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Archive for the ‘Crazy for no reason’ Category


While I was away, this funny thing happened which, admittedly, used to happen with greater frequency but has kind of stopped over the last years. I paid attention to myself.
Yes, yes, I pay attention to myself, but, like, in that I have health issues that demand attention. When on holiday, particularly when travelling without one’s family, who else do you have to focus on…but you?
Flash back about five years. I was in peak health. I had joined a gym, befriended the owner and had a personal trainer. I looked great. I felt great….physically. The problem was that I was all about how great I looked. I let a lot of relationships slide, including the one I had with myself. Because outwardly I was looking amazing and yes, I was very much enjoying grabbing something off the rack from the “regular” section of the store and knowing it would fit before I even tried it on, but, I was also in denial about a lot of internal struggle. And I needed to turn my spotlight back on my family.
So I did.
And then we moved east, and I spent a year looking for work and cooking and baking. And eating. And then of course Shawn’s health took a sharp nosedive and then so did mine.
A year of steroids and treatments and mandatory feet/ankle rest and, well, if you read the blog you know the rest. I gained a lot of weight. Yet the irony was, in ALL other aspects of my life, I was the happiest I have been in years. I found a job I love, made friends, became a proactive part of a new community, and basically started enjoying life again. I was heavier, sure, but that wasn’t the main focus of my being anymore. I lived in yoga pants, jeans and hoodies anyway. And all that mattered was that my husband and kids loved me.
Packing for my trip out west, I took along a bunch of clothes I hadn’t worn in a while. Because I knew that I had nights out, and a lunch with coworkers and plans that required me to dress up a bit. And I packed my makeup because, well, I *was* going to a wedding after all. But without kids to organise and a husband to keep me busy I only had me. So I spent time. And, I gotta say, I was really happy with how I looked. I felt like a more polished version of me. It was great. I texted my friend Dana that I looked good out West and sent her outfit pictures.
On my last day of holidays, Allison and I went out to run a couple of errands and, being early for one of them, we stopped at a store for plus sizes. I had never gone into my branch of it at home. I was still clinging to that memory of being an off the rack size. (Here’s the thing, when I put something on, in my head, I see myself wearing it in my old body so sometimes I get upset when I see how it looks on my current body)
Something dawned on me that day though, trying on clothes with Allison. If I let go of the number on the label and just put on something that fit, and fit me well, I looked great. I felt great!
So, I bought a pair of jeans. Then I came home, went to my branch of the same store, and bought another pair of jeans. And a top. And a vest.
Then I went home and looked at my closet. Big, heavy sigh.
I am a clothes hoarder. No, maybe it’s not that bad, but, I hang on to stuff with the idea that ONE DAY, I’ll get back into it again. It’s been five years. And even with the great new clothes that fit me well and with taking that bit of extra time again to ensure that I was putting a little effort in like I did out West, when I saw the things I had once loved that no longer fit me, the sadness crept back in.
Well, I don’t want to feel that anymore. It was time to get rid of the “I have a dream” section of my closet.

Saturday we took the kids into the city for the Buskers on the Bay festival. We spent morning to mid-afternoon watching the acts and then scooted home so our middle daughter could get to work on time. Kids scattered, hubs went to play his new video game and I went upstairs armed with an empty garbage back and a determination, albeit a slightly nervous one.
It was like ripping off a band aid. I started in the closet. There were skirt suits and dresses. A lot of them like new, and beautifully made. I posted those online in a “buy nothing” group so that some other local woman could get the benefit of my previously expensive taste. As I suspected, everything I posted was gone by mid day Sunday. But the closet wasn’t enough. I started in on my dresser. And my shoes. If it didn’t fit, it went. At first I was sentimental and sad, but as the chore went on, it got easier and easier. And then I started to feel really good. Everything left fit, fit well, I liked it and it looked good on me. Why hadn’t I done this YEARS ago? No more would I open my closet and immediately feel fat and regretful. Now I felt empowered and awesome.
My husband thought this was a good idea so we spent a few hours on Sunday doing his closet as well. And cleaning the room. Amazing how much clutter can build up without really being noticed.
I feel lighter today. I woke up and every option I saw was an actual option.
The only downside? Now I am noticing that the linen closet needs a purge. And the living room. And the kitchen. The joys of homeownership.

