It's baby day

Today my friend April, my best friend, is in to be induced. She's well overdue and it's time to evict the little bundle of joy. Heading to the hospital in a little while to keep her company. It'll be good to wait in a hospital for something wonderful to happen, for a change.

The thing about grief

is that is really is such a bitch. It's been nearly ten months since Adam died. I still cry every day. I cry when I wake up and remember he's gone. I cry a hundred times a day at silly, stupid things. It hits me. It hits me like I've been physically punched, and I can't breathe and it feels like my heart has stopped and I remember that I'll never hold him again. I'll never feel him at night, curled up around me, telling me he loves me. I'll never see him come through the door again, telling me something smells good, or yelling "MONKEY I'M HOME!"

How did this happen? How can he possibly have left me? Left everyone who loved him, and so, so many people loved him. He was lovely.

He hated me to touch his hair, for anyone to. I took a lock of it in the hospital. The organ donation poeple were so kind, I have his handprint, too. But I'll never hold his hand again. We always held hands, all the time.

Oh, God. I feel so broken, all the time. I want my life back. I want my husband. He's the only person who can make me feel better, and he's gone. And it should have been me. It should have been anyone but him. Not him.

And a hundred times a day I want to ask him things, how do I do this? Where do you keep that tool? I need this thing or that thing, or to sort something out, and it's heartbreaking because I can't ask him. I don't know what to do, and it takes me an hour to do something he'd have done in a minute.

And I try not to cry, because once I start, I can't stop. And I don't like to cry in front of the people who love me, who loved him, because they worry, and I don't want to add to their pain.
But I miss him so. It's a big, gaping hole in my heart, in my life, and I don't know if I'll ever be whole again.

Me Me...

A friend sent me this and said it had to be posted on my blog, so here it is...

Seven things to do before I die:
1. Travel more
2. Swim with dolphins
3. curb the swearing (see below)
4. Have children
5. Get Well
6. Master Knitting
7. See Metallica and System of a Down in concert

Seven things I cannot do:
1. Keep my house clean
2. Go near spiders
3. Heights
4. Eat vegetables
5. Forget my husband
6. Make lists, unless I'm working
7. Get well!!

Seven things I say:
1. Kerfucked. If you're in a kerfuffle, you're kerfucked.
2. Better late than pregnant
3. The C word. Yeah.
4. Craptastic
5. That's not my scene (thanks, Teri!)
6. I'll be ok
7. I love you


Seven things that attract me to my mate:
1. Kindness
2. Honesty
3. Sense of humor
4. Snuggler
5. Height
6. Patience
7. Strong Arms (I have an unfortunate tendency to require carrying)

Seven books I love:
1. Outlander- D. Gabaldon
2. Gone with the Wind- M. Mitchell
3. Count of Monte Cristo- A.Dumas
4. Anything by Austen
5. Davinci Code- D. Brown
6. The Witching Hour- A. Rice
7. Anything by John McPhee

Seven movies I’ve loved:
1. Pride and Prejudice (the BBC movie)
2. The Matrix
3. The Power of One
4. An Affair to Remember
5. Lock Stock and two Smoking Barrels
6. Briget Jone's Diary
7. Usual Suspects

Seven things I'm really good at:
1. Singing
2. Planning weddings
3. Being sick
4. Baking
5. Handling a crisis
6. Removing non poisonous snakes (yeah, this doesn't come in that handy, but I'm struggling here)
7. Knitting? I mean, compared to people who don't know how to knit at all!

Oooh, Remicade...

So, I've been on Remicade for a little while now. I've had three treatments, and so far, the results have been less than stellar. I know that a lot of people have found this to be a miracle drug, but I'm still waiting for the miracle. And waiting...
I was originally really worried that I wouldn't tolerate the medication at all, and had read copious horror stories of bad reactions when first recieving the transfusion, but I tolerated it ok. I mean, it's 4 hours in the hospital with a needle in your arm, but I'm not needlephobic. Still. It's a very large needle, and actually is quite painful, but worth it. Or is it? I just don't know. The stuff is "liquid gold" or called that, I suppose because it costs more than gold, on a weight basis. And I do feel markedly better for a week or so after the treatment, but then I go steadily downhill.

And this flare is so different from previous flares. So much more joint pain. The kind where I can't get off the sofa and will occasionally cry because I just wish someone could get me a cup of tea or something...I do have painkillers, but they have their own special side effects, and so unless I'm in total agony, I try to not take them.

Knitting helps. Knitting helps everything. Especially lace patterns, where I know I really have to pay attention to what I'm doing. If I'm knitting, I find it harder to pay attention to the pain, to pay attention to the grief. So my house has gone to pot, and my knitting is improving, and I'm still waiting for the remicade to kick in.

Fourth treatment coming soon, so we'll see how that one goes. Fingers crossed.

My Feelings for the day, best summed up with this photograph

I've seen London, I've seen France...

I have actually seen both places now. Spent a day in Paris, a birthday pressie from my friend Jonathan, whilst recently in the UK. I climbed more steps than I care to remember and snapped a few photos at Notre Dame

A view from the top... or nearly the top... you know, if I hadn't been completely freaked by the last little bit, which involved a fucking WOODEN staircase. Yeah. Not gonna happen. Just as well, since my joints had really had it about 200 steps before the level I made it to. Damn Crohn's disease...

Rose Window from inside the cathedral

Here is an obligatory photo of the tower...

The lines were insane, and heights have historically proven not to be my friend, so I was quite happy to view it from the ground.



And here's a photo of me at the base of the tower, tulirific, isn't it?







Back in the UK my sister in law, Lucy and I took my nephew Ben to the Westmidland Safari Park. Fantastic. My husband brought me here on my first trip across the pond, and it was bittersweet, but mostly sweet going back.

For my knitty friends, I'll start with the lovely baby Llama...








And my favorite- the giraffe...

they're so lovely, so gentle, and goddamn! do they have some slobbery, sticky tongues. But it's worth the slime and thensome. Seriously.


She actually had her entire head in the car for a while. This freaked my nephew out, much like the llama in the car did. He did, however, ask repeatedly to open the windows and feed the lions. Rock. That kid has no fear.

Back to London proper... This is the groundhog puppet I travelled with, aka, Flat Phil. I miss furry Phil, my usual groundhog puppet companion. Um, yeah, don't ask. Covent Garden- I knit the scarf to go with the coral buttons on my white coat. What is the opposite of practical? Yeah, a white coat...






And Finally, Jonathan and I taking tea at the Ritz. I brought my camera, never thinking I'd actually take a photo. I mean, does one take a photo whilst taking tea at the Ritz? Surely not. Well, apparently I was wrong. Everyone was taking photos and I was SO glad I had the camera. So here's the photo. I also have a photo of the ladies room, for my mom. Ha. In case anyone wants to see it...

Scarftastic

Skinny Scarf from Knitty Gritty



Long Green Scarf from Weekend Knitting