Working For The Weekend

I've always looked forward to the weekends. Who doesn't look forward to two days off in a row? Because of my career choices I've always still done a bit of work on the weekend--grading, reading, etc.--but because of Jeff's career choice I've always tried to savor it, make as much time as possible for us to hang out together. I still do this because that's what you have to if you're married to a journalist. It's what you really have to do if you're married to a journalist and also happen to have chosen an ambitious and strenuous yet rewarding career path for yourself.

But now I look forward to the weekend for an extra reason: I can *almost* forget about my hip problem. When Jeff is around it just hurts. It doesn't hurt so much that all I want to do is lay around, bemoan the grogginess caused by the meloxicam that helps me get a decent night's sleep but makes doing my work much more difficult. When Jeff is at home it's easier to not feel bad about the pile of work I need to do. It's not that I'm not doing my work. I think I've done more work this summer than I have since my summers of schlepping bags of mulch into customers' cars as they made rude comments about my being a woman. Apparently being a woman means I am exempt and/or incapable of loading bags of mulch into customer cars... oh, the stories I could tell about working at Lowe's. But I digress.

I'll I've done this summer is read, take notes, and occasionally engage in tasks and activities that are supposed to keep my stress levels in check. If one looks at my social media feed it appears as though I am doing far more of the latter.

 Farmer's Market!

 Good times at one of our favorite wineries in the area (photo credit-- Jeff).

 Hanging out with my crew.

Homemade pasta. 

 Look at how neat the watermelon looks. 

 Homemade ice cream!

Ruth, discussing the next Doctor with me. She's glad it's a woman but, like me, thinks after fifty plus years a white woman, as much as we love Jodie Whittaker, the BBC could have given us more than a change of gender.

But social media hides secrets. It doesn't tell the whole story. It even helps me fool myself for a fleeting moment. It hides my pain. It withholds the truth--sometimes Jeff has to help me out of bed, there are naps between afternoon outings and evenings of pasta, and Jeff, who never seems to want to take credit, often acts as sous chef. My Instagram feed looks like I'm non-stop, go, go, go. But I'm not. I have to pause for the pain. I have to ask for help. I know that social media allows people to craft their truths, make their lives look more interesting. I knew my posts often made it seem as if I wasn't doing any work. It often looks as though I'm just faffing about, drinking wine, and buying local produce out the ass. It wasn't until recently that I thought about how I might be using it to try to hide the truth from myself. I can't go hiking... so let's post this cute picture of the kitties... let's post this picture of that beef tongue taco I tried. My posts have become a shield from reality. I can't enjoy my favorite trails, visit the one or two left on list to see, or do many of the other items I'd planned to do. I can't do the things I was SO looking forward to this summer.

I can't hide from my reality during the work week. There's no glass of wine to be had on a balcony, no sous chef (P.S. Jeff usually cooks dinner during the school year-- he deserves credit)... there's no where to go really. All there is to do is read, take notes, cross my fingers that my hip doesn't hurt too much, and hope that at some point my body shakes off the heavy exhaustion weighing it down, physically and mentally, so I can finish writing a 200 word abstract. I can't hide from the fact that I'm still too groggy to edit this to the best of my ability... I'm too groggy to craft the perfect final sentence about how all of this sucks, I know life could be worse, and that I will get through this, succeed, etc., etc. I'm just too damn exhausted.

These Hips Don't Lie

I have so much to be thankful for in my life. In fact, today Jeff surprised me with coffee.

I'm also thankful for my mom-- I called her today, trying to hold back my tears. I was doing a decent job, but she knew something was wrong. All I said was "Hi." She responded, "What's wrong?" She's really good.

I have so many other things to be thankful for, but today the reality of the situation with my right hip set in.

Nearly three years ago I was scared. I had to have major surgery.

My surgeon performed a periacetabular osteotomy as well as an arthroscopic procedure to repair a torn labrum. My left hip was dysplastic, and the deformity tore my labrum, a ring of cartilage in the hip joint. After months of recovery I eventually got back to normal (a year later I had the screws removed). Jeff and I even went to Oregon and hiked some of the most amazing, difficult, and more gorgeous than words can describe trails I've hiked in my life.

Gorton Creek Falls. 

Oneonta Gorge Trail.

It requires climbing over a log jam, and hiking through a creek bed to get to the waterfall. The water in the creek bed can get chest high depending on the season. It was above my waist at certain points and very cold! But it was well worth it.  

 

Triple Falls... I don't know the name of this trail because it was not the trail we meant to hike that day. But we kept going and found what is called Triple Falls.

But everything changed this February.

