Calling All Activists...and everyone else, too!

On Friday, December 12th, we received a call from the UC Davis Transplant Clinic. After eighteen years, the Liver Tranplant program is being shut down. The reason depends on who you talk to. One person told me it was funding - the economy. In the Sacramento Bee, the excuse was the drop in transplants over the past year, which has an effect on Medi-Care funding and the surgeon's ability to maintain their skills.

Whatever the reason, dozens of patients are being left out in the cold. Each facility has their own set of standards that must be met by the patients before they will be listed for transplant. Regardless of what stage in the process, all of UCD's patients are being told they need to transfer to one of the three remaining centers in Northern California: UCSF, California Pacific Medical Center (San Francisco) and Stanford (Palo Alto). The closest of the three is 76 miles from Sacramento.

Dennis was due to be listed following his next appointment, on December 21st. Another gentleman, interviewed for KXTV 10 News last Friday, would have been listed the same day. It is very likely that they will have to complete the same scans and tests again before being this close to receiving their livers again, if they can survive that long.

Now, here's where the activism comes in. I would like to ask each and every one of you to help me. I want to let the Director of the UC Davis Liver Transplant Program know that these aren't dollars they're cutting, they're lives. These are men and women (and children) who have lived up to their end of the bargain. They've been poked and prodded and tested and scanned, over and over again, even when they were too sick to get out of bed. And for what? Because the easy money made doing boob jobs and face lifts is more important than people's lives?

Sorry, I know I'm ranting and raving, but I get a little bit emotional about this.

So, how about it? If you can write a letter, fantastic. An e-mail? Perfect. The more people who question this closure, the better.

Here's the info:

UC Davis Transplant Center

Attn: Dr. John McVicar, Liver Transplant Program Director

2315 Stockton Blvd.

Sacramento, CA 95817

e-mail: transplant@ucdavis.edu

Even if you don't know Dennis, there are at least a dozen or more people waiting for listing that may be helped by your efforts.

When It Rains, It Pours

If bad news really does travel in threes, it's time I packed up my family and headed to an undisclosed location.

We were hit with a major blow on Friday. Lab results confirmed that Dennis is still carrying around the infection that landed him back in the hospital last month. What does this mean? Lots of things. First, we're back on the grueling routine of antibiotics - dialysis for five hours every other day, then a trip to UCD for another hour. This will go on for several weeks, most likely, depending on how he responds, but there is always the possibility of (ugh) readmission to the hospital for further procedures to find and eliminate the source of this bug that just won't go away.

Of course, this puts our transplant dreams on hold...again. The next appointment, December 22, still stands, and there's always the possibility that he will still be cleared by that date. Still, we aren't holding our collective breath - no point in setting ourselves up for another disappointment. The hardest task now is to keep his spirits up enough to continue this never-ending battle.

Meanwhile, my mom took a fall earlier this week. After resisting my repeated requests to see a doctor, she finally realized things weren't right yesterday. She's now in the ICU at UCD (here we go again) with several fractured ribs and a blood pressure that's off the charts. It's not that serious, really. The ICU is more of a precaution, something they do primarily because of the age of the patient, and I just learned from her nurse that she'll be transferred to the regular floor later today because she's doing so well. No word yet, of course, if she'll be allowed to go home or to a Skilled Nursing Facility, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I'm starting to wonder what I'm going to do with the 22 lb. turkey that's resting in my refrigerator right now...

Family Matters

For those of you who have been waiting for updates on Dennis's transplant progress, I have news, finally.

Our slow, forward crawl and giant steps backward have been replaced by improvement and progress. The two drains were removed a week ago and the antibiotics discontinued earlier this week. With the completion of the oral surgery, also this week, Dennis has met all of the requirements for listing by the transplant team.

Considering what a skinny guy he is these days, Dennis looks great. He has more energy than he's had in months and feels better, for the most part, overall. He's ready and anxious to get the transplant over and done with so we can get on with our lives. Our next appointment with the surgeons, tentatively scheduled for Dec. 22nd (could be sooner if cancellations come up), should be the "listing appointment". After that, it's a matter of time and patience (again???), waiting for the call. I don't think it will be a long wait.

Another Look at Proposition 8

Like many people who've watched the events of the 2008 presidential election unfold this week, I've shed a lot of tears. I cried when I saw our new president take the stage for the first time as President-Elect Obama. I cried when I saw my oldest son following the election night returns on the web instead of checking his e-mail, and I cried again a couple of hours ago listening to the first press conference of the new president.

There were different tears, though, when I learned of the passage of Proposition 8, and again when I read the following letter. The letter was written by a San Francisco attorney. I don't know her - she is the girlfriend of a co-worker of a close friend of mine. This friend had asked me before the election to write something here about Prop. 8. and I wasn't able to come up with anything I thought worthy of publishing. Now that I've read this, I know that nothing I could've written would ever have had the same impact. Even though the election is over, it will never be too late to keep fighting for the rights of all of our citizens.

