of BonneAr, this woman was able to become a stay-at-home mom and her husband quit a job he hated and took a lesser-paying but more satisfying one, plus it was helping Lisa go to Africa and giving me happy skin.
But that darn budget made me search for the most reasonable and sensible item--an $18 liniment cream that does its best to not smell like old-lady, but, let's face it, still does. Menthol is so alluring, right guys? Whatever. Sometimes I hurt after I come back from the gym. Sometimes I hurt because I don't go to the gym, and sometimes I am in terrible pain due to what I affectionately call my old lady hip (I think it has something to do with a weak hip flexor). After taxes and a dollar for shipping the damages came in at $25.52. Of that Lisa gets seven dollars and some change. With the numbers on the page and the physical cash coming out of my wallet I frowned. Wouldn't it have really been better to just give Lisa 25 bucks? Now I feel dumb. I came to support my BFF but I gave more to the sales rep and the slick multi-level marketing company. And I spent the equivalent of a week's worth of groceries on old lady cream. Incidentally, I slept funny on my shoulder last night and had crazy weird dreams (maybe it was all the aromatherapy junk seeping into my skin) and now I have this stupid pain in my neck. If you think I sound old, wait till I tell you about tomorrow's adventures.
Unfortunately, this event came during the first of a two month period in which I am attempting to seriously cut back on my spending. Last month was a tough one with three mortgage payments, driver's licence renewal and the annual purchase of my contact lenses. On top of that I also splurged on the ticket to the wine show, the new dress for the wine show and several lunches and dinners out. Normally I would not have blinked at dropping $35 for a fancy moisturizer, especially in the name of supporting a friend, but during my period of reduced spending I've decided to put the credit card on ice and give myself a strict cash-only limit. I have never carried a balance on my credit card, but going cash only makes me more conscious of my spending.
I figured my best bet would be to buy something for my mom, since her birthday is coming up next month, but I could envision the look on her face when I would present her with a tiny box of $65 eye cream. The look would say, "oh Jillian, thank you, you dear, sweet kapusta head, but I really would have preferred lunch to wrinkle cream." (FYI Mom, you're not getting European wrinkle cream for your b-day.)
So instead I flipped through the catalog to find a product for myself. Ugh. No I do not need another eye shadow, lip gloss or fancy powder even though I do love these things. Last week though I used my willpower to deny myself a $10 lip gloss from Avon and I was so proud! I sampled the lotions the rep had brought. They made the backs of my hands feel so silky. Oh the things I could do if only I had silky feeling hands! I bet with one silky handshake I could land a super dream job and a handsome prince of man.
Once all the guests had arrived the sales rep took a few minutes to introduce us to the products and the company that, just recently, has awarded her a white Mercedes. As I sat there and listened to her story I actually thought she was a very honest, sweet, lovely person who had found the perfect employment solution for her and her family. And on top of it all she was going to give Lisa all her profits from the sales made during the party--35% of the retail price of every item. And this company did indeed sound very worthy of my support--environmentally friendly, vegan friendly and sensitive skin friendly. I kind of fell for it. I wanted so very much to give it my cash. I mean, because of BonneAr, this woman was able to become a stay-at-home mom and her husband quit a job he hated and took a lesser-paying but more satisfying one, plus it was helping Lisa go to Africa and giving me happy skin.
But that darn budget made me search for the most reasonable and sensible item--an $18 liniment cream that does its best to not smell like old-lady, but, let's face it, still does. Menthol is so alluring, right guys? Whatever. Sometimes I hurt after I come back from the gym. Sometimes I hurt because I don't go to the gym, and sometimes I am in terrible pain due to what I affectionately call my old lady hip (I think it has something to do with a weak hip flexor). After taxes and a dollar for shipping the damages came in at $25.52. Of that Lisa gets seven dollars and some change. With the numbers on the page and the physical cash coming out of my wallet I frowned. Wouldn't it have really been better to just give Lisa 25 bucks? Now I feel dumb. I came to support my BFF but I gave more to the sales rep and the slick multi-level marketing company. And I spent the equivalent of a week's worth of groceries on old lady cream. Incidentally, I slept funny on my shoulder last night and had crazy weird dreams (maybe it was all the aromatherapy junk seeping into my skin) and now I have this stupid pain in my neck. If you think I sound old, wait till I tell you about tomorrow's adventures.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
28.5 years of service with Humanity
Last weekend after my house sprung a leak my dad came over with his ShopVac and sucked up the puddle in my basement. He took a section of paneling off the wall and didn't find rotting wood or moldy insulation. Mike Holmes wouldn't have been satisfied but we decided that the puddle was likely not to be seen again for another 50 years.