I thought my life was "normal." I had plans--my PhD work, a conference later that spring, papers to publish, trails to hike in the summer, and books to read in preparation for comprehensive exams in the fall. But then I felt it. I was walking around Campus Lake with a professor--I took a readings course with her, and rather than sit in her office to discuss my readings we walked around the lake once a week. One moment I was telling her about Doctor Who and various theories. The next I was rambling on, trying to hide my pain, and thinking "Oh shit. Why is this pain in my right hip? Oh shit. This can't be happening."

But it was happening. I had to scale back my plans, focus on course work only. Between my assistantship and the daily grind of graduate school course work I knew I couldn't take on the extras I wanted to, needed to. I didn't have an official diagnosis--my surgeon is one of the few in the country that does certain procedures (such as the periacetabular osteotomy and the labral repair) so I had to wait more than a month to see him. But I knew the pain. I knew I'd torn my right labrum. After going through the non-surgical routes, getting an MRA to confirm what we all knew-- I'd torn my right labrum-- I was told surgery was the next option.

I need arthroscopic surgery to fix the torn labrum. My surgeon will also perform an osteoplastly-- essentially he'll shave my femur so it is shaped how it should actually be shaped. Part of my femur is too flat (the arrow... that part should look more like the circled part), and the deformation likely caused the labrum to tear. The deformation has fancy names, but its often times referred to as an impingement.

There's only an 80% chance I'll fully recover. I'm also at risk for osteoarthritis. I knew this as it's true for my other hip. I'm nearly certain my other surgery carried the same 80% chance of recovery. I just don't remember because it was nearly three years ago, it was completely successful other than it just feels weird to lay on it sometimes, and when I got the news I started balling so I didn't absorb the information fully. Although this procedure is less invasive, it still requires more recovery time than one might expect. But that isn't what hit me today. It was the 80% percent. Or maybe it was the 20%. Regardless, the notion that I might not fully recover... well, it sucks. I realize it could be worse, far worse. And yet...

Indeed it does suck. Will I be able to hike all the trails on my bucket list? Will I be able to find a new comfortable sleeping position? Will the NSAID Dr. Clohisy prescribed help me sleep well enough so I can get through comprehensive exams this fall? I already have depression, anxiety, and fibromyalgia. These are things almost no one talks about in academia. So what does it mean now that I am adding my mess of a right hip into the mix? I can't afford to not attend conferences for another year. If I were rich I'd consider taking a leave of absence. But I'm not rich. I'd also get really bored and my brain would end up torturing me. Boredom is not good for my brain. I already struggle with the lack of structure that summer brings. All of this and more has and continues to cross my mind. But I know I will persist. I will persevere. I don't have a choice. Plus, it's all I really know how to do. I haven't had a terrible life, but I've met my fair share of obstacles. Some I've conquered, and some I'm in the midst of conquering. What's one more?

Tuesdays With Maggie

I've often thought it would be neat to write a book about Maggie and her effect on my life, but the market's flooded. However, I recently figured out how to give it a new spin: I'll begin each chapter with a haiku about Maggie. 

Like Maggie (and Purrcy because I couldn't resist throwing in this one), you're probably wondering how on Earth I came up with such an idea. It all started because the Family Video Jeff and I pass by on the way home started listing exactly three movie titles on their sign, and they were listed in such a way that each week it was as if there was a new poem on the sign. Things really started to spiral when they posted this:

Get Hard

Maggie

The Warrior

If you know either of us, this title caught our attention for two reasons. The obvious: we have a cat name Maggie. And we're both immature at times which I believe is good because we have stressful jobs. Our sense of humor helps keep us alive. So we ran with it, reciting the "poem" in different ways to create different meanings. The notion of Maggie as a kick ass warrior... amazing!

Eventually the sign changed (twas a sad day), and we were less interested until I decided that Family Video should start making haikus out of movie titles. Somehow this led to Jeff making haikus out of Star Wars titles, and that somehow led to haikus about Maggie. It may sound strange, but she's totally a haiku worthy cat. I've got two so far, but I feel like with time and some solid theme development, I could come up with enough to give my future "cat teaches her human lessons about life" memoir a decent twist and edge in the market. I'm still working on a title, but for now, here are some lovely, wisdom-filled Maggie haikus.

Maggie has cancer

She's living life to the max

Cause that's how she rolls

Maggie is so dope

Cancer or not, she's chilling

Like it's a Tuesday

Maggie, The Doctor
Are chilling in the TARDIS
Prepping for stardust

I know the last one had no real wisdom, but I couldn't resist. See you next week!

Geronimo!

Allons-y!

The TARDIS arrived! Granted it is missing a light and a more permanent details, but for now this is perfect. 

Besides, the kitties don't care. Maggie's even mocking me, "Neener, neener! The Doctor picked me to be his companion! Not you, mom!"

"Purrcy can you believe it? I thought The TARDIS was just on some silly show mom watched... but it's really here!" 

