back to your regularly scheduled self-centred moaning

ALERT, ALERT, more whinging ahead.

The following is a rant about things both trivial and important that have contrived to make me feel like a sack of crap, today:

• Apparently I have a UTI.  I say apparently because the test results are still pending and I'm not feeling any particular pain (thank goodness) though I pee every 5 minutes.  The doctor prescribed me some antibiotics to take in the interim if any pain kicks in, but she vacillated more than seems reasonable over whether they were safe to take in pregnancy.  I forgot to check the label myself, and subsequently discovered it's an antibiotic that historically does not work for my and my godawful UTIs.  Great.
• Miscellaneous 'account charges' on the credit card totalling $87. 
• A great aunt who lives in close proximity to my parents had a heart attack on the weekend.  She's on the mend, but what the actual fuck, timing?  Poor Aunt S. 
• There were onions in my NO ONION salad. You know, rage tipping point and all.
• I experienced the 'shoot the messenger' phenomenon at work today.  Me being the messenger.  It was every bit as awesome as you would expect.
• And the final absolute fucker of a bullet point: Dad's been taken off chemo.  His white blood cell counts are too low - they're going to reassess next week, but no chemo is a blow.  Oh, and the day they took him off it?  The day his hair started to fall out. 

I am not going to cry today.  I'm going to go home, take a not-quite-hot-enough bath (pregnancy is great and all, but I miss screamingly hot baths) and cuddle my husband.

demolition

I have been titling posts things like 'life goes on' and 'right now', but speaking only of my father and my child.  It's more than that, however, I'm not living in a vacuum of life and death.  Between visits, we resume 'real' everyday life, and aside from when my tailbone aches from sitting too long, I can forget I'm pregnant for hours at a time. 

Work continues apace on the house.  The House Formerly Known as the Lavender Loveshack (now a lovely shade of greige, because we're boring) is still having the front door and balcony trim painted.  We've destroyed the inside of the master bedroom - all the lining is gone, P is insulating in there and the electrician arrives Thursday to install new ceiling lights, new sockets and move some switches around.  We're going to install a new door and a built-in wardrobe in the room, have it freshly lined and then I'm selecting yet another shade of grey paint.  We're still debating retrofitting the windows with double glazing, waiting on a quote.

Once the master is completed, the guest bedroom is going to get the once over.  This will become the nursery, I suppose, though not for a while.  The baby will live with us for a bit, as advised by Plunket to mitigate the SIDS risk.  We'll need to keep a spare bed in the nursery anyway, for P's Mum to visit from Germany and my parents to visit once the baby arrives.  The nursery work will be pretty similar - insulation, new lights, new wardrobe, new linings, paint etc.  I'm determined that we will have a warm home for the baby to live in when he or she arrives in mid-winter.

We nearly choked on our cookies receiving a quote for some new kitchen cabinetry 'necessary' to house a dishwasher, we were assured.  In a kitchen that will be demolished at some point in the next 2-4 years, they thought we'd be happy to spend $6k, just for the cabinets.  No new benchtop, no new fit out, just some new cabinets capable of housing a dishwasher.  I'm pretty sure with a saw we can achieve largely the same result in the existing cabinets.  Time for some more quotes, methinks.  I'd like a dishwasher to make life a little more easy in a tiny kitchen once the baby arrives, but not at that kind of price before we've even bought the damn dishwasher. 

I'm not much help with renovation, this time round.  I picked up the demolished bits of lining (discovering newspapers from 1992 pasted across the walls to form a lovely backing for a bit of wall paper, over which plasterboard had been slapped in 1995) and carted them to the skip out the front.  That lasted until the new neighbours started having a Saturday morning sesh on their deck.  I don't really care if people want to smoke weed; I just really don't want my child in-utero to get second hand stoned.  I call and arrange quotes etc.  I cart drinks to P and hold the measuring tape, do the rest of the household chores like laundry.  His wonderful father is going to lend a hand, and rope in my 16 year old step-brother in law as labourer. 

right now

We were at the lake this weekend, at the bach that Dad purchased a share of in the time just B.D. (before diagnosis).  It was tough to see him sleep for lengthy periods and sit quietly on the deck, sheltered from the sun.  He'd usually be the first to direct the walk, to back the boat down the ramp into the water, to run into the water for a swim. 

