I am going to be hospitalized at Baltimore/Washington Hospital Center for who knows how long.

Each time it hits, it's an unwated surprise. No matter how many times it happens, each attack leaves me wanting to jump off a building or a bridge. There are no words to describe it other than horrifying, unending pain. I would take the migraine alone. The kidney stones. Any number of pains that assaults me on a daily basis. It presents itself quietly, stealthily, growing worse and lasting longer with each new attack. I'll notice an odd pain in my tooth and will silently grouse to myself. But as the stabbing, electifying pain grows in intensity, I wonder how a tooth that has a root canal could possibly hurt. It is then that I notice the pain in my jaw. In my ear. Always on the left side. Always growing worse. But I finally have a name for this waking nightmare - Trigeminal Neuralgia. I wouldn't wish this on anyone - not even those who wronged me. Who robbed me of my innocence, of my childhood. I wouldn't wish it on David. I wouldn't wish it on Joey.

How I stay coherent is a completely different story. How I can stand up is a mystery. This pain feels like my very skull is going to rupture. Usually it only lasts a few agonizing seconds, but this attack has been going on for well over an hour now. I hate asking 'why me' as you all know. To me it implies 'let it happen to someone else.' We all have our lot to bear, but Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?

As if the memories weren't bad enough. Ed and I were talking about our families and when he asked about my Dad, my voice cracked. I told him that six years ago . . . a lifetime ago. A wink ago. I have to make it through these next two weeks. Thankfully I do have two distractions - one a new musical find, the other a John Lennon book. I ordered it last week. Remember in an earlier post how I had pretty much lusted after thisbook? Well I got it. It's called shoulda been there by Jude Southerland Kessler. When I ordered the book, she emailed me and we have been in communication since. I will gladly talk to someone who is as big a Beatles/John Lennon fan. After all, I have over 60 Beatles related books, and that still isn't enough.

The other. It reminds me of my roots. The countries my family came from. Ireland. England. Scotland and Wales. One of my lines came straight from Liverpool, but back in the 1500s. No Beatles in my blood! ANYWAY. The group is Celtic Thunder and if you haven't heard them, I suggest you aquiant yourself with them post-haste. I also suggest watching this video. It is by far my favorite song. And great bonus? It's also a Macca tune that he did with Wings.

I have to keep myself grounded. I have to not think about this pain. If it grows worse though, me and my lovely book (everytime I say book, I say it like Ringo from a Hard Day's Night - don't ask) will be gracing the ER of Anne Arundel Medical Center. At least now I can say, call Dr. Oh. He'll tell you. This pain is real, even if it looks like I haven't a care in the world. It's bloody real. Besides my pulse is 105 and irregular. My BP isn't bad though - 131 over 88. I've been higher.

God bless obsessions. It'll be about the only thing to get me through what is promising to be a very long night indeed.

I try to skate by these two weeks because time seems to stop on October 21^st and doesn't start back up again until after November 4^th. On one flip of the coin, time is fleeting. How could six years have passed in nothing more than a blink of an eye? And then the coin lands precariously on its rim until it falls to the other side. These have been the longest six years of my life. How can both things be possible?

Six years ago tonight, a family friend Freddie succumb to the brain cancer that had destroyed not only his memory, but his life. It was a sign of things to come, in retrospect. There had been a fight over dinner. We were a few days shy of the three month "anniversary" of my Grandmother's death. There had been no real time to mourn. No time to grasp what was happening, so long as Dad was still terminal and Mom had cancer. Fear ruled our lives and often caused tension. Mom and I didn't know how to allow ourselves time to grieve - not just over Grandma's death, but for the drastic changes that had taken place that Memorial Day weekend six months before. It was easier to be angry, it was easier to shout and scream as a way of denying the real underlying emotion. What we felt was pure terror. I was losing my hero, my best friend, the light that guided me home. I was losing my father. The only person who had never broken a promise to me. The only person who never raised his hand or voice in anger. He believed in me and told me so every single day. I cannot tell you how many times we said "I love you," even before he was diagnosed with the brain tumor and congestive heart failure. Even before that first damning stroke.

( I don't ask a lot, but if even just one person reads this, it won't have been in vain. Maybe I can share my pain. Am I alone in this grief? )

October 21, 2002 - November 4, 2002 is a black hole of despair. Of misery. I thought that I would succumb to my pain and would check out of this world - whether through a selfish act or from the sheer weight of the pain I was in. My family was afraid that I wouldn't pull through, never realizing that I would be the one to pull them through. Dad wouldn't want me to cry, but there are so many unanswered questions. Does he know how much I love him? Does he know that he meant the world to me? Was I a good daughter? Was I who he wanted me to be? Was he proud? Is he proud? Does he hear me?

How do you put into words the intense pain felt after the death of someone you love more than life itself? I went into a deep, deep depression. I shut myself off. I stopped seeing color. Everything was in dark hues. The only time I was happy was in those first few nano-seconds after my alarm sounded. Those few seconds offered a reprieve. And then the memories would come flooding back.

Did I do enough? Did I take care him him good enough?

