where I'm calling from

Last week, my brother Ace was in town. He works for a small headset manufacturer down in San Diego and was here to set up and man a booth at the Big Geek Gamer Convention. He said everything there was Xtreme! It was so Xtreme, his company booked a hotel room for two guys with one queen sized bed. He was Xtremely not pleased and caught an Xtreme cab back to my Xtreme pad and crashed there for a week.

On Friday, his lovely wife Mo joined the party. Mo is sisters with Linda who moved here last June. And when these two tiny Asian girls get together, they like to eat. And they eat weird shit. So the games began.

Bone Marrow: We dined at Quinn's on Capitol Hill on Friday night after a few $5 Chapel Martinis. The place was packed and we were tipsy. I tried to get them to seat us faster by playing the Cancer Kid Card, but no luck. Anyway, broiled bone marrow smeared on bread is pretty good, but the orange marmalade on top was nobody's favorite.

Foie Gras: French for "fat liver," we ordered two plates. It's a buttery organ that also goes well on melba toasts and the like. We chased this down with sour Flemish ale. I loved the flavor, but had a hard time with the texture. What better to follow that then with….

Beef Tongue: I had a bite of Linda's tongue sandwich. I prefer my tongue sandwich to be of another variety. Again, such a lovely flavor, but the texture was putting me over. I wrapped up the night with a few stolen mussels from Mo. They seemed relatively tame after those appys.

On Sunday, us three girls decided to venture to Vancouver, Canada. It's so close and we had never been, so north was on the menu. When asked at the border why we were coming to Canada for a total of 24 hours, Linda said, "For the food."

We ate the following:

Poutine: This is a Canadian delicacy. Poutine is to Canada as nachos are to college kids. As mac and cheese is to Americans. Anyway, it's a bowl of skinny french fries covered in brown gravy of unknown (but savory origins), topped with cheese curds.

Yam fries with curry sauce: You all know what yam fries are, but it's the curry sauce that brings it all home. Ever since the Owl & Thistle stopped serving it here in Seattle, I have been craving it. And I finally got my fix.

We wandered through the bad part of town and over to Chinatown where Linda and Mo explained what all the weird, dried things were. Then we watched a guy shoot up right in front of us. Then we booked back to the hotel.

After nightfall, we got directions to the Richmond Summer Night Market. The Night Market is a Vancouver institution. Held in a remote suburban parking lot south of the city, we drove around for twenty minutes trying to find the entrance. Groups of Asian pedestrians seemed to keep vanishing into the brambles behind a dark Home Depot. Finally we parked and followed a few in.

Due to the Monsoon the Pacific Northwest was experiencing, the Market was neither well-staffed nor well-attended. However, we did eat:

Lobster Balls: Not the balls you are thinking (I hope!) but pressed lobster fish balls on a stick. Most everything was on a stick here. A little fishy for my taste.

Shanghai Noodles: Wok fried and safe, but unknown as to what was in there. Mystery meat with chili sauce? Don't mind if I do!

Curried Squid: I didn't actually eat this. Linda did. She ate a plate of it and it looked like barbecued yellow monsters.

The coups de grace came when Linda ordered what can only be called "Bowl Full of Assorted Organ Meats." I know there was tripe in there. There was a dark meat that Linda urged me to try, insisting it was just beef. Turned out to be just beef LUNG. Both Mo and Linda drew the line and spit it out. Ladies and Gents, I didn't even try. I am mildly adventurous in my dining, but LUNG is just plain not on the menu.

All in all, a most excellent dining adventure. I'm stuffed.

Lately my sleep is very much interrupted. Part of it can be explained by the Molotov Cocktail of narcotics I was taking for pain after my surgery. Part of it is my active imagination and lack of exercise. My mind does not shut down at night and I remember my dreams vividly.

I have a recurring dream that happens at least once a month, if not more. It's not always the same, but the consensus is that I have to go back and repeat high school. Somehow I didn't quite finish, or was a credit short. I think this has to do with the large amount of my sophomore year that I missed when I had spinal fusion surgery. I was out an entire semester.

