4 years old

Sometimes, I wish I could be 4 years old, again, and the only thing it takes to make me absolutely joyous is to realize that I get to see my favorite color every time I pee.

Slept a lot, today. Hope transplant comes tonight.

special thanks

One thing I like about drinking Dr Pepper is that it provides big, reverberating burps. That said, you must use a bit of caution with what you eat beforehand. Make sure it is not something that only tastes good the first time; something like a toasted rueben sandwich. Trust me on this one, sauerkraut is sure to sour even the most pleasant belch.

So, we ditched the drs appointment, and came home all excited to see the kids. We were so missed, they asked to stay another night at Jennifer's; a most telling and genuine compliment to her.

In my prayers, I always include special thanks for our parents, and everyone involved with keeping my children safe and if not happy, then at least caught up in their homework. My stresses don't include their well being. Sure, I'm concerned, but I've not been worried. It's a huge gift, thank you.

I've thought a lot about prayer, lately. I've wondered: if you get what you prayed for, could it be that it is just God's will anyway, or is it His way of exacting some cruel irony in return for your nagging Him? To be sure, it really is wise to be careful what you pray for.

It's always safe to pray to be comforted; to be strengthened. Not once have I prayed for this and then felt abandoned. Quite the contrary, I really believe angels have held me together this last year. I may have used a couple up for good with my erratic driving on the way home, but I have distinctly felt them. It's as subtle as hearing your heartbeat, but they're there.

better

Scott woke up much, much better, this morning. The drain is not leaking so very badly, and his bilirubin seems to be going down. His tummy is not ballooned out with undesirable gasses; he doesn't feel he is dying. Whew.......

This is more intense than I bargained for. At least he is feeling better, because I feel like I have been hit by a train.

Today's itinerary: King's English bookstore, good kid rewards; Dr appointment, because something is wrong if we haven't sat for at least 2 hours each day doing absolutely nothing; drive home to kids, pray we make it before 7pm.

the card

So, here I sit; waiting for the dr to adjust the drain. No, she isn't going to take it out. She made an argument that didn't hold much weight until she said, ".... and that would potentially prevent you from going to transplant."

That was so not fair, playing the transplant card. How could I possibly have her take it out, or pull it myself if it puts that gem in the least little bit at risk?

I am so frustrated, so angry; and after waiting nine hours in short stay, listening to the life flight helicopters buzz nonstop; perhaps it is questionable if I am competent to sign any consent. There are not adequate spew words to relieve this blind rage that has just one rational target.

......damn drain.

Ok, that pretty well covers it.

omens

Inspite of the beautiful weather, it is anything but a pleasant day. We are in short stay surgery waiting to be sent back down to interventional radiology. The drain is not behaving; it has never, ever behaved. I am ready to fight to have it removed completely. If I have to remove it myself, it is coming out.

Last night we went for dinner and a movie. My fortune cookie said, "You will have a long life." Scott's cookie was empty. There was no paper; no fortune. We sat there and stared at each other feeling........... I don't know. How are you supposed to feel when even your pretend fortune comes up empty?

The blue skies felt like a good sign, this morning, but I am trying hard to stay away from believing in omens. It rates with the superstitions that have crept into my life as it has fallen apart; feelings that if I do something just right, things will work out better. They directly reflect my desperations and frustrations at being helpless as Scott goes down.

Scott keeps telling me he is dying........... stupid cookie. I am never eating chinese, again.

normality

I'm eating spaghetti, because I'm hoping that eating lunch at 9am will make the day go faster. I'm eating it on the bedroom floor, because the cleaning ladies are here, and I don't think they will want to see my Mahana, again...... the Mahana ugly rules, today.

We spent the night in the emergency room. They humored me and tested him for influenza.... negative, thank you; ran a chest xray, ekg, and vials of labs, just for fun; gave him a prescription to cut the duration of his cold sores and sent him home. It took most of the night, but gave me peace of mind that he had not caught something worse than a stuffy head and dry cough.

