Battle Wounds

When my Dad called me at 6:43 am on a Tuesday, I knew something was wrong.

When I heard my Dad struggling to catch his breath, asking me to come get him so he can go to the ER, every petty little worry no longer mattered.  As I sat in traffic during rush hour trying to get to him, I wondered if the ambulance I just called for him was having the same problem.  How on earth could the ambulance be moving any faster than I was?  Complete helplessness settled in, and I tried to remind myself that I must focus, slow my breathing, and just take one road, one stop light at a time. 

And as I sat still on the Dodge "Expressway" my mind wandered and every memory of January 2010 came back, flooding me with fear and complete disdain for what lies ahead.  We've been here before, so I know that there will be tears and sleepless nights.  I  know that laundry will pile up, bills will be paid late, and the dog will feel abandoned.  I also know to grab my cell phone charger and laptop because we'll be settling in for the long haul.  And I know that work doesn't matter, and I don't feel compelled to give them anything more than a text that says "Family emergency -- will check in later."  And I take some comfort in knowing, at the least, that we have done this before.  That we know what questions to ask.  I know where to find an outlet to recharge electronics.  I know exactly how many minutes it takes to get from our house to the hospital and from work to the hospital.  And I know that I will make the best of working from the chair next to Dad's bedside; having take-out in the waiting room; prioritizing those things that really matter and cancelling those that don't.

I hoped and hoped that it was just the flu, a kidney infection maybe.  But when the emergency room nurse said Dad is being transferred to the cardiac unit, I knew this was more than that.  When I heard terms like MI, myocardial infarction, I could not help but wonder what lied ahead.  And while one part of me rejoiced that Dad was stable, another part knew there was more to come.

So we geared up for an angiogram.  And then we geared up for bypass surgery.  I cried.  I read.  I wondered.  I worried.  I heard stories from those who had done it before.  I felt like a soldier preparing for war ~ arming myself with information and building strength and endurance for the long day that awaited us.  I felt a sense of foreboding but did not say the words aloud.  My gut told me this would not be as easy as everyone said it would be.  And I was right. 

Surgery day came.  And we gave Dad hugs and kisses, trying as hard as we could to push the fear that this may be our last "I love you" down, deep down.  And we waited.  And waited.  Then we were delayed.  Finally, the nurse told us that surgery was underway.  Some sense of relief came and new worries rushed in, but we were comforted knowing that this step in the process had begun. 

When the doctor came out an hour after surgery began, we knew something wasn't right.  While I am grateful that Dad's surgeon took the safest steps possible to remove the cyst in Dad's chest that would prevent bypass from happening as scheduled, I felt complete and total disappointment.  The battle was supposed to be a 3-6 hour affair, not a 7-10 day affair.  Adrenaline left my body, and all that was left was complete and utter exhaustion.

But we'll rise and do this again.  I'll smile and offer words of encouragement for Dad even though fear is pulsing through my veins and stifling my breathing.  Through teary eyes I'll respond to texts asking how Dad is doing.  I'll ignore hunger pangs, too worried to leave the waiting room in search of food.  I'll be satisfied with an out-of-office notice that gives nothing away even though I really want to scream to my colleagues that I am sitting and waiting while my Dad has open heart surgery, and while your request is important to you, it's at the bottom of my priority list today.  My sisters and I will exchange hugs and hand squeezes, looks of worry and fear, supporting one another through silent encouragement.  And I'll look forward to hearing from the scrub nurse that the surgery is over and that Dad did well, that this battle is over. 

On to the next: recovery.

A New Porch & A Wine Cellar Make-Over

Our concrete front porch covers a small storage area that is accessible from our basement.  We have always called it our wine cellar because, let's be honest, that sounds so much better than a concrete storage area.