November 5, 2008
A letter to my friends and law firm colleagues--
It was with a heavy heart that I awoke at 5:00 a.m. this morning. Something wasn’t right.
A dark cloud lurked in my room. Over my house. I felt the swastika of hate painted on
my front door by a silent, smirking neighbor who loathes me behind my back, yet happily
borrows a cup of sugar from me when she is without. Or was it put there by the guy who
lives on the other side? Could it be he who painted my door? This is how I feel in this
dark hour.
I am your colleague, your partner, and your friend. Many of you know me personally
and work with me every day. Yet this morning, my friends, my reality has changed.
Tears stain my face as I confront the horrible news that so many people outside my front
door believe I am inhuman. That I somehow deserve to be singled out and treated with
less respect and dignity than any of you. These strangers would crucify me despite the
cups of sugar I have lent, despite the hours I have toiled beside them, despite the taxes I
have paid to keep their roads smooth and build schools for their children, and despite the
help I have offered in their own time of need. It is depressing at least, and deeply, deeply
hurtful at most. It makes me want to hide in a dark room and scream at the injustice of it
all. It makes me want to leave this beautiful place we all call home and move to a foreign
land.
Until you have had your life placed on a public ballot against your will, and had snarling
people load your mailbox with filth, spending millions of dollars to take away your civil
rights because they believe you are less than human, you have no idea what I mean. It is
demoralizing and degrading. Especially when you’ve never met them, they have no idea
who you are, and you’ve done absolutely nothing in the world to deserve such barbarism.
This, my friends, is my reality today. Happily, it is not yours. I am glad you could wake
up this morning, roll over in your warm bed in those wee minutes before the alarm goes
off and say, “I Love You, baby, have a wonderful day” to your husband or wife, then
shuffle off to the shower and get ready to come to this office. But I ask you to stop right
now and think –
Remember the day you vowed to love and honor and protect that person till death do you
part. Do you remember that? Do you remember the unparalleled joy and happiness you
felt? The beautiful place you were – perhaps Hawaii? Perhaps the backyard of your
parents’ home? Perhaps with a few friends at San Francisco City Hall, or did you gather
at your church or cathedral with hundreds of friends and family? Remember? Do you
remember your tuxedo and your too-tight tie? How about your dress? Do you remember
the scent of the flowers you held in your hand, or the one pinned to your lapel? Do you
remember how it felt to hold your partner’s hand, look deeply into his or her eyes, and
with all the love in your heart proclaim your undying affection? Your friends cheered,
didn’t they. Your mom wept tears of joy. Your photographer took hundreds of photos
that you still cherish to this day. Look around – is there a wedding picture on your desk?
On a bookshelf in your office? In your wallet? On your desktop?
But what if you awoke this morning only to learn that you weren’t married after all?
That the treasured soul lying next to you in bed, the person with whom you have spent
years of your life and have pledged to spend the rest of your life, was just a legal stranger
with no more connection to you than someone on the BART train? Can you just imagine
how that would feel? Really? Now what if this wasn’t a game and that wasn’t a horrible
dream, but was real? How would you feel? And what if you learned that not only were
you not married to your beloved, but you could never be married?
What would you say when you got to the office today? Anything? Would you talk to
your friends and colleagues and tell them what happened? Would you cry? Would you
just stay home under the covers and pretend it didn’t happen? Would you run screaming
into the streets searching for help? What would you do?
This is my reality today, my friends. My right to walk down the aisle has been taken
away, and there is nothing I can do about it. I cannot be married, like most of you,
because out of the millions who voted yesterday, just over 350,000 decided my fate. It’s
about the children, they say. They are wrong. First of all, I have no children. Like many
of you, I decided long ago that parenting wasn’t right for me. Perhaps it was my
profession that drove me to that choice, who knows. But I have a deep respect for how
hard it is to raise kids and I admire my many friends who are doing just that. Yet in my
home there is no child who will “suffer” because I am married to the person I love. But
me aside, there are many, many gay and lesbian families who are waking up this morning
to have their cereal and put on their shoes and rush their kids off to school. What will
those parents tell their children?
My being married to the person I love takes absolutely nothing away from anyone else.
Even death row prisoners have the right to be married, but not me. Even Joe the
Plumber, or Joe the Rapist, or Joe the Child Molester have the right to be married. Yes,
even perfect strangers can marry on a moment’s notice, and get divorced two weeks later.
But not me. I cannot marry unless I choose someone those 350,000 California voters
approve of. Are we in a foreign land where women are forced to marry men they’ve
never met? I cannot pick my own spouse? In our beloved California?
My parents struggled through the Great Depression, picked cotton, and raised me and my
brother to be honest and hardworking and kind. I strive for that each day. I chose college
and worked my way through law school – one of the few in my family with a college
degree. My brother chose another path. He took the laboring oar on a job that lasted
more than twenty years and is now retired. Before they died, our parents told us often
how proud they were of us. My brother has been married twice and has two sons. One
of his sons has married twice as well. Why can my brother and his son be married four
times between them, yet I cannot be married at all?
Southern Marin is dark this morning. The power is out and I am writing on my laptop,
screen aglow at 5:30 a.m., pecking out the keys as best I can. I am alone with a heavy
heart at what happened overnight. Much of the nation rejoices today in a new regime, a
change in tide in the way this country will be handled for the next four years. I join in
that celebration, but only half-heartedly. You see, that celebration is about jobs, the
economy, stopping the war, education, and healthcare. Proposition 8 was about me. Just
me, and my right to marry the woman of my dreams. America’s dream lives today.
Mine has been destroyed.
I’m done giving money and putting bumper stickers on my car. Now, instead, I will
work. I will commit my life and my legal skills to the task of making marriage – not
some other bureaucratic acronym – the right of every person. If not for me, then for the
gay children of my friends who will someday want to join in that special union of love.
Please join me in this fight.
Jan Vaughn Mock

