HOME!

Headed out for the airport in about 15 minutes. I can't believe I'm finally on my way east again!

Will it seem like home when I get there? It seems like home is wherever my suitcase is!

A sense of balance

It is amazing to me how I slip into familiar patterns with such ease. In my mother's house, the house I moved into when I was four years old, I know where everything is, I know what night is garbage collection night. It is like a comfortable robe of history, wrapped around the seminal events of my young life, my middle life, and now, my older life.

I remember planting the olive tree with my mother and father when it was just a 12 inch stick--now it soars into the sky, as high as the power lines. I remember building the rock retaining walls with my dad, handing him the stones as he set them into the mortar.

I remember the long summer evenings, playing in the cul-de-sac with all the kids in the circle. Our only restraint was that we had to go home for dinner when the street lights came on. Walking to school with my brother, walking home for lunch, walking to the store on Saturdays to spend our allowances on penny candy at the drugstore.

Every part of this place is suffused with good memories. I labored in this house to bring my darling Juli into the world. My husband and I lived here for the first four months of her life. Family and friends now gone meet me in every corner of this place.

And now, to spend time with my brother and mother here, is a precious gift. I am savoring every moment.

I know, I know...

I've taken a breather from the blogging bus. In my mother's house, all I seem to want to do is talk with her and take 6 naps a day. It is so weird being in the house where I grew up, brushing my teeth at my old bathroom sink (with my brother brushing his at his sink right next to me), just like we did 50 (yes, 50!) years ago. But comforting.

I'm just going to enjoy every moment here. I'll catch you up on all the drama when I hermitize on my mountain next week.

I'm finally on vacation, and I'm taking advantage of it!

Back on a Plane!

Seattle has feted my departure today by raining on my parade. We've had uncommonly gorgeous weather for a week, but today, the water is pouring down from the sky. Fine. I'm outta here.

I had breakfast with daughter Juli, son Alex and friend Christy at Pike Place Market yesterday. A wonderful send off. We ended the day with an appointment with Dr. Casabona to go over all the test results. Juli has some decisions to make about medication regimens, but all the problems she presented two months ago seem to be under control now. The doctor was pleased. I always walk out of her office feeling like my head is stuffed full of new information.

Despite the reason for my long visit, I am so glad to have had this time with my babes. Now it's off to Los Angeles to spend two weeks with my mom and brother Jerry (who is living at mom's house while he gets his feet wet with a new job and looks for a place to live). Then, finally and blessedly home to my mountain!

All good stuff.

Telling Time by Traffic

Living in the city has required an adjustment in my noise tolerance. As J & K live above a relatively busy, steep street on Queen Anne hill, the sound of trucks and buses struggling up the slope is pretty much a constant background to conversation or sleep.

Many times I will awake on my spot on the living room couch in the dark of night, and realize that I know what time it is without looking.

Between midnight and 2 am, the background sounds are remarkably the same as during the daytime.

At 2 am, there the buses stop running, but I hear speeding cabs ferrying patrons home from the clubs.

At 3 am, the traffic calms down to a low whoosh of cars passing at a rate of about 2 per minute.

At 4 am, the street is quiet.

At 5 am, the electric buses start running.

At 6 am, the groaning of loaded trucks joins the symphony.

At 7 am, the garbage trucks start their morning rounds.

It makes me wonder if I'll be able to sleep at all when I get home to TN, without the background of constant traffic noise!

Is there such a thing as TOO QUIET?

Happy Birthday! Happy Easter!

I had a nice weekend with Brother Jerry's family. Niece Bonnie had her 21st birthday! How nice it was to have a party of loving family and treasured friends, instead of a drunken bacchanal that wouldn't be remembered.

On Sunday, we dragged ourselves up out of bed and prepared to attend the early service at Jerry and Kellie's church. We were momentarily delayed by a last minute conflagration in the microwave, necessitating extinguishing the flaming slag-heap of what was once a sweet potato, and throwing open all the windows to get the smoke out of the house.

Upon entering the sanctuary however, we noticed (by surreptitiously sniffing each other) that our whole family smelled to high heaven of burning yams! While no one outright asked if our Easter Dinner was burning, you could tell during the Pax that they all suspected something was amiss.