Panicky would be an understated description of how I feel about any little thing that would threaten Scott's listed status. Scott doesn't seem able, for some reason, to just get a little sick; it's all out or nothing with the man.

Scott wants to go home, today. He has been dreaming of a boring day where he can shower and come for breakfast. C will give a loud, unusual prayer; J and N will fight over who gets to look at the cereal box. I will read them scriptures while they eat, and then yell at them to get to the shoes, teeth and hair, before they race off to the bus. He dreams of driving to work and teaching. He craves normality. Unfortunately, it's something that going home, today, will not give him.

Heavens be praised

The disappointment of not going to transplant, yesterday, was crushing; but today it doesn't feel as bad. Amazing what a little sleep does for my perspective. Also, I'm starting to agree with Bill, it really is better to live through chemistry, at least for now.

Scott also slept, heavens be praised. I don't care that his body feels horrid, this morning; he's a real person, again.

sent home

Scott perked up so much they had to send him home. I'm not that excited, but Scott is thrilled. It's normal for him to lose it on about the third day of not sleeping at all, and beg to be set free. I guess anyone would be reduced to tears after listening the neighbor's tv blare about serial killers, and ghost busters 24 hours a day.

There's just no happy medium in this deal. It makes me think we are bungie jumping instead of rollercoasting. That theory would be consistent with the fact that we are really getting nowhere; it's just extreme ups and downs, over and over and over.

more emails from insanity

hi brenda,
hopefully the scratchy sweater show of support will help a liver to arrive. i always think that fasting is the best way, as my stomach growls so loudly it can't be ignored!
hugs to you and scott!
sam
.....

Thank you, Sam.
I had to go with a softer sweater today, but am chewing gum like a horse. I'm hoping that will hold me together just as well as a scratchy sweater. It is my best effort, and will have to leave the rest to God's grace.
No word on the donors................... I thought I had experienced hell at it's best but this is even hotter than that. Surely, if there is a melting point for nerves of steel, this would be it.
I pray God will have mercy, today; this hospital stay has been inhumanely stressful for Scott. Also, he is looking worse and more yellow. His morale is below 0 and dropping.
Heaven help us.
b
.....

I can chew supportive gum! I'll put in the whole pack if needed. Maybe we could organize a "moment to blow bubbles" all together at the same time as a show of support?!
Ok, so that doctor better not be pulling your chain again today and holding out the liver carrot. I'm frustrated on your behalf. Chew slowly and consistently. A Hard chew will only wear out your jaw.(I think this might actually be really sage advice)
xoxoxo
Cerese
.....

Scott just woke up from a bit of a nap. He seems a lot better in spite of the nurse digging around to find a new IV access. OY! This is exactly why I am not a nurse, anymore.
I know that our surgeon is doing a liver transplant at this very moment, which probably answers the questions of potential donors. I haven't told Scott, yet.............. I don't think I'm going to tell him. I'm having a hard enough time just dealing with my own disappointment.
At least he is feeling better..... I think he suspects the transplant isn't forthcoming, because they are letting him eat. He just wants to go home to Jan's house, and sleep.
b

emails from insanity

Brenda,
Should I wear a scratchy sweater tomorrow as a show of support?
My pants are already too tight, so I’ve been supportive for months without even knowing it!
Hope today is much better and that the antibiotics are working their magic for Scott.
Sam (who will use your “glass outhouse” line)
.....

Hi Sam,
Definitely, wear the scratchy sweater. I am convinced it is making a difference here.
I just saw our transplant surgeon in the cafeteria, AGAIN, and he said there were several potential donors in the works but he has not even had a chance to see what blood type they were. The hospitals are required to give notification if they have a potential donor.
I don't think he anticipated that I would hyperventilate after we talked. If it doesn't come through, I'm afraid they will be shoveling up glass and crap for weeks.
loves,
b
.....

