Oma

Last Friday, my grandmother passed away.

Thursday night, I got the call that Oma was in the hospital and it was serious. I was at the hospital by 2 AM; Most of my family was there. The staff had just given her heavy-duty painkillers and she was asleep.

I found out that the week before she had been in the hospital for a few days, but was released home. On Thursday she had severe pain and was readmitted. She was diagnosed with ischemic gut, which basically means that her intestines had shut down due to blood-deprivation; her other organs would follow suit. Surgery was proposed but cancelled because her condition had progressed too far, I guess. At first, my family was told she only had a few days left - soon after, this was reduced to a few hours. I was told later that while she was still conscious, she had stoically told everyone she knew she would not make it.

Opa was devastated, obviously. Every so often, he cried briefly. The rest of the time, he sat beside the bed, hand shaking, in a daze. Most everyone was visibly upset. I think I was numb. I kept thinking about my uncles and Opa, feeling sad for them, that they were losing their mother, his wife. I couldn't think of my own loss.

Oma moaned softly in her sleep, and her legs twitched every once in a while. Various family members took turns holding her hand. I was terrified of holding her hand, in case she died while I did so.My aunt played a recording of of her grandson, who lives in Alberta, singing; it was the last song Oma heard, if she could hear anything.

Eventually, her legs stopped moving. Her fingernails had turned blue. My mother was holding her hand, when Opa broke down again. She couldn't take it, and left the room. It seemed like an eternity that Oma's hand was empty, but I found myself ignoring my fear and taking her hand in my own. I watched as her breaths became weaker and farther apart...And then she was gone. I felt her die, felt her hand go limp.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to say anything, so I tried to tell my aunt with my eyes. I looked at my  sister, who was wide-eyed, and I think she said something like, "That's it, then?" I nodded. I got up and went out to the hallway to tell the rest of the family, then I went to inform a nurse.

The nurse did an excellent job of looking after Oma, and the rest of the family. She explained Oma's condition as best she could when asked, and even told us how it could progress. She even cried and gave each of us a hug.

The Final Frontier

Many years ago, I developed a phobia of outer space. It just sort of happened...I looked up into the night sky, and felt terror. It provoked a visceral response in me, similar to the feeling I get in my core from heights and roller coasters.

It has something to do with the sheer distance between myself and the stars, moon, and planets. I look at these celestial bodies and feel as though I will "fall" all the way out to them, like if I'm not careful, gravity may lose its hold on me. The longer I look, the more I focus on the feeling, the more panicked I become.

Sometimes I freak myself out by thinking of what it would be like if the Earth fell off its orbit. The world is plunged into darkness as it falls farther and farther from the sun. Would we feel anything?

A couple years back, I thought I had gotten over my phobia, but it came back. The feeling is not so strong as it once was, but it's still there.

Recap of the Past Year

Last March, I moved out and lived on my own for the first time. I had been doing fairly well, wasn't on any medications. It felt like something I had to do. My first apartment (a one-bedroom) was in an old, 15-unit building. It was quite large for the amount of rent I paid. There was coin laundry in the basement.

At first, I was anxious, worrying that I had made the wrong decision, but I started to feel more comfortable the more I figured out which things go where. The anxiety didn't go away, though, and my mood started to sink. The stress of trying to survive on my own, loneliness, and a multitude of other problems, like my neighbour constantly yelling at her dog, was really getting to me. I started on a new medication and made plans to move.

I now rent a room in the gorgeous 1920's house of a member from my mother's church. Having other people to say "hello" to at least, has been nice. My mood had been improving on the new meds, to the point that I attempted taking a chemistry course. The drug's effects seem to be wearing off, though, and my mood has plummeted again. I dropped out of the course and am now generally miserable. I feel useless and have started to hate myself (something I've never experienced before). I've been having suicidal thoughts; I worry I may act on them. I promised myself I'd never attempt suicide again...

I feel terrible.

Tonight at night school we started covering moles and molar mass (grade 11 chemistry). The teacher didn't give a very in depth explanation of how to calculate these things. I had completed part of this course through correspondence a few years back, but it was like learning it again for the first time.

I feel stupid, like I should know this stuff. I know this is just one of those useless human emotions, but I can't shake the feeling.

I spoke to my mother about taking on more courses at a time in order to re-enter university by next Fall. She was concerned that I would not be able to handle it. She's probably right, which makes me feel worse. I haven't been able to complete a course in years; I always let my mood get in the way.

Am I just really weak-willed? I've heard of/spoken with numerous people who were able to keep going, be productive, despite suffering from depression. They kept on working anyway. I really don't know how they did it. Whenever my mood drastically lowers, I just cannot function. I can't even contemplate doing some of the simplest things, like brushing my teeth, let alone getting to class.

L'automne

A lovely day! It was grey and drizzly and windy. I went for a walk. A fly was very patient with me as I took photos of it. It was cold enough that I made a pot of mint tea to warm up.

Bancroft

I went rockhounding in Bancroft last month. It's been a few years since I was last there. I went with Kyle and a number of members from the club. We all stayed in cabins on a hill overlooking Elephant Lake.

I love going up north, driving along highways cut through rock, the jagged walls towering over you on either side. Passing by forests of dead trees, looking like bleached skeletons rising out of the murky water. There's less light pollution up there; one can see the entire sky filled with brilliant stars. I always see new and interesting animals on these trips, like snakes! I never see snakes at home. Kyle and I passed by a little snake near our cabin. It couldn't have been more than 30 cm. Whenever we got within a metre of it, it would snap its mouth in our direction. So cute!