I didn't do many of those things either this weekend, preferring instead to stay close to him where I could.  My stomach has been feeling slightly uncomfortable and stretchy, of late, and I think the depression surrounding Dad's illness kicks in a little more when I see him in person, which in turn makes me feel physically drained.  I sat on the couch with him, joked about all his pills and I asked about the hairloss and the dimming of his vision, but mostly we talked about small things.  We watched the opening game of the Cricket World Cup and cheered the Black Caps on together, but I don't think he could see much of the action ('was that a four or a six?' 'what's the RPO now?' 'who bowled that?'). 

I heard murmuring through the wall at night.  It's simultaneouly reassuring and awful to know that Mum and Dad were chatting quietly together in the dead of night - reassuring because they're in this together, awful because I know why they're awake.  I also heard some terrible snoring coming from my sister K, which was mostly just reassuring because I want her to sleep while she can.  I don't know what she's thinking a lot of the time (I think I once did?  When we were young and lived together and knew each other better than anyone else) but I hope she's managing to find peace in all of this.  We call each other more regularly, now.  We don't say much, but we do share each nugget of information or insight into how our parents are feeling. 

We arrived home about 7.30 last night.  Cocoa was waiting on the step but Tabitha was nowhere to be seen.  It was unusual and she didn't turn up until 1.30 this morning.  Christ, I was so relieved.  I do not need any more death or despair on top of what's already going on, not that there would ever be a good time to lose her.  I am funnelling so much love and affection into those cats who don't have a clue that things aren't as they should be.

The next visit I'd booked is for Easter, some seven weeks away.  I don't think I can leave it that long.  I want to make this finite time we have left last as long as I possibly can.  Plus, I think Mum needs me.  A colleague the other day commented that I must be wishing time away to get to June and my departure on maternity leave.  No, I snapped, I want it to stand still right now.  I felt terrible and apologised - she doesn't know the finer detail of what's happening in my life and it was well meant.  Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting this baby but no, I can't fathom that we're probably only going to get further away from Dad as he should be.  As he was. 

(Christ, the past tense has made me cry.)

I have the 20 week scan this week.  I haven't yet identified any clear movements from the baby which, although probably normal, is making me nervous.  I have been considering whether we should find out the sex to share with Dad, just in case.  I couldn't bring myself to ask whether he wanted to know though - it felt too much like saying 'what if you die before July?' out loud.  I can't say that.  I won't say that.  Maybe we'll ask for one of those envelopes with the sex written on a note inside, that I can offer him if and when things change.  I hope the baby is fine and healthy; worry is pulling at my heart. 

life can, in fact, go on

I stood in the hospital lift by his bedside, next to the nurse, wondering if the smile and laugh was real or merely reflexive. 

'Hi, Dad.'

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On a Wednesday, he went to hospital.  On a Thursday morning, my mother called, several times.  The last time, she told me to get my sister and get there, fast.  On a Thursday evening, I saw him in the high dependency unit, unresponsive to his family but grimacing in pain.  On a Friday morning, he slept easily but continuously, despite overheard whispers from staff of a difficult night.

On a Friday afternoon, I met the palliative care doctor.

They'd increased the steroids, but there was nothing further they could do but offer pain relief.

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It was a Friday afternoon when he woke up.

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It was simultaneously the worst and the most miraculous few days of my life.  We genuinely believed that he wasn't going to wake again; we wouldn't be speaking to him again.  In the early hours of Friday morning, I listened to hours of music in the warm dark of the bedroom, tears leaking down my face, holding a jersey I'd borrowed from his bedroom.  At 4am, I saw a light go on and Mum and I sat in the shared warm dark of the living room, drinking a cup of tea and quietly facing a new reality.  Friday afternoon and Saturday I lived on a euphoric rush of life, life, life. 