Brenda,
Tomorrow, I’ll wear a scratchy sweater, tight pants and keep my fingers crossed all day. Anything to feel like I’m helping! I just hope that there is indeed a matching donor there!
If you start to hyperventilate inhale/exhale into the scratchy sweater that should slow your breath rate….
Sam
.....

Sam,
That does seem to help, thanks. Oh, and thanks for all of your love and support.
I will assume that anyone wearing tight pants, or scratchy wool is doing so in support of Scott having a successful transplant. It's kind of like wearing a ribbon in support of breast cancer reasearch.
b
P.S. I wear a shirt under the sweater as it cuts the scratching down a bit.
.....

Brenda,
I wear a t-shirt under my sweaters to keep them from getting them infused with b.o. --a trait that I apparently inherited from grampa franson. Although his b.o. was generally masked by the persistent smell of cow manure –one of the perks of living on a farm!

Sam (who hopes that my tales of b.o. are distracting at least for a moment)
.....

check.

Tight pants? Check.

Sweater? Check.

Phone? Check.

Lip gloss? Check.

Sanity.................. Uh, sanity?

Oh! Oh, there it is..... it's that gum stuck under my shoe. Check.


So yesterday, Kathy told me I was a brick. I think I'm a bit closer to being a glass outhouse...... crappy and fragile. Really though, at least I've improved over last night.

Sleep helps.

Scott looking better than death helps.

He doesn't have pancreatitis after all, helps.

Cholangitis, fever, sepsis, helps............... NOT! but, at least they are on top of it. They had the foresight to take blood cultures before they started the antibiotics. He's been on such kicker antibiotics for the last week; there's the worry that it could be something resistant to that, heaven forbid.

He didn't sleep last night, but at least his roommate keeps his TV down. I'm hoping since he doesn't have pancreatitis, they will let him eat and give him oral pain meds; the PCA pump is great, but if you want to stay up on the pain, you can't sleep.

Well, he doesn't sleep in the hospital, regardless. Ok, he hasn't been sleeping at home, either. He's so sleep deprived, I don't think sane is a word you could even loosely apply when describing the man....... but who am I to say anything about being sane?

I wore my tightest pants and scratchiest, wool sweater, this morning. It's a futile attempt at containing the beast after a sleepless night with Scott's intestinal distress and panic attacks. My only other defense against ripping the nurse's face off after taking so long to get his nausea medication, is to simply keep my mouth shut. It's a brilliant, seldom used strategy; especially useful when there is nothing left. Well, nothing but the grace of God to get me through the abject hell of this morning.

I remember being little, riding in the ole' blue goose. Ever prone to motion sickness in the back of the stationwagon; I leaned up to tell my father I needed to throw up. He had just finished swinging his arm back and yelling, "Do ya' wanna to walk!?" at my siblings, when it surged up violently, aimed at his neck. It's the first time I can recall heaven intervening on my behalf, because at that very moment, I was able to swallow hard and send it back down. It probably saved my life.

So, in a concerted effort to, yet again, minimize the casualties, I've been swallowing spews with frightening frequency. Thank goodness, I have this blog; it's been a genuine relief. There seems no other, truly acceptable, or more effective medium to vomit my emotional guts. It's like the difference between throwing up in the toilet, and throwing up in someone's face; I'm opting for the easier cleanup. Also, since the victims here come voluntarily, I don't feel the need to apologize for being so cracked........ if you don't like it, don't come.

Case and point: Our transplant surgeon just passed through the cafeteria to get his chocolate, protein drink fix, and sat down to talk for a bit. This is the man that has spent hundreds of hours spearheading the cholangiocarcinoma protocol here at the UHU; he's directly responsible for Scott's excellent prognosis. As far as quality of surgeons go, he rates as deity; we are incredibly blessed to have him. And yet....... I feel like throwing hatchets at his head in frustration because we just found out that Scott was passed up for transplant, last Friday. Granted, it's no fault of his that the other man was literally dying for the liver, but he would make such a convenient, beautiful target. The urge to purge was in my throat, but I gagged it back down. I don't have to be embarrassed forever, because I barfed in his face when he was genuinely trying so hard to be supportive....... Uhg, I bet my breath is so bad.

