When my folks were raising us six kids, there was a day when Mom hauled my brother to the emergency room–Washington, DC is not a small town–and the receptionist looked up and smiled, “Oh hello, Mrs. Jeppson. What is it this time?”

I heard that story from Mom when I called her 26 years ago wailing, “Do kids survive childhood!” after my baby, my first, 13 months old and a determined climber, had ended up in the ER two Fridays in a row.

Mom laughed and reminded me of all the things I’d done that had helped lead up to that receptionist’s question.

But I dunno. When you call the hospital (this was today) and the person who answers recognizes your voice…

Two and a half months ago, after my surgery, they told me that some ileostomy patients eventually become allergic to the standard skin protectant they were using.  Hopefully I wouldn’t be one of them.

And I thought, my stars, have you ever met my feral immune system? It is NOT housebroken!

Two and a half months.  The fungal and yeast tests came back negative, the allergy patch flaming. That stoma paste is SO busted.  There’s an expensive alternative, and my insurance is just going to have to take it.  (I know,  I know, given January, we’ll all weep for them.)

You guys out there in the industry, creating Eakins and the like, you’d better keep researching and inventing fast, because at this rate I’m just plain hosed.

I think I’ll go wrap me up in a blanket for which I am exceedingly grateful to my friends and knit. Something complicated that will require a lot of focus.

Amanda, I totally guessed it: the nurse I expected picked out the scarf from the yarn you gifted me with in Vermont. The colors were just right.

I had an appointment at Stanford’s outpatient ostomy unit yesterday, and you know what I showed up with in my knitting bag, hoping again to get to see some more of my old nurses.  And I did.

The whole time I was knitting Amanda’s Huarache yarn I kept thinking how good it would look on A.  And now it does.  Cool.

Two other nurses chose their favorites, and the bright green still waits for P; they told me she’ll be in next week.

But what most delighted them was simply getting to see me walking in there and looking well.  It was fun watching the doubletakes, followed by the hugs in intense delight.  Seeing me well validates what their work is all about.  Seeing me coming back to show them I am well now validates who they personally are and how they go about their day as they do what they do.  They care. It shows.  In return, their patients really do care about them too.

So I’ve been picturing them wearing their scarves the rest of their shifts yesterday. Maybe someone asked them where those suddenly came from in the middle of the day. Maybe another patient decided that they might come back later to say thank you too, seeing how happy it was making their nurse.

Maybe. I don’t know. But, knitting as love made just a little more visible: I can hope.

(Taken through the skylight.)

I haven’t mentioned the outcome before over here, but back in September–you know, back when the economy seemed okay, back when we didn’t have thousands in medical bills and co-pays, etc–we decided to go for an old and very large dream of ours: we signed the papers. We were going solar.  Bigtime.  (Now if the car companies would only fall in line so we can charge a car from the house.  Can’t afford a Tesla…)

And then we had to wait for our panels to be manufactured.  Others who had tax breaks elsewhere with a January 1 deadline got theirs ahead of us, and we were okay with that.  But finally we got word that our panels were ready to be delivered and installed.

…The week I got home after nearly three weeks in the hospital with my total-colectomy surgery.  With all those skylights, dead center in one bathroom and above the sink of the other (but with a strategic door at least). Oh joy. Hi guys.

The owner of the company, who knew, told each of his workers they had to knock on the door and ask permission each day before doing anything or making any noise up there, that they were not to interfere in my recovering.  I was quite surprised.  And each day, they got told thank you for asking, and hey, go right ahead.  Work progressed nicely.  (I wanted it OVER with!)

It was worth every moment.

My cousin Dan and his family who came over last night–turns out they got the same panels a year ahead of ours.   Cool.

Now, this being California in a drought, if only we could do the same produce-your-own with water.  Suppose we could build a pipeline and help out those folks in Fargo?

I tried to run after our longtime mailman Monday afternoon and was surprised to find my legs not quite moving as fast as I was telling them to–I nearly splatted forward on my face.  Oh.  So I called after the guy as he was walking away, he stopped, put my bill payment in his pack with a smile, sure, lady, no problem.

