Kitchen Nightmares?

Okay, latest dream update: I was walking in the hallway of this apartment building, and I was carrying this homemade holder for my plastic bags from the grocery store. This is a real thing, my Mom made it for me, she has one as well. It is made of two kitchen towels sown together lengthwise with elastic at the bottom so you are able to stuff it full of your plastic bags. In the dream, I was carrying mine around but it had split from being so stuffed, and for some unknown reason I never examined what was inside to make it bulge. 

So, here I am walking the hallways of an apartment building that is the apartment building to EVERYONE IN THE WORLD, and they are gathering in the hallways after getting off of work, or school, or doctor's appointments, or take your pick. People stare because I am on a floor that isn't mine and also I am keeping company with my plastic bag organizer that is carrying a mystery. 

I keep walking, and carrying my bag, the floors change and get fancier as I get higher in the apartment building. Next Brian Cranston (who is my estranged father) appears with his new family and wants to talk. He has a new young wife with two beautiful daughters and I tell him to go away. He is persistent, but I have an overstuffed homemade plastic bag holder to keep carrying so I tell him to get lost again.

The floors keep getting fancier and with that the light gets dimmer. Next my ex Neil shows up and tries to seduce me. I laugh at him and notice that the tear in my bag is getting bigger. Then I see at the end of the hall is a smaller door, kind of like the Willy Wonka door. A woman with two children sees me and stares at me, irritated that she has to deal with me. "If you have something broken give me your list and I will see to it." she says. I tell her that isn't why I am there. She shrugs her shoulders and leaves. I climb inside and see the biggest kitchen in the world.

I am half crawling and creeping in the ramparts of this magnificent place. I find my way down and see a cook in the center of the kitchen cutting up a tomato. His pants have fallen down so far his buttcrack is showing. He doesn't care and I am enraged. I tell him to pull up his pants. He ignores me. I race over and grab the knife, shove it in his face and order him to pull up his pants. I am disgusted that he is in charge of feeding everyone and he doesn't care that his ass is showing. 

He waddles off and I know he has called the "police" so I start tasting bits of the rich and lovely food before they come. There are other workers and they just watch me. My phone rings and it is my Mom. She asks where I am and when I tell her that our call might get interrupted when the authorities come and get me she says sweetly and unworried "Oh, okay."

Then I wake up.

Bottom Of My Heart

Update on The Unidentified Valvular Object: there is none. I had a TEE yesterday ( transesophageal echocardiography) and there was no sign of what my former Cardiologist claimed to have seen on my other echo. I started crying right there on the table, mostly out of frustration that this whole thing had to happen in the first place. 

My nurse Miriel was most likely the sweetest nurse ever. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek after she walked my Mom and I out of the hospital.

I have a new team behind me. People I trust. What a great feeling.

After, my Mom and I went to Red Robin for a celebratory lunch where bottomless fries are much easier to swallow than a gastroscope. 

Delivered

Dream report: I was looking down at a menu that had circuits at the top of each item. There was a map of Ogden and "Elsewhere" running concurrently underneath the entire menu. It was pulsing and highlighting locations and food it knew that your body craved. Ordering from this menu meant that your food came from an alternate dimension. Food just appeared and then the waitstaff assembled it and delivered the finished dish to you. The bulk of the dream was a conversation about how we as humans don't concentrate enough of our efforts to the sheer marvel and wonder of food: the molecules, the time and majesty. The goal was that this "Restaurant" was going to be the center of a new religion. Three services of worship each day. There was also a subplot of two of the waitstaff having an affair. Also an original song about soup which I of course cannot remember now.

 Yes, I made these. My one true talent in this life is making soup.