A few years ago we noticed moisture seeping into the storage area, so we just limited what we stored in that area (ie, no valuables).  We tried for years to determine the source of the leak.  We caulked.  We built up the dirt and landscaping around it.  We sealed it from the inside.  We had no luck.  And then this spring when the last days of winter had left us, we noticed that our porch was crumbling to pieces.

Outside:

 

The "Wine Cellar:"

 

 

We really didn't know how bad things had gotten in there because we hadn't used it much and there was insulation stuffed between those boards.  Wow!

So we shelled out an arm and a leg to have the porch reconstructed.  We really had no choice.  The crumbling steps were a liability, and I really wanted to be able to use that storage space again. 

Phase 1

Tear off the old concrete pad.  Seal and waterproof.

Phase 2

Rain.  Rain.  Rain.  The morning after sealant went on.  And fail.  We woke up to rain pouring into our basement from a tiny missed spot right at the threshold.  It was promptly fixed, and we moved on to phase 3.

 

Phase 3

The new pad and the support beams below.  Apparently concrete is really heavy when it's wet.

 

Phase 4

Wait a long two weeks for a new railing.

 

Phase 5

Clean up and paint the wine cellar.  There are no pictures of this stage.  I'm not pretty when I paint.  And it's just a white box.  Boring.

 

 

Once the railing went in, I scored a deal on two awesome chairs and a table at Menards.  The chairs were $67 each, and the table was $35.  I spray painted the mailbox.  Mike replaced the porch light.  And we spray painted the house numbers so they can actually be seen from the road.  

 

After:

 

 

 

I might even have room for a little pantry, right over here: 

 

Isn't she lovely?  We have enjoyed sitting out on the front porch a number of times.  Even better -- I am ordering two ottomans tomorrow from Home Depot that will make sitting out there even more comfortable.

 

I'll admit that I have not put anything valuable back in the wine cellar since the work was finished.  It has been absolutely bone dry in there since the work was completed, but I'm just not quite ready to put old photo albums or yearbooks in there. 

 

Next up:  new carpet for the basement.  Oh, and I am still painting trim.  And we still haven't installed new baseboards in the kitchen after the wood floors went in a year ago.  The list is long, but we're busy living life too.  Working, getting PhDs, loving on our nephew, walking the dog, and sitting on our front porch having a beer.

That tile!

For those readers who wanted more information about the tile in our bathroom. 

The Great Flooring Project of 2012...and 2013

This May, we finally got tile installed in our bathroom (see the surprise we uncovered when we had our wood floors refinished here) and in the entryway by our garage.

We scored an awesome deal on the tile for the bathroom and picked a neutral tile for the entryway that would hide the dirt we track in and out.  We found both at our local Habitat ReStore, and I even stumbled upon tile for our kitchen backsplash to be completed down the road.  One of our good friends did the work, and we are so pleased with how it turned.

Dr. Risuglia...What?

Life as I know it (meaning afternoon naps, no commitment weekends, and spur-of-the-moment dinner dates with the hubs) is over come fall.  I wish I could say it's because I'll be giving birth to a bouncing baby boy or girl, but it's not.  I'll be giving birth, instead, to a PhD.

So I'll be plugging away over the next five or six years at classes and then a dissertation all the while working full time and  starting a family.  Send wine.

Our Ornaments, Our History

Since Mike and I first started dating in 2004 we have collected an ornament each holiday season that represented that year.  Most of them are from vacations we took, additions to our family (doggies), and the like.  This year we decided on an angel to memorialize our spring baby and our two poochies, Walter and Brutus, who we lost this summer and fall.

Each year, I hang the ornaments on a little table tree as a display.  Soon enough, that tree won't be big enough, and we'll have to move them to the big tree.

I took a little time this year to package each ornament inside a plastic bag with an index card noting the year we purchased the ornament and why.  It's one of those projects that took little time now but will be so worthwhile down the road as we gather more ornaments and some day pass them on to our children.  As I grow older and learn to appreciate the history of our family more and more, I realize how important it is for Mike and I to chronicle our history for our children.