Other than being scent-pariahs, we had a great time. A bonafide orchestra (!) complete with 10 violins, 2 cellos and a bass sawed away with expertise, accompanied by piano, drums, guitar, and several trumpets in the back. The horns had some tortured moments during the fanfares, but everyone played with enthusiasm. The choir was outstanding.

We ended the day by taking Jerry to the airport for his work week in Southern California, and Kellie and I met niece Angela for dinner at the Whole Foods Market. Kellie even gave me a ride back to Queen Anne so I wouldn't have to brave the bus again.

Juli had a good weekend at work, thank heavens. Now that I'm back, we can start getting her ready for her big GI tests on Thursday.

Early Morning at UW

In about an hour, Juli & I will catch the University Express #45 for her ultrasound this morning. Instead of the hour-long, winding about through Ballard, Wallingford and the U District bus ride we took last week, this baby will whisk us to our destination in a mere 18 minutes. I am starting to feel like a mass-transit snob.

Juli is on the schedule to work this weekend, and so far, is looking forward to it. Yesterday, Kerne's sister (and roommate) Tyra got hired for her very first job, at the Convention Center Subway, and starts training on Thursday. Brother Jerry also begins a new job in Anaheim, California next week. While I don't look at this familial microcosm as evidence of a large-scale economic recovery, things are looking up for my personal peeps.

Birthday Girl MaryAnn reports that it was snowing in TN yesterday. Because this is so unbelievable for March 22, she had to post video on her blog to prove it--complete with soundtrack of the spring peepers' cacophony in the background!

And Bill reports that the one-day sea trial of the OBIS revealed some post-shipyard problems, but that they should be on the briny deep and back to normal operations in the near future. He is enjoying his new job as the First Assistant, likes his new crew, and is dealing with the increased paperwork stoically.

Time to zip...

The Post-Party Search for a Bathroom...The Frye Art Museum...The Health Care Debate...

The Friday night B-day party for moi was a fairly subdued affair. There was beer and food and music and many board games, intelligent conversation and much laughter. Hardly a bacchanal of epic proportions. At least it was until I went to bed at 1 am. Apparently, the party kicked up a notch when I bowed out.

I awoke around 9 am in the "snake room," noodled on the computer for about an hour and then puttered in the kitchen quietly, cleaning up some of the detritus. Around 10:30, I decided to take a quick shower before everyone else got up. Upon exiting the one full bath, it became apparent that there were about a million people in Alex's small house, all waking up with hangovers and full bladders.

First, Sharon slipped in quickly to take her shower. Ben awoke on the couch, and took over the small half-bath off the kitchen. Next, Nick and unnamed girlfriend stumbled into the living room, wandering around aimlessly. Alex appeared in a towel, looking for a spot in line. Then bathrobed-Morgan and Tyra joined the procession, pacing back and forth. Doug woke up, dressed and bleary-eyed, and took over Sharon's spot in the big bathroom by sheer size and will.

By the time I got back from the snake room, after packing the night's dishes, the board games, my clothes and books, they all had dispersed, presumably having worked out the bathroom dance without conflict or disaster. But I wouldn't say that anyone was especially chipper.

Doug offered me a ride downtown, as he, Alex and Ben were headed to their bi-weekly "Nerdhalla" gaming session. I was bound for the Frye Art Museum on First Hill. After a quick stop for everyone at the Taco Time drive-thru, I gobbled my chicken burrito as we drove over the West Seattle bridge and alighted at my destination.

The Frye Museum is a fabulous little gem of a private art museum with rotating exhibits, free to all. I was fascinated to learn of Tim Rollins and his K.O.S. art collaborative from the South Bronx, something I had never heard of. Many of the art pieces were highly political, but the unique visions, based on classical works of literature, and the textural nature of the big canvases were just stunning.

I then took a sunny stroll down to the Seattle Central Library and spent an hour reading in the public room, enjoying the light playing through the weird angles of the unique architecture.

Back on Queen Anne hill, I reconnected with computer-land, and found the most coherent article on the health care debate so far...I only wish that every member of Congress would read this before voting today.

Dishes & Laundry

There is a quote from Shakespeare that goes something like "War and lechery, war and lechery, nothing else holds fashion."