So Close, And Yet So Far

To say that Barack Obama's victory in yesterday's election was momentous is such an understatement. He has proven that America has come so far in such a relatively short time, that truly anyone can bring about change. And yet, as I write this, the same Californians who knocked down the wall between white and black have built an even bigger, uglier one with the passage of Proposition 8.

Prop. 8 is quite simply an exercise in hatred. It was never about allowing same-sex couples to marry, but always about segregating that section of the population based on archaic religious beliefs that have no place in government or the constitutional rights of the people. Since they can't all be confined to concentration camps (like we did with the Japanese), let's hold 'em down in any way we can. It's embarrassing and shameful, and I apologize to all the gay and lesbian people who happen to come across this blog.

Vote For Me!

If the McCain/Palin ticket actually makes it to the White House next month, I've decided to run for Governor of Alaska.


Seriously, think about it - could there be a better job? I mean, the population of the whole state is less than that of Manhattan, for cripes sake. You get paid to live in your own house, and you can take your kids on "working-vacations" for free. If your ex-brother-in-law pisses you off, you get his butt canned, and if his boss won't fire him, you just fire his boss! Sounds like quite the deal if you ask me.


I'm sorry, but, what the hell are these people thinking? Adding insult to injury, Sarah and her family go shopping on the campaign trail, to the tune of $150,000. If she needed that much of a make-over, why did they pick her in the first place? And if she's supposed to represent the two Joes (Plumber and Six-Pack), what does she need $150,000 in clothes for? Yes, I know, they're going to be donated to charity when it's all over. You have to wonder, though, would Sarah have coughed up the duds after the fact if no one found out about them? Yeah, you betcha (wink, wink).

Stirring It Up

The following (in red) is the meaty part of an e-mail I wrote recently, regarding a nurse who missed a dose on one of Dennis's meds and lied about it (!!!). This was written at the request of the Nurse Manager, who brought the issue to our attention, and has since been passed on to the Manager's boss and the nurse in question, too. I'm hoping she loses her job, if not her license. There's no telling how many other patients she's put at risk with her careless approach to her job.

Ms. X ,
Whatever your intentions were in missing and falsely recording my husband's Factor VIII dose on Sept. 28th, I would like you to understand the ramifications of your error.
My husband has been hospitalized for more than half of 2008. On several occasions, I was told that he would not survive. He was transferred out and back in to various ICU units no less than three times due to internal bleeding. Three times. Each time, there was no guarantee the bleeding would stop, he was too weak to withstand surgery, and I sat at his bedside and waited for him to either recover on his own or die. I watched the nurses administer dose after dose of Factor VIII, knowing that without it, there would be no chance of his survival. I'm guessing here, but I'm pretty sure you can't imagine what that feels like, no matter how many times you've seen it in your years of nursing.
Factor VIII is liquid gold. The gallons given to my husband over the past few years have depleted our medical insurance to the point that he is now dependent on public aid for his coverage. I know that the pharmacy doesn't mix it until it's needed, and I know they don't just send it up with the other meds and assume that it will be handled properly. I also know that there is no such thing as a leftover dose in a refrigerator. Further, your statement that you "had a ten minute conversation" with my husband is laughable. My husband has been on the edge of encephalopathy for the past five days and hasn't had a ten minute conversation with anyone, including me. You didn't give it to him, you faked the records, and you lied about it - it's that simple.
When we leave our loved ones after eight or nine hours at their bedsides, we expect them to be in good hands. We believe it when we're told that they'll be watched over and taken care of, that they'll get their prescribed medications when they're supposed to, and that they'll still be there when we come back the next day. We also expect the doctors and other nurses to be able to look at a medical record and know that it contains true, factual data - not just what should be there.
Through your negligence, you've given the wife of a very sick man something more to worry about.

