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Thursday, May 06, 2004

I overdid yesterday. I paid for it last night when I couldn't walk without assistance. So lame. No pun intended.

I went out for pizza at lunch and saw a gal who had been one of my home health care nurses. She was my last one, and I only had her for a few days before I got my staph infection and had to go back into the hospital. She was really nice though, a Catholic who prayed for me. She also had a son who, when younger, lived on TPN for years, so she understood the madness of living with a pump that constantly moans and wheezes and screams out its alarms.

I remembered her name. I never remember anyone's name.

She was so glad to see me, and I was glad for her to see me too. It must suck only to get to see people when they're sick and never to get to see them come out on the other side. I wouldn't think you would get really satisfying results from your work as a home health nurse. The HMO gets rid of you before the patient is really all that well again, so I would imagine that most home health care nurses are out of the picture long before the person looks fit and alive again.

My ex-nurse seemed relieved to know that Elise was alive and well. Because of my former health status there was some question. I went through a lot.

A friend came over the other day, and we were talking about it. I started to tell her what nights had been like during the thick of it. It was just a description of living with various pumps and alarms, not the worst part of the illness, and yet, I couldn't get through it without bawling and feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me, without feeling like I wanted to run from my own words, my memories, the reality of what had been my life. I never want to go through this again.

Anyway, it was good to see the nurse so that she could witness the healing and understand that she had been a part of it. Maybe our unsettled crisis occupied a tiny little corner of her mind, and now she could sweep it clean with a happy resolution.

Elise is squirming around ready for her morning dose of Captain Crunch. We just got our first major organic warehouse delivery since the illness rendered that type of living impractical. My tot gets the Gorilla Munchies (organic version of Cap'n Crunch), and since there's still some junk cereal left I get the real deal. I relish any excuse to eat garbage, and "I'm eating four bowls of Captain Crunch for the health of my son," is the best justification I can think of.
I console myself with the belief, realistic or not, that the placenta somehow filters out all the detrimental substances in breakfast foods and therefore I don't have to feel guilty for pumping it into Elise.

See how it works?

And now for something completely different...

Is it me, or is Justin Timberlake really Eddie Haskell for the new millennium?

"Gee, that's a lovely dress you're wearing Mrs. Diaz."

Is human cloning already a grim reality?

You be the judge.

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