Well, long-ish story short, we lost Dad Thursday March 31 at about 8:25am. That seems to be all that matters in this journey, but I would like to pick up approximately where I previously left off for anyone who may be interested.
Dad's cardiac catheterization came back clean. He had a 35% blockage, which, for a 63 year-old, isn't too bad. If he'd had a 70% blockage, they would have either had to do a by-pass or an angioplasty at that point, which would have put him on blood thinners for 6-8 weeks, and then a revisit of the qualification process. Luckily that didn't happen. So, that went well. The final hurdle at that point was the consultation with the thoracic surgeon. The surgeon came by and visited on Friday and we were assured that everyone would be writing up their reports as quickly as they could. The transplant team normally meets on Monday mornings, but they were approaching my dad's case a little differently and were applying for expedited listing with the state and all that good stuff. I got a call at 9:17 Saturday night (funny how you remember some of these things) telling me that my dad had been listed on the lung transplant list and that his 'number' was 92.33. The coordinator said that this was a high number, but we were hopeful that this meant that his wait would be shorter. So, he was on The List, which was where he wanted to be. Now, we waited.
I had noticed over the course of the past week of his hospitalization that it seemed that his disease was still progressing, since the treatment that they were having to use was becoming more and more intense, but we were hopeful and his mood was great. We decided, and he told us, that we needed to go back to our lives while he and my mom waited. We left my mom in Cleveland on Tuesday and headed back to NH, and Max and Jackie went back to OK. That was a really difficult ride for all of us because we knew what we were driving away from.
I went to work on Wednesday, but kept my phone close by. When I came back from lunch, there were two messages on my phone, a text message, and an email from Matt simply telling me to call him. My stomach dropped. I knew that if it were good news, the message would have been different. With my fourth block class waiting patiently, I called him. The news was tough to take, that Dad had had a rough night and probably wasn't going to make it. I quickly explained to my class that I had to leave, they understood, the teacher next door watched them, and I bolted. Once I got home, I repacked a suitcase and bought a plane ticket back to Cleveland for that night. My flight left at 6:30 and got to Cleveland at 11:00pm. For the second time in a little over a week, I was flying to Cleveland.
I was able to talk to my mom, my cousin, and Max a little bit while things were being coordinated and found out that Dad had been struggling the previous night and they called my mom down to the Clinic at about 6:00 Wednesday morning. They'd had to put Dad on a BPAP, which is a pressurized breathing mask thing. He hated it, so in order for him to be able to relax into the machine, they'd had to sedate him a bit. He was still able to wake up and respond a little bit at that point. Because of the progression of his disease and the weakening of the rest of his systems, though, the transplant team could only give him until midnight before they'd have to take him off of the eligibility list. Max and I were on our way, and landed in Cleveland shortly after 11pm. My uncle picked us up and took us straight to the Clinic. We saw Dad and he woke up a bit and squeezed our hands. He knew that we were back. He knew that we love him. He knew that we're proud of him. It was so hard to see him that way.
The Clinic has a hotel that is literally a block away, and another uncle had gotten us a room there for the night. My mom was exhausted. The MICU doctor was trying to get us to take the mask off and let him go at that point, and none of us felt like we could make that decision at 1am. So, my mom and I went and crashed for a bit while Max stayed with Dad. My dad's family (his sisters, their husbands, and their kids) have been absolutely incredible throughout this whole crisis, and I have no idea whatsoever how we would fared without their constant support, love, and assistance. Two of my dad's sisters stayed with him for most of the night, my uncle and cousin were in and out, and he was never alone.
My aunt called us back to his room at about 6:30 Thursday morning because Dad's heart rate was getting pretty high. We knew that his systems would just shut down as they were on overdrive compensating for his lung disease, and it seemed like this was beginning to happen. We were able to decide at that point that we needed to let him go. He needed to rest peacefully. He had been through enough, and there was nothing more that could be done for him. He had signed a DNR and we had explicit instructions from him to fight as hard as possible until there was no hope, and when that hope was gone, we were to let him go. Once he was taken off of the transplant list, there was no hope for him, and we needed to let him be at peace. He had also told my mom that he wanted to give the BPAP 24 hours, and that was at 8:00 on Wednesday morning. His nurse made sure that he was comfortable and sleeping deeply. We cried. We prayed. We cried some more. We prayed some more. And finally, his respiratory therapist took the BPAP off. Within 5 minutes, he was gone. Without any question, ever, that was the worst thing that I have ever seen in my entire life.