I went back inside marveling at the disconnect between brain and attempted movement–and marveling too at the fact that I simply hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t doing that anymore when I walk.  For a month, I’d had to be mindful of my steps to make sure my legs kept up the pace or my expectations slowed down to match them.  How soon we forget, the instant things seem to be normal again.

Today.  Out of milk and orange juice, we decided we needed a quick trip to the nearby Costco.

To Mom and Richard’s surprise, I offered to tag along. And I went.

The Trader Joe’s store where I found myself abruptly giving out last week, where Sam made me go sit down fast, is a small store.  Costco, on the other hand, is huge.  We walked aisle after aisle–I hadn’t been able to go in nearly four months.  It was like a novelty.  An adventure.  Plus I was having to look at the foods on display with new eyes: oh, that’s good stuff, oh wait, I can’t eat that.  That? No. Not that. That. Another week left on the post-surgical modified diet; having had one blockage and NG tube, I’m being real careful to avoid a repeat.

I did it.  I walked Costco.  I did it!

Next time, by golly, I might even try to run down one back aisle when nobody’s looking.

Granted, John and I have been friends for 22 years.  But still!

Six years ago, I called my audiologist after getting out of the hospital with what had been, up till then, my worst Crohn’s flare.  I was having  a hard time hearing and was wondering about my hearing aids .  John’s reaction, not knowing I’d been ill, was to ask me if I’d lost weight recently; well, yes, thirteen pounds.

He told me, That’s it, then; you lost weight in your ear canals and your earmolds no longer fit properly. They’re not transmitting the sound well enough.

“I lost weight in my EAR CANALS?!  How useless is THAT!”

He laughed.

So here I am.  I lost twenty-five pounds since Christmas, have managed to get eight back in the last month by working hard at it, and I’d been thinking I was just going to have to wait and simply be deafer till I get back to normal.  New earmolds are a SeaSilk two-skeined shawl each, and I knew this was temporary–there’s no chance I’m going to stay this thin.

My deductibles and co-pays are a staggering $8800, besides various hospital incidentals and not-covereds, etc etc.  (I know.  At least I have insurance. I have no right to complain.)  But I felt I just couldn’t afford to go get new earmolds on top of that.

I’ve been spending a lot of time on the phone with my insurance company and with vendors, trying to straighten out how to get ostomy supplies, which are by prescription only and not something you can just go buy off the shelf; but I got the impression the company doesn’t seem to be popular with a lot of vendors.  (Yeah, I could tell them a story or two myself…  See why I wrote about forgiveness?)

I ‘ve been finding I have to walk with the speakerphone on over to my mom so that she can help me figure out what the person at the other end is saying, and ohplease don’t let them call me back while she’s out on a walk. I kept thinking, what on earth will I do after she flies home?

I got frustrated enough after the last call to phone John’s office. Uncle! I had to get at least one new earmold, even if it’s only for a short term and I never make use of it again. I had to be more functional than this.

John and his office knew what I’d been going through this time and have worried and done their fair share of praying.  And John knew why I’d put off coming in.

He told me he was making me new earmolds, and that that was his gift towards my getting better.

What do you do with a friend who makes your eyes leak like that.  When could I come in?

How about right now?

And so Mom and I went off to Los Gatos.  One ear had too much wax for an impression, the other was clear, so John and I both got our way; one earmold, at least for now, coming up.

Oh, and those ostomy supplies? The vendor promises they’ll be here by Friday.

Today I made it through all three hours of church meetings for the first time in three months.  (And then went home and slept three hours solid.)  Two weeks ago I’d gotten through the first meeting, last week not at all.

Today I got to see: that babe in arms was now walking, in that staggering “look at me!” way they do, with arms at stiff right angles as she toddled in glee at being able to. I laughed.  I could relate.

Those two newborns were now three months old and surprisingly bigger.  That baby over there in his daddy’s arms was now old enough to be smiling back at me and laughing at my peek-a-booing.

The woman who’d told me in great excitement that she was expecting her first, and I’d quietly thought, You are?  Where?, was now clearly quite pregnant.  Life continues onward.

Quite a few people made a big deal over my being back.

