I'll live! And I'm not so special, after all.

Google photo

It got kinda dicey for a little while there, but somehow I seem to be pulling through. If you've been around at all lately, you may have noticed that I have not blogged for a couple of weeks. 

You would also know that Richard's dad passed away. As we were caring for his parents, we had several weeks of difficulties, during which time I was sick. Then there was the week of the funeral and caring for Rich's mom. I was sick then, too. Sicker, actually.


You see, I had a GI hemorrhage. It didn't seem serious, so delaying treatment was easy to do since there were so many other, more serious, events happening. Then I started fainting. Not fun, by the way. It's kind of weird to know you're going down. And you can't stop it. 

Google photo

The fainting happened for a couple days at which point Richard put me in the car and drove to the hospital. Honestly, I had no idea I'd lost that much blood. The first day I got a unit. The second day I got a unit. The fourth day I got two units. One more day and a final unit. Five? Really? I thought it might be a bit much, but what do I know?

Google photo 

In the meantime, doctors were running every test known to the gastrointestinal tract. I got to drink liquids I hope to never drink again. Ever. Ever. Ever.

My PillCam

Doctors were pretty determined to find the leak. They went up with a colonoscopy. They went down with an endoscopy. They went sideways, thanks to nuclear medicine. They tried X-rays. CT scans. CT contrasts. Sigmoidoscopy. 

In all, ten days and nine tests. I even swallowed a little camera. It's not as bad as the liquid stuff. Honestly, they should have started with the camera.


I was a bit of an enigma for a little over a week. But one very determined doctor finally figured out where the leak was. (I had been telling him for a week and a half. It really was time to believe me. And for the record, I was right.)

It's now been a week since the fix and we've returned home. I'm not so special, after all, except to my sweet, darling husband, who has been the best, most wonderful, caregiver. I mean, I get tired of me.


I've been entertaining myself with Craftsy videos and the birds in our backyard. I think the birds are tired of me, too. I've been trying to sneak up but, well, when a muscle spasm hits, I cry. 

Today I managed to delay taking a pain pill for several hours. I regretted it a little once the pain really kicked in, but it means that I am mending and healing and in no time I'll be back to my old, fairly-ordinary, self. Which, it turns out, is the best self I can be.

Goodbye, Gold: A Horror Story

WARNING: This post may be a little gross.  Parental Guidance Suggested - some material may not be suitable for children. AL (Adult language) DS (Disturbing scenes)

I have had gold in the back of my oral cavity for years. And years. This gold cost us dearly at a time in our life when we could ill afford rice or other, much less important, staples. It's been mentioned as a source of equity, though we've never had to cash in.

Until recently. Apparently the price of gold has risen. Enough that the crown decided of its own volition to spend itself. While eating a Little Debbie Swiss Roll, I suddenly bit down on something hard and frightening. Despite the Swiss Roll deliciousness, I spit out the offending rock. The rock was golden and gross. In its place was...nothing. Immediately I became upset at the thought of this great loss and prepared to throw the contents of the paper towel into the trash. My husband insisted that I carefully place the golden rock into a zipper-type bag. Of course, only a freezer-grade gallon-size would do as there were no other containers. 

At what must have been 4:00 a.m., my husband roused me from my sleep and insisted that we see a dentist. Gold rock in hand, I sheepishly sat in the dentist's chair and showed him the bag. 

"Ah, good," he said, "it is perfect. We'll have you back together in no time." The dentist cemented the golden rock back into it's rightful place, but that would not do. I could not eat for the worry that the thing caused. Within the hour my entire face hurt and my teeth could not reach the food I funneled in. Swallowing whole forkfuls of rice and gravy cause a horrid aching in my throat. By the next morning I was crying to return to the kind man and beg him to remove the golden piece. 

"No, no, I can save it," said he. "It is a quick, painless procedure." To set things right the dentist used sandpaper to grind the gold like coffee beans from the crown's smooth top. 