Everything since then has seemed like a blur. We slept a little. We cried some more. We made some plans. We cried some more. We laughed a little, then cried some more. You get the idea? We had a memorial service for him in Cleveland for his family and some friends in that part of the country this past Monday. Matt's folks came out from Chicago, as did his roommate from college. It was great to see them, although it was such a sad situation. Max, my cousin, and I all spoke on his behalf.
We all drove home to NH on Tuesday and started putting things back together out here on Wednesday. We've got another memorial service for him tomorrow (Saturday) at our church here at home for his friends and clients in the area. His boss wrote a beautiful tribute that was sent out to all of his clients, for whom he was still actively working. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be rough. But, we'll make it.
There is so much more to this process, and we're all so sad. I'll try not to be Debbie Downer, but this is so unpleasant. I know that he was a Believer, so I feel certain that he's found the best campsite by the greatest fishing hole, but we miss him down here.
Again, please leave a question if you want or need to. If there is any way that I can help someone else who may be facing this situation, I would truly love to do that. It's been a rough road, but it helps to know that someone else has walked it before you.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The real story: Pulmonary Fibrosis and the Cleveland Clinic
I've been beating around the bush for a while with the back story of the situation behind a lot of the stress that we've been feeling. Well, here it is. Get comfortable.
My dad is sick. Not like 'I'm not feeling so well, so I think I'll stay home today' sick. Like, idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis sick. The short version of that is that his lung tissue has been turning into scar tissue over the course of the past couple of years which has made breathing and all of the activities associated with breathing (like continuing to breathe) much more difficult for him. Oh, and they have no idea what causes it, how to stop it, or how to treat and/or cure it.
When he got his initial diagnosis of this fine mess back in January 2009 we didn't quite know what to make of it. We knew that he was having a harder time doing the things that he used to enjoy, and over the past couple of years the list of activities that were being compromised grew and grew. After our fabulous vacation this summer (which we are soooo lucky to have been able to take), he had a lung biopsy in order to confirm the idiopathic nature of his disease. It was confirmed and no one had any damned clue why this was happening to him. He's never smoked, he's never abused drugs (or even taken any, to my knowledge), he's never worked in an industry where he would have been exposed to any fungi or other harmful inhaled things.
We knew, when we all started reading about this, that the only ultimate treatment option was a transplant. That seemed so science-fiction and surreal at the time. Two years ago we had no idea how quickly the disease would progress and how the rest of him would fare throughout this process. Every patient has a different experience. Some people decline, then plateau, and remain on that plateau for years and years and years. We're guessing that this was what happened with Dad, too, but he started falling off the end of that plateau in August.
We have been so fortunate and my dad has advocated for himself so well throughout this whole process, despite the fact that it has been so difficult. He tracked down the best pulmonologists in New Hampshire and a pulmonologist for himself at the Cleveland Clinic who is quite experienced with this disease and works with a team of lung transplant doctors. My uncle and cousin were instrumental in getting him an appointment with this doctor and his team, and my dad started visiting them over a year ago. He entered into the clinical trials that they asked him to be a part of and he's followed his doctors' orders to the letter.
Enter this past week. Tuesday, after visiting with my folks at their house, Matt and I went home and discussed that Dear Old Dad didn't seem to be doing so well. I cried. Finally. And a lot. Saturday morning, I got a tearful call from my mom saying that Dad wasn't feeling so well and wanted to go to the hospital. So, we called for an ambulance transport and he was taken to a local hospital where he was monitored and treated as best as they could treat him. When we checked in, the admitting doctor in the ER seemed to think that we were full of crap when we told him about Dad's disease and that he needed to be transferred to the Cleveland Clinic and to please call his doctors there. Of course it was the weekend, and things happen so slowly on the weekends.
So, they kept him for the weekend and treated him as best as they could. We said, on Sunday, that the best thing that could happen for him would be for him to be transferred to Cleveland on Monday, be qualified and on the list for a lung transplant by the end of the week, and [although we would feel terrible for the family who had tragically lost their otherwise healthy 40-something 6' something male in a car accident] he would have a new lung or two in a couple of weeks.