He was released on a Monday to travel to start the treatment regime.  He's not the Dad of life before diagnosis, nor is he even the Dad of life shortly after, but he's my Dad and he's alive.  He's alive. 

I am so profoundly grateful and yet I am utterly bereft and broken.  The reality is that there will be peaks and troughs in an inevitable downhill slide.  I thought I was talking realistically before when we were planning for one year, maybe two if we were lucky.  I now appreciate that to have him in July when the baby is born will be a gift, one we may not receive.   

I hate what this is doing to him.  I hate what this is doing to my mother. 

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I'm struggling to write about it.  Apart from that brutal Thursday and the vulnerable days that followed, I'm ignoring the problem in everyday life.  In my own city, between visits and phone calls, I'm able to pretend that everything is fine.  I need the catharsis of writing and talking but I can't bring myself to indulge. 

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I love him.

rounder by the day

I wore one of P's t-shirts and a pair of shorts with an elastic waistband yesterday evening and was the most comfortable I've been in weeks.  I ditched the white blazer and black pleated midi-length work dress as soon as I got in the door (I'd lost the wedge heels the minute I stood up to leave the office - jandals and workwear is a key look for Kiwis on a summer commute) and heaved a sigh of relief as it all hung out in P's purple t-shirt. 

I guess that's how you know I'm now visibly pregnant, shall we say.  At least I didn't doff my bra the minute I walked in the door - I've taken to unhooking it about 8pm with an audible sigh, then removing it entirely by 8.30 because the bastard keeps roughing up my nipples (by roughing up I mean touching lightly, WOW OUCH). 

Following last night's comfortpalooza, I ordered some maternity jeans and a pack of maternity basics online this morning.  And commenced bleeding on and off. 

I am living in terror of doing something to jinx the pregnancy.  I can't bring myself to buy baby things.  When I purchased the maternity goods, it was the first time I've bought something pregnancy related other than folate-laced pills or ultrasound co-pays.  OF COURSE it preceded a bodily freak out.

This is not my first rodeo with bleeding during this pregnancy.  It is scary, yes, but I've got good at ignoring it while I go about real life (ha.  that and you know, thinking about my father).  The knowledge that it is fairly common and that there is nothing I can do is not exactly reassuring, per se, but it makes me sanguine (wrong choice of word?  oh well, it fits and it stays). 

So I'm daring it to get worse.  I walked around the baby section of Smith & Caughey today (oh christ no, I didn't buy anything, that shit is expensive.) I added to the list of what we might need.  I looked at the DIA's top 100 names spreadsheets from '99 to '14.  This is superstitious bullshit I'm engaging in, believing that a positive act of child-recognition could spell doom for my baby.  I'm not doing it anymore.  I'm going to wear stuff with elastic with pride.  I'm going to be someone's mother. 

2014 in review

I usually post this before the end of the year, and I started drafting it in early December, anticipating a lovely long summer holiday.  I've since amended it so if it seems disjointed and/or erratic in tone, you can probably take an educated guess as to why.  I'm trying for slightly less maudlin in tone ... but I'm not sure I've got there. 

1. What did you do in 2014 that you'd never done before?

This is incredibly boring, but I started developing goals and plans for my career.  I've never actually done that before - I'm still in the early stages, but a very new experience.

Got knocked up.  That's kind of a big one, I guess. 

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

Last year's answer still applies:

Eh. I don't really do resolutions because I don't need another stick with which to beat myself. There's usually a vague thought about getting fit, losing weight, blahblah but I know in my heart of hearts I'm quite happy to truck along eating a wheel of cheese and watching the development of my bingo wings.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes!  P's cousin S had a wee boy who we love to death. 

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Timothy, my lovely kitten.  I don't care what you say about cat ladies or pets, I felt real, honest to goodness grief when wee Tim died.  It was awful. 

5. What countries did you visit?

I didn't leave the country this year (unless you count the South Island?!) 