I took a vacation. I went to an amazing wedding and met with wonderful people and stayed with an absolutely beautiful friend. And I kind of found myself a bit. And I remembered that I like who I am.

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We have…an infestation.
No, not like six years ago when we had bedbugs and DEAR GOD may we never endure that perfect storm of EW ever again.

Saturday past. The day before Mother’s Day. We actually had a warm, beautiful day with double digit plus temperatures. It was wonderful! So of course we spent the day out in the back yard doing clean up, pulling out old shrubs and things that we’ve been meaning to pull out since we moved here, raking, you know, all that good hard summer prep work.
We left the back door (to the sun room) open, and, the door from the sun room to the kitchen. Just a bit. Just enough for the dogs to get in and out so they too could enjoy the fine weather.

We forgot to close them.

Saturday night. My daughter and I are in the living room watching a show. My husband is down in the basement playing Assassins Creed. Ash gets up to go to the kitchen for a drink of water and immediately starts yelling for Shawn and I.

Why?

Because we have crickets. Big, giant, black, ugly crickets. All. Over. The. Kitchen.

They were on the floor, on the cupboards, on the wall, ON THE CEILING!!! No, I’m not kidding, two of them were on the goddam ceiling. She was frozen in the doorway freaking out.

Shawn came up and we spent a good fifteen minutes killing, catching and getting rid of them. After we closed the door of course. Our dog Kermit ate one, I’m pretty sure.

That was Saturday.

On Sunday, we found about six more. Three of them in the living room. Yesterday morning the kids killed four more in the morning, more after school and I got two when I came home from work.

So, let this be a lesson to you all. If you’re going to pull up old shrubs and shit trees and basically turn over old earth in dark, pokey corners of your yard, DON’T LEAVE YOUR DAMN DOORS OPEN!

I have to go now. I have a plague in my home and it must be cleansed.

ugh.

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It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, it was a stupid night after the first day of spring with a freak snowstorm and now it looks like full on winter again and I don’t like it.

It’s twelve thirty six am here. My husband is gently snoring in bed beside me and I cannot sleep. Could be the steroids. Could be my overactive brain. I’ve never been a great sleeper. I mean, I *was* getting good at it for a while there but then I got sick and went on steroids that can mess with your sleep patterns so there you go.

My room is too warm. Which is funny, because before his heart attack Shawn was a human furnace and liked it cool whereas I was always cold, but, we’ve done a switch because my body has already kicked itself into pre-menopause and I’m hot all the time and his new, post heart failure, on blood thinners body is now always cold.
Trade-sies!

I’m annoyed with my illness. I’m ever fearful of his. Who would have guessed that we’d each wake up one day at 40 and be sick for the rest of our lives?

That’s maudlin, I know. But it’s late and therefore the maudlin thoughts are the ones with top billing. My brain always did like to fixate on the negative. At least that’s what a therapist once told me.

I miss smoking sometimes. But I don’t miss the money it ate up, the smell of it stale or the health problems it probably was a huge contributor too.

I need some sleep. I’m going to be so tired in the morning. But, the plows are out and they’re doing the circulation of the school parking lot across the street, so all I can hear is that loud engine revving and the sound of the scoop scraping on the asphalt. Not exactly a lullaby. A very Canadian sound. Like a zamboni. Or tinny voice at the Tim Horton’s drive through.

I’m going to try to sleep soon. I’m going to lay down, tuck my body pillow neatly between my knees and pinch and release my muscles, from my toes to my nose, as a yoga teacher once taught me, until my whole body remembers how to relax at the same time.

I will not get distracted by the beckoning electric light of my cell phone’s internet. I will not.
Probably.
An hour, tops.

Goodnight, strange world. I’ll see what you look like in the morning.

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It turns out, a LOT of you read my post on the ONE night I didn’t love my hospital. Like a lot. It was one of my highest rated posts ever. Which is not a bad thing. I even got a thank you for writing it from one of the staff members at the hospital. But let me fill you in on what’s going on since then and why I am back to full-on loving my hospital.

Yes, it was a shit night. No, no one should have to wait 11 hours in pain before seeing someone. That was crap. I stand by that.

So I posted my pity party thing the other day. Feeling sorry for myself and whining and all that good stuff. But then, some things happened.

