One thing that's great about moving is that you end up finding things that have been missing for years.
"I was wondering what happened to this." I've said this phrase numerous times.
As I was going through my coffee table drawer on Saturday, I found an old song I wrote. I've been looking around for the words and chords to this song for years since I could only remember pieces of it. It was such a pleasant surprise, especially since I was sorting and it can be so tedious sometimes.
So wahoo.
Other things I thought I'd finally find, I haven't yet. They seemed to have disappeared into that vortex where all the missing socks go.
A quick update on the arm...I'm doing a lot better now, thanks. I had to go back to the hospital and have them unpack the wound. Normally blood doesn't get to me. But when I looked down at my arm and saw the wound and then felt them pulling all the gauze and dressing out of it, I got dizzy, broke into a cold sweat and felt like I was going to throw up.
"Maybe you should lie down." The doctor suggested to me.
I did and the nauseated feeling eventually passed. The good news is that the doctor said that my arm had been healing up quite nicely so they wouldn't have to pack the wound again.
This is fantastic! No more burning medicine injections!
Monday, December 17, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Yowza!
"You need to go to the Southwest Hospital tonight." the doctor said to me.
"Um, I'm unemployed." I said.
"They're reasonable and will work with you on payment plans, but you need to go and have an incision and possible biopsy." the doctor replied.
Welcome to my night last night.
So what am I talking about?
I've had a small build up of white blood cells under my skin on my right arm for years and it's never bothered me...until last week. It started to get really tender and then began to turn red. Soon, I couldn't sleep on my right side at all because it hurt too much. By then, the build up had grown to be a little larger than a quarter and had begun to protrude on my arm. I looked like I had a giant pimple on my arm! The redness had turned into that deep red raspberry color and my whole right arm had swollen.
I headed out to a free clinic in Vancouver thinking they could just give me some antibiotics and it'd be okay....but what was I thinking? That'd be way too easy! heh. Everybody there who saw it was horrified.
So I went to a hospital in Vancouver like they recommended.
"We're going to have to give you a tetnus shot in the other arm and then another shot in this arm that will numb it so we can do a minor surgical procedure and remove what we can and then clean the wound." The doctor told me.
Great. I hate needles.
"This is going to hurt a little." The doctor warned me as she stuck me with a needle and began filling my veins with a syrum.
A LITTLE?
"@)#(&%)#(*%)(@*#)(*@#)(*!!!!" I shouted. (yes, literally.)
"Yeah, it hurts." the doctor empathized....kinda.
I've never felt such a burning sensation like that in my life! My arm was sliced open, drained and they removed what they could and then packed the wound. I was as quiet as a mouse by then.
"You're doing really good. You're being pretty tough." the doctor said.
Did she really mean that? Who knows.
When I looked over, there was blood everywhere. It wasn't the most pleasant sight.
I then had to get a tetnus shot which was a piece of cake after everything else that had just happened.
They prescribed some vicodin (thank God!) and some other antibiotic that I have to take.
I had to drive home and it was very pathetic. I could barely turn my steering wheel.
Talk about bad timing! I'm trying to move. At least it happened this week and not next week when I'm really going to have work hard to get everything out of here.
So I'm out of commission for the next couple days.
Excuse me, please. I need to go take some vicodin now.
"Um, I'm unemployed." I said.
"They're reasonable and will work with you on payment plans, but you need to go and have an incision and possible biopsy." the doctor replied.
Welcome to my night last night.
So what am I talking about?
I've had a small build up of white blood cells under my skin on my right arm for years and it's never bothered me...until last week. It started to get really tender and then began to turn red. Soon, I couldn't sleep on my right side at all because it hurt too much. By then, the build up had grown to be a little larger than a quarter and had begun to protrude on my arm. I looked like I had a giant pimple on my arm! The redness had turned into that deep red raspberry color and my whole right arm had swollen.
I headed out to a free clinic in Vancouver thinking they could just give me some antibiotics and it'd be okay....but what was I thinking? That'd be way too easy! heh. Everybody there who saw it was horrified.
So I went to a hospital in Vancouver like they recommended.
"We're going to have to give you a tetnus shot in the other arm and then another shot in this arm that will numb it so we can do a minor surgical procedure and remove what we can and then clean the wound." The doctor told me.
Great. I hate needles.
"This is going to hurt a little." The doctor warned me as she stuck me with a needle and began filling my veins with a syrum.
A LITTLE?