I'm also so very grateful that I was able to have an intelligent conversation about how sick Scott has been, without being reduced to the eternal fountain of tears. That in itself is a testimony to me that God lives, prayer works, and angels are here to keep me together.

I am relieved to have talked with Katie in Elko. Thank goodness, it was not a huge earthquake, and they're ok.

...........................

Scott's done with the drain change. I'm grateful they listened to me, and sedated the man so heavily. It's such a relief to have him comfortable and sleeping; if he had pancreatitis, he would be crawling the walls. Thank you, Lord, thank you.

...........................

Pancreatitis.

It's worthy of the most creative expletives, and I can't think of anything, but damn.

...........................

Lucky man

The pharmacist, whose fault it wasn't that the dr did not call in the required prescription, must have sensed that he was on the verge of being covered in highly emotional goo, and instinctively backed away from the window. Such a wise, older gentleman; I think he has been there before; nice enough person approaches and then snaps, revealing their inner beast. I'm so grateful that I was able to hold it together just long enough to get things worked out. Lucky man...... it was another close one.

This is becoming a major trend; I'm obviously in need of either a medication tuneup, or an insane asylum. I would love just a bit of asylum from all this, but what I really want is to get through it.

We are headed to SLC in the morning to meet with our hepatologist. Out of all the drs, we consider him to be the alpha male of the pack. It's important to establish who really has the heaviest weight in the decisions. While it's so frustrating to be passed up for donors, we trust him to advocate on our behalf in getting the right liver. We feel like he cares.

The kids are staying at my cousin's house (thank you Rex and Jennifer), except for C. She is coming to keep us laughing the whole way. She really believes her hugs are magic, and they are. They are full body, wrap her arms and legs around you hugs. What fun to have forty pounds of heaven.

The Good Grit award goes to...............

It was great to spend the day at my parents house. The kids had had a great weekend and wanted to stay and play, so we did.

It was especially fun to see my sister, Valyn, and her brood. I'm impressed with what a good mom she is. She's made huge sacrifices in order to stay with those babes and remain nonessential debt free, while her husband works and finishes school. I am presenting her with the "Good Grit" award......... it's new, and she's the first one to get it.
Rah, Rah, Shishcoombah! GO VALYN!!!

Scott, in reality, has been working productively on patterns for quilt material. He has some joint stiffness, but is doing relatively well as long as he stays up on the advil.

I haven't been ok. I've worried my head off that he's going to explode with a raging infection, and yet he's just fine. I feel like such a nut. I can't trust my instincts because they are all fried. One minute I'm stable, and the next; my emotions are like raw, open blisters. I hate weepy ooziness.

So, mixed in with all my current irrationalities, I've been having a bit of angst towards God over the duration of this gig. I've always been able to get what I want by working for it, or changing what I want. It's insanely frustrating to be stuck in a stalemate, and standing on red hot coals........ ok, so right now they are just hot; not red hot.

No worries, though. I've been here before and done that. This whole thing cycles, and I know what comes next. I'm primed for an attitude adjustment; I can feel it coming. It's the Lord's way of keeping me humble, grateful, and willing. .........sigh......... It's going to have to be a big one, because I am so not.

I love sacrament meetings just like that......... there's a bit of everything: dry council, wailing babies, nose picking, snoring men, botched musical number, kid screaming on his way out, "But.......I....... want...... my.......... MOMMMMY!!!!!" Top it off with Scott sitting right there beside me, and I am a happy camper. Oh! That was fun.

The biggest, personal revelation of the day was brought to me in Relief Society; I either need to wear darker nylons, or shave my legs.

No, I'm not feeling very profound, today.

I went to bed early, last night, and spent a good part of the day sleeping. I must've needed it because it felt so good.