On Monday, my husband drove our daughter to Halifax to tour the University she was accepted to (don’t ask me how in the hell we’re going to make those financials happen, I’m still hoping on the lottery) and I went to work. I LOVE my job. I lucked into working at one of the greatest places in the city and I have the most wonderful co-workers. But it’s really hard to keep your spirits up when you’re in pain. My feet were still swollen despite being on meds for three days by that point and my legs were hurting. I was still limping and a lot of people at work asked me how I’m doing. Well, I was honest, but I hate complaining all the time so often my answers were kind of jokey. Oh, you know, still sore, but hey, I’m okay!
I got home Monday night and had some running around to do. My daughter had a flute lesson, with my hubs and other daughter away it was just my two youngest and myself for dinner so we stopped at Sobey’s and I let them get whatever they wanted to eat. None of us were really hungry, it was a nice treat.

When I got home though, I just couldn’t ignore the pains. My legs from the knees down, my wrists, elbows, I was hurting all over. I thought, I’ll take a nice bath. That’ll feel great on all my sore spots. And it did. Until I tried to get out of the bath and I couldn’t get up.
I had to call my 15 year old daughter for help. That night I called my Rheumatologist’s office, knowing I would get a voice mail. I left him a message asking him to please just call me back in the morning. I wanted to know if it was normal for everything to get exponentially worse before it got better. His office called first thing in the morning with an appointment for me for 9:30 Wednesday. That fast.

Tuesday was more of the same. Pain so bad it was hard to get through my day. Shawn and Ash weren’t due to come home until Wednesday but I couldn’t hide from him on the phone how hard it was for me. I got home from work just after 8pm, spent about fifteen minutes with the kids and then came to bed. Within a half hour I heard voices. Shawn and Ash had come straight home from the tour and were here! I’m so glad they got to do their full tour first and I’m so very thankful they were home because quite frankly, I was scared and grateful to have Shawn able to come with me back to the hospital. By now my legs were the same size from my mid-calf down to my toes they were so swollen and there were red patches on my skin.

I saw my Dr. the next morning and he confirmed that I likely have sarcoidosis, a very serious disease, but a treatable one, and it was likely that which kicked me into the RA symptoms. By the time I left the hosptial at 1pm that day, I had had a CT scan with contrast (no, the radio active dye DID NOT give me any super powers. I’m still bummed about that), and EKG and more lab work. He just called the departments and got me in. And everyone was great.

I am off for a few days now on some new meds trying to get the swelling down and my symptoms under control so that I can find my new working normal. It’s daunting, and a little bit scary, but I know that I have some really great care behind me. I may not have a family doctor yet, but I do have a specialist who is looking out for me in every sense of the word and that, my friends, is golden.

It just goes to show you, it’s important to speak up when the system lets you down, but it’s equally important to talk when they really rise to the need.

Now, if only I could stop googling sarcoidosis.

Special thanks to Dr. Grant and that lab tech who took my blood whose name I have forgotten. You were great! Didn’t feel a thing.

On with life, dear friends. A couple of days of bed rest means more work on the current book. And that’s something to be really thankful for!!

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I’m about to whine.

Last night was a rough night. Like, rough. So, after my awful night at the hospital, I had a positive experience there – positive in that I have a specialist to work with, whom I got in to see quickly and he seems both very nice and very thorough. Two attributes I love in doctors. He confirmed that I do indeed have rheumatoid arthritis and started me on a course of fairly aggressive anti-inflammatories as well as a pill to protect my stomach. Fine.
Here is the problem. It’s me. I’m the problem. My brain simply did not want to compute that this is a permanent disease.
I went home and broke the news to the family, and texted my best friend Sarah and we cracked jokes about putting baseball cards in my some-day wheelchair spokes. In fact, we all kind of cracked jokes all night because that is what we do. We talked about how some-day I’ll be entitled to a handicap parking permit, and won’t it be nice to have that? Prime parking all the time? Ha ha, so funny, it will be hilarious.
We went out Saturday night to hang with some great friends and while it was kind-of-sort-of mentioned, pretty much I ignored it. Besides, it was a birthday party and I wanted to have some fun.
And then Sunday, we took the kids into the city to hit up Value Village (my kids LOVE thrift shopping, thank goodness) and to go to Costco for some groceries. While moving around was a little sore for me after the festivities of the night before, I managed and we went home.