I'm sharing this here for a couple of reasons: First, it lets all of you in on what we've been going through these past few weeks and explains pretty well why I haven't been here! Second, this illustrates the desperate need for quality nurses in our healthcare system. Don't get me wrong, we have had some amazing, wonderful, fantastic nurses over the years! There are those, though, who don't belong there and are clearly just collecting a big, fat, union-protected check. Shame on them, and shame on our system that allows half-ass-ed-ness (is that a word?) in one of the most important professions on the planet. Don't get me started again....

Meanwhile, Dennis is back home again. We have a TON of appointments. In addition to dialysis (which is now starting at the hideous hour of 7:00 a.m.), he has to have anitbiotic infusions at UCD three days a week, along with appointments with three different services within the next two weeks. Again, we're on hold with the transplant indefinitely, but the doctors assure me that the labs are stable and nothing is urgent right now. Phew.

On a totally, completely unrelated subject....is everyone out there registered to vote?

A quick one...

As Thumper's mother always said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all". Heeding Mrs. Rabbit's words, I've taken a few weeks off.

Dennis is back in the hospital for another one of those short-stay adventures that has morphed into something more lengthy. I'll spare you the icky details, except to say that he has an infection the size of a football in his abdomen that has pushed his left kidney back about four inches (it's true, I saw the CT) and could potentially cause way more damage than I'd like to think about if it were to get into his bloodstream. It's self-contained, at the moment, and will hopefully stay that way until the antibiotics (three 0f them) take hold or the surgeons decide to "go in and get it".

If this were me, or any average, healthy person, going in and getting it wouldn't be a huge deal, other than the fact that it's surgery. With Dennis, though, every decision made be a doctor has to be carefully considered, weighed for the possible good & bad scenarios, etc. He's been living on Davis 12 (one of our regular haunts) since Thursday, waiting for the team to make their determination, which will hopefully happen today.

Meanwhile, the juggling act continues. I am a hospital-dweller by day, mom/maid/house painter by night. Finally finished the bathroom that I started the last time Dennis was in the hospital. And if anybody needs about 1/3 of a gallon of Lemon Bliss, let me know.

If you happen to be attending the Elk Grove Great Pumpkin Festival on October 4 & 5, be sure to look for the really big kid in the Cosumnes Fire Dept. uniform. Erick will be "on duty", passing out flyers and generally schmoozing with the locals as a part of his ROP Fire Tech training class.

More news as I can think of it, or make it up, whichever is more interesting. Keep those cards & e-mails coming in!

More Animals than the Folsom Zoo!

As my favorite truth-teller, Gloria, was quick to point out, I somehow managed to exclude my old pal, Dudley, from the photo slideshow I added the other day. My bad.

In honor of Dudley, and all the other pets that came before and after, here's a little tribute:

The dog that started it all, as far as I knew, was Little Bit. We had a black lab/mix named Bob before her, but what was I, three? I have no recollection of that dog, other than photos, and only remember our cat, Goya, because of how upset my mom was when she had to be put down - feline leukemia. Oh, and there was Charlie, another cat. I'm told he used to get into my crib, bite the nipples off the bottles and steal my milk. Sounds terribly traumatic, doesn't it? To this day, there is controversy surrounding Charlie's "disappearance". Grandma & Grandpa come to visit from Sacramento, Grandpa HATES cats, Charlie never comes home again. Hmmmmm.

Anyway, Dad & Little Bit were inseperable until she died at 15 years old. The only one more upset about her passing than my dad was our cat, Cleo, who had considered Little Bit as her mother since Ralph gave her to me (for my 10th birthday). I must've been too young for a cat, because Cleo always preferred my mom over me and more or less just tolerated my attempts to dress her up, carry her in various purses, etc. Unlike Trixie & Sandy, Cleo never ventured out of the house unless forced to. Well, she did like the tree in the backyard in Pacifica, but that was about it. When we moved to Brisbane in 1980, she hid for almost a week. Ironically, I inherited a male version of Cleo in 1989. More about him later.

Dudley arrived quite accidentally after Little Bit and before Cleo died. Gloria's dog (I'm trying to remember the name - Cinder! It was Cinder!!!) and a handsome beagle gentleman got together and created Dudley, among others. Dudley went to live somewhere in the East Bay, until Gloria's family found out there was a chance he was being abused. He was 6 months old when I got him and definitely traumatized by any man in dark clothing (who could do a thing like that???). Sadly, the abuse apparently caused brain injury, because Dudley developed epilepsy before his 7th birthday and had to be put to sleep. That one hurt, bad. This was my first dog (Little Bit was Dad's, all the way) and we were buddies...that's why I made my dad, the family pet killer, handle the drive to the vet's office.