Scott felt well enough to go out to dinner with dear friends, tonight, but is really queasy from eating too much. Whatever he eats before he gets really nauseated or vomits develops into an aversion to that food. He's lost lots of favorites; Chile's, Arby's, and whatnot. It's a terrible side effect to all the cancer stuff.......... still nauseated, huh? Bummer, there goes Jalisco's.

God Bless

So, the advil wore off and Scott is hurting, again. He woke up this morning and crumpled with joint pain......... It's what I've been watching and waiting for. His drain is not behaving, and he's prime for another liver infection. The big question is, will the oral antibiotics take care of it, or will I have to haul his hiney down to be admitted for IV therapy? We'll leave in the morning if there is not significant improvement. I'm thinking it is a 80/20 chance we will be going.

I wish we could go for transplant and stop these games. I'm tired and don't want to play anymore.

My parents came and picked up the kids for the weekend. I think my mother suspects that I am close to becoming a drooling vegetable, and would prefer to take the kids for the weekend than have them be motherless for life. My mother is the most brilliant woman I have ever met.

My prayers include Jan and Bill, tonight. They both have the Asian flu. God Bless the Olpins, and all those other saints.

smores and smoke

The only thing Scott wanted for his birthday was a liver. There's not much I can do transplant wise, he wouldn't think it at all funny if a cow liver showed up, and there's a decided lack of liver-shaped cakes around on Valentines day. Tough, very tough; but the day wasn't a bust. My parents took us out for lunch, and Scott's parents fixed a birthday dinner for our whole family.

If I came out with a line of homey candles, the scents would include "6 day garbage", and "soured snowgloves". The inspiration for my favorite scent would be brought to us by M., who started to make a ricecrispy cake and was distracted at the marshmallow melting stage. I think I would call it "campout". Think smores and smoke; not unpleasant, but a surprisingly enduring scent.

pad preferences

Wow, another good day. Scott didn't sleep at all last night, his drain is sore, he's a bit more yellow, and I'm thinking about taking him in for IV fluids. Come to think of it, these last few days have been better, but not that great for him. I don't know what exactly is different.

Maybe, it's just me; I'm having good days. There's been a definite lightening of the load and I feel better. Praise the Lord, because I was really feeling squashed.

Today's agenda: clean up my messes, do dinner(no sweat;burritos), go shopping,............

By the way, I think men should purchase their own feminine protection products. I've gone thrice and got the wrong thing every time. Scott's biliary drain leaks incessantly. Gauze doesn't keep the caustic bile off his skin. Pads are cheaper and do a much better job, but finding the kind he likes best is a trick.

4th good day

So, it's the 4th good day in a row. I'm feeling quite happy about it. Basically, any day that I don't wonder if I will be a widow by the close of it is a good day........ that's an exaggeration, but not too far off from the truth.

It hasn't always been that easy to make me happy. There's those people that are always unhappy, and certainly, I've had times like that. I wonder if I had too many qualifications attached to my happiness; my contentedness. There's always something to gripe about, but my traditional complaints seem to have melted away. Hopefully, they remain abandoned after all this is over.

So, there's those people that complain too much and too often, but there's those people who can't ever get over what's happened to them. I'd like to know what the difference is between people that can move on to the next rollercoaster, and those that get stuck for years and years still screaming after the ride has been disassembled. While I'd really prefer not to repeat this kind of rollercoaster experience; I don't want to get stuck, either. This is so not Disneyland fun, and yes, I'm screaming the whole way.

From the Franson Archive: August's Caterpillar

BC

The temple dedication was fabulous. Everyone but C could go. It was spiritual and inspiring. I'm so happy we have the temple so close. After C goes to school, I can go do a session, take a class and be home before the bus pulls up............ ok, just because I can doesn't mean I will, but I have good intentions.

So, Scott has had two bearable days in a row. What a gift.

