Jaci Dawn

I had a C-T Scan today. It was the most fun I’ve had since this whole “what-is-wrong-with-Jaci” adventure began six weeks ago. I say that without sarcasm. Mind you, I am not in pain at all but my doctors think something is wrong with me and it has been suggested that “that something” is a huge kidney stone.

I won’t get the C-T Scan results until tomorrow or even Wednesday, so I’m still up in the air as to what is going on with me.

Thirty years ago I passed a kidney stone. That was the pain from — well, somewhere. I thought I was going to die. This past history has a lot to do with why the urologist thinks this all might be a kidney stone. Apparently once you’ve passed one or two, you’re always a candidate for more. Even if you’ve changed your diet & dumped the sodas & calcium drinks.

The doctors put me through the 1980’s version of what I am going through right now. It was a lot different in 1981.

I remember they put an IV in my arm and put some iodine dye into my blood stream. Talk about feeling “warm and fuzzy” all over: it was the hot flash that never stopped happening. A very strange feeling, like all my blood vessels heated up from the inside. And then – oh, this is the kicker – they took x-ray imaging of me while I stood and emptied my bladder.

THAT was fun. I say that with sarcasm. Humiliating.

The end result was: yes, I had passed a kidney stone and yes, I could probably expect to pass more in my lifetime. Most would be smaller & probably cause only a little bit of discomfort. And through the years, I think I have passed a few but none that hurt like that first one did!

Flash forward to now and the current screening for kidney stones. Thirty years makes a lot of difference.

Same IV, but the iodine dye is mixed a little differently and you don’t even know they’ve injected you (except for the pulsing at the base of the needle in your arm). No warm fuzzy feeling. I rather missed that warm fuzzy feeling, but I also liked having hot flashes while they lasted. It was the only time in my life that I was spontaneously warm enough to walk around without a sweater and wool socks on.

And no ponderous x-ray machine. Or full bladder: I was told that I should not have anything to eat or drink for at least 4 hours prior to the C-T scan. Can I just say “whew?” because that full bladder thing with the first x-ray thing and subsequent ultrasounds during pregnancy just killed me.

The scan itself really was the most fun I’ve had since this whole business started. It was fascinating and benign. I am serious: it was actually rather fun.

I was a little worried about it. I had an MRI a few years ago when I tore the meniscus in my left knee: talk about claustrophobic! And I didn’t even go all the way into the machine, just waist down. And noisy! Dang thing clicked and whirred and banged incessantly.

The C-T Scanner is more like a giant donut than a tunnel. And quiet. A calm voice spoke out of the machine and told me to inhale deeply, hold my breath. The scanner whirred into action, sounding a little like the white noise of traffic on a rainy morning or a UFO getting ready to take off. The gurney moved in and back out and the nice voice told me I could breathe again.

I was there for 30 minutes, tops.No time to feel claustrophobic or get cold, even.

Now I have to wait for the results.If the urologist is right, then there is a kidney stone the size of … of… (how big can a kidney stone be?) a golf ball, then. And once the kidney stone is located, then I get to have the dang thing blasted.

That won’t be as much fun. I’m not keen on anesthesia. I especially do not like waking up from anesthesia with the chills and shivers.

At this point, I just want this all over so I can reclaim my lost six weeks. No, I haven’t put my life on hold – I have been very busy creating – but my mind has been on hold. It’s unbelievable how much worry a person can drum up simply by not knowing the answers!

At least I know that advances in medicine have brought us cool space age toys like C-T Scanners that look like giant metal donuts and sound like UFOs.

And ceiling murals that pretend to be windows looking up at a sunny spring day. Yeah, that part was really special: cottonwoods and locust trees in bloom against a clear blue sky. Except I happened to know it was dark, wet, rainy, and clearly not cottonwood time.

But I appreciate the thought.

Today was my oldest grandson’s third birthday. And what a birthday it was! I wish I could share lots of photos but I discovered (too late) that I had a dying battery in my camera.