6. What would you like to have in 2015 that you lacked in 2014?

I had written that I'd like to have more contentment in 2015, but that doesn't seem right any more.  I'd like to have more quality family time. 

7. What dates from 2014 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

27 October 2014.  Labour Day, a Monday.  Even though it was a public holiday, I needed to go in to work, so I got up early, leaving P in bed.  I went to the bathroom.  I started the shower while three minutes passed.  I stopped it again.  I climbed back into bed with P and broke the news.  We lay there, quietly, for quite a while.  Freaking out, I suppose.  We still cannot get our heads around the fact that we're going to be parents. 

19 December 2014.  The day of Dad's biopsy.  It suddenly became real that my father is mortal.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Making it through the first trimester, I suppose, if that can be counted as an achievement?  It sucked and then it got better.  We thought for a while that I was going to miscarry, so it feels like an achievement to have got this far (15 weeks tomorrow).

9. What was your biggest failure?

Worky stuff. 

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Nothing serious.  I got pretty tired of morning sickness, however.  Does accidentally triggering a vom with my toothbrush count as injury?

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Probably the professional assistance with renovating the dining room.  I love that room now, so much.  It looks wonderful.   

12. Where did most of your money go?

Once again nothing changes from 2013:

House! Also getting piffled away on food and booze; we're just so GOOD at spending on that.

Oh, one other item - pregnancy tests.  I wasted a loooooooot of those. 

13. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Seeing an embryo and then a foetus at successive scans. Unreal. Butterfly feelings. P wanted to go out for champagne afterwards, which is our usual celebratory reaction, but isn't particularly appropriate for me, just now!

Both P and I were promoted this year.  While each of us felt a bit wrung out at the time of our own promotion, we were super excited for each other.  I'm so proud of him - he sets goals, achieves them and is so diligent and hardworking.

14. What song will always remind you of 2014?

Chet Faker, I don't know the name of the song, but it has a line about making you move with consequence which sounds terrible but I like it a lot.  We listened to a lot of Chet Faker while renovating the dining room.  The song smells like bare timber, to me. 

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) Happier or sadder? I originally wrote: About the same.  I'm a fairly cheery wee chap. But scratch that.
b) Thinner or fatter? Oh yes, most definitely fatter.
c) Richer or poorer? Wee bit richer - promotions, plus we paid off a chunk of mortgage, even though we spent a bit on the house.  Property values keep rising, so I guess in a very theoretical sort of a way we're a bit richer in equity too? 

16. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Debt reduction, as ever.  With the beauty of hindsight, spending more time with my family.  

17. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Frivolous spending and being narky to P.

18. How will you be spending Christmas?

The plan was to have a few Christmases with the family - on the day itself, we were meant to be at our house, with P's mother, brother, sister-in-law, SIL's brother and SIL's parents.  That changed with Dad's diagnosis and we spent Christmas at my parents' place.  We ate, played boules in the sunshine & napped indoors when it got too hot.   

19. Did you fall in love in 2014?

The baby is still too uncertain for me to have fully fallen in love.  We had some problems during the first trimester and then another scare at week 14.  As certainty is grows, however, so does love.

With Tabitha, Timothy and Cokes I most definitely fell in love.  I wanted cats in 2013 and in 2014/first days of 2015 they have been such a joy.

As always, I fell a bit more in love with P.  He has been so wonderful during the early stages of pregnancy and I don't know what I would have done without him over the past four weeks during Dad's diagnosis.  He's upset and grieving too, but he's consistently treated me patiently, kindly and respectfully, when I haven't always been rational.

20. What was your favourite TV programme?

Loved a bit of Game of Thrones this year, Homeland, Top Chef as per usual.  Sadly, we have watched a lot of The Block.  Judge away, I would!

21. What was the best book you read?

Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood.  Didn't love the two further books in the trilogy, but very much enjoyed the first.  (I think I read this first in 2014? God, my memory is shot). 

22. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Chet Faker.  Yet again, I'm probably waaaay behind the curve.

23. What did you want and get?

The pregnancy.  It took a wee while -- we started trying in January.  Not long in the scheme of things, but long enough to underscore that we did indeed want to have a baby.  While there's some apprehensiveness about what it means for our lives, it also feels very right.   

24. What did you want and not get?

Original answer: a dishwasher.

Now? A positive prognosis for Dad.

25. What was your favourite film of this year?

I haven't really been to the movies in 2014, can you believe it? We watch quite a few at home, but none of them have been earthshattering, I don't think.  Pass.

26. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I could not for the life of me recall what I did on my 32nd birthday!  I actually had to check the post I wrote the day after (THIS is why I keep a blog!) - we had friends around for dinner and to watch the rugby the night before and P's friend P2 conned me into a night on the town in the early hours of my birthday itself.  We spent the day of my birthday hungover and giggly. 

27. What kept you sane?

Up until October, buckets of tea.  Mum, Dad, P.  Plenty of sleep. 

28. What political issue stirred you the most?

Election 2014 in NZ.  The Auckland Rail Loop (just get on with it, NZ!).  The Hopeless Minister of Womens' Affairs (I haven't written about this but HOLY SHIT you're not a feminist because you're not into 'flag waving'??!  You think beauty pageants are good for young women?!) 

29. Who did you miss?

Friends in the Northern Hemisphere.  Timothy, badly. 

30. Who was the best new person you met?

S's son is pretty awesome.  He's cuddly and not a whinger, what more could you want?!

31. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2014.

Original answer: Patience really is a key to remaining happy in the face of disappointment.

Holy shit that's prescient.  Or, you know, trite enough to apply to any life situation.  Let's pretend it was prescient of me, shall we? 

I've also learned that life really isn't fair. 

the shape of 2015

I wake up most mornings, thinking I've got the start of a cold.  I'm blocked up and my throat burns with an ache.  Then I remember.
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I met Dad off the air ambulance in Hawke's Bay on a Monday.  It was so sunny outside that I squinted through the waiting room window in the hangar to watch the plane taxi in.  He was the first passenger to disembark, walking off of his own volition, shaking the hands of the pilot and onboard nurse.  Just like him, but he'd lost weight and looked frail.  The patch on the back of his head wasn't large, but it was obvious.

Mum and I drove him home quietly.  He asked Mum if my sister understood what was happening yet.  The burning in my throat intensified, stoked by a fear I wasn't yet willing to name.

He walked in the door and improved by the hour.  Coming home was the best moment, he declared.  It never felt so good as it did that Monday.  His appetite was huge, his strength grew by the day.  We talked, we laughed.
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Days later, the specialist called with the preliminary biopsy results.  Mum and Dad sat us down - K, P and I - and explained that it wasn't good.  We'll be lucky to have two years, but we ought to plan on a year, they said. 

My throat ignited afresh, the flames raging through the dry tinder of my heart and mind. 

They'd known or suspected for days.  They'd also suspected that no further surgery would be possible, or worth the risk.  I think the fire in my throat knew, too.  My heart and head had chosen not to listen.   
_________________

There is a focus on early July.  Dad's first round of treatment should be done, and we hope he'll be feeling well.  My daughter or son will be his first grandchild.  One thing I've always known is what an excellent grandfather Dad will be.  That child will be so loved. 

The burn in my throat shreds tissue and exposes the bones when I think about the fact that my child will never know his or her grandfather in the same way I imagined.
___________________

We spent a glorious couple of summer weeks there, in the middle of nowhere, at the end of the earth, on the hill in the paradise my parents call home.  We watched sunsets on the verandah following meals eaten outdoors.  We worked on projects together.  We set up a Christmas tree and celebrated on Christmas eve and again on Christmas day.  We laughed.  We went wine tasting and out for a nice lunch.  Occasionally, we cried.  I cry in the shower, tears beating and streaming over my body like the water, cathartic.  We made plans. 

It's real.  The burn in my throat tells me so.