Monday morning, the people in New Hampshire started talking to the people in Cleveland, and by 1:00 that afternoon, his transfer had been approved. My mom decided that she would be more of a hindrance than a help in the private jet that they were sending, so she put me down as his travelling companion. I bolted to the hospital after school (with the clothes on my back, and the crap in my purse) for my journey to Cleveland while Matt picked up Joseph, packed for all 3 of us, picked up and delivered the dog and cat at my folks' house, and hopped in the car with my mom.
I can't even begin to express my awe and appreciation of these rock star EMTs. They rolled into this little hospital in NH in their big black 'Critical Care Transport: Cleveland Clinic' jumpsuits and their reflective armbands and all that stuff looking like they were ready to take over. Which is exactly what they did. They spent an hour stabilizing Dad on their machinery and loading him onto their equipment. We had an ambulance transport to the local airport where a private jet was waiting for us. They strapped him in there, and we were on our way. This was the smallest plane that I have ever been on or will probably ever fly on in my entire life. There were four seats. I took a picture while they were finegaling Dad into the plane. It's a crappy picture and it's on my phone, but it was an incredible process. Joe and Jonathan were our transport EMTs and they were absolutely amazing. I fell in love immediately. They watched him constantly and were tweaking this knob and fixing that dial throughout the entire hour and a half flight to make sure that Dad stayed comfortable and safe.
When we got to Cleveland, another ambulance was waiting for us, and he got admitted to the heart/lung transplant wing. This was midnight on Monday. After the transfer, we were all absolutely wiped, and his doctors decided that he needed to be monitored more closely to make sure that he could stabilize faster and more safely, so he was moved to the ICU. He landed in the ICU at about 2:30 Tuesday morning, and he's been there since then. He seems to be much more comfortable here, and it seems that he's bounced back from the stress and turmoil from the transfer. His color is back, his mood is great, and he's anxious to move on to the next step.
We've been chilling in the family waiting room for his group of ICU beds for the past three days while Dad gets poked and prodded and consulted and met. He's had a pretty consistent parade of doctors, nurses, therapists, social workers, and all kinds of people since he's been here. Our consistent goal has been to get him tested as quickly as possible so that his case can be reviewed by the lung transplant team and hopefully approved as soon as possible. We've learned that the team meets Monday mornings at 7am, and we despirately want him to be on the next meeting agenda. We've been interviewed by the social workers and she has filed her report, which we understand was favorable. They know that he has a strong support network that will help him as much as possible post-op. He's having a heart catheter this very moment, then the cardiologist will weigh in with his/her opinions about the strength of his heart to withstand the operation. Depending on how that procedure fares, he'll meet with either the cardio-thoracic surgeon, or the thoracic surgeon probably (hopefully) tomorrow. These are the last major hurdles for his eligibility.
We've all been kind of on edge the past few days, and are starting to realize the intensity of this marathon. We know that even if he qualifies, there is no guarantee that an appropriate match will be found. But, we've got to take things one step at a time, and we are truly doing everything that we can for him. I know that there are many more pieces to this puzzle, and I am happy to answer any questions that I can, so please, leave a question and ask. If we can help anyone else who may be going through this process also, we would be happy to do exactly that.
Don't forget to catch the rest of the story.
My dad is sick. Not like 'I'm not feeling so well, so I think I'll stay home today' sick. Like, idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis sick. The short version of that is that his lung tissue has been turning into scar tissue over the course of the past couple of years which has made breathing and all of the activities associated with breathing (like continuing to breathe) much more difficult for him. Oh, and they have no idea what causes it, how to stop it, or how to treat and/or cure it.
When he got his initial diagnosis of this fine mess back in January 2009 we didn't quite know what to make of it. We knew that he was having a harder time doing the things that he used to enjoy, and over the past couple of years the list of activities that were being compromised grew and grew. After our fabulous vacation this summer (which we are soooo lucky to have been able to take), he had a lung biopsy in order to confirm the idiopathic nature of his disease. It was confirmed and no one had any damned clue why this was happening to him. He's never smoked, he's never abused drugs (or even taken any, to my knowledge), he's never worked in an industry where he would have been exposed to any fungi or other harmful inhaled things.