I got some nice specimens from the Beryl Pit in Quadville: peristerite and amazonite, as well as a greenish mica book with a purple fluorite stuck in the centre. This was only Kyle's second time rockhounding, and it was here that he discovered quartz is really sharp. He was hammering a big chunk of it and it exploded, showering him with crystal razors. His hands and face got a bunch of little cuts and he bled all over the place. It was quite amusing (he was fine).

I got some nice fluorichterites from a roadcut in Wilberforce, and lots of green apatite from the Bear Lake Diggings. I believe I found a single sphene crystal, too. It rained the last day, but the trees at Bear Lake provided partial cover, so it wasn't so bad. As I was digging in the dirt, a snake kept me company. It was black with yellow lines, and beautiful brown eyes. For about 15-20 minutes, it simply watched me dig, lying a couple feet away, its head raised slightly above the ground. Eventually it slithered away; I touched its tale as it left.

Glue?

I went to the orthodontist yesterday afternoon.

A couple months back, right before I moved (I'll post about moving eventually), some of the glue on one of my permanent retainers broke off. I have wires glued to the backs of my top front and bottom front teeth. The spot of glue on one tooth cracked and half of it fell out.

It has been years since I was last at the orthodontist, and Dr. V-, who I saw, moved away. A new organization, Right Bite Orthodontics, set up in his old office, so I set up an appointment with them.

As the dental hygienist (or whatever the orthodontic equivalent is) was removing the remaining adhesive from my tooth, I got a bit light-headed. It had to be ground off with some noisy spinning device, and I could smell the vapours. After applying new glue and drying it, and $75 later, I was good as new.

My main reason for talking about this is because of it's possible relation to the horrible night I had afterwards.

Around midnight, I started getting sad and anxious. I lay on my bed for 20 minutes, thinking and feeling weird, unable to get up to go do something. My mind was going in circles, trying to decide whether to go to bed or play a video game. I absolutely did not want to take my meds. I was afraid to, for some reason. I was to increase my dosage again that night (I've been doing so every 4 days). When I finally got up, I took my meds, but was unwilling to up the dosage. I didn't take them with food as I normally do.

I went to bed and continued to feel weird and scared. My thoughts didn't always make sense. At one point I had to get up to go to the bathroom. The blankets on my bed still looked like there was a person under them, and I wondered if I was actually dead, that it was my body underneath. I felt them, but there was nothing solid beneath. My stomach was upset and gurgling, which may have just been due to my not taking the med with any food. It also felt like it was being pulled down through the bed, or out other directions.

It was an awful, scary night. I felt like I was going insane.

I wonder if it was the adhesive's vapours that drove me insane, either on its own, or by interacting with my meds.

Sideways

I've always had trouble fantasising. Whenever I try to come up with a story, I can only think up snippets. I'll think up one scene and not be able to progress it to the next. I can come up with a number of disconnected scenes, but there's no flow. I also get stuck on the scenes I do have, going over them again and again. It's like when you have a song stuck in your head, it's just that one line or two, repeated.

I used to be better at it, back when I was doing a lot worse than I am now. Back when I took shelter in my head, I could lie there for hours, thinking, 'til my limbs went cold.

Another thing that gets in the way is the direction I am facing while I think. I'll do my best to describe this...

If I happen to change position while I'm visualizing, the image(s) remain in the same orientation. For example, If I were to be looking straight ahead, then crooked my head to the side, the image from before would appear sideways in my mind; it did not change its position. Just like when you look at a picture, computer screen, etc., if you turn sideways, that image will now appear sideways. You are the one who has moved, not the object.

It's like my mental images are physically removed from me...

Jumble Gym [Update]

I was at Casablanca Books trying to sell Latin textbooks from the 60's the other day. A trio of nerds was there, looking at graphic novels. These weren't the stereotypical uber-nerds one usually thinks upon hearing the word 'nerd', nor the more subtle enthusiast of nerdy things, like myself (think flamboyantly gay compared to simply gay). No, these were the pretentious nerds. They speak in their own manner, a sort of drawl, similar to pretending to be bored. They say things like, "that's alarmism at it's best," and chortle (but not audibly, their faces smug...so, hardly chortling at all) at their brilliance. Great fun.

There was a Canadian antiques road show in town last week. I brought in my WWII RCAF snowshoes, worth $250 (but they're a part of history so I'm keeping them), as well as a mystery box I got at an antiques store.

I had no idea what this box was used for. I can only find one mention of the company online, and it's for a door mail box patent. What was held in place by the swivel? What was the slot and the hole for?

The appraisers did not know, either.

UPDATE: I showed this to a friend of mine who is a jeweller. He immediately told me what it was for: it would have held a beam scale. When in use, the beam would have been stuck into that little hole, using the box as a base. Each of the 2 compartments would have held one of the pans. The beam, weights, and other bits would have been arranged neatly alongside the pans. He suggested the box is from the 1940's.

Portals 3

Today was my last (hopefully) optometrist appointment for a long time. They still don't know what caused the injury in the first place, but the treatment seems to have healed nearly all of the damage. I will continue with the drops, but I no longer have to use the ointment.

I had the same doctor and intern as last time, as well as the intern from the time before that. He just wanted to sit in to see how my case had progressed, as he had never seen my type of problem before. I'm glad I could help him further his education.

Portals 2

I went back to the optometrist for a follow-up. This doctor did not see that I had REC (recurrent corneal erosion). I suggested it was IFCE (infrequent corneal erosion), but he said that the technical term was OIAW (once in a while). I am to continue with the ointment, as well as some more viscous eye drops.
The doctor hopes that the treatment will stop me from having any further attacks. Of course, we won't really be sure for months...I'll believe it once I've been fine for half a year.