Waitlist

I haven't written here in quite a while. Blocked, intimidated, busy, shy: there are many words to describe the motivations that kept me away. There are also many things happening behind the scenes, physically and emotionally. My physical health seems to be a never ending series of unfortunate events. I have made them the priority in my life, to battle. Somehow convinced that if I keep fighting (emotionally as well) that somehow I will magically win. I am nearly 48 years old and it seems I need to learn that I am never going to "win." It is the need to not feel so small and out of control when all of this is happening where you have never ever had control. As my therapist keeps kindly reminding me, acceptance isn't giving up, so I am learning to accept that I need to feel better about never feeling better. Flip the focus so I use what I can control, my mind, and find the best ways to live my best life my way.

The past few months have been very busy with ER visits, multiple tests at the U and then just last week I had an echo with a stress test at McKay Dee. After the echo and during the stress test my cardiologist waltzes in and informs me they found a Fibroelastoma in my Aortic Valve. He ordered blood cultures. Then he leaves. Waltzed out. No follow up. No plan. No size. Nothing. The next day when I went for my cultures, they were ordered incorrectly. A nurse from the office called two days later and had no idea about anything other than my stress test showed no ischemia which is GREAT!

We have an appointment at the U on February 5 with a new doc. I've had my test results sent to him and I'm done with my old one. This whole thing makes me sad and bewildered. I feel so many balls were dropped and I am too exhausted to pick them up and throw them at his head.

My new personal goal now is to write more. Stop talking myself out of it everytime "No one wants to hear that" "boring" "it's already been written." Sure, I may feel like crap when I write but I can't keep waiting to feel better. I've waited long enough.

Best Story I Lived Today

I'm at the stoplight & look over to the left. There is a minivan with an older couple, the wife on the passenger side closest to me. She is holding a CD, the sticker still on it. She's waving it in the air, following the invisible waves of the song. The husband skips to the next song. Then the next. She is so blissful in the possibility of what could come next.

I get her attention and motion for her to roll down the window. She does and I tell her how much I enjoyed seeing her enjoy the music. I ask what it was. She starts to beam "Oh, we just bought it at the DI. It is Old English singers singing old Christmas carols." I say thank you for sharing your happiness with me and the light turns green.

Nailed It

On Thursday I had an appointment at Discount Tire. Again. To check the low tire light. Again. I was the only female in the entire place for about an hour and an half. So being the representative of the fairer sex I filed my nails and played with a first Dad's toddler.

The Dad was there alone with his toddler and he had the diaper bag, car seat, the works. Mind you, this Dad was one of those older first Dads, the kind that is probably on his third (possibly last) marriage and this wife is making sure he's active in the child rearing so she gives him assigned days to "babysit." He hinted as much when he said how happy his wife will be when he gets home with their having had such a fun time since "Thursday is our day to hang out."

At Discount Tire they have a somewhat derelict train set and a coloring table where kids can play while parents wait for their vehicles. This little guy kept bringing the trains over to me and then ultimately he brought the box of crayons for me to open. The Dad seeing this went up to the counter to ask for some paper but this was taking too long. So, me being the person that has whatever you need in her purse, pulled out my notebook and showed Mister Tiger Pajamabottoms how my little cousin had already drawn in there. He grabs the crayon and starts jabbing my notebook all excited and shuffles over to the table like "get a move on mystery lady we haven't got all day."

I give him the paper and saved the whole day. I saved it again when I gave him more.

This wasn't even the best part. The best was when Thursday Dad was giving Pajamabottoms his bottle and Def Leppard's "Poor Some Sugar On Me" was playing overhead. Dad sang every word to him and smiled like he was passing on a family rite.

When it was time to leave Dad thanked me for making the visit so much fun. Personally I think it was the other way round. When I got my car back they told me yes, there was another nail in it. I told the kid I smelled a plot, that Discount Tire had hired people to drive around and scatter nails to insure repeat customers. He said that is exactly what the higher ups do. We giggled pretty hard.

So, in the space of an hour and an half I filed my nails, had a nail removed from a tire, met a Mister Tiger Pajamabottoms and his Dad, listened to a not so private serenade, and uncovered The Discount Nail Plot.

Typical Thursday.