Substitute dishes and laundry for war and lechery, and that pretty much sums up everyday life for everyone. I used to mumble this phrase like a mantra as I slogged through housewifery chores for 30+ years.

The fact that we are dealing with the mundane details of running a household is a blessing, instead of fretting hourly about getting enough fluids into Juli. We have progressed so much that now I grouse about the trivial.

It's Saturday, and the dishes are done; the laundry is going round and round downstairs. Later, Juli and I will take a walk up to the drugstore for a few necessities. There's a big week coming up (MRI results and GI consult on Tuesday), but we'll have clean plates and clean clothes. Strange how the normalcy of such things balance the perception of the potentially traumatic stuff.

MRI

No jewelry, check. No deodorant, check. Bus schedule, check. Ink pen, check.

The test-go-round begins today (at last!)

Then lunch and a nap.

Juli gained another 4 pounds!

Life is good.

Back on Track

Everyone enjoyed their weekend--me in Olympia with my brother's family, Juli and Kerne in Seattle, blessedly free of other people.

Juli continues to improve, gaining another 2 pounds this week. Her MRI is scheduled for tomorrow. My niece Angela's freshman drama project opens tomorrow night, and we hope to attend. Friday night, my acupuncture guy (Mr. Smoldering Incense-Man) is holding a Qigong workshop and has invited both Juli and I to learn relaxation techniques "for increased vitality." Who would pass up such an opportunity? Not us. We are all about increasing vitality these days.

Juli and I have also embarked on a purely menial and practical project--painting the bathroom. I think in times of stress it is advantageous to have something mundane to focus on besides one's internal struggles. Painting fits the bill, and boy, does this bathroom need it!

Good times, good times...

A Brief Respite

Since Juli has done so well this week, I decided to give them (and myself) a little break from the presence of Mother and Mother-In-Law.

Yesterday, I hopped the bus downtown and took the light rail to the airport, where Sister-In-Law Kellie picked me up and brought me down to Olympia for the weekend. Brother Jerry is at a conference until tonight, so Kellie and I had plenty of time to catch up and relax. It is great to be in my old stomping grounds from last year's wedding follies.

Niece Bonnie is also here, so I got some Auntie-time too. Kellie and I took a long walk with the dogs. I can't help but think of last year, when Echo used to accompany us on these neighborhood walks. I still miss that furry friend of mine.

Today after church, we will go to Walmart and pick up my prescriptions, shop for essentials and have another beautiful day in suburbia. Tomorrow, Kellie will be going up to Seattle to meet with her younger daughter Angela, so I will have a ride back to the city and dinner with the girls.

A Thoroughly Disgusting Day

Juli and I were up bright and early (or early and surly, depending on your attitude) to venture forth to the Belltown Health & Social Services office. The website promise was that if one appears before 9 am, one can be assured of a live-person interview. Juli gathered together an impressive stack of financial disclosure documents to augment her previously-submitted online application and we bussed downtown.

Our first impression was positive--a clean, empty waiting room; helpful, English-speaking office staff. When she gave them her SSN, she was told that she needed to be in the office upstairs.

Another universe altogether: A very bad-smelling room flanked by glassed in windows; sixty uncomfortable plastic chairs, facing a ceiling-hung 19" television tuned to The Today Show; thirty or so gangsta-panted men of employable age and apparent physical fitness, sprawled in the chairs; little balls of white fluff, rolling lazily across the sticky linoleum floor, escapees from someone's ripped down jacket? Juli took a number from the dispenser: #39.

Occasionally, the loudspeaker would crackle and blare: "Twenty! Number 20. Look at your tickets, people!" "George Smith to Window Eight!" Behind me, a very stoned couple was giggling uncontrollably. In front of me, a hustler sidled up to the only other woman in the room besides us, with the tempting offer, "I'll give you five dollars to trade your number for mine." In the corner, a very obese rent-a-cop cleaned his nails with a file and looked bored. What looked like a drug deal was going down in another corner. Two young men hissed threats at each other. An old Asian man was popping pills out of a blister pack into a paper bag. I was the only person in the room reading a book, an amazing curiosity by the look of the stares I got. Someone slid up to Juli's chair and asked for her cell phone number. She just stared at him wordlessly until he went away.