And I thought, as I did during Stitches and all the joy and all the greetings there, how, throughout January and the first part of February, I kept trying to remind myself that the day would come when I would be so glad to be alive.  It was something to try to convince myself of; I sure didn’t feel that way yet. But there was this sense of obligation to my family and to all the people praying their hearts out for me to keep on slogging through it all whatever may come, and to keep a sense of cheerfulness as much as possible.

The hardest thing I did physically and mentally during that time was to pull myself together enough to keep writing on my blog. To sound coherent. To type, at whatever angle I had to. To keep on being part of the great big world out there.  Grateful for each comment as I read them while utterly unable to muster the energy for giving back by responding.

It has been a weekend of much love and great joy.  I feel immersed in life again.  I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.  I owe much.  Thank you all for helping see me through.

Wind up the yarn into balls in celebration and forward knit!

I went for my liver scan early this morning and got sent home.  At three and a half weeks, my surgery was too recent for the metal stapling inside not to be at risk from the MRI machine. They told me it needed more time for scar tissue to grow to hold it in place. There’s a chance of needing a second surgery to get rid of more tissue in a few months; let’s not up the odds of it.

When I came home, Richard astonished me by being up, getting dressed, and announcing he was off to work now.  Wow.  He *does* feel better–yay!  He just arrived home again, needing those pain pills now, but at least he was able to get some in-person time in and he can telecommute from here.  Having seen him the last three days, I am gobsmacked at how well he’s doing.  Wow, and my thank you for the prayers said and the Thinking Good Thoughts in our direction.  (I very much believe God counts those too.)

Last night, while we were eating dinner, the doorbell rang: it was Kaye from Purlescence. I hadn’t gone to Knit Night last Thursday because people there had colds, (they emailed me to warn me) and Jasmin had brought more of her handknit socks for me while I wasn’t there. So Kaye was bringing them to me.  Wow. I definitely do not live on her way home; how many LYSOs…  And how many people give away handknit socks like that!  Thank you, both of you!

I laid out the bounty and Sam admired.  I told her it wasn’t fair for me to have all these Jasmin socks and her none, particularly since she lives where warm wool socks are such an essential in the snow anyway. In the end, of the four pairs and the Jasmin socks I already owned, I was able to talk Sam into claiming three, though she could have taken more, and she very proudly showed off her happy feet this morning.

My feet were already beJasmined too.

What I didn’t mention yesterday was, Sam offered to take me to Coupa Cafe to celebrate my being able to eat chocolate right after my Dr. R. appointment on Wednesday, and I just wasn’t up to it; I went home and crashed.  So when she went out with an old high school girlfriend in the evening, she came home with a cup of it for me anyway because she wanted me not to miss out.

Good stuff!  And then I really wanted to go there.  Friday, going off to see the surgeon, I was able to swing my right leg into the car without having to pick it up and toss it over for the first time in forever.  I can’t tell you how good that felt.  Then my surgeon was exclaiming at how well I looked as I thanked her for making that possible.

That did it. I was taking Sam to Coupa Cafe on the way home to gift her back and to celebrate.

She found a parking space in the next block and across the busiest street in downtown.  Now, just a few days earlier I could never have done this, but I made it across that street in the time of the walk signal.  (Defensively, with a smile, eyeballing the impatient driver halfway in the crosswalk who’d nearly run the light and who looked ready to gun it when it changed, ready or not.)  When I told my legs to move they actually did, even if the steps weren’t as big as I told them to do.

We walked up the block, got ourselves a table, and had a grand old time.  A little mango mousse cake may have been involved too.  (I just now finished it off.)

My knitting still feels slow and awkward, but I’m up to being able to do 40 minutes’ worth at a stretch now.  And I am slowly, gradually turning back into being human.  Stitches West next Friday afternoon, and hopefully Saturday too, here I come!

p.s. Just for fun: http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/national/1151ap_obama_basketball_parents.html The Obamas went to go watch their daughter play basketball at the elementary school my husband went to.  I like that!

So I went in for a post-hospital visit to my Dr. R.  Many things to go over. An MRI to order just to make sure that that liver is recovered and fine now that the inflamed colon is no longer bothering it.

Before we ended I told him I had to ask him one perhaps silly question.

Okay.

The hospital had told me that I was not allowed to eat chocolate; could I finally have my morning mug of hot cocoa now?

