wrung out

While my mother is on the mainland for a few weeks, we’ve been doing a pet-sitting rotation and tearing out her kitchen. It’s in the “holy shit let’s just burn it all down” phase of renovation, so I’m kind of glad it’s time for me to go back to work while the guys work on it.

Have fun, stay alive, kids

Zenny is off her pain meds and feeling like herself. She’s not supposed to run, but today she got chased by an angry chicken and didn’t pop her stitches, so they’re healing. Her incisions make her look like she’s been run through with a big fork (one on each side and one in the belly button).

“They’re crooked,” she said. “Call the hospital and tell them we’re not paying.”

It’s just me and the cats for a few days. Some quiet evenings of painting and running after a couple really hard and messy weeks. 

The kids will be going to Lake George with their dad and cousins in July. I won’t be going; work to catch up on, animals to feed, etc. I haven’t been to the lake since my 20s, and I don’t think I will again. But it’s creeping into my dreams, and my music app has been sliding old songs in the rotation, so I’m having some kind of feelings.

The Downtown Art Center is having a figure drawing/painting show this week, and I have 5 pieces on the walls. Here's hoping a few will sell. 

HOME

 She passed her test, they pulled off all her tape and removed the IV, and within the hour we were speed-shuffling to the car, a bit stunned. Zenny was so happy. 

“I get to sleep! No more nurses all night! No more painful tubes! And no more weird tv channels with random shows and ads that play the same thing over and over.” She’s a child of streaming services, she’d never seen cable tv before, and she did NOT care for it.

We got home at 8pm, opened her get-well cards, got a bit weepy, and then crashed into bed for 11 hours solid.

Amazing to be home. What a bad bunch of days for this kid.

Hospital Day 4

 It is 5:30pm and we are gambling with discharge. If her next test at 6pm goes well, we might get to go home tonight, otherwise it’s back on the spine-snapping foldout chair for another night (the cute little bed is out of her line of sight, which keeps her from sleeping, so I’ve been qwopping myself on the chair to stay next to her).

The girl has been disconnect from her most uncomfortable tubes and she is caroming around the ward with her IV stand like a menace. Her appetite is back, and she’s ready to blow this joint.

Let’s go, 6pm test results!

Hospital Day 3

 SO MUCH BETTER.

After some midnight vomiting and bedding changes, this girl got 8 hours of sleep and woke up feeling like her old self again (thank you, sneaky-footed night staff). She has been walking all over the place, snatched a shrimp off my lunch like a hyena, and kicked our asses at board games.

Very relieved. Her new kidney valves are holding strong. If tonight goes well, we’ll be out of here tomorrow.

Hospital day 2

 Less good.

The night was long and hard, this next one looks to be the same. Between her pain, hourly nurse checks, beeping equipment, and lights going on and off, we gave up on sleep and watched movies most of the night.

This morning she walked a bit with some help, her whole little body shaking and teeth chattering. She’s in a lot of pain, can’t eat, and had to have more scans/labs to make sure everything is working inside. Looks like we’ll have a delay leaving tomorrow while they figure out what’s happening in there.

This poor miserable kid. She caught 3 hours of sleep this evening, at least.

Hoping she turns a corner tonight.

Hospital day 1

Reporting from surprise quarantine. We left the overnight bag in the car and then got locked into her hospital room for 6-8 hours while her PCR test comes back (precaution; there are cancer patients in this ward). Phone is going to die because the cord is in the bag, but here’s the update:

She’s out, and she’s doing great. Still sleepy and uncomfortable, but asking good questions of the right people (ie: not me). 

“What’s this glowing thing on my finger?” she asks.

I say, “It’s to measure your oxygen levels.” 

“Uh huh,” she says, then to the nurse, “What does this really do?” 

Good girl, fact check with the experts.

At least we got some prime rib at the cafeteria’s carving station before getting locked in a room. The food here is A+.

Her room has a little bed for me to sleep on next to her, a nice bathroom, and an amazing industrial grunge view out the window. Tonight  her homework is to sit on the side of her bed and try to stand up. If she’s feeling perky, she gets to blow bubbles to prevent her lungs from developing pneumonia. Dinner is a banquet of clear liquids. She’s got mixed opinions about all this, but she’s dealing with it like a pro. 