We drove over to celebrate with Zephan and his little brothers. Several friends came over, too. Zephan told me that pung-ung (soft ‘g’ sound) was there and I am so proud that I figured out he meant “Sponge Bob”. (This is funny: Javan actually says “Sponge Bob” but when Zephan says it, it comes out in toddler-ese.)

I love toddler-ese: hekilopper (helicopter), lalamowah (lawn mower or water melon, depends on the context of the sentence), gammapa (grandma & poppa run together).

The summary of Zephan’s birthday is this:

Unadulterated joy.

It was a baby-fest: three babies under 1, two under 2, and Zephan’s friend, Titus, plus the Z-Man himself.

We left around 4. The clouds were low, the wind was up, and the air had the feel of possible tornadoes. We watched several dust-devils and down-drafts come at us: the branches of tall firs swirled downward and leaves on the grass swirled upward, then the steering wheel bucked in my hands. One such down-draft hit us pretty hard and must have scared the driver in the small car next to us: he slowed to 55MPH. Speed limit is 65 & I didn’t slow, but I paid a lot more attention to that steering wheel the rest of the way home. It was a beautiful sky (I love storms) and I wished we could have filmed the down-drafts. You just have to take my word for it.

No tornadoes, though. Just rain, and that came after we got home and had dinner.

The mail was here when we got home and there were two special items in the mail-box for me. (I can hear Zephan: “for ME!!” as he ripped into his presents…)

For ME!!

A Shibori Stitched-Resist Heart from my friend, Karyn. I didn’t photograph the other side, but the whole thing was stitched together as a cloth postcard. My husband was very impressed.

There was also a little white box in the mail. I told Don it was “my stove”.

Terry sent me the stove. He can’t remember how he came to own it, but it reminded him of the Dead Fly Pub. Guess now I have to make a faerie house to put the stove it… 🙂 I’m loving the challenge! And yes, it is cast iron (for the most part). 3.5×3.5″

I think I’ve already decided on some of the fabric to use on the next faerie house:

No, not the Man-in-the-Moon, but the fabric I planted him against. Really cool material.

The Man-in-the-Moon is a little project I did tonight. You can read about him here.

If you have been paying close attention, you will have noticed that my recent blog posts have something in common with each other. From rainbows to a duck I named “Hope” and on back to finding magic in everything about us, I have been setting down a ground work. From this foundation, I hope to build upward.

I have been dealing with a health situation that has made me think about mortality. No, I am not going to die. I probably just have some very large kidney stone stuck in my kidney. Don’t worry: I am not in any pain. But the events that brought me to this point have had me thinking seriously about the “what if’s”.

So seriously that I decided to draft a list of “rules” in the event I ever have to face down some life-threatening demon. Here’s what I came up with:

1. you have to keep me laughing.

2. you have to laugh at least once a day.

3. you cannot scream “OMIGOD” or say “I am sorry”. Not allowed.

4. you have to be upbeat and positive.

5. you have to believe in magic.

6. stop and smell the roses.

7. you need to understand I have faith in something much greater than this, and put up with it. I promise not to be preachy in return.

8. make a bucket list, even if it is just something like “tour the Pittock Mansion before I die” or “ride the elevator in Oregon City for the heck of it”.

9. never lie to your kids, even if it is hard to tell them the truth.

10. admit you’re wrong when you are wrong.

11. do not be afraid to ask for help. (I put this on my list because of what my friend, Ellen, did when she was dying of Stage IV Ovarian Cancer: she made a list of things people could do to help her and let people pick a date/time when they wanted to fulfill that need. Specifically, she let her friends buy her dinner the night before chemo. It was a wonderful way to be connected to her throughout the whole five months that she fought death.)

Can you think of any more? I’d love to hear your thoughts. I would especially love to hear from those of you who have had to stare down a life-threatening demon (like breast cancer): what was the one thing you wish people would have said or not said when you were going through it? Be tough and be honest.

I was looking through old photo albums and came across a few treasures.

Cross-country skiing at Mt. Hood Meadows! Levi with the funny pose, Arwen with the sexy orange sunglasses and me in my home-made knickers.

I miss skiing.