At least I still had "Piggy". I'd never had anything rodent-esque before my Peruvian Long-Hair came along. Formerly the pet of a musician friend, Piggy came to live with me when said musician was spending too much time on the road. And what a cool little beast she turned out to be. Up on the third floor of our house in Brisbane, Piggy somehow knew when it was me walking through the front door. She called me - a high pitched, "whoop-whoop" sound that pierced your ears if you got too close. Of all the hamsters/guinea pigs/mice we've had since, none was as easy going and laid back as Miss Piggy. Must've been that bohemian, musician lifestyle, I guess. Oddly enough, I can't remember the circumstances surrounding her death. Obviously, she's not around anymore but, what the heck happened to her?

Flash forward to the 1990's and the aforementioned Cleo-clone, Skeeter. Once again, I inherited a pet that would stay with me for almost 14 years. Skeeter was left by a roommate when he was just a baby (Skeeter, not the roommate) and I just couldn't give him up. As it turned out, Skeeter ended up being a pretty cool cat. In fact, I thought he was the only cat on the planet who played fetch, until Trixie came along and taught me that cats will even play soccer if they're in the mood. Mental note: no pictures of Skeeter on the computer. Scan some.

Skeeter was a patient cat, if nothing else. Not only did he put up with the arrival of Bob, my beloved Chow-Chow, but also a child (Erick), and Torii, the gigantic, comatose Akita. Torii belonged to my brother, Ralph, until he passed away in 1990. My parents adopted her and brought her (in a moving van, in the front seat) when they moved to our house in Sacramento. 900 square feet, four adults, one toddler, a big-ass dog and a cranky cat - I'm sure you're realizing that something had to go. With all that energy (yeah, right), Torii was well suited for her new life in the wilds of Placerville with my cousins, Joanne and John Wallerius. Bob, by the way, departed permanently when he took a chunk out of the arm of a family friend. Don't ever let anyone tell you that Chows aren't tempermental.

Skeeter ruled the roost once again until Chloe was adopted in 2000. A shelter puppy, she was just too cute to pass up (see slideshow image of brownish, wide-eyed pup). Haley, another accidental arrival, came in 2002. Here's how that one went down. Soccer coach Jack says he's got this great dog that is too big for his kids, would I like to have her. I say "Maybe, let me think about it". Jack arrives at the house two hours later, Haley's leash in one hand, her toys in the other. Guess I had thought about it long enough, huh? For a while there, it was a lot like having four legged versions of my sons: Chloe, the larger, more mellow sweetheart, vs. Haley - high strung, high energy, all legs and very little self-control. Sigh. She meant well...

Skeeter's realm was disturbed again with the arrival of Trixie, an abandoned baby I bottle-fed for several weeks, and Sandy, another abandoned kitten not quite as dependant as Trixie. Skeeter got sick not long after the kittens came to live with us. To my melodramatic mind, it almost seemed as if he was ready to relinquish cat-control to the next generation. Either way, it became pretty obvious that he wasn't going to get any better...rest in peace, Skeets.

Present day life includes, of course, Trixie and Sandy, Chloe, and Maggie, my new best friend. Haley? Well, she moved on shortly after we moved to our new house in 2005. Naturally, I enlisted Soccer Coach Jack to help me find a suitable placement. He set things up, we met the adoptees and considered them suitable, the exchange was made. I heard a couple of months later that Haley had tried to escape on several occasions. Finally, she was taken to "live on a farm in Wilton". That's grown-up talk for something unspeakable, I'm sure...

Virtues of the Internet, Part Deux...and other stuff

For some reason, I got the hair-brained idea of cleaning out my e-mail in-box the other day. I have a really bad habit of hanging on to messages after I've replied to them or saved their attachments...kind of a genetic disfunction I think I acquired from my mother, I guess.

Anyway, I realized that almost ALL of the people that I correspond with regularly have known me for at least thirty years. Yes, I said 'thirty', as in a whopping-long-time. Most of these people (and you know who you are!) would be lost to oblivion without 'the web' - who writes letters anymore, really? When was the last time you got a five-pager from your best friend from high school, complete with photographs? Yeah, that's what I thought...you can't remember, either. Get with the program, Mr. McCain!

I've added some goodies to the page, as you may have noticed. I urge you to check out the Cakewrecks blog when you have a chance, preferrably when you aren't at work so you don't get caught laughing out loud. Pretty funny stuff, there. You'll have to let me know about the photo slide show: annoying, or enjoyable? If I can keep up with it, I hope to change the photos periodically so you're not just looking at the same ol' faces everytime you visit. Speak up, and if you have any photos you'd like to share, pass 'em on!