After having this dream again last night, I looked at a Dream Interpretation website which offered this explanation: To dream that you have to repeat high school, suggests that you are doubting your accomplishments and the goals that you have already completed. You feel that you may not be measuring up to the expectation of others. The dream may occur because some recent situation may have awakened old anxieties and insecurities.

Since I have been having this dream for a number of years, I have to think about what I might be doubting. And as much as I don't want to admit it, I think it's my lack of producing a manuscript for publication. I talk about wanting to do it, but I still haven't. Sometimes I think I am afraid of failure; other times I think maybe I fear success. In either case, I have many, many reams of white paper waiting for me. Many empty computer screens.

Last night I also had a stressful dream. I was in Pioneer Square and was with my ex-boyfriend. He was trying, rather forcefully, to convince me to come back to him. I was afraid of him and rather than struggle or run, I convinced him that I would be right back if I could just get a few of my things out of the trunk of his car. In there were my shoes, clothes, so many items I could not carry them all. They were falling out of my hands as I tried to hurry. I wanted to take my things and get away from him, but contemplated just leaving them all and running.

Not far from the car stood an old historic brick building, like many in the Square. A crane was set to demolish the old building.  I looked up at it to see the shaky crane acidentally drop a large piece of dangerous machinery. And the building was leaning at a crazy angle, about to collapse. Scared, I ran to my car, which was a stolen yellow school bus. I had parked in a loading zone so there was a ticket on the window. I took the keys to the bus, gave them to the cop who had written the ticket and just walked away from it all: the school bus, the collapsing building, the ex, all my old things. I just needed to leave.

Not surprisingly, the Dream Interpretation site had little to say about this dream.

I returned to work today after the prescribed amount of rest time. No more, no less. I felt better returning this time than I did last time. I think part of that has to do with my recovery. I won't know until Wednesday if the second procedure truly fixed the chyle leak, but I have a feeling it has. I can turn my head again. I don't feel as if I am being strangled by an orangutan on my back, arms looped around my throat. And the best sign of all: the swelling is coming down.

The double chin is gone. The left side is still disproprtionately large, but any time you cut someone open, fiddle fart around with her insides, then glue her back together, there's going to be some residual trauma. I just keep pressing the frozen corn or blueberry packages under my chin, wrapped in a thin tea towel.

This morning, as I was getting ready, I looked in the mirror at the drain site. There was this weird black nubby scab, and before I could realize what I was fingering, I had pulled out an abandoned, large black stitch, right through the skin. Queasy, I realized it must have been to help secure the drain in place. I imagine it would have worked its way out eventually. Not knowing what to do, I dabbed some Neosporin on it, said a few prayers for luck, and threw on my now-signature neck scarf.

I worked as long as I could. Staring at the computer screen for eight hours proved more difficult than I thought it would be. Despite being on absolutely no medicine today, I found the screen swimming. I felt woozy. I took menial breaks to assemble press kits by hand because I could not see well to read. At 4pm I decided that I'd put in a noble showing and headed home.

Of course, tonight turned into a marathon LOST: Season 2 session. Yes, America, I know you are all up to date and I am living in the past, but bear with me. I enjoy a good story, I like a bit of the paranormal, and I don't have cable. I snuggled up with Kitty Figz and ate some home made beef stew that Jim made for me, then plowed through three or four episodes. I have no shame. Especially since my doctor's orders were "activity as tolerated." I tolerated it fine.

Tomorrow, my brother arrives. He's in town for business, but I am damned excited to see him. It's been since February, since I went to his home in Carlsbad. I hope his presence will encourage me to go out more. As it is, I've been hiding at home when not out for groceries or work. I want the sun on my skin during these precious last few days of warm Seattle weather, but I have to cover my back, my hips, my right side and my throat. All scarred over the years, the freshest looking like a horror movie wound. I don't have the rocks to just be out there.

