Dizzy from the swirling

Emotion-fueled, cathartic writing in the lonely wee hours is always a bit raw if not dangerous. This is as much a warning to me as it is to you.

It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been less than a month since my last blog posting. It feels like two lifetimes ago.

I wrote that September entry from a spectacular hotel in Lake Louise, Canada that we are unlikely to ever splurge on again. We had planned to spend two nights in rustic luxury before heading on to Banff and then training westward back to Vancouver, BC. But life started to swirl in ways I didn’t want to imagine.

Rob and I cancelled the rest of our trip, rerouted to Calgary, stopped briefly at Woodhaven for about 3 hours to reload suitcases, and were greeted at the Boise airport by my mom at an hour mostly past all of our bedtimes. It was quite a long day.

For the next week, the three of us watched my dad defy the odds and confound the doctors. He responded to medical treatment and fervent prayers with head spinning speed. He was in the hospital for less than two weeks. By all accounts, he was supposed to be in ICU longer than that, assuming he made it out alive. The fact that Dad is doing so well now is the closest I’ve ever been to witnessing a miracle.

So that’s the good news. The incredible, astounding, blessed good news. And I’m trying with all my might not to lose sight of it. Because life has been swirling at vortex speeds and I’m getting rather weary of it. I have the wadded Kleenexs to prove it.

In the 21 days since Rob and I returned home from Boise, still celebrating my dad’s survival, the following wet blankets have been thrown on the party:

• The day after we got home, I had an oral surgery involving a bone graft, stitches, and instructions to only eat soft food until the stitches are removed. With any luck, that glorious day is tomorrow…following three very long weeks of pudding, mashed potatoes, applesauce, smoothies, ice cream, and soup. I realized today that I haven’t had any red meat or spinach in three weeks. My money’s on anemia.

• Our boy cat has digestive issues and despite changing his food, adding water bowls, and furtively mixing laxatives into his food, he is still not a happy litter box user. Back to the vet we go.

• My new walking shoes have proven to be the source of annoying foot pain, prompting anxiety about the return of the most unpleasant plantar fasciitis from several years ago. After 3 hours in two different shoes stores trying unsuccessfully to find replacements, I have resigned myself to wearing my old kicks and enduring the shin splints for a while longer. At this point I’d rather have achy shins than achy feet.

• My credit card number was highjacked while we were in Canada. The thieves had quite a joy ride with it including spas, hotels on both coasts, Airbnb, and something called Stars Consulting in Nevada. Ewwww.

• The one and only tree in our yard next to our (now unusable) hot tub is infested with an active and popular hornet’s nest that nobody can locate. Best guess is the nest is inside the tree trunk. There’s a really good chance Rob gets to play with a chainsaw when the temperatures finally drop enough to make the nest go dormant. I’m telling myself I never really liked that tree anyway.

• A dear and beloved elderly lady from our church died. The family asked me to write her obituary. It was an honor and a privilege and sucked big time.

• Two getaway trips that were planned in an effort to try to salvage some of that Vacation Vibe we didn’t really get had to be scrapped due to other obligations. Golly, I can’t wait to retire someday.

• For the first time ever…and now fully embracing all that comes with having silver hair…I am the reluctant yet grateful owner of a Preparation H product. (Hey, I'm just keeping it real here. Too real? Let's just say I am reallly looking forward to being able to eat spinach again.)

• I spent about 8 hours in the ER with a friend who was showing signs of a stroke, and another 2 hours with a friend who was getting a steroid shot for some nerve pain. I am becoming far too familiar with hospital procedures, waiting rooms, and beef broth.

• And the capper: tonight my dad called to tell me my feisty 92-year-old grandma was being life flighted to a stroke care center in California. She was apparently talking with an electrician about a rental property (yes, she is still working as a real estate agent. It was announced at her 90th birthday party that she had renewed her license for another 5 years. Did I mention feisty?) when something terrible happened and she stopped breathing. Last conversation suggested the hemorrhaging is still not under control. Family is converging. I may or may not get those stitches out tomorrow after all.

All that and then the unfathomable tragedy in Las Vegas has me sad, weepy, overwhelmed, confused, and unable to get the sleep I so desperately need. I feel like a punching bag whose stuffing is spilling out in a mess on the floor. I’m trying so hard to be strong and present and optimistic. But instead I feel raw and numb and deflated. And so very tired.