We knew, when we all started reading about this, that the only ultimate treatment option was a transplant. That seemed so science-fiction and surreal at the time. Two years ago we had no idea how quickly the disease would progress and how the rest of him would fare throughout this process. Every patient has a different experience. Some people decline, then plateau, and remain on that plateau for years and years and years. We're guessing that this was what happened with Dad, too, but he started falling off the end of that plateau in August.
We have been so fortunate and my dad has advocated for himself so well throughout this whole process, despite the fact that it has been so difficult. He tracked down the best pulmonologists in New Hampshire and a pulmonologist for himself at the Cleveland Clinic who is quite experienced with this disease and works with a team of lung transplant doctors. My uncle and cousin were instrumental in getting him an appointment with this doctor and his team, and my dad started visiting them over a year ago. He entered into the clinical trials that they asked him to be a part of and he's followed his doctors' orders to the letter.
Enter this past week. Tuesday, after visiting with my folks at their house, Matt and I went home and discussed that Dear Old Dad didn't seem to be doing so well. I cried. Finally. And a lot. Saturday morning, I got a tearful call from my mom saying that Dad wasn't feeling so well and wanted to go to the hospital. So, we called for an ambulance transport and he was taken to a local hospital where he was monitored and treated as best as they could treat him. When we checked in, the admitting doctor in the ER seemed to think that we were full of crap when we told him about Dad's disease and that he needed to be transferred to the Cleveland Clinic and to please call his doctors there. Of course it was the weekend, and things happen so slowly on the weekends.
So, they kept him for the weekend and treated him as best as they could. We said, on Sunday, that the best thing that could happen for him would be for him to be transferred to Cleveland on Monday, be qualified and on the list for a lung transplant by the end of the week, and [although we would feel terrible for the family who had tragically lost their otherwise healthy 40-something 6' something male in a car accident] he would have a new lung or two in a couple of weeks.
Monday morning, the people in New Hampshire started talking to the people in Cleveland, and by 1:00 that afternoon, his transfer had been approved. My mom decided that she would be more of a hindrance than a help in the private jet that they were sending, so she put me down as his travelling companion. I bolted to the hospital after school (with the clothes on my back, and the crap in my purse) for my journey to Cleveland while Matt picked up Joseph, packed for all 3 of us, picked up and delivered the dog and cat at my folks' house, and hopped in the car with my mom.
I can't even begin to express my awe and appreciation of these rock star EMTs. They rolled into this little hospital in NH in their big black 'Critical Care Transport: Cleveland Clinic' jumpsuits and their reflective armbands and all that stuff looking like they were ready to take over. Which is exactly what they did. They spent an hour stabilizing Dad on their machinery and loading him onto their equipment. We had an ambulance transport to the local airport where a private jet was waiting for us. They strapped him in there, and we were on our way. This was the smallest plane that I have ever been on or will probably ever fly on in my entire life. There were four seats. I took a picture while they were finegaling Dad into the plane. It's a crappy picture and it's on my phone, but it was an incredible process. Joe and Jonathan were our transport EMTs and they were absolutely amazing. I fell in love immediately. They watched him constantly and were tweaking this knob and fixing that dial throughout the entire hour and a half flight to make sure that Dad stayed comfortable and safe.
When we got to Cleveland, another ambulance was waiting for us, and he got admitted to the heart/lung transplant wing. This was midnight on Monday. After the transfer, we were all absolutely wiped, and his doctors decided that he needed to be monitored more closely to make sure that he could stabilize faster and more safely, so he was moved to the ICU. He landed in the ICU at about 2:30 Tuesday morning, and he's been there since then. He seems to be much more comfortable here, and it seems that he's bounced back from the stress and turmoil from the transfer. His color is back, his mood is great, and he's anxious to move on to the next step.