Juli was finally called to a window. After about 45 minutes she came out to the waiting room and told me to go get something to eat--she anticipated being there another few hours. She had the white spots on her nose that she gets when she is close to being spectacularly angry.

While I walked out to Subway for a sandwich (and a bottle of milk and package of apple slices for Juli--I was worried about her stomach being empty), Juli was experiencing the following:

Her caseworker (name-tagged: "Ababa"), played hunt-and-peck typing with two fingernails, entering into the computer all the information that Juli had already submitted online four days previously. "How much do you pay in rent?" Ababa inquired. Juli pointed to the correct line in the print-out that Ababa was looking at. Tap-tap-tap-tap, backspace, backspace, tap-tap. "How many people live in your household?" Juli again pointed. Etcetera. Occasionally, Ababa would get up suddenly and disappear for ten minutes. At one point, Juli had to show her how to access information on the internet to prove that Kerne was no longer working at Rite-Aid. And so on.

When we met up again back in the bad-smelling cattle-pen of a reception room, Juli was shaking with fury. One more wait for a call to the EBT window, and we were out of there.

"I am so mad, I can't even think up a funny story about this," Juli hissed as we walked to the bus stop.

We went to Pike Place Market, met up with Christy at the Market Street Grill, and I bought her a piece of grilled salmon to calm her down. When in doubt, feed the baby. The upshot of the four-hour ordeal is that she qualifies for nothing but food stamps. Again, because her husband is being responsible and working his butt off at a $10/hour job, they are not "truly needy." Her medical bills don't matter. Their debts don't matter. The fact that she can't work because she's sick doesn't matter--she has to be disabled for a year before she would be eligible for any help at all from Medicaid. The only upside is that the denial letter will help them apply for charity care at the hospital where all her tests are scheduled.

I am again floored by these so-called "social services." Twenty-seven years ago, pregnant with Juli, I went through this same process. Sitting in a room with all these disgusting people, wondering if I was now, "one of them." Feeling completely degraded by the attitudes of the bureaucrats. Outraged by the people who were obviously gaming the system I had paid into, only to find out that when I needed help, it wasn't available to me because I was still trying to work and be responsible for myself.

Nothing has changed.

Finally, Progress!

Things are starting to move on the Great Appointment Quest. Juli is scheduled for a brain MRI on March 11, followed by an appointment with a GI "Fellow" on March 16. The GI specialist that Dr. Casabona wanted her to see can't get her in until the end of May, so the Fellow may actually be the best route to eventual diagnosis and treatment.

Some of the best doctors I saw at UVA were Fellows. In my experience, they are young, energetic, curious, and uncommonly up-to-date on all the latest studies and research. They are still new enough to the medical world to want to interact with patients. And since this Fellow is working under the supervision of the GI specialist, Juli will have the benefit of two doctors working on finding the cause of her tummy problems. I am relieved for the moment.

We are still working on getting a neurological consult, but at least the MRI will provide some clues or rule-outs with regard to her blackouts and seizure-like symptoms.

Progress at last! It's hard to abandon one's native politeness and become a demanding "squeaky wheel," but apparently, that's what it takes to get taken care of these days. I don't really mind if they are getting her seen because they just don't want another phone call from me.

Whatever it takes, I'll do it.

Clumsy in Seattle

On Saturday, Friend Christy and I made a trek to Target, purveyor of underwear and socks, shampoo and conditioner, chicken broth and noodles. I did the bus thing to West Seattle, where Christy met me as I got off the transport, so as to avoid my seeing her supposedly messy house. (I am convinced that I could beat these youngsters in a home-as-hog-wallow contest hands down, but I have to at least admire their shame in showing me their messes).

We first stopped at the local tacqueria for pre-shopping sustenance. I had a chile relleno burrito to die for, while Christy's carnitas and shrimp tacos looked pretty good too. Plus chips and about eight different salsas to try. Yum.