That’s where the day went south. For me anyway.
You see, I realized that this is not like my sciatica or any sprains or breaks or illnesses I’ve had in my life where time, medications and therapy are going to make it eventually go away. This one won’t go away. Ever. There is no known cure for RA. And yes, we got it early, it looks like, but mine has been a little aggressive in how quickly it cropped up and how fast it went from mild pain to full swelling and more pain. I don’t like it. And I started to feel very sorry for myself. I said to my husband maybe it was my karma for some of my poor choices. He (very smartly, we’ve been married a long time) didn’t really answer that. Since I had been somewhat active the night before and all morning long, my afternoon and evening especially were quite painful. So, I did what any self-respecting 40 year old adult woman would do: lay in my bed feeling sorry for myself and crying.
Because I’m a damn grown up.
This morning I’ve tried to put a new spin on things for myself. I’m NOT the only one in the world with a disease. I’m NOT the only one in the world with THIS disease. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t helping anyone, especially me, so I need to stop it. I got up, got dressed and went to work. I made sure I took my pills and I walked slowly from my parking lot to my building (four blocks), trying to let myself get into a rhythm and not pushing it too hard first thing in the morning. I plan to get up a lot from my desk today, so that I’m not sitting for too long stretches at a time. I’m trying to force my thoughts to go down positive pathways instead of negative ones.
In short, I’m trying to be a damn grown up.
No one wants chronic pain. My father has it in the form of fibro myalgia and I marvel now even more that he maintains the level of activity he does and if he can do that at 70 after suffering for YEARS, I can do it at 40.
I have no idea how yet, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

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I have made no bones about talking on this blog the extents to which I love our hospital. I do. I love it. It (and by it I mean the people who work there) saved my husband’s life. Of course I love it. But on Tuesday night, the shine wore off…hard.

Let me back up a little bit. Sometime back in January, I started to get this niggly little pain in my left foot. Behind my heel. At first I chalked it up to pulling some sort of muscle on the treadmill. I mostly ignored it but every so often it would really bother me and I would comment on it. Shawn kept on forgetting it was a “thing” because even commenting on it I didn’t do often.

Then, about sometime last month, I noticed that it was starting to be accompanied by a sharp-ish pain in the side of my foot. My foot hurt to put weight on some days and I noticed that if I was off my feet for any length of time, it would hurt more to get up on it for the first few minutes. Once I was moving around it was usually okay though. I talked to a few people about it and looked up online (okay – I KNOW you should NEVER google symptoms, but I do it anyway) and concluded that it was plantar fasciitis. It all matched. So, I bought some insoles for my shoes and just…made do. After all, kind of like sciatica, it “can” eventually go away. I steeled myself for another months long battle of discomfort like I had with the sciatica and just, got on with it.

Then. Last weekend.
Getting out of bed at night started to become very painful. And I started to wonder if I had sprained my foot, or maybe even broken it, and was walking around with that injury. I started to look for bruises which is when I noticed the swelling. My left foot was swelling. Not grossly, but enough. I also noticed that my wrists were starting to hurt by morning by I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
I mentioned it on Monday night to Shawn. I might have been very emotional about it as it was a particularly painful night. He rightly said that I needed to get it looked at. Which meant, for me, a visit to the ER.
We still don’t have a family doctor out here. Going on three years on the list this July. The clinic won’t deal with anything that needs testing and results. So, it was the emergency room or nothing.
Tuesdays (and Thursdays) I work until 8pm. So, I told my friend at work, I was just going to go to the ER after work. A Tuesday night probably wasn’t that bad.
Man, was I wrong.

I got there at 8:15 and there were a fair number of people in the waiting room. Maybe twenty five or so. I saw the triage nurse and because I had just spent the whole day moving on it, the pain at that point in time wasn’t so bad, but, I explained to her the long set of problems and took my seat. Within two hours, the swelling had started again and, likely due to sitting and not moving around much, the pain was much worse. So, I told the nurse of the changes. I don’t think she made a note of it, just kind of said okay. I hobbled back to my seat where the guy near me promptly told me that he had been there since 4:55pm. Greaaaat. At that rate I likely wouldn’t be seen until after midnight. I texted Shawn and removed my left shoe, since my foot was now swollen to uncomfortable in it.