I know Maggie and Purrcy actually have no clue why there's a giant blue box in the living room, but they don't seem to care-- it is a box after all. Maggie is content to just chill inside.

Purrcy on the other hand... well, he's gone nuts. Especially after I hung up a toy. 

I'm so thankful my step-dad was able to make my dream come true for Maggie (and that Purrcy is benefiting too). Not every cat can say they've been inside a TARDIS! I'm also thankful he's willing to help me update it and make changes. I have a feeling it's going to get lots of love for a long time... so she'll need to be fixed up every once in while. But for now, she'll do just fine. 

"Get your own TARDIS, mom."

Tuesdays With Maggie

Normally I would be upset with myself for failing to get to this blog post until now-- I had intended to work on it about two or three hours ago. However, my nap lasted longer because in my haze of fatigue I set an 8 AM alarm rather than an 8 PM alarm. I don't usually like to take evening naps, but I clearly needed it! Oddly enough, my not being upset is because I had the best napping buddy a gal could wish for-- Maggie!

If I'm going to "oversleep," now is the best time. Each nap and moment of snuggles I share with her is a gift. I suppose it's funny it happened on the day I planned to blog about enjoying each moment and day like you may not have another. 

We haven't managed to check much off Maggie's bucket list yet, but we've at least made strides. Ever since I became a Whovian, I knew that I wanted a TARDIS cat tower. My step-dad had agreed to help me make one, but I never really knew when it would happen. It was one of those plans that I knew would eventually happen, but it might be a year or two before it came to fruition. It's not that my step-dad doesn't care, but life is complicated and busy-- for both of us. It doesn't help that we don't live near each other! 

After finding out Maggie was ill and there was nothing Jeff or I could do, I asked my step-dad about the cat tower. I told him it would be amazing if Maggie could be in a TARDIS before she died. Because he's the best step-dad ever (no joke), he agreed to start work on it. I had no idea he'd go out the very next day to purchase wood! Since asking less than a week ago, he's got a frame and two shelves (as of late afternoon today). 

If Maggie wasn't sick, this would not exist yet because I simply wouldn't have asked my step-dad to start work on it yet. Obviously I hate that Maggie's sick, but even in sickness, she's taught me a lesson. It's such a trite lesson, yet it's one that I still needed to learn. Life can be taken away at any moment (You'd think as a 28 year-old Doctor Who fan, I'd have figured this one out already-- the end of series two! All of the Donna episodes! Hello!). I can't just live out all my dreams and do as I wish at any given moment, but I should treasure each moment-- even the ones spent napping on the couch with Maggie. 

So aside from stepping into a TARDIS, what else is on Maggie's bucket list so far? 

• Eat Grandma's ham and gravy on one of the "good" plates.
• Take a trip to the park.
• Take a trip in the car without the kennel.
• Marriage equality becomes the law.  

Maggie apparently has her own bucket list. So far I've only figured out two items which isn't bad considering she's a cat, and I only recently discovered its existence. Number one appears to be the standard item of passing down knowledge to friends and family. 

She appears to be teaching Purrcy to how to properly pose. 

I'm pretty sure world domination is legitimately on the list. Thankfully I do not have photographic evidence of the events that led to what is clearly a post-domination chat and modest celebration. 

As members of a CSA we find ourselves in possession of a box of wonderful goodies each week. After moving items from the box to the fridge last Thursday, I noticed Maggie hop into the box. I didn't think anything of it even though it was on the stove top. The counter top region is typically off limits, but I'm much more forgiving because of the cancer. I was also much more forgiving upon noticing that she started to pee in the box. Instead of my normal, "Damn it, Maggie!" I put my hands on my hips, and offered up a "Maggieeeee." We threw the box outside to take care of later as we had dinner plans. We didn't think about the incident again until Sunday evening. 

I was innocently chopping up kohlrabi while wondering why there was a steadily increasing level of some strange odor. Just as I asked Jeff if he smelled it, I noticed a weird residue on one of the drip pans. "What is that?" I asked. 

After a slight pause, Jeff, with either a hint of uncertainty or concern or both, said, "It's not Maggie's pee is it?"

I essentially exploded. "Oh my God! Yes, that's what it is. Oh my God." I then left the room as the smell had become unbearable at this point. Jeff somehow managed to get the stove turned off, the drip pan outside, fans blowing, and the screen door open. 

Once the smell dissipated, it dawned on me that Maggie had figured out how to weaponize her pee. I have absolutely no idea how it happened (other than she obviously managed to get her humans to essentially boil her pee) because we double checked the stove after the initial incident. Maybe she has invisible pee? But holy hell, if cats want to take over, they should figure out how to get their humans to cook their pee.   

So Maggie is certainly living her life to the fullest! We'll see you next week with more updates on the cat tower!