I must be feeling better because little things are starting to bug me. Like the dust in my house. The yard that looks like it's from an unwatered Mad Max future. The fact that my fridge contains an inordinate amount of fresh cilantro and very little real food.

I am sleeping horribly. If I take the Percocet like the doctor prescribed, I fall back on my couch in a Trainspotting haze. I don't quite sleep but I am certainly not awake. The dream states are incredibly interesting and sometimes frightening. Careening off a snowy mountain cliff in a tour bus while holding Figgy Kitty. Trying to open a movie rental business but there were spiders all over the ceiling. They had filled weird pustules full of fluid and attached them to the celing. The pustules would break open and one fell on my face while I was trying to sleep. I tried to get away, but a scary, bad man was holding me on the bed. I woke up very startled.

If I don't take the Percocet, I hurt. And pain makes sleeping very difficult. I've been on my couch so I can nestle into the crook and be partially supported. Figgy jumps on and off of me all night long. I imagine that large Safeway trucks loading  across the street are earthquakes. I get no more than an hour's sleep at a time at best.

Last night Jim and I went out for a light meal at Cactus in Madison Park. When we got back to my house I asked how the throat looked. He says it is swollen and asymmetrical, but not as bad as it was. It certainly feels different to me. I have been placing packages of frozen corn and blueberries on it a few times a day to keep the swelling down.

Here's my neck, as of  ten minutes ago. I am resigned to the fact that I am not going to have the nice light scar I used to have. This image focuses on the left side of my neck (I took it with a mirror, so try not to get confused).

You see the dark red blob up there at the top of the scar? That's the huge bloody scab where the drain was. I have no idea how that is going to heal. The incision came down around the mid-line again. I am slathered in skin glue that I can't get off. On that side, half-way up to my chin, is a very red area where the doctor repeatedly aspirated my throat (x 6) while I was waiting for the second surgery. This will likely leave a small scar.

Anyway, I am feeling stronger every day. Today I am treating myself to the cleaning service. My family is arriving in town next week and I don't have the energy to clean house yet. I think today will include the conclusion of the final Harry Potter book and some naps. I am hoping soon I will have more interesting things to write about than my horrific neck scars and sleeplessness.

First thing Monday morning, Jim and I were back at Swedish Hospital for another round of neck dissection. This time was to fix the chyle fistula that formed three weeks ago. I kept my mood pretty upbeat, all the way into the OR where they had me scoot on to the table. I was joking with the nurses and residents. And then I was asleep...

I woke up, and as usual, tried to scratch my face off. The anaestesia does that to me. And I was crying. I don't know why I do that, but I think it has something to do with waking up and knowing I am OK. I cried and scratched at my face until they sedated me.

I was in my room by mid-afternoon. The docs only reopened the left side of my neck, where the leak had occurred. They told me it took a while to find it, but they are pretty sure they stopped it with sutures. A neck drain was placed and hooked to a suction container to help remove excess fluid. I tried to sleep as much as I could.

When I got up some energy, I took a cell phone picture of the portable drainage tube that I hook up to my neck line when I have to use the washroom. This is it. It collects the foulest juices, but I am so used to this now, it's a cake walk.

I ordered mac and cheese and strawberry milkshakes. Jim swung by on his way home to make sure all was well. I wish I could give him a Boy Scout Merit Badge. He has certainly earned one. I watched the Mariners beat down the Oakland A's and then tried to sleep.

I was released yesterday when the output from the drain was low enough. The stitches holding the drain in place were painful and pulled at me. I was glad to have them out. Jim drove me home and set me up with everything I needed. I had a large dose of Netflix and some poor sleep on the couch.

So here I am, out from work again for another week. My throat feels different now so I think this will be the last of it all. Some shake ups at work always seem to happen when I leave and this time it was a doozy. Can't wait to see how things are when I return.

I am going to be OK. Sometimes I pride myself on being tough, that I can take these medical issues on, no problem. But the truth is that sometimes I get run down and sad. Or lonely. But I don't feel like that right now. I feel pretty damned optimistic. Now, if I can just stop the Percoet Spins, I will be perfect.