Ah, but he was a mean, deceitful adversary and, while he took some of the gold, he left sharp edges, a piece of shovel and one small, pointed fork. Below all this hardware was a void that the remaining gold would use to store sustenance while it conspired to escape once more. 

First it allowed the tongue to pry and push, but many hours later the tongue became exhausted and gave up the work. Next the gold set its sights on the cheek. This cheeky fellow pretended to help, but the gold saw through the its impudent ways and gave it a good lashing. Like a child the cheek would not learn on the first offering. It often interrupted the workings of the gold by getting in the way, laughing at it's attempts, or sleeping alongside the gold when it rested. 

Thanksgiving turkey quickly found the void and proved itself useful in strengthening the gold. Christmas ham with its salty properties calcified the cement. However, it was the January fireworks which caused the grinding and clenching that would bend the golden savage. Suddenly, the void gave way to an avalanche of crumbling, calcified cement smashing and cutting into gums, tongue, and cheek. Yet, the golden rock remained in its place.

"The crown must be removed," I cried. "I can take it no longer."
"No," said the dentist, "I can save it." But I knew he could not.
Once more he tried in vain to convince me, "It can never be replaced. You must let me try."
"No," I responded with tears in my eyes. "I shall see an oral surgeon who will do whatever it takes to remove this insidious gold."

Two days later I received the call. "Today. 3:00. A place called AOS. Do not be late," said a sinister voice. I know not whom.  Though it required much investigation, I deduced the place where the surgeon does his barbarian work and begged my husband to drive me.

"I cannot go alone. I am terrified and fear that I may not return," I cried. After much begging and pleading on my part, he relented and angrily snatched the keys from my hand.

We arrived at a large, dark building in the middle of the city. I know not where as there were many twists and turns, and I could not see out the window crouched on the floor as I was. After much cajoling, followed by many curses and threats, the love of my life forced me from the car. 

He then pushed me into the building where the windows were tinted and covered with heavy blinds. Tears streaming down my face, I signed form after form. Perhaps I am signing my life away, I pondered, but nothing mattered save the removal of the golden rock.

I alone was allowed beyond the heavy door and lead down a long hallway. I was placed into a machine that spoke to me in an eery, other-worldly voice before enclosing my head in a contraption that swirled and turned until I was dizzy. "Open your eyes," said the tomb-like echo, "and back away from the machine." In a trance, I did as I was told. 

Before I could gain self-control, I was taken to a closeted room where I was interrogated for what must have been hours. Relenting, I provided the answers they wanted and was moved to another, smaller room with a couch where I was to lie in stillness. Without warning, the chair moved and I found myself in a position akin to hanging upside-down. I held onto tiny bars, knowing I would land on my head should I fall.

A man laden with instruments of torture, calling himself "Dr. Smith" entered the room. I squeezed my eyes shut. The woman next to me forced my mouth open and placed a vise between my teeth. Ratcheting my mouth open until I was certain my jaw would break, she said something incoherent to the surgeon. The words they spoke were of another language; I understood nothing. 

Dr. Smith proceeded to stick me with what may have been needles for I felt them probe deep inside my gum, beyond the area of the gold. My brain bursting, I lay quietly, though surely I trembled in fear, tears forever streaming. 

I never lost consciousness and sensed that I was aware of everything that transpired, though I can remember nothing of the episode from the time that Dr. Smith began his hideous work. There may have been some sensation of pressure or pulling, but I will never be sure.  

At some point, I was brought upright and Dr. Smith questioned me further. There was an abyss where the gold had once been. It bleed but strangely I did not feel pain. Eliciting my secrecy, someone gave instructions for my care and showed me the door and I wandered into the bright sunlight, where my husband found me mute but seemingly whole. As we sped from this place of agony, we looked at each other stupefied but, speaking not a word, we wondered...where was the gold?

Link Ups! 

A finish, though not a quilty one.

Crazy Mom Quilts (Finish It Up Friday)

Confessions of a Fabric Addict (Can I get a Whoop! Whoop!)