"@)#(&%)#(*%)(@*#)(*@#)(*!!!!" I shouted. (yes, literally.)
"Yeah, it hurts." the doctor empathized....kinda.
I've never felt such a burning sensation like that in my life! My arm was sliced open, drained and they removed what they could and then packed the wound. I was as quiet as a mouse by then.
"You're doing really good. You're being pretty tough." the doctor said.
Did she really mean that? Who knows.
When I looked over, there was blood everywhere. It wasn't the most pleasant sight.
I then had to get a tetnus shot which was a piece of cake after everything else that had just happened.
They prescribed some vicodin (thank God!) and some other antibiotic that I have to take.
I had to drive home and it was very pathetic. I could barely turn my steering wheel.
Talk about bad timing! I'm trying to move. At least it happened this week and not next week when I'm really going to have work hard to get everything out of here.
So I'm out of commission for the next couple days.
Excuse me, please. I need to go take some vicodin now.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Sentimental Sap
All I have to say is.....wow.
I knew I had a lot of stuff, but man do I have a lot of stuff! Yesterday, I started sorting through things in my room and tackled the monstrosity of a closet I have. I found 3 bags full of cards from people I know and have known over the years.
This is going to sound completely absurd, but I feel old. This realization came the moment I opened a birthday card from my parents that said, "Happy Birthday! We can't believe you're 17 already!"
What the? Has it been 10 years since then already?! When did this happen?!!!
I've kept all my cards from the last 10 years for crying out loud! It's been ages since I've browsed through any of those bags in my closet. So I've decided that I'll read through the cards and then I'll be a good eco-friendly person and recycle all of them.
Moving can be an emotional thing at times. It stirs things up that you've long since forgotten. It reminds you of memories that decided to play hide and go seek somewhere along the way. In a lot of these cards, most of my friends didn't just write, "Happy Birthday" and left it at that. A lot of them wrote in ways that were pretty in depth, meaningful and encouraging...in ways that still move me even now.
Moving has turned me into a sentimental sap. It's hard to let go of things...even if they are just pieces of paper with words. I guess it's the meaning behind all of it along with all the years that are represented. It's like you find a part of yourself again that you left behind and you see who you were for a moment and you see who you were to other people.
It makes me feel like I'm 17 again...and then 18....I still feel 19....and 20...and 21....22..23..24..25...26 and now I'm 27.
Madeline L'engle once wrote, "We must never forget any part of ourselves. I am not an isolated, chronological statistic. I am 61, and I am also 4, and 12, and 15, and 23, and 31, and 45, and...and...and...
If we lose any part of ourselves we are thereby diminshed. For growing up never ends; we never get there. I am still in the process of growing up, but I will make no progress if I lose any of myself on the way."
I knew I had a lot of stuff, but man do I have a lot of stuff! Yesterday, I started sorting through things in my room and tackled the monstrosity of a closet I have. I found 3 bags full of cards from people I know and have known over the years.
This is going to sound completely absurd, but I feel old. This realization came the moment I opened a birthday card from my parents that said, "Happy Birthday! We can't believe you're 17 already!"
What the? Has it been 10 years since then already?! When did this happen?!!!
I've kept all my cards from the last 10 years for crying out loud! It's been ages since I've browsed through any of those bags in my closet. So I've decided that I'll read through the cards and then I'll be a good eco-friendly person and recycle all of them.
Moving can be an emotional thing at times. It stirs things up that you've long since forgotten. It reminds you of memories that decided to play hide and go seek somewhere along the way. In a lot of these cards, most of my friends didn't just write, "Happy Birthday" and left it at that. A lot of them wrote in ways that were pretty in depth, meaningful and encouraging...in ways that still move me even now.
Moving has turned me into a sentimental sap. It's hard to let go of things...even if they are just pieces of paper with words. I guess it's the meaning behind all of it along with all the years that are represented. It's like you find a part of yourself again that you left behind and you see who you were for a moment and you see who you were to other people.
It makes me feel like I'm 17 again...and then 18....I still feel 19....and 20...and 21....22..23..24..25...26 and now I'm 27.
Madeline L'engle once wrote, "We must never forget any part of ourselves. I am not an isolated, chronological statistic. I am 61, and I am also 4, and 12, and 15, and 23, and 31, and 45, and...and...and...
If we lose any part of ourselves we are thereby diminshed. For growing up never ends; we never get there. I am still in the process of growing up, but I will make no progress if I lose any of myself on the way."
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
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