Are You Smarter Than A High School Freshman?

Congratulate us...we survived the first day! 5:45 a.m. came awfully early for a late-nighter like me. Kevin was naturally too nervous to sleep, Erick mumbled something like "this sucks" when I woke him, and I'm pretty sure I made my coffee with my eyes closed.


Erick was beside himself yesterday with news of a Fire Fighter program being offered by the Community College Dist. to Seniors from area schools. Not only will he receive college credits, he'll also have a head start on his goal of becoming a Fire Fighter. When I heard the words, "Mom, it'll look awesome on my transcripts", I got all choked up. It took a long time, but my little boy is finally figuring things out, and not a moment too soon!


It wasn't long after they got home that I realized my concerns about them attending the same school (this is the first time, ever) weren't going to be a problem. Erick asked Kevin if he thought the girls in high school are different from the ones in middle school. Kevin responded without a word, just very, very large eyes and a smile. They compared notes on the food, discussed which teachers were easy/hard/weird, and Erick gave Kevin advice on how to survive Spanish I. Thank heavens he already took it, 'cuz I don't have a clue! Oh, and don't be surprised if you get an occasional e-mail from me asking for help with Erick's Business Finance class. Like I would even begin to think I could help him with that homework!


Since the boys aren't around to run errands with, I've taken on a new co-pilot. Mags has always enjoyed a ride in the car. Now, though, she seems to demand a daily outing. Seriously, this dog knows how to pout. She sulks when she's left at home with Chloe, and she has definitely shunned me in the past when I've been gone too long. You should hear her 'talk'. I swear, she said "Go out" the other day...

Back To School and Other Things

The day I've been waiting for is finally here...school officially starts on Monday, August 25th. Don't get me wrong, I do love having my sons lying around the house, eating whatever isn't moving, sprawling on the couches, but let's face it - it's time. Even with the $3.00 per day per kid for school lunches, I estimate that my grocery budget will immediately decrease by at least $150.00 per month!
Meanwhile, a couple of milestones. Kevin's seven year involvement with Families First, a non-profit agency serving kids with emotional, physical and mental disabilities, comes to a close at the end of this month. The kid is just too darned normal to remain in the program! With all the faults of an over-managed corporation, FF has still played a big part in helping Kevin become who he is today, and we appreciate their efforts, especially the above-and-beyond of some of their therapists (you know who you are...)!
Milestone #2 may be more of a "mile-pebble", but still has it's place in the category. Those of you who know Dennis know that he's played poker on Friday nights with the same group of guys forever. Twenty years, I think? While some wives would resent this "night out with the boys", I prefer to think of it as a nice tradition. I mean, really, does anybody do anything consistently for 20 years anymore??? Anyway, last night was his first night back since February and, though he only managed to stay a few hours, I couldn't help but feel that this otherwise insignificant event represented soooo much. This man nearly died a few months ago. No one expected him to wake up, let alone socialize with his friends at a weekly card game. I very nearly lost it when his buddy, Mike, came out to greet him at the car with a big, teary-eyed hug. I know, I'm weird, but I do believe in signs and I have learned from Dennis's illness that everything has meaning and importance, even the little things we don't always pay attention to. What happens if that small, unimportant little thing never happens again?
Think on that for a while!

Confessions of a Cell Phone Junkie

I admit it, I'm hooked. What was once just a tool for keeping in touch with the office or checking up on the kids has become my new favorite toy.

It finally hit me when I got my new phone. This one is way cool - the Samsung Beat, an MP3 player, 1.3 megapixel camera, bluetooth compatible, etc - and you'd have thought it was Christmas when the UPS guy dropped the package on the front porch last week. I could hardly stand the anticipation, waiting for the battery to charge. It's so shiny...not necessarily a good thing, considering my obsession with finger prints and smudges. To my delight, the USB connector cable was an included accessory, so I set out to add every song I've ever downloaded to the memory card. Ooh, aah.

The camera is so much better than my old one. I've harbored a secret jealousy of Erick because I got him the best phone in the house, but no more! We spent close to an hour the other night, comparing features..."Yeah, but mine does this...". Again, ooh, aah.

My only source of frustration is that I can't seem to find enough reasons to use it. The other night, I took a picture of the cat and sent it to both the boys, just because I could. We have unlimited text messages now, thanks to Erick's inability to count, so why not, right?

Somebody text me. Please.

Catching Up

I've been asked for a new post (Gloria!), so here it is.