We've been chilling in the family waiting room for his group of ICU beds for the past three days while Dad gets poked and prodded and consulted and met. He's had a pretty consistent parade of doctors, nurses, therapists, social workers, and all kinds of people since he's been here. Our consistent goal has been to get him tested as quickly as possible so that his case can be reviewed by the lung transplant team and hopefully approved as soon as possible. We've learned that the team meets Monday mornings at 7am, and we despirately want him to be on the next meeting agenda. We've been interviewed by the social workers and she has filed her report, which we understand was favorable. They know that he has a strong support network that will help him as much as possible post-op. He's having a heart catheter this very moment, then the cardiologist will weigh in with his/her opinions about the strength of his heart to withstand the operation. Depending on how that procedure fares, he'll meet with either the cardio-thoracic surgeon, or the thoracic surgeon probably (hopefully) tomorrow. These are the last major hurdles for his eligibility.
We've all been kind of on edge the past few days, and are starting to realize the intensity of this marathon. We know that even if he qualifies, there is no guarantee that an appropriate match will be found. But, we've got to take things one step at a time, and we are truly doing everything that we can for him. I know that there are many more pieces to this puzzle, and I am happy to answer any questions that I can, so please, leave a question and ask. If we can help anyone else who may be going through this process also, we would be happy to do exactly that.
Don't forget to catch the rest of the story.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
A Good Cry
I've always been the type of person who kind of holds in stress. I feel this need to be all things to all people, except myself. I hold myself to pretty high standards and am pretty proud of my abilities to meet most of them. It sounds like I'd be a typical Type A personality, but I really don't think that I am.
Anyway, since I can remember (and since my mom can, too) I've known the therapy of a good cry. But, due to the variety of hats and masks that I wear on a day-to-day basis, and the shear lack of time where I get to truly take off those hats and masks, I haven't been able to allow myself the vulnerability of a good cry. Until last night. I found myself alone in the car headed to a destination where puffy, red eyes wouldn't be conspicuous, and I just let it all catch up with me. It felt really good (until I was reasonably certain that I was going to vomit...then I had to take a step back). But, since I don't/can't do this so often, I've had a hard time shutting it down and have found myself kind of weepy today. I had a terrible time sleeping (since my mind was still running through the various stressors and the implications of those situations) and have added tired and hormonal to my already fragile existance today.
In short, my head and my skin are not happy places in which to exist today. The good news, though, is that I get to/have to don my teacher hat until 7:30 tonight, where I switch into my mother/wife hat, and I probably won't have too much time to actually think about things for the duration. I know that may sound lousy, but when you can't particularly change the situations that are causing the stress/anxiety/sadness/anger/frustration, we just play through.
Anyway, since I can remember (and since my mom can, too) I've known the therapy of a good cry. But, due to the variety of hats and masks that I wear on a day-to-day basis, and the shear lack of time where I get to truly take off those hats and masks, I haven't been able to allow myself the vulnerability of a good cry. Until last night. I found myself alone in the car headed to a destination where puffy, red eyes wouldn't be conspicuous, and I just let it all catch up with me. It felt really good (until I was reasonably certain that I was going to vomit...then I had to take a step back). But, since I don't/can't do this so often, I've had a hard time shutting it down and have found myself kind of weepy today. I had a terrible time sleeping (since my mind was still running through the various stressors and the implications of those situations) and have added tired and hormonal to my already fragile existance today.
In short, my head and my skin are not happy places in which to exist today. The good news, though, is that I get to/have to don my teacher hat until 7:30 tonight, where I switch into my mother/wife hat, and I probably won't have too much time to actually think about things for the duration. I know that may sound lousy, but when you can't particularly change the situations that are causing the stress/anxiety/sadness/anger/frustration, we just play through.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Like Me
You know what? I like me. This dawned on me this morning. I know that it may sound trite and perhaps a bit conceited, but I like me. I think that, at 32, I'm allowed to admit that, too.
It's taken me a loooooong time to figure out that there aren't a lot of people out there that are a lot like me, but that's ok. There are a lot of people out there that are kind of like me, and that's good. It means I'm not a total freakazoid nerd-face loser chick. And that's good too.
Or maybe I am a total freakazoid nerd-face loser chick. I don't know that I particularly care. I'm ok. I'm not perfect, by any stretch of anyone's imagination. I'm sure that it wouldn't take long to compile a mile-long self depricating list of things that I could do better. But we certainly don't need to do that now, do we?
I guess that I've just learned to like my good traits and not focus on my imperfections. I've decided that I'm not half bad. Again, not perfect. Yikes. Not perfect. But, not too shabby, either. Hopefully my kid grows up to feel that way too, and I think that you should take a moment to reflect on the things that you do well.