The pain will never heal. Can never heal. He was my whole life, my reason for surviving a childhood best left forgotten. There is still a hole in my heart, but it's scabbed over a bit. I will always mourn the loss of him. He would be tickled pink to know that I am doing the very same job he once did.

What I miss most are our late night conversations. Dad would wake me up, asking, "You up for talking, Pup?" I always was. We'd sit at the kitchen table, eating the snacks Mom attempted to keep hidden. We'd talk about black holes, life on other planets, his life up until he married Mom, and so on. My friends couldn't understand why I would often choose hanging out him over them. Dad and I would play cards or just sit and talk. It was hard for others to understand. I knew from early childhood that my time with Dad would be shorter than the time my friends would have with theirs. I made my decisions by the colleges I chose. I have absolutely no regrets about the time I spent with him. I only wish that there had been moretime.

I know you're up in Heaven, drinking Glen Levit and having Filet Mignon. I know that you have finally been reunited with the parents you loved so dearly. Just know, Daddy, that your Pup will never forget you and will always be considered blessed because I had you in my life. If I had to do it all over again - endure the abuse all over again - I would, knowing that your love would pull me up. Wait for me, Daddy. Please, please, please don't forget about me. I couldn't bear it if I got up there and you weren't waiting for me. Maybe I don't deserve to go to Heaven, God knows the choices I sometimes made weren't the best.

I try not to rehash this every anniversary, but if I cannot get it out here, I will lose my mind. I will keep it bottled in like I did during the first two years after his death. This is his story. My story. Our story. This is how he brought me into this world and how I helped to ease him out. One day I plan on writing about those six months, to try and gain an understanding - a new perspective.

From Lisey's Story by Stephen King:

There was a lot they didn't tell you about death, she discovered, and one of the biggies was how long it took the ones you loved most to die in your heart. It's a secret, Lisey thought, and it should be, because who would ever want to get close to another person if they knew how hard the letting-go part was? In your heart they only die a little at a time, don't they?

Please feel free to visit the online memorial that I created for him. It would mean a great deal to me.



That is perhaps my favorite picture of us. Neither of us knew that Mom had the camera out, let alone that she had taken a picture. It was Christmas Eve and I just felt this urge to give him a hug and a kiss. I loved him so much.

I can't remember the sound of his voice, no matter how hard I try . . .

* = Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

THE LUMP OF DOOM SAGA^TM

I truly have a knack for picking the absolute worst health care providers in the state of Maryland. I don't know if I go out of my way or what, but I certainly do find the most brain damaged of the lot. I haven't been to medical school (she says, stating the absurdly obvious) and the extent of my medical expertise comes from watching ER and the Discovery Health channel. However, even a little pissant like me can tell when something is awry. Take the Lump of Doom^TM for example. I know where my lymph nodes are - in fact, most people do. In some ways, we are over-educated (thanks to the web and what not) to the point of hypochondria. Somethings get blown out of proportion, I'll admit to that. Now, when I find a lump where no lump should occur, I tend to get a wee bit worried. Especially when said lump is hard as a rock. Normally I am glib and tend to ignore things that warrant worry - like a pulse of 130 or a blood pressure of 190/120. I go against direct orders from my cardiologist and neurologist. But I know my limits. I know how far I can push myself. After all, I have been occupying this body for over three decades now.

( The Ongoing Saga of  )

Thus one chapter ends, the new one must begin. I am working on a display for the library. It is called "America Votes." I did some quick graphics and played around with them for a while, well imagine my surprise when Ed comes along and says that the work is EXCELLENT! I don't care if my boss says boo, but to hear Ed say something like that means a lot. He used to handle all the graphics. I am finishing that up today. I just need some images of the electoral college represented on the US map. That might not be so easy. I want to get the donkey and the elephant too. I am putting way too much effort into this, considering I only had to do the title sign.

Ah well, such is life. Damn it. I have a sore throat now. And am dead tired.

I was trying to jot down which Beatles' and Beatles' related books that I have, but the pile grew beyond control. I know that I have one biography for Paul, one for George, and one for Ringo. I have countless others for John. Then I have George Martin's book, etc., etc., etc.! It's the same old story. Whenever I pick up a pair of chucks, a new pair of pjs or a Beatles' book, she always asks the same question - "Don't you have enough already?" The answer to that would be a solid no.

Man I am sleepy, but I have too much work to do and not enough work-day left with which to do it.

Just wanted to let everyone know - if I disappear again it's because they've put me in the hospital. I have a kidney infection (despite being on antibotics) and am extremely sick from it. Read to mean I have a fever of 101. I am going to an After Hours place and I pray that they can make this horrible feeling go away. I've had kidney infections and stones before, but I have never felt this horrible before. Or run a fever that got that high. For someone who runs 96.5 normally, I feel like I am sweltering.

I am really beginning to hate these useless kidneys of mine. And because I can't afford my migraine meds, I have been having killer headaches. You'd THINK that given the fact that I am off the Topamax, my kidneys would start working normally, but I guess they are too scarred. *sigh*

I'll update more later if I'm not half-dead.

FO Banner by yours____truly
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Did another clean-up as of 24 June 2008. If you feel I deleted you by mistake, just shoot me an email.