Have I mentioned lately how awed I am by my husband's strength & determination? Seriously, the guy is a rock. Of the many tests required before listing for a transplant, the colonoscopy has to be the most intimidating. It should be obvious what makes it that way - you're going to put THAT in THERE????? These days, though, that's the easy part. At UC Davis, at least, you're asleep for the humiliation, waking up back in the Recovery Room as if nothing happened. No, the hard part is the preparation for the test: 48 ounces of the nastiest, most disgusting water you've ever tasted, and it all has to be downed in a two hour period. Period. If you don't pull that off, chances are good that you won't be cleaned out enough and you'll have to do it all over again. As if that's not bad enough, doing it when you feel like crap (no pun intended) to begin with makes it almost impossible, as we found out. Twice. Finally, on Friday, they were able to complete the test and everything is fine in there, just as we suspected it would be. Through it all, Dennis never got too cranky, never made me drink the nasty stuff (thank heavens!), never gave up on getting through it. He's pretty amazing. We see the Transplant Surgeon again tomorrow morning. Could this be the day that he goes on the waiting list?

Meanwhile....school starts again in two weeks. Finally. I love my children, really, but 2 1/2 months at home with them is pushing the limit, y'know? This is going to be an interesting year for us, what with both boys in high school. They've actually only attended the same school at the same time for a few months years back, so I'm curious to see how this will play out. Erick can either be the cool, big brother and show the rookie around, or he can be the arrogant Senior who torments the poor, unsuspecting Freshman. I sure hope they dont' kill eachother. Either way, school will definitely be keeping us busy. Kevin's football practice starts up again on August 18th, just two days after Freshman/Parent Orientation and "Hot August Days". Wish they'd had that when I was in school. It's basically a clearing house event for all things high school: get your schedules, pay your fees, take your picture, buy your t-shirts, etc. I like the idea of getting it all over with in one shot, even if it does make for a pretty hectic afternoon in the cafeteria. Then there's Senior Parent Night on Aug. 27th. I'm anticipating this to be the painful one. The agenda includes an overview of the Senior Payment Plan. I have no idea what that is, but it's going to hurt, I'm sure. At least the portraits are already done and paid for, the ring is bought and being worn (all three pounds of it - the kid has logs for fingers), and the Senior Ball is still months away. Somebody needs a job.....

Odds & Ends

Is it possible for a box turtle to have a sweet tooth? Do box turtles have teeth?

Carolyn, as in Slowsky, as in the tv commercials for whatever - I think it's Comcast - was Kevin's birthday gift from Erick & Brittany. Mostly Brittany, since she kept the thing for weeks in an ice chest prior to Kevin's birthday. Anyway, Carolyn seems to prefer fresh fruit to anything else we've fed her. Lettuce, no. Cauliflower, steamed or raw, no. Shredded carrots, no. But, stick a strawberry in front of her icky, wrinkly, reptile face and she's a maniac. Grapes, too. Tomatoes. And she went ape over apricots. I guess this cancels out the "put her in the yard and let her fend for herself" idea I came up with...

The boys being as obsessed with bicycles as they are, I decided to do some internet searching to see if I could show them what we rode back in the old days.

This is not my bike, but you get the idea. Picture this bike in bright, lime green. There are white, 70's style daisies on the fenders and the chain guard, and the seat has a glittery green strip about 4" wide up the middle. No, it did not have streamers coming out of the handle grips (that was my first bike, the Schwinn Pixie I got when I was four). I loved this bike. The only thing better than having it was the fact that I won it. Yes, that's right, I colored the best Easter Bunny in the age 9-11 division! My expert use of mixed medias is what did it for me, I think - markers, crayons and a touch of glitter made my bunny stand out, ears above the rest.

I logged a lot of miles on this bike for several years. That all came to a crashing (literally) halt when I watched my friend, Melinda, do a header over the handlebars while she was riding on a rocky shoulder. The front rim was destroyed and so, since my sons weren't there to rebuild it, was my trophy bike!

I didn't ride again until high school and the Sophomore class bike-a-thon to Sausalito and back. A guy in school built me a ten-speed! Built it with his own two hands! I was impressed. We weren't even dating or anything! Anyway, it was a 40 mile ride. Lots of hills, and I confess, I walked probably 1/3 of the way. Quite a memory, though! To this day, I can remember crossing the Golden Gate Bridge with my transistor radio on my handle bars, listening to Kansas and "Carry On Wayward Son"...

Why I think the Internet is a good thing

Here are some of the things I've accomplished on line within the past few weeks:

1. Unloaded seven large, hard-to-store, styrofoam ice chests (for free on Craigslist)
2. Met a cousin or two that I didn't know existed
3. Learned that it is not possible for my plain 'ol refrigerator to make clear ice cubes (you have to have distilled or boiled water - go figure)
4. Submitted forms for a product rebate (no stamps!)
5. Figured out how to convert kilograms to pounds (I'm lousy at math)

This doesn't even cover all the genealogical goodies I've uncovered with a little clever digging...and the old friends I've reconnected with, the college courses I've researched, and the episodes of my favorite shows I've caught up on 'cuz I missed them first time around.