Cheesy grins. Camping gear packed in the background. I always thought of this photo as a homeschooling photo but it was in the public school photo album. I honestly cannot remember why I asked the kids to make a clay picture. But who cares? It’s great! Just like the cheesy grins.

Here’s a classic: Levi on his first BMX bike in the Molalla 4th of July Parade. Arwen carried the banner. Cub Scouts. We got free tickets to the Buckaroo: we all love to rodeo. RODEO!

A homeschool diorama of some Native American something. Love the use of Thundereggs and other rocks, moss, lichens and aluminum foil. I’m pretty certain it was all Levi.

Digging for petrified wood on USFS land. I took the photo and then hiked back to our camp by myself while Don & the kids dug up rocks. I’m pretty certain we still have bits of the petrified wood in our possession (it wasn’t much).

The USS Missouri on her last voyage back to Hawaii. Don & Levi went with a friend & his two sons from Cub Scouts. This is a bittersweet photo as the friend later died as a young father of throat cancer. But the boys sure had fun that day.

Looking down from the balloon as Levi and friend Mary clean up the launch site of Miray’s hot air balloon.

Miray’s – the hot air balloon that Levi crewed on for years.

This photo never ceases to amuse me. I was taking a group from my church on a hike up to see Eagle Creek falls in the Columbia River Gorge when we met – of all people – my next door neighbor and his two boys! Keith, Darrell & Daniel coming down while we went up.

The kids who were hiking up the trail that day in 1993: Levi, Harmony, Arwen, Nathaniel & Josiah. So hard to believe all of those kids are graduated from high school now…

In fishing, it is all about “holding your mouth right” – I don’t care what bait you use, if you don’t hole your moth right, you don’t fill your stringer. Levi learned at an early age how to hold his mouth right. He even out-fished his father a time or two.

Probably the most un-PC photo I could have located. Levi at the firing range after passing Hunter’s Safety at the top of the class. he was younger than all of the rest of the students but a whole lot more engaged on ballistics and the mechanics of weapons. He was also a darn good shot. Notice his hands aren’t even close to the trigger because it isn’t his turn to aim and fire. But he’s ready.

Ah, memories… 🙂

On the 14th of July last year, I posted about some orphan ducklings here.

I don’t remember if I kept you abreast of the entire saga. The three surviving ducklings lasted less than a week. Then there were two and the pair lasted a few days more. And then there was one. And one raised herself.

She stayed in the same pond for weeks, hiding in the brush and swimming by herself.

We didn’t know if she was a “she” or a “he” for the longest time. Mallards don’t begin to change until long after they get their pin-feathers. The drakes don’t have their full irridescent green heads until their second summer.

Even after she got her pin feathers and began to look more like a mallard, she stayed in the one pond. She didn’t seek out the company of the geese that occasionally came to her pond, or even that of other ducks. She was a content little orphan, growing bigger every week.

Then one day, she braved the traffic that had killed her mother and waddled across the wide road to one of the other ponds.

She stayed stand-offish with the other ducks.

I don’t think she knew she was a duck.

Her mother died when she was hours old. Her siblings died before she was two weeks old. She raised herself. What did she know of being a duck except for the instincts that kept her alive all those nights and days?

One day it happened. She joined the other ducks. We could no longer tell which hen she was.

She flew away with the other ducks.

I don’t know if my walking partner named the duckling (well, she called it “our ducky”) but I did. Secretly.

I think she had a lot more than luck going her way, so Lucky wasn’t a good name for her. She had wonderful instincts that kept her safe. She stayed in one place until she was large enough to take care of herself and fly.

I named her “Hope”.

She gave me hope that somehow, things just plain work out despite all the setbacks in life. Not that ducks complain. I don’t even think she felt sorrow in the way that humans do. A momentary loss when her mother and siblings were gone, but there was the business of survival at hand. If she were a human, she might have considered giving up. But that wasn’t a duck option.

No, the only option she had was to survive. And she did it well.

We like to think one of the hens in every group of ducks that comes around is our little duckling grown up.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere. 🙂