He got indignant and sputtered, “Where do they come UP with these…! YES have your mug, go have some chocolate!” Go enjoy!

My kind of doctoring.  You know what I did first thing to celebrate when I got home from the appointment.  And it surprised me: I’d forgotten what it tasted like, I honestly did.

I’ll have fun getting re-acquainted.

I need to work on those leg muscles a little more. I got down to snap these photos and couldn’t get back up off the floor by myself, which surprised me.  I keep thinking I’m more recovered than that.  I finally scooted over to a chair and table in the kitchen and pulled myself up–while reminding myself I couldn’t have done that at all before.  One week ago was the day I came home, and I had to have help even getting up out of a chair most of the time, much less climbing up into one.  Where my rear landed on the bed was where it was going to be for the night, with me having to lift my legs over and up with my arms.  I don’t have to do that now.  Every day there’s a little more progress made, and the “hey I can DO that now!” realizations that keep coming are very cheering.

I needed to take these photos. The soft appleblossom is a gift from Rena, my knitswap pal; the deep red, a gift from my father.  Thank you, Dad! Thank you, Rena!

When I was at Purlescence Thursday night, I showed them some of the yarns and the hat and Jasmin’s cashmere mitts that they’d all gifted me with in a big basket left on my doorstep right before I went into the hospital.  Jasmin’s homegrown oranges were at the bottom.

I told them that with those yarns, they’d given me hope and a sense of looking to the future while things were at their worst: because with each new nurse that came into my hospital room, I would think, ooh, (formerly) No-Blog-Rachel’s Dream Baby would look so good on her!  The Moobui would look so good on that one! Ooh, Mari’s Lisa Souza yarn would be perfect for me to knit for her!

I had over 40 nurses, and most of them I would knit for in a heartbeat and I dearly wanted to.  More than I could ever do what I wish I could do for them.

But that sense of anticipation, that desire to knit for them to tell them thank you, having yarn that was shared with me to make me feel better with and wanting to use it to pass the goodwill along–it did make me feel better. It helped get me through it all.

And I told each nurse thank you every chance I got. That much, at least, I could reliably do.

(Yeah, the cameras are still hiding out under the medical supplies or some such. Organizing is for a little later in the process.)

Mom called; I hadn’t posted yet today and she was concerned that I was doing okay.  (Yeah, Mom, I’m outing you, sorry.)  Message heard! Alive and posting!  Heh.

I wanted to go to Purlescence’s Knit Night last night, to the point that I deliberately kind of backed myself into it by calling them and saying I hoped to, and that if anyone happened to show up sick could they let me know so I could stay away?

When they heard my voice on the phone–actually, I had to identify myself, my voice is still raspy from that NG tube–the whole yarn store sent up a cheer.

That did it. I was going.

But by 7:30 I was also popping a hydrocodone to get me through it, and I avoid those and almost never take them till bedtime.  Oh well. I needed it.  My daughter, who I’ll call here by her nickname of Sam even though I obnoxiously still call her by her real name in person, did the driving.

We were about two blocks from home when she offered to turn around. I considered, and then said, no, let’s just go.  And go we did.

I stumbled in that yarn store door and into the arms and tears of my friends.  There were quite a few tears of mine going, too.  And then–

You remember Mary?  The one who made it so I could take back the shawl in the window and ship it to the woman whose husband had a brain tumor?

She handed me a circular lace shawl, warm enough for a lap robe as needed, absolutely exquisite.  I was blown away.  Later, home again, I laid it out across the top of the couch so it would again make my day this morning when I came out and saw it, and it did.  It’s gorgeous.  It’s Mary. It’s love made tangible.

Mary had lately had a project with a deadline, and she told me this other project–my shawl–nevertheless kept insisting it must go first. She couldn’t make herself get going on the deadline one till this other demanding one was satisfied and done; it just insisted it of her. And I was stunned.  And stunned that she must have gotten it done so fast. Stunned that I’d felt I needed to go that night, whether I was up to it or not, and here the shawl was and here she was and here I was and wow.