Sure, the internet can be a bad place where evil people do icky things...but it can also be a useful tool, if you use it right!

I should be doing the dishes...

It's been a long week. And it's only Tuesday...sigh.

The transplant testing continues, but at a slower pace, thank heavens. All that urgency was really stressful, as if the process isn't that already! We keep reminding ourselves that things will happen when they're meant to happen. Dennis is glad not to have doctor appointments every other day, that's for sure.

The home front is where that long week comment comes in. Anyone who has ever had two teenagers in the house at the same time can probably understand why I'm tearing my hair out. It's not going to stay like this, is it??? The testosterone in this place is so thick you could cut it with a knife...

Some sad news came over the weekend. Eddie Bell, one of the boys six uncles on their dad's side, passed away due to complications following surgery. The boys didn't even know him and we never met face-to-face, but we've been exchanging photos and e-mails for several years. Eddie was always very interested in his nephews lives and I'm so sorry that we never managed to have that get-together we always talked about. I need to remind myself (as if we don't have enough to remind us here, daily) that life is short and we should never, ever put off those get-togethers. Eddie was just 58 years old.

Not So Fast!

The appointment with the Transplant Surgeon today was...interesting. Informative. Confusing!

As it turns out, the tests will go on, the plans will continue, but there's no rush. The liver disease is not bad enough at the moment, and they certainly don't want to go in there until they really need to. Makes sense, and yet I can't help being a little disappointed at the same time! Crazy? Yeah, probably. I guess we've just been getting so geared up for it that it's almost a let down to know that it's not going to happen as quickly as we'd expected.

Overall, though, very good news. Dennis is relieved to know that he's not at death's door, of course. Now if we could just get his kidneys to start working again....

Freshman Huskies

Kevin came home with all his football gear tonight. Suddenly, my "little" boy is this big, hulking mass who scares the dogs and thumps on his heavily padded chest like a gorilla. I'll have to post a picture of him in his uniform - it's hard to even see him under all that stuff. Still, it's fun watching the transformation. He's more confident, enthusiastic, and focused. Who knew?

My football knowledge is pretty limited. Like, I couldn't even begin to tell you why they need to wear a girdle (yeah, yeah, it's the thing that holds the pads) before a few weeks ago! Dennis loves it, of course, and the whole family is looking forward to going to the games. I've promised Kevin that I won't be one of those embarrassing moms in the stands. Well, maybe just a little...

It's at times like these that I really feel the absence of my dad - he'd be so proud of his littlest grandson!

Ramblings of a Transplant-Listee's Wife

After one more test tomorrow, we meet with the Transplant Surgeon this coming Friday. This is "the big one" - the appointment that will determine whether or not Dennis will go on the active waiting list for a liver transplant.

It's been quite an ordeal for my brave husband. He's got to be the most agreeable person I've ever met, 'cuz I know I sure wouldn't have had the patience to go through all of the poking and prodding he's had to endure these past few months. If all goes well, it will pay off in ways I can't even really grasp just yet - another human being we don't even know will give him the greatest gift possible, and life will return to something closer to normal than we've had in a long time.

None of this, by the way, works like it does on television. You don't just get sick, go to the hospital, get (organ of choice) replaced, go home. There are Social Workers and Coordinators and Financial Coordinators...the list of people on "the team" goes on and on, and each of these people plays an integral part in getting your name on that all-important list. Makes sense, I guess. I mean, this is a one shot deal for the donated organ, and it's often the last chance for the recipient.

Something they definitely don't show on t.v. is the hard truth...sometimes, they say 'no'. If you need a liver/kidney/heart/lung/cornea, you don't necessarily just get one. You won't even be considered UNTIL you qualify financially. Not a chance, no way, you'd best have your ducks in a row or it isn't going to happen. This completely blew me away. I understand that this is a very expensive procedure, that the anti-rejection drugs will cost several thousand dollars per month, and that the organ will have been wasted if given to someone who can't afford it's upkeep, to put it bluntly. But, these are lives we're talking about, and I have a hard time thinking of them in terms of monetary value. Guess that's why I'm not a Financial Coordinator, huh?

First Post

My first blog post...how exciting!

Those of you close to my family know what's been going on in our lives this past six months. While Dennis was in the hospital, I found it relatively easy to send regular e-mail updates to our family and friends - what the heck, I wasn't sleeping, anyway, right? Now, though, with Dennis home (thank heavens) and our daily schedules filled with appointments, meetings and errands, I realize that I've been neglecting my updates and (gasp!) even forgetting to respond to e-mails!!!

My daughter-in-law, Beth, started a blog here, and that gave me the idea that maybe I should give it a try, too. One place for updates may not be as personal as individual e-mails, but I think most of you will understand! If not, give me a few months and I'll get back to normal!