I packed up all my books and took them to my parents' where my mom let them bake in the sun on the deck for a day. Dry basement, dry books, everything is as it was again, although for a while there I still got pretty nervous whenever rain was in the forecast.
I am 28.5 years old (oh boo, I missed my half birthday yesterday) and to date I've:
During my research I also found this interesting: according to Environment Canada, Winnipeg is the coldest city in the world with a population of over 600,000 (and don't forget, the world's Slurpee capital). We Winnipeggers like a good challenge. Not just anyone can live here, y'know.
Last Monday I had an important meeting I wanted to look extra stylish for. I chose my outfit carefully and the shoes to match. As on most days, I packed those shoes in my bag and walked out of my house in shoes more appropriate for riding the bus. When I got to work I pulled out my shoes only to find that I had packed two different shoes for the right foot. I had a spare pair of neutral coloured shoes in my desk drawer (a good fashionista is always prepared). They worked, but it just wasn't the same. So I called my mom, who was going over to my house anyway to check on the basement, and asked her if she would bring me my other shoe. Sometime around 10:30 I met her in the parking lot and she handed to me a single shoe: my left black heel with white top-stitching. In a span of four days I had my dad ShopVac-ing my basement and my mom delivering me a shoe. If I am not a Disney Princess I don't know who is. Is there really a Prince C. who will fix my castle and deliver me my shoe upon request? I don't know, but I do have some wonderful people in my life who already do this. Only thing is, I think they want to retire soon. It's been 28 years already and they'd like to go travelling.
I am using this weekend to be mostly lazy. Last week was a bit stressful and this week coming up is stupendously busy. Hopefully it will be bloggable when I have a moment to spare again.
I packed up all my books and took them to my parents' where my mom let them bake in the sun on the deck for a day. Dry basement, dry books, everything is as it was again, although for a while there I still got pretty nervous whenever rain was in the forecast.
I am 28.5 years old (oh boo, I missed my half birthday yesterday) and to date I've:
- had my one and only snow day off from school due to the '97 Blizzard of the Century
- missed classes again to help sand bag during the '97 Flood of the Century
- waited for a bus during the coldest temperatures in 25 years ( −41.7 °C [−43 °F] on February 5, 2007)
- sweat it out during the hottest temperatures in 25 years (38.7 °C [102 °F] on August 6, 1988 and again on August 1, 1989. The highest humidex reading was 48 on July 25, 2007, although just 64 km [40 mi] southwest of the city, the town of Carman, Manitoba broke Canada's all time humidex record, with a high of 53)
- been 40km west of the worst tornado ever recorded in Canada (F5 in Elie, MB on June 22, 2007)
During my research I also found this interesting: according to Environment Canada, Winnipeg is the coldest city in the world with a population of over 600,000 (and don't forget, the world's Slurpee capital). We Winnipeggers like a good challenge. Not just anyone can live here, y'know.
Last Monday I had an important meeting I wanted to look extra stylish for. I chose my outfit carefully and the shoes to match. As on most days, I packed those shoes in my bag and walked out of my house in shoes more appropriate for riding the bus. When I got to work I pulled out my shoes only to find that I had packed two different shoes for the right foot. I had a spare pair of neutral coloured shoes in my desk drawer (a good fashionista is always prepared). They worked, but it just wasn't the same. So I called my mom, who was going over to my house anyway to check on the basement, and asked her if she would bring me my other shoe. Sometime around 10:30 I met her in the parking lot and she handed to me a single shoe: my left black heel with white top-stitching. In a span of four days I had my dad ShopVac-ing my basement and my mom delivering me a shoe. If I am not a Disney Princess I don't know who is. Is there really a Prince C. who will fix my castle and deliver me my shoe upon request? I don't know, but I do have some wonderful people in my life who already do this. Only thing is, I think they want to retire soon. It's been 28 years already and they'd like to go travelling.
I am using this weekend to be mostly lazy. Last week was a bit stressful and this week coming up is stupendously busy. Hopefully it will be bloggable when I have a moment to spare again.
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