Mawaige

This may seem like a strange post, but hear me out.

This week, the ringleader of my high school reunion posted all the senior pictures on Facebook. I cannot tell you how much hair product was represented in those photos. It was very sad to see that several of my classmates are already gone. Before 20. 30. 40. Sad.

These photos predictably dredged up a lot of memories for a lot of people. Nearly thirty years out, it is amazing what you remember. People you didn't even know knew each other actually went to preschool together. People who you thought would "amount to nothing" maybe, turned into superstars, and the superstars of high school have dropped off the radar screen. One brave friend confessed some of his high school crushes. That made me think about my crushes and what I was looking for.  What was I looking for???

I know that today, people looking at my husband through those high school eyes would probably only see his weight. Maybe the fact that he is what some people consider a bit hairy. Or even that he has a nose that is somewhat stereotypical of a particular religion. I look at him and my heart races. He is so handsome to me. And, at the risk of grossing out many people, and mortifying Karina, he is amazingly sexy to me. Not to say I don't have a laminated card, Stacy, but he would still be at the top of my list.

In high school I'm sure I was looking for 'cute.' I know smart would have been important. Sexy? I'm pretty sure I had no clue what that meant in any real way. I know I didn't look around and say, "Do you think he'd be good at trach care?" "Is he a man who, despite a Foley catheder and a big machine sucking the excess blood out of my chest, he can look at me adoringly?" "Will my big, giant head be a turn off?"

We've had a lot of drama throughout our marriage. There was always at least a pebble in our shoe part of the way. Despite that, we've found middle ground, sometime more to his side, sometimes more to mine, every time. We've never had a fight. Yes, you read that correctly, we've never had a fight. We have agreed to disagree on some things, we aren't Stepford people. But fight. No. Nothing is worth that. He is my Beshert. If you don't know that word, look it up. It's Yiddish.

While I was in the operating room Tuesday evening, Kelly was in the waiting room with a young couple and her parents. They were discussing the couple's plan to become engaged. The boyfriend commented that he was saving up for the engagement ring. The MIL to be said it should cost at least a years salary. He said he thought 2-3 months salary. She said, no, a year. Anything less than that and it doesn't mean anything. She went on to tell about so and so's wedding that cost $20k, and that they had to do better than that.

If I could scream, I would have been screaming as he told me this story. If I had been in the waiting room, I would have marched right over with my Magnadoodle and given them a piece of my mind. A year's salary on a ring? Are you out of your mind? What are you living on for that year then? What if she loses it (I lost my wedding ring). It doesn't mean anything? A twist tie can be an engagement ring. What means something is being there. For your FIL in hospice. For both your in laws passing horribly in a year's time and the selling off of their life's belongings falling to you. To cope through unexpected calamities. No engagement ring held my hand, cleaned my trach tube, cleaned my wounds or made me feel loved. A $20k wedding will not guarantee a successful marriage any more than a $20 one will guarantee a failure.

Okay, that's out. I feel better.

We are home. I had my trach ties traded for a trach collar. The neck swelling returned with a vengeance after the steroids wore off. The trach itself is really digging into my neck, so the doctors asked the nurse to put some padding in between so the skin doesn't erode. Since it is already very close quarters, this was a less than enjoyable task.

In order to give Alex enough access, I had to lie flat on my back. This is not a particularly pleasant experience for me under any circumstances, but I had just eaten, which means I would be in for a world of reflux. Lovely.

Down I went and he started. Each push caused coughing. Coughing exacerbated reflux. Tipping my head back made my right arm light up, elbow to pinky. He would measure, Kelly would pull me up to cough, then, once cut to size, back down I went. On almost the last piece it happened. A huge coughing spasm while lying down. And, out it went. A rib. Nearly a bottom rib, on the left side. Damn.

I slip ribs all the time. It is a by product of having had my chest cavity sprung. If happens so often that Kelly has learned to pop many of them back in. Not this one though. Not on the bottom in the front. It hurts like hell to cough. The problem there being that the only effective way to clear the trach is to dump in the fish and cough violently to get the crud out. Nice. I am pretty confident Mia will be able to pop it in on Tuesday. Until then Tylenol will be even more my friend.

You know you've  been sick too much when you are on a first name basis with the after hours deliver person for medical supply. Tonight was the oxygen humidifyer and trach supplies. It is always fascinating to see what they bring and what they don't. Not one trach cleaning kit (good thing the hospital sent a couple), but thirty trach collars-- probably a lifetime supply. We cleaned out and rearranged two bathroom drawers to accommodate all this new stuff since it is likely the XL trach and I will be friends for a goodly while.

I did get a shower at last tonight, although I didn't wash my hair as that is still a two man operation. I am going for the 'severe' cut on Wednesday as we opted for the hair falling out chemo over the permanent hearing damage chemo. When your face is so swollen that you look like you were drawn by the animator for Family Guy, what difference does your hair  make?

All our energies, all our focus, now turn to the radiation and chemo killing the cancer cells once and for all. Cure was one of the menu options, so that's what I'm ordering. I'll have to sort out the other issues afterwards, but put all your mojo into cancer-free.

Tomorrow night, assuming I am not feeling too icky, I'll let you know if I had to get a new mask, how chemo was, and I'll scoop up some of your positive energy to keep moving forward. Thank you for your love and support!

Until tomorrow...