It's taken me a loooooong time to figure out that there aren't a lot of people out there that are a lot like me, but that's ok. There are a lot of people out there that are kind of like me, and that's good. It means I'm not a total freakazoid nerd-face loser chick. And that's good too.
Or maybe I am a total freakazoid nerd-face loser chick. I don't know that I particularly care. I'm ok. I'm not perfect, by any stretch of anyone's imagination. I'm sure that it wouldn't take long to compile a mile-long self depricating list of things that I could do better. But we certainly don't need to do that now, do we?
I guess that I've just learned to like my good traits and not focus on my imperfections. I've decided that I'm not half bad. Again, not perfect. Yikes. Not perfect. But, not too shabby, either. Hopefully my kid grows up to feel that way too, and I think that you should take a moment to reflect on the things that you do well.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Grand Illusion
My dearly beloved posted this Styx lyric as his facebook status this morning, and I have a feeling that it's in response to a brief chat that we had this morning: "...if you think your life is complete confusion because you never win the game. Just remember that it's a Grand Illusion, and deep inside we're all the same." I know that this is his way of acknowledging that, like my mother's mantra, things are never the way they seem. I know this. My heart knows this. My head acknowledges this. It doesn't keep my imagination from wandering a bit and wondering what it might be like to be inside someone else's skin sometimes.
Truly, I am not complaining. I know that I am blessed. I know that I am so very fortunate in so very many ways. I also know that we have worked DAMNED HARD to create our fortune (no, I'm not talking about actual money), and that we have been lucky to have the support and love of our families. But, I'm tired. And I'm angry. And I'm sad. And I'm angry. And I'm frustrated. I don't even know why I'm so angry. I guess I thought that things would be different. Despite the fact that my heart knows that this is how life goes, my head is imagining something...different. So, it's good to remind myself that everyone is dealing with something. And, that which doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. There's just a lot of stuff out there that can kill us, though.
If this whole deal has become frustratingly vague, I apologize. I've been mulling over a "bare all" post, and have a feeling that it's coming. I just don't think that I'm ready yet.
Truly, I am not complaining. I know that I am blessed. I know that I am so very fortunate in so very many ways. I also know that we have worked DAMNED HARD to create our fortune (no, I'm not talking about actual money), and that we have been lucky to have the support and love of our families. But, I'm tired. And I'm angry. And I'm sad. And I'm angry. And I'm frustrated. I don't even know why I'm so angry. I guess I thought that things would be different. Despite the fact that my heart knows that this is how life goes, my head is imagining something...different. So, it's good to remind myself that everyone is dealing with something. And, that which doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. There's just a lot of stuff out there that can kill us, though.
If this whole deal has become frustratingly vague, I apologize. I've been mulling over a "bare all" post, and have a feeling that it's coming. I just don't think that I'm ready yet.
Friday, January 21, 2011
A brief reflection
We've had an interesting run lately. It's winter, so it's snowing. Apparently, it's snowing a lot. We're home today on Snow Day #4 in the last week and a half-ish. We're going to be in school until July, I guess. I've been cooking and knitting and reading and thinking. I shared a bit of the cooking and knitting with you earlier, so I'm going to share a bit of the thinking today.
Maybe it's the time of year...long gray days with really cold nights, but loss has been on my mind lately. My friend Kate rather eloquently posted her recent thoughts on loss and the things that time doesn't heal. Really, though, this is something that I've been rolling around for a while. Maybe not 'loss' specifically, but moreso the tremendous effect that health and family have on our lives, and the degree to which most of us take those things for granted. I've recently learned that one of my parents' friends from my childhood died suddenly last fall (he was 57 and left a wife and 3 kids ages 28, and 24 yo twins). A sorority sister of mine tragically lost her son at birth just last weekend. And our family is facing at least two different illnesses/diseases that have helped us all prioritize our lives and realize what is important and what isn't. With this in mind, I'm going to venture to say that a LOT of what we place in high regard really doesn't matter at all.
I know that, again, this is a big ol' welcome to our 30's and the stuff that goes along with a more grown-up life, responsibilities, and outlook on things. But, I don't particularly feel like age needs to be the motivator or determinator for people to make decisions for and with other people. There are far too many examples of hideously self-centered leeches of all ages, and we probably needn't look too far to find someone that fits that bill in our own lives.