I'm feeling a little lost not having a life threatening crisis to deal with at the very moment. Boredom is good. I'm wondering what I ever did in my BC existence...... you know, before cancer.

heavenly day

It's been three weeks of suffocating fatigue, insomnia and depression; and then, finally, a sane day. I was beginning to think that his soul had been chemoed/sucked out forever. How nice to pull your head out of the pig mire and take a breath. I don't know but that our heads will be shoved under again tomorrow, but I'm grateful for even just one, heavenly day of respite.

The dedication for the Rexburg temple is tomorrow. The whole valley has been in a buzz for months with the construction and open house. We have been so wrapped up, legitimately so, with base survival, we have missed much of the hype.

I see how consumed some families have been with it, and wonder if I shouldn't have done more for the kids to be involved, to get them more excited. They're excited enough, and really, it's such a huge accomplishment for us to survive; I'm grateful to have an intact family at all.

Scott is now C's favorite color, yellow. One plus of Scott turning yellow is that his teeth look much whiter. I guess it would make it easier for him to hide naked in a banana tree, but all the reasonable advantages seem to stop there.

Where's Renae?

Renae, I know you will see this. Do you have email in Ecuador? I miss you all ready.

I'm amazed at how inspired the Shumway's are at bringing food to my house. I have chicken, but not quite enough rice; unsolicited, they bring rice AND yummy noodles. I have pasta; they bring awesome breadsticks AND super salad. I don't know what we did to get on their good list, but it feels like my birthday.

Uncle Norman was at the infusion center, this morning. He's always so inspiring. He told me that if you have your family close and close to the gospel, and keep your covenants; it really doesn't matter what else happens. Things will always work out for the best. I can see how he's kept that philosophy his whole life through seriously trying circumstances. It has carried him well.

Taxes went so smoothly, today. I think the Lord knew I needed to accomplish something, anything without a hitch. Thank you, Lord.

I had called the transplant nurse, concerned about how Scott is feeling. He put the phone down to take another call and I listened to him make flight arrangements for an organ coming into Salt Lake; an organ not for Scott. I buried that tidbit deep, but it came back up sobbing for an identity. Surely, it's disappointment in it's absolute, purest form.

Thanks for dinner, again. We loved it. I feel like I am on a cyber corner with a cardboard sign,"WILL BLOG FOR FOOD" Really though, thank you.

The wind blew all the snow into the roads and school was out, today. The kids worked and played really well. They were conscientiously quiet as Scott was sleeping for the first time in days. There is an even bigger storm anticipated for tonight, so I doubt that there will be school in the morning. I'm thinking about sending them to grandma's while I do taxes. Hmmmmm.......

The Belka's came for dessert and the kids played games. Distractions have become precious, and this was a good one.

Curtis called back. Hurray!! We haven't talked for 5 years, but I knew that he would be the same great friend he always was. It was comforting just to hear his voice, and I'm so glad he sounds happy. He's someone that deserves the very best.

I thought that I had prayed hard before, but I am praying harder, now. Scott keeps going down by whole notches. I know his bilirubin is going up, but there is not much to be done about it. He just really needs a good transplant.

I have threatened him all week with bodily harm if he doesn't perk up, and I think it has come to that point, again. Tommorow, we are going in for more IV fluids.

just a reminder

The downside of reality blogging is that people know how you really are only during the most insane fractions of time. I just hope people realize that my moods change faster than Idaho weather, and that once I vent I can usually take a nap and be a functioning human for the critical parts of the day. It's really unusual for me to be completely incapacitated for very long.

This is my venting medium, not a plea for help. We really are ok; no need to panic. I reserve the right to be a basket case 24/7/365.

I guess if someone brings dinner because my blog sounds desperate, that should probably be ok. I guess I am just a little embarrassed that, apparently, a lot more people than I thought are following this sick narrative. I think I might start post blogging; saving the rant so people can read it and say,"Oh, she was just a nut last week. She's probably better by now." instead of,"She's a nut at this very moment."

Anyway, thanks for dinner.