We did our one-stop shopping and had a nice visit, then took the bus back to the center of West Seattle, where Christy alighted and I continued back into downtown. Once there, I spied my #13 bus a block away, and decided to run for it, with my three Target bags in tow. I made it, the driver stopped and opened the door, but in my enthusiasm and joy at making the bus, I slipped at the top of the bus stairs, hit a patch of water on the floor and did an incredible baseball slide into the aisle. I skinned my left knee as my right leg shot out in front of me, heard the collective GASP of the other passengers, something akin to the sound the audience makes when an Olympic skater misses the triple axel - double toe loop and falls on her ass.

I was fine. Really. I gathered my purchases and my dignity and plopped into a seat. After getting back to the apartment, I started putting away my bounty, leaned over and went into a full-on back spasm. Rats.

For the last two days, I've been sitting around with an ice pack in the waistband of my pants. I can walk (if I "glide"), I can sleep if I don't have to turn over, and I can do most everything except put on my socks and shoes.

But today, I decided to seek assistance. I called around and found an acupuncturist two blocks away from the apartment who would take me at 1 pm. I'm not sure why I decided acupuncture instead of chiropractic, I just did.

This treatment was completely different than my Tennessee acupuncture experiences. After explaining why I was there, I disrobed and hoisted myself into a heated bed with flannel sheets. Mr Acupuncture came in and applied pressure to points in my back, then had me sit up while he placed smoking balls of some kind of herb (yes, burning and smoking) to various places on my back and on my wrists. My job was to tell him when it felt hot, so he could pluck the smoldering material off my skin, stick a needle in and quickly remove it!

When he asked how I felt, the only thing I could think to say was "like an incense holder? Like a pincushion?"

Totally, utterly weird. Let me be the first to say, if I wasn't in pain and this silliness didn't actually work, I wouldn't give these people the time of day. There was a lot of blah-de-blah about adjusting my "Qi" and letting my body heal itself, but the bottom line was that I walked away without pain, and am once again moving like a normal person, without having to wear ice in my pants.

***********

We continue our ongoing efforts to get Juli the appointments she needs. She is gradually eating more and has had no further stomach or anxiety problems. (Fingers crossed here).

All's Quiet

I woke up this morning at 10 am with my face shoomushed into the couch cushions, sweaty hair sticking out like Einstein's. So much for "beauty rest," I may have to immerse my head in a bowl of ice water to get my face to morph back to its normal state.

Juli continues to improve, getting steadily more hydrated, and even taking little bites of solid, banal food like applesauce and plain noodles. I've got her on plenty of electrolyte liquids like Gatorade and Vitamin water, trying to replace some of the nutrients she's lost.

She asked for and received a medical leave of absence from her job yesterday. The idea is to eliminate all the sources of stress on her body and mind, while we work on getting her diagnosed and then fixed. Leaving her job has the added benefit of making her completely destitute, so perhaps now she will qualify for medicaid or some other charity medical care.

It's insane, but if you are working, even part-time, trying to be responsible and pay your bills, you don't qualify for any free medical care at all. While the current political debate rages about health care, the facts on the ground are that if you're a slacker, indigent, unemployed, or lazy, you get a free ride, no questions asked. If you answer "yes" to the first question, "are you working," you're bounced into the "We can get money from this stone" category. If you're struggling to make the rent, trying to work every minute you're not sick, able to pay a little but not a lot, you don't qualify for anything--you pay full price for yourself and a portion for everyone who's getting the free care you don't get. I haven't heard anyone discuss this issue at all. The assumption is that if you're "poor," you get free care and the rest of us have to pay for it. But the definition of "poor" is actually "not working," for whatever reason. Juli and Kerne are working their hearts out, constantly falling behind, never quite getting ahead of the curve. They are by definition, "working," so they are deemed able to pay the thousands of dollars each ER visit costs in inflated dollars.

Juli tells me that according to her past hospital bills in Seattle, every time they hang a bag of saline above her head, it costs $600. A litre bag of normal saline in Alex's retail pharmacy costs less than $3.00--and the politicians wail about the cost of care and the cost of insurance. I am completely flummoxed by the insanity of it all--the specious nature of the argument, the reality out here in the real world, the total lack of rational thought and pragmatic solutions to real problems.

By contrast, in California, our entire ER visit, meds, saline,rooms and doctor care was a flat fee of $800, if we paid it immediately upon discharge. I got out my credit card and paid happily--what a bargain!