So, I guess that what I'm trying to say is to just get over your big bad self. Life is all too fleeting and moments pass way too quickly to spend too much time on yourself. Now, don't go thinking that I'm saying that you need to neglect yourself and all that crap. Just keep it in balance. Be thoughtful of others. Be kind. Be considerate. Be grateful. Be polite. This may be coming across as my lecture on a soapbox, but I'm really just journaling my thoughts and recording a reminder for myself. If you feel the need to better yourself and live your life for someone else, then that's a bonus too. I'm sure that someone who loves you will be grateful for your thought.
After all, you can't take it with you and you're not really gone until no one remembers you. Hopefully those memories are kind.
Maybe it's the time of year...long gray days with really cold nights, but loss has been on my mind lately. My friend Kate rather eloquently posted her recent thoughts on loss and the things that time doesn't heal. Really, though, this is something that I've been rolling around for a while. Maybe not 'loss' specifically, but moreso the tremendous effect that health and family have on our lives, and the degree to which most of us take those things for granted. I've recently learned that one of my parents' friends from my childhood died suddenly last fall (he was 57 and left a wife and 3 kids ages 28, and 24 yo twins). A sorority sister of mine tragically lost her son at birth just last weekend. And our family is facing at least two different illnesses/diseases that have helped us all prioritize our lives and realize what is important and what isn't. With this in mind, I'm going to venture to say that a LOT of what we place in high regard really doesn't matter at all.
I know that, again, this is a big ol' welcome to our 30's and the stuff that goes along with a more grown-up life, responsibilities, and outlook on things. But, I don't particularly feel like age needs to be the motivator or determinator for people to make decisions for and with other people. There are far too many examples of hideously self-centered leeches of all ages, and we probably needn't look too far to find someone that fits that bill in our own lives.
So, I guess that what I'm trying to say is to just get over your big bad self. Life is all too fleeting and moments pass way too quickly to spend too much time on yourself. Now, don't go thinking that I'm saying that you need to neglect yourself and all that crap. Just keep it in balance. Be thoughtful of others. Be kind. Be considerate. Be grateful. Be polite. This may be coming across as my lecture on a soapbox, but I'm really just journaling my thoughts and recording a reminder for myself. If you feel the need to better yourself and live your life for someone else, then that's a bonus too. I'm sure that someone who loves you will be grateful for your thought.
After all, you can't take it with you and you're not really gone until no one remembers you. Hopefully those memories are kind.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Knit Cactus
I've created my very first pattern! Don't get too excited, it's really nothing fancy. But, I've been on the prowl for a cute little knit cactus pattern and have been unable to find one that doesn't require buying a whole book. I didn't feel like doing that for one little cactus. So, I got to crafting. Here's what I ended up with:
Isn't it cute? You can make one too! I'm planning on making some more of these...if I come up with anything exciting, I'll be sure to share!
Materials, Needles, and Finishing Bits:
Lily Sugar 'n Cream 100% Cotton yarn; Worsted; Dark Pine
US 5 double-pointed needles
yarn needle
Flower-shaped Brads (found in the paper-crafting section of your local crafty store)
Polyfill
1 1/2" terra cota flower pot
Cardboard
Hot glue
Pattern:
CO 18 sts, divide evenly on 3 dpns.
Join to work in the round, being careful not to twist stitches.
Work in P2, K1 ribbing until piece measures 2".
*P2tog, K1* 6 times (1 round).
*P1, K1* 6 times (1 round).
*K2tog* 6 times (1 round).
Finishing:
Cut a short length of yarn and thread through remaining 6 stitches. Pull tight and thread through to the inside. Tuck loose ends of yarn into the cactus shape.
Choose a flower-shaped brad and insert near the top of your cactus. Stuff with polyfill.
Cut a small circle of cardboard that covers the base of your cactus and rests about half-way down your flower pot. Hot glue the base of the stuffed cactus to the cardboard round.
Place a bit of stuffing in the bottom of the flower pot. Hot glue the cardboard round into the flower pot.
Enjoy!
I feel like I need to put some statement in here asking you to please not distribute this pattern as your own or sell it for profit. Thanks.
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