Thank you for the good thoughts, folks. Fingers crossed she doesn’t develop any blockages or fever tonight. So far so good.

“The teeth on that Paw Patrol bulldog are moving with his lips when he talks”

Accidental selfie 

Worried phone calls with family

Coming around  

Bed upgrade 

 flight of liquids

The view from the window

 

countdown

Out of stubbornness, I put my name in the drawing for the next library conference this fall. I will make a nuisance of myself until they kick something my way. This one is in Chattanooga, Tennessee. What do they even have in Chattanooga? Distilleries, fried bologna, and nighttime ghost tours, that’s what. Let's go.

- - -

Radiology on Monday, packing on Tuesday, surgery on Wednesday, hospital until Friday, a few weeks of recovery. Zenny prepared a list of things to bring (pillow, stuffie, books), and made sure I won't leave. I told her I'd be pressed against the door of the operating room, they won't be able to get rid of me, and I'm not coming home without her.

First thoughts react, second thoughts reason and comfort, and third thoughts are pragmatic assholes that prepare you for the worst. To get away from third thoughts, I’ve been running more in the evenings. My hips and knees are crackling like baguettes when I walk, but my meaty bits feel happy.

Sky over Wahiawa

This guy pruned his death flower tree so idiots like me won't get poisoned, 

and now they're too far up to get a good picture

Koolau Mountains

My neighborhood is full of flowering trees, vegetable gardens, kittens, and chickens. Toads come out when it rains, and I spend most of the time shooing them off the road so they don't get squished. I run along the backside of the police station and wonder about the rotation of smashed cars stored back there. Watch the day-to-day progress of the guy fixing a disassembled truck, the house getting a new stone walkway, the older man building a fiberglass boat in his garage. 

Lots of other stories happening everywhere. 

Last day of work is tomorrow, for a while.

 

it's a lot

The last few days have been a wild ride.

The studio sale went really well. More than half the paintings sold in the first 24 hours, and it felt amazing to pack up all the boxes for shipment. I am deeply grateful for the support and encouragement, it really makes it feel like this thing could be a viable way to make a living.

I was in the middle of daydreaming up a 7-year plan to quit my job and paint full-time when my mother called, crying, because a cat had fatally injured LaVie, a dove she rehabilitated 10 years ago and released back into the wild. LaVie would come back to visit every day, bringing along her mates and babies over the years. They were friends for a long time, and having to put her down after being punctured and losing an eye was awful. I drove over to feed the rescue babies (mynah and two doves) and clean up the crime scene while my mother was at the vet, and spent the evening distracting her with beer and Our Flag Means Death.

Got home and saw that I had sold three more paintings. Made enough to replace the busted oven, you beautiful people.

The pre-op exam was yesterday. Zenny is cleared for surgery in 2 weeks, but there were some concerns that came up with her kidney ultrasounds that necessitate an uncomfortable radiology diagnostic beforehand. Her surgeon sat down with us and carefully explained every part of the upcoming surgery, as well as everything that could go wrong (swelling, obstruction, stents, ruptures, emergency repairs). I was nodding along just fine until she asked if I had any questions, and then realized that if I said anything I would start crying. Mike asked competent questions about wound care and hospital logistics while I just sat with my arms around Zenny and felt her breathing. She's so small, and she's trying so hard to be brave about all this.

love this kid so much

We took her to Panda for honey walnut shrimp and chow mein afterwards. 

Feeling grateful for patrons of the arts, advancements in oven engineering, merciful veterinarians, antibiotics, pediatric surgeons, and fried noodles.

I’ve stopped pushing the sale on Instagram, mostly because I’m overwhelmed by what’s happening over here, but I’ll keep the store open and post when something new gets listed. This whole thing has given me a lot to think about, and I have so many little scraps of paper covered in thumbnails of future paintings.

 

links for reference:

hollybraffet.com

instagram.com/tempestpilot