So that's my rant this morning. If you too have bought all the hype about how "the truly needy" people get or will get a free ride, do some research--it ain't so. In order for Juli to get the care she needs, she has to become a person she never wanted to become--someone who doesn't even try to pull her own weight, someone who gives up and doesn't go to work, someone who is "helpless" and unemployed. It's not right, but it is what she has to do, according to the insane rules of the game.

What kind of society have we let ourselves become?

Back in Seattle

It seemed like a good idea--get recovering Juli out of town for an adventure, a quick visit to Gran and sunny Southern California, back on Thursday to be ready for work on Friday. Alas, sometimes my brilliant ideas aren't so brilliant.

She was very excited to be going on a mini-vacation on Monday. She spent most of her time resting, talking, laughing. Tuesday, she was still tired, so we took it easy and encouraged her to sleep. My brother Jerry flew in that afternoon for a job interview, so we had good family times that evening. Then, she and I were both up at 3 am because she was suddenly very sick again.

Despite spending most of the early morning in the bathtub, she was vomiting constantly and getting steadily more dehydrated. I put a call into her Seattle doctor's office, and the consensus among the triage nurses was to take her to the local ER for IV fluids.

She didn't want to go, but I still packed her up and took her down to the hospital where she was born 26 years ago. We managed to squeak in just before the lunchtime rush! Outside our curtained cubicle, we could hear the pace pick up from the nurses' conversations:

"I don't have a bed right now, could we just do a quick exam on him in the hall?"

"Call upstairs and see if they can send down 4 more nurses!"

"Yes sir, someone will take care of you just as soon as we can!"

They pumped Juli full of anti-emetics to no avail. A P.A. ordered IVs, but it took almost two hours before the liquid was actually flowing into her. They drew blood. They tried morphine, but as they were pushing it into the tube, I pointed out a large red rash spreading on Juli's chest and neck. The nurse stopped, the rash disappeared. They tried another milligram with the same results, so they had to stop. They put two full doses of Pepsid into her saline. She just kept retching.

My childhood friend Kris Brust is a pulmonary nurse in this hospital and I had her assistant give her a note that Juli and I were in the ER. Kris came down and told all the nurses that we were her "peeps," and they should give us the 5-star treatment. Shortly after Kris' visit, an exam room opened up and we were told that Juli had been triaged as Number 2 out of the next 10 patients. They moved her down the hall, past dozens of people in chairs, wheelchairs and gurneys, all waiting to be seen.

The nurses were astoundingly calm in the face of what I perceived as utter chaos. A young woman, Dr. Gendy, examined and questioned Juli thoroughly and ordered more liquids and meds, including a weird gastric cocktail of Maalox, xylocaine and Donnatol., which Juli actually kept down for about 60 seconds. She managed to hang on to the second dose though, and things started getting better. I had called Juli's Seattle doctor's nurse to let her know what was going on. Even though it was after five, the doctor called me back and wanted to speak to Dr. Gendy. The two doctors consulted on Juli's case, and Dr. Gendy came back with a mutual decision that it was probably gall bladder or ulcer related.

They finally got Juli stabilized and she fell asleep around 7 pm. I was so tired at this point, I scooted my chair up to the head of her bed, rested my head on her mattress and fell asleep for an hour too.

They released her around 9 pm, with meds and instructions to get her home to Seattle as soon as possible. Juli was in no shape to fly by herself, so I quickly booked myself on her flight for this morning. My brother Jerry was also flying back to Seattle, so everybody went to the airport! We got her a wheelchair, got her through security (the full-frisk for her, oh joy!), and got her on the plane.

Another time, I will share my month of TSA "security" stories. For the moment, I'll just say that Juli would have been perfectly justified in barfing on the security personnel. I would have applauded.

The flight was tremendously hard on her, but she made it though the 2 1/2 hours, quietly using all the air-discomfort bags I could round up from nearby seat-backs. I insisted that she have a wheelchair from plane to baggage claim. We met up with Jerry (he was on a different flight) and he drove us to Juli's home so we wouldn't have to battle the train and bus routine.