I waited. And waited. At two am there were about six patients left in the ER. I was one of them. I went back to the triage nurse, a new nurse who had come on at about 11 or so. I asked her where I was in the lineup. She didn’t really want to say numbers, just that a lot of people had been triaged higher than me. A lot. Well, there weren’t many people left. A few people had actually just walked out due to the waits. I asked her, more than four? And she said yes. So…logic follows that I was last. Fuuuuuuck…

My foot was really painful. Like, really painful. And my legs were starting to get shooting pains in them from not moving. I wanted to get up and walk around to relieve the pain in my legs, but it just made my foot pain worse so I was stuck between a rock and a very hard place. What I did do was pull the only loose chair closer to me, pile my coat on it and put my foot up. And cry. I also cried. Quietly.

Five o’clock. There was myself, and two ladies who had come in at midnight and now there were some new patients starting to trickle in. I watched two of the new patients get called before me and I got very upset. I went back to the triage nurse. I told her I had been there for nine hours and please, please tell me I was next. She said I was.
I went back to my seat and the nurse came over a few minutes later. She said the doctor wanted her to see my swelling. I showed her and she pressed on the swollen parts of my ankle hard. Then she asked me if I wanted any advil. YES PLEASE. JEEZ!

At six thirty, a woman who had been in the ER with me when I first came in came back in. She saw me sitting, rocking in the corner with tears and loudly said, YOU’RE STILL HERE! She came over after checking in. Apparently she had been seen and told to come back in the morning for a CT scan. She was incredulous that no one had seen me yet. A woman near me who had heard the exclamation asked me what time I came in. I told her, and people around us got visibly upset and uncomfortable. No one had come to the emergency room expecting a wait that long.

7am. 11 hours of waiting and my name was called. I got up, gingerly, and started to hobble and then I asked for a chair. The nurse who had come out for me was like, “oh, yeah” it having only just occurred to her that the girl with the limp, the bad ankle and her shoes off might find it difficult to walk into the back and to wherever the room was they were going to put me. She got me a chair and wheeled me to a room where, she gave me a hospital shirt and told me to take off my clothes and get into it.

You know, because you need to be naked to have your ankle inspected.

Whatever, I know that hospitals have good reason to put you in those shirts so I took off everything except my bra and undies and put it on. It was the first time I was somewhat comfortable all night, on that bed, with a blanket and my feet up off that concrete floor. I texted Shawn.

His texts back were priceless and just what I needed to make me smile after that long wait. He said to me “Your face is still on a huge poster in the lobby. You helped them raise a million dollars. You mean they don’t have a special private room just for you?? With a King sized bed and plush linens? And a pet Ocelot?” He was quite concerned though. He had an early meeting with his boss and I asked him to come to me after. I just really needed the support. He said he would text when he was on his way.

Finally my doctor came in. He apologised for the long wait right away. I said, well, I understand it’s busy. He gave a small laugh and said, actually, it wasn’t really a busy night. But, they only have so many beds and once they’re full….
I was incredulous. They weren’t that busy???
And I get it about the beds situation but I watched people come and go all night. Some went in and were out again in under a half hour. Some were even dealt with on the small bed behind the triage stations. And no one could even take a look at me for 11 hours??? But I just said thank you for the apology. Because I’m a Canadian.
In my mind though, I was fuming. I bring this staff a gift and a card every Christmas. And all I get was “sorry” and “it wasn’t that busy, but, you know, beds”? Grrrr..

The doctor took a look and informed me that both my ankles were actually swollen. I looked, and they were! But, I had been so concentrated on the left one, I had assumed the right was from favouring and it was nothing. He then proceeded to tell me the reasons why I might get like this: heart problems, kidney problems, diabetic issues. No, no, doc. Don’t worry about scaring me with HEART and KIDNEY failure. It’s fine. I’m only exhausted, emotional and drained (and in pain). He said that to rule these out, he was ordering me some blood work. Then he said sorry about the wait again and left my room.

Finally, I could rest a bit. I pulled up my blanket, lowered the back of my bed and went to sleep. Within twenty minutes I was awoken by the blood work nurse. She was nice, even if she did come in by flipping on every single light and then say ooops when she realized I was asleep.
She was good too, and I told her so. I’ve had my blood taken enough times to really appreciate when someone is good at it.

Then. The kicker. She told me that they were still short of beds and that I would need to wait for my results, which could take up to an hour, in the waiting room.

Are you fucking kidding me.

So she left, I dressed and, after asking again for a chair, went back to the waiting room.

There were only three other people there.