I'm grateful to have family close that I can invade at a moments notice. Thanks, Leah; love your new house, fabulous dinner. Thanks, Renae, for the haircut; be safe in Ecuador. I'm grateful I didn't go to the Blue and Gold Banquet and try to pretend everything is ok; even in Brendese, saying things are fine would be an outright lie. Special thanks to Cerese, who cheered us both on, late into the night; long live IKEA. I'm grateful there is school, today; the kids all seem happy, and deceptively well adjusted. I'm grateful to have slept last night, even if Scott didn't and hasn't for three straight days; plunging him into abject insanity. More than anything else, I am grateful that time passes; I will not have to live thru this morning ever, ever again, with such a screamingly depressed brain that I can hardly gasp out the mantra: this too shall pass, this too shall pass, this t..............I'm going back to bed.

strategy

We're home. Kids are good. Scott is drinking to avoid my hauling his hiney to the dr for IV fluids.

I am not cooking dinner, tonight. It is the cub scout Blue and Gold Banquet. There is a cake decorating contest, but I am pretending ignorance of that. Everyone is supposed to bring a dessert. I wonder if graham crackers count. They won't notice if I don't bring anything, especially if we come just a little late........ unless, they are running on Mormon standard time. We'd better be really late, but just in time to eat.

I thought I had arrived just late enough to evade interrogation, but they were running on Mormon standard time. Mormons are pretty nosey, in general. They look for new faces to greet, and that's nice, but I didn't feel like answering any questions. I guess I could've told them outright that I'm here, waiting for someone's untimely demise. Bill would've been proud, but I did't have energy for even that. I left sacrament meeting before the closing prayer and have enjoyed the Sunday pigging out on Jan's egg rolls.

The kids are wearing thin emotionally. They've done marvelously this stint, but even Charlotte is asking when we are coming home. I've stalled, using weather as an excuse to stay here, hoping for transplant, but I am getting trunky for home; for the kids. Heaven help us for the real deal.

reality entertainment

I think the part I liked most about the emergency room, last night, was that we got the bed in the hall. It was right beside the trauma room. There must have been another door, because they kept just wheeling those bleeding people in and they never came out. My favorite dr was the short, older lady with purple and pink stripes in her hair. There was the toothless woman who kept yelling out, "Someone stole my clothes! Go to hell!", and EMT's with pockets of bulging ego. By today's standards, it was high quality, reality entertainment.

It was nice that Scott only needed IV fluids. He perked right up, just as he usually does. He's breathing, which is all I ask, and fighting to keep himself together. It's been a rocky week.

I've tried really hard to stay together, but my facade is showing some serious crackage. With all this stress, something has got to give.......

...... IKEA has a lot to give, and I'm up to taking it.

My emotions on arriving at IKEA loosely mimic those of immigrants seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time. I drag my sorry self up to the door and beg for a distraction, and there it is; a three hour jaunt through everything I never knew I needed.

I purchased a little something for each of the kids. They've been exceptionally golden for the grandparents and I definitely want to reinforce that behavior. It's the most fun to reward them when they don't expect it.

a perfect lullaby

It reminds me of traveling with little children. Is your nose running? Oh yeah, I definitely think that is running. Have some benadryl. Are ya' sleepy? Here's a blankey.

Scott doesn't want to take anymore benadryl. He says it makes him too sleepy, but I'm going to miss it. Granted, he's not itching anymore, but between the two options: miserable out of his gourd, and sleeping; oh yeah, give me sleeping.

My favorite way to fall asleep is by listening. First, I listen to all the big sounds; the furness, cars, whatever. Then, I block all that out and find the little sounds; Scott breathing, the house creaking. Once I block all that out, I listen really close. It takes a while to silence my thoughts and there's usually a white TVish noise to break through, but I can hear it; I can hear my heart beating. It's the perfect lullaby. Oh, it helps me to curl up into a tight ball. Some people call that fetal position; that it's a sign of insecurity, but I don't believe them. I'm secure...... I think?