So, I'm back in Seattle again. This time I plan to see her through the tests her doctor wants her to have, and I think Kerne and I have convinced her that she needs to take a medical leave from her job and concentrate on getting well again. I will reschedule my March doctor appointments for April, and stay as long as I have to.

For the moment, the meds are working, and she's sleeping at last.

What we decided...and ensuing foolishness

Juli and I are flying to California this afternoon. She decided last night to come with me and visit her Gran, get a change of scene and have a mini-vacation.

The anticipation of the trip combined with the fact that last night was her final night of work for the week buoyed her spirits enough to handle everything (including having to call the cops on some unruly teenage guests). She came home in a good mood, without the terrible stress of the previous two mornings.

Then, she couldn't find her required "Government-issued photo I.D." We tore the house apart, looked through every pile of paper, pulled out couch cushions, moved furniture, went through pockets and dresser drawers, all to no avail.

I was on the phone to the airline, concocting a true story of "lost wallet," when Juli returned from the laundry room, waving her card in triumph. It turned out that our little group had conducted our own Comedy of Errors: Kerne, looking for the house bus pass, emptied Juli's jacket pockets and mistakenly put Juli's ID in his pants' pocket. I did the laundry two days ago (and was careful to check the dryer by spinning the tub, finding a loose dollar bill). Juli saved the day by sticking her head inside the dryer, and found it stuck in one of the dryer's veins with another dollar bill. So now she has her ID and bus fare to the train station!

So we will both go to the airport today. She will return on Thursday, after getting a double dose of Mom-and-Gran love, and hopefully a trip to the beach where she can dig her toes in the sand and relax a little.

I Just Don't Know What to Do

Sunday morning, here in Seattle. I have a ticket for Southern California tomorrow afternoon, but I just don't know what to do.

Juli is barely hanging on, coming home from work this morning exhausted and spacey. She is starting to exhibit some symptoms of agoraphobia--not wanting to leave the house for any purpose other than to drag herself through another night of work, spending most of her time either in the bathtub or in bed. My latest "brilliant" idea is to take her with me tomorrow, for a change of scene and a bit of rest and relaxation in the safe environment of Gran's house.

I know I'm needed here, but it is also a strain having mother and mother-in-law here 24/7. I am also out of my own meds, don't have adequate clothing (I packed for a 3-day trip, and I've been here for 10 days), and have things to do with my mom in LA, such as getting her car ready to sell and assorted house projects.

Juli has a phone appointment with her doctor tomorrow morning to discuss her weekend of work on the new meds, and continuing efforts to get her in to see a GI specialist, a neurologist, and get an accounting of what tests have already been done versus the tests that need to be done in the future.

For all of my talk about "living in the now," I'm finding it hard to just go with the flow and take it day-by-day. I am torn between wanting to continue to help here and sensing their need for some privacy, in addition to thinking that a "break" from the scene of her stress might do her some good.

What's the right course of action? I just don't know.

Ah-Choo!

Just as soon as Juli started recovering, I became a Vector of Infection. I am on Day 3 of a stupid common cold. Since Juli is always highly susceptible to colds and flu, my primary concern has been to not infect her while I go through the obligatory dripping, sneezing, coughing routine.

While at the pharmacy to pick up Juli's scripts, I filled a cart with hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, Puffs, zinc & echinachae lozenges, and Zicam for the whole household. I don't know if my cold is a result of exposure to Bill's virus in Singapore, being on multiple planes with recirculating air and sick people, my overuse of public land transportation lately, the shock of going from tropical Singapore to cold, rainy Seattle, or a combination of all of it. My only consolation is that it's progressing briskly along--today will probably be the last day I spend on the couch with a tissue clapped over my face.

Juli has decided to try working this weekend, starting tonight. She's mostly recovered, has a fistful of drugs if she needs them, and I'm sending her in with a bag full of little foods she can snack on to keep her energy up, without having to stress her tummy with big meals before and after work.

If she manages to make it through Friday, Saturday and Sunday, my plan is to fly back to Long Beach on Monday afternoon. If not, we'll reassess the situation and I'll see if I can arrange to take more time off from work and stay with her as long as necessary.

Bill reports in nightly from Singapore. He describes the ongoing shipyard experience as "sheer pandemonium," with no end in sight.

Good times, good times...for everyone!