At a little after nine I was called. Not to go back inside but to that little room with the little bed behind triage. A new doctor and a student doctor were waiting for me. And let me just say, I’m not racist, but that student doctor couldn’t have been more of a cliche if she tried. She was very young, very asian, very tiny and she wore a white coat (my other doctor was wearing scrubs) and had a freaking barrette in her hair. She was clutching a clipboard and didn’t say one word the whole time. She only nodded.

I was asked to pull up my jeans, remove my socks and show my ankles. This doc put his ham hands on them and kind of squeezed while he tole me my results. He said: we’re pretty sure you have rheumatoid arthritis. He kept kind of lifting his hands and then cupping my ankles as he spoke. Which did not feel good. I let out an ouch and he stopped. You need to see a Rheumatologist and take anti inflammatories. And follow up with your family doctor. I said, if I had a family doctor, do you think I would have come here?? Oh. he said.
I gave him my cell number for the referral. Then he left. I thought, is that it? Am I done? All that waiting and I got one doctor who slightly insulted and then scared me and another who couldn’t really be bothered to tell me what they looked at and how he could come to this conclusion? I was mad. I wheeled myself back to the waiting room and stopped at the triage nurse (now another new nurse) desk. I asked her if I needed anything from the doctor for the referral or if he was giving me a prescription for anti inflammatories. She looked slightly annoyed (or maybe it was just me and at this point everyone looked that way) and got up and said, I’ll ask him. She came back a few minutes later and told me no, he had already signed off on my chart and I was good to go.

I texted Shawn not to come to the hospital but to meet me at home. I made myself get up out of the wheelchair, left it there, and walked (hobbled) out as best I could. It was pouring rain.

I made it home and went right to bed.

I got a call with an appointment at the Rheumatologist an hour later. My appointment is this Friday. That in itself kind of freaked me out because specialists have notoriously long wait times in Canada. Getting me in this fast is a sign of seriousness. Or at least has been in my experience.

Shawn had called my work for me that morning but I called back and left a message with my boss. I needed the sleep and I was supposed to stay off my feet and try to get the swelling down.

So. Turns out, I have my Nana’s feet. And most likely, her affliction.

Shawn, ever the voice of reason and logic, tells me not to worry about it until Friday when I have it confirmed. He’s smart. And right. But, I’m me and so I’m already worried. And I’ve already googled RA a billion times. And I keep thinking about my Nana in her wheelchair with her gnarled hands. So I’m also a little scared. And still in pain, of course, but, I can work around pain. At least now I can.

So that was how the shine fell off my hospital. It’s sad too, because experiences like that make you not want to go in at all, ever, which, can be a bad choice if there are serious issues. But, for all that my American friends sometimes lament that we have free (tax paid) healthcare here, it’s not always sunshine and roses.

Anyway.

I go back to work today and I am looking forward to being back among people I really like, doing work that I can control. It’s a great job, and I already miss it after one day.

Take care of yourselves.

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When Shawn got his job out here, we had about two months to pack up our Ontario lives and move to the East coast.  Not a huge amount of time, but you’d be surprised what people who are motivated can accomplish.

Then, when Shawn was jussst starting to come back from his heart attack, an opportunity presented itself for our oldest daughter, Keisha, to move back to Ontario.  She never liked it out here.  It was hard on her, which, is totally understandable.  I mean, she was out of high school and not yet going to college and there was nowhere for her to meet up with any peers in a non-weird way.  So she was lonely.  And work in New Brunswick is hard to come by.  At least sustainable work.  I should know, it took me nearly three years to find my full time, permanent job.  I worked a lot of part time, contract positions.  But, you do what you gotta do.

And now we find ourselves living and breathing the preparations for the next big move.  Ash is going to University in the fall.  And it’s overwhelming all the planning that goes into it.  And the money….jeez louise.

The money notwithstanding, there is just so damn much to know.  And to get ready.  She has lists upon lists.

I have to admit, I’ve been waffling so much between being incredibly proud, completely nervous, stressed out.  Probably all the things I would have felt more thoroughly with Keisha had it not been such a whirlwind and also in the midst of one of the biggest stress points of my life.  Our lives.

Poor Ash.  I’m trying to keep most of my more extreme feelings away from her (she is stressed enough).

I’ve never been good with big changes in my life.  I like things to stay the way they are.  But life doesn’t do that.  It just waits until you get comfortable and then it throws big change at you.

I guess I need to spend more time preparing myself for the changes that are inevitable.

How do you handle big changes??

 

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