Now, Mary, I want to tell you the outcome of that and of seeing and hugging all of you. I went home with a sense of lightness that had been too long missing.  That was the first time in two months I had been in any building or room that was not my home, Stanford Hospital, or my medical clinic (and almost exclusively Urgent Care there).  Now I had been among friends.  I had taken a risk, I had stepped out to see if my body could handle an outing, and I had been treasured and loved and wrapped in comfort.

Last night, for the first time in two months, I was able to roll over in bed. By myself.  All the way from one side to the other.  This sounds silly, but I can’t tell you how huge it was.  I felt like I had crossed some invisible line: invalid, that side.  Starting to not be an invalid, that side.  And I was there.

The silly thing is I can’t find my camera nor can I find the one Kelli gifted me with a few days before I went into the hospital–I feel like Rip Van Winkle here.  They’re there somewhere, right in plain sight somewhere.

But Mom, that’s why I hadn’t posted yet. I have this exquisite shawl I want to show off and no pictures!

Yet.

I can never know who they might be out there. The people who took the time out of their lives to drive to the Red Cross station, perhaps the one down the street from Stanford Hospital, or who maybe gave at a blood drive at the office.  Or wherever.  But there are seven people out there who gave of themselves and their time and let someone stick a needle in them simply to help out some stranger in the world whom they could never know just because it felt like the right thing to do and, while not all are eligible, they were and this was something they could do.

And I am alive writing these words because they donated their blood.  I not only had that surgery, I’d lost half my blood volume to my bleeding colon beforehand.

One relative of mine told me she’d been interested in donating but had always figured that as an AB+, the universal recipient, hers wasn’t really of much value.

While I was in pre-op, part of the preparation for surgery was my being infused with a large bag of plasma.  I rather freaked when I saw the bag typed as AB+; I’m A+, and promptly informed the nurse of that, quite worried.  She reassured me that with plasma products anything I might react to had been removed and that that bag was perfectly fine for me to use.

I know there is controversy over some of the Red Cross rules.  I know not all can donate. But to those who can, and who do, please know I can never tell you how grateful I am except by trying to put more good out into the world the ways that I can, too, as a thank you. I will try my best.

Clicked those ruby slippers again; dropping the other shoe and going back a third time is simply not an option.  I’m finally home again.  Thank goodness!

Last night was rough and wiped me out, so I didn’t have the cheery energy today of yesterday, just a strong gratitude at being further along in the healing process and able to safely leave.  In yet another moment of hey, look how that worked out!, my surgeon happened to stop by my room when I was supposed to have gone home–but things never happen on time in a hospital.  So.  I was still there.  Long as she was there, she said forget tomorrow’s appointment; she took out the staples on the spot.  Done.  Yay!

Now my big goal is to actually find my unfindable black cashmere yarn that I got at Purlescence and knit it up into a shawl to thank her with.  It’s a color I know by now she’ll love.  I have looked for that yarn time and again for various intentions, thinking this is ridiculous, I thought I knew right where I put it…

…and now that there’s utterly no question in my mind exactly whom I bought it for, it should show right up. Right?  (I hope she hasn’t found my blog yet.  I’m sure she has no time to read it if she did.)

So that’s my next big project.

Mom  brought more of the same yarn and Richard used the circ needle sizer, remembering what size I needed with it.  Saved by the knitter’s family!

The surgeon came by this morning and made me a deal: she’d turn off the stomach vacuum for four hours.  The obstruction having been cleared yesterday by the surgical resident who’d been there during my surgery, I was doing so much better; so, if after that four hours the stuff coming out of my stomach was clear now, I’d get the NG tube out.  I had to promise to tell if there were any more nausea.

There has been, for the first time in months, none.  None!

Today was a long-awaited day.  And you’re right, that tube was just one more medical experience to be able to relate to someone else in the future by.

Then they had me brought lunch and dinner, real meals. I was starving.  For the first time in two months, I was just starving. Granted, I got halfway through that chicken sandwich at lunch and was suddenly and absolutely done, but the surgical team showed up just then and I can’t tell you how pleased they were to see that tray like that.  Things are working again.

I may go home tomorrow. They may decide this time to make it one more day just in case. Either way, I’ve got yarn, I’m feeling better, and life can soon become very normal again. Very soon.  To life!