I got nuthin for ya.
Obviously, since it's now Thursday and the last post was Sunday. Couple of reasons. First, Bambina's summer camp let out last week. The end date kind of sneaked up on us. We were sitting at the table and suddenly realized, "oh my lord, Friday is her last day!" Having no suitable activity lined up for the remaining SEVEN WEEKS till she goes to preschool, we were dashing furiously around trying to find something that was either a) still available, or b) not three thousand dollars for 4 weeks of half days. In addition, Bambina has been present most of every day, so precious little writing was going to occur regardless.
Second, I've been reading. Yeah. Can you believe it? I'm actually reading books. By actual authors and not the "US Weekly" staff. At the outset of this whole stem cell situation I was certain I was going to write a book with all of my "down time." Hellooooo?! Total nonsense. The entire time I was in the hospital I could not even consider reading something longer than three column inches on Ian Ziering's success on Dancing With the Stars, such was the mental concentration fallout from the chemo. Then I assumed I'd do it when I got home. Sadly, still no ability to do more than flip through a magazine. I almost couldn't even focus on the newspaper; all that print! And so small! And about non-celebrities! No thank you. So this past week has been great because I've not only been able to read books but can actually retain a petite soupcon of their information. So far I've read:
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (on writing in general with family stories thrown in)
Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah (about and by a young man who was a child soldier in Sierra Leone; now living in NYC)
Half way through God Is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens. (An entertaining, thought-provoking and exceedingly well-written book about why religion is a Bad Thing)
In between calling toddler camps and YMCAs, I went to the clinic a couple of times. The wound from the Hickman line removal was green and yellow, so I figured I would call and check that out. It's still funky-looking and I am dubious in the extreme that it is healing, regardless of doctor assurances that it will get better. Note that they are not saying, "That looks perfectly fine." They are saying, "Well, shower with the bandaid off, dry it thoroughly...neosporin...dry dressing..blah blah." You know they are thinking, "Oh dear god, that sh*t is green!!" So I got antibiotics too, which always make a girl feel her shiny, happy best, don't they? And the notion of showering with the bandaid off is akin to asking me to chew tin foil with my metal fillings. You want me to leave it undressed? And let water in? And then have to look at it?! Oooooooh, I just can't wait. Which, honestly, is what led to this post: I'm avoiding going to the shower. Cue the Psycho music.
Also keeping me busy has been further necessary management of Bambina's ongoing, profound interest in all things scatological. Now it's about dogs. Somehow she learned that dogs sniff other dogs butts when they meet. Fair enough. But Bambina's favorite thing to pretend to be (besides Me Mama You Bambina, wherein she orders me around, reads to me, and tells me it's okay if I wet myself sometimes) is a dog. She loves to run around on all fours barking saying, "I'm the Mama Dog and you the baby puppy!" So this morning she started sniffing my arm, as she does, and then said, "I sniff your bum now" as she headed toward my back porch. Whaaaaat!?? I jumped up, like, "WHAT are you doing?! Mama does NOT like people sniffing her bum, thank you." She finally relented when I advised her that pretend doggies do not sniff real bums.
This is my day, folks. Dodging bum sniffing children, peering into supurating wounds, and telling myself I really should post something as soon as I finish this chapter...