Loving the good news!

My ankle was feeling much better yesterday, and the temptation to try to put some weight on it was almost too much.  Really, it did not hurt at all.  Looked pretty ugly, sure, but no pain.  

I managed to resist the temptation, however, and saw an orthopedic doctor today.  "No break!" Yay!  "Put weight on it if you can bear it."  Big yay!  "Don't overdo it, but use it and try to strengthen it!" Thank you!  

All this means I'm good to go, just not as fast as I'd like.  Perhaps a little more ladylike would help.  Maybe with a bit less klutz.  Possibly with a pittance of finesse.  

I'll use a walking stick instead of the crutches (since I still cannot figure those out anyway).  Still, it means quicker healing, less pain and return to normalcy.  Don't you just love some good news?

here's the luck

I was playing with a granddaughter on the edge of the garden and stepped too close to the edge where the rows begin.  My foot turned; two hours later the doc says it's broken.  (My pinky toe bone on the left foot.  Something about pinkies with me.)  Anyway, now I'm hobbling very badly on a pair of crutches, which apparently I do not know how to use.  I've fallen off the crutches twice.

Well, actually they tend to throw me off...literally.  Once face first into the sofa....not so bad.  The second time, head long into the car door hinge....not so good.   Jammed my head and neck so I'm sore and in pain, and there's an 18 wheeler coming down the street so I need to get my head out of the door and my butt out of the street.  I manage to do all that just to get to the door of the building where I'm supposed to be teaching a quilting class: the place is locked.  No one shows up for 30 minutes.  Temps are kicking high 90's and I have to hobble back to the car or stand in the sun.

I'm finally home and have managed to get a cold diet Dr. Pepper, the phone and the remote.  I'm not moving from the recliner until Rich gets here.  Of course, I forgot to take pictures of my class and their work.

The real meaning of "blue Monday"

has more to do with the color blue than the feeling of blue.  By that I mean that today's blue is the color of the sky and sea.  The quilt top that I finished today has been hanging on the design wall for months, no kidding.  It's looked just like this except when I needed the design wall and moved it to a basket.


I'd used the design wall, then stick the poor quilt parts back on.  Every time I did, I moved them around so I could look at the different settings, but nothing really spoke to me, so I'd put everything back in the original order.  


I'd almost given up when Angie came for a visit and saw the pieces and complimented it.  She really liked the center medallion fleur de lis.  That reminded me of a couple of other compliments that I've gotten, one from my sister Laura who visited in the summer.  Yep, it's been that long.  


Okay, so it was time to get moving on this baby before it ended up in a shelved basket.  Quilts in shelved baskets get forgotten, or worse.

On Friday I decided that the pieces knew their setting, so I sewed them to the center.

I need a few more pieces and worked on those on Saturday.  I even made a few pieces that didn't get used!  Would you understand if I said I just didn't know what this quilt was thinking?  That's what it felt like.  I'd make a section and put it on the wall, but the quilt would say no.  Off they came.  Tossed to the side.  And on it went.

Today, I decided to stop that business.  It wasn't working anyway.   The whole "Sand and Sun" collection is centered around this fabric with the circle shapes, so I wrapped up the center with a wide border of this fabric.  

Dad's home!

Guess what?  I LOVE IT!  I was beginning to take pictures when the phone rang and I had to rush to a grandchild.  Stacey  and Will 's children do not handle needles...at all.  Dusti has bronchitis and got a shot, then passed out and knocked her head on something.  Stacey doesn't handle one drop of blood but she managed to stop throwing up long enough to call me. 

Jolie's attempt to cheer up
Dusti, who refused a picture.

Thus my trip to the ER.  Everyone is okay, Dusti has a concussion and Stacey an upset stomach, but Will managed to get home tonight to tend to his family.  That means that I may be able to load this quilt top tomorrow and begin stitching it.  I hope so....I'm really anxious to see it finished.