The official site of Kelly Sedinger: Reader, writer, photographer, and dreamer
You know, for all the cat-blogging that gets done in Blogistan, nobody ever discusses the icky side of having the little critters around. So let me toss out this opinion: the eternal battle against kitty odor, this litter used in conjunction with this litter additive works wonders.
That is all.
On a whim I bought a copy of the Buffalo News this morning — usually I just skim through the website — and found a story that hit me right in the gut, about a family that is currently undergoing struggles with their newborn child that are eerily similar to those that we endured with Little Quinn, only their struggles are even harder since their boy has a tracheostomy to go along with his G-tube, where Little Quinn (in about the only time in his life that his medical problems broke in his favor) was able to avoid the trache.
They’re blogging his life’s struggle as well, at Mikey’s Love. Love, it turns out, doesn’t conquer everything — but dammit, you’d think a force that powerful would, you know?
Two weeks ago today, The Wife entered the hospital as described here. She is still there, despite the initial prognosis that she would lose the baby within 24 hours of her admission. We are now about seventeen days shy of the 24-week mark, which is the magic line delineating “viability”. That seemed like an impossible stretch when it was 31 days, but 17’s a lot more do-able.
I continue to be thankful and in more than a little awe over the good will extended our way through all this, by denizens Blogistan from the Buffalo Prefecture and beyond.
UPDATED BELOW
UPDATED AGAIN
(I’m keeping this post at the top of the blog’s main page until Monday; after that, I’ll let it slide down and put up new posts on this subject as events warrant. Newer content appears below this post until then.)
In the course of learning various maintenance-related skills at The Day Job, I’ve learned that it’s better to have more tools than fewer. You’re pretty limited if all you have is two kinds of screwdrivers, a single size pair of pliers, one hammer, and maybe an allan wrench.
Likewise, as a proto-writer, I’ve long known that since words are my tools, the more words I know, the more tools I have. However, real life in the last couple of years has forced certain words upon me, words that I suppose are useful but I frankly could have lived long and happy without knowing, tools or no. Such words include G-tube, fundoplication, cerebral palsy. And now the last few days have added some more words and phrases in that unwelcome category: incompetent cervix, premature dilation, viability.
For those wondering where on Earth I’ve been, the answer is that I’ve been spending most of my time at The Wife’s side as she reclines in a hospital bed where she is confined for the time being. There she rests because right now, only gravity and luck are keeping what we had hoped would be our second healthy child inside her womb. The strangest thing about this scenario is the reversal of the standard hopes: the longer she is in the hospital, the better it is for the child’s ultimate chance of survival. The odds we are facing are very long, but we’re going to face them anyway. What else is there?
Posting here will be sporadic for the time being. Oddly, this is mainly because I’m not at the computer much; I’m finding that I still have the same amount of stuff to babble about, and just not as much time to babble about it. (Maybe someone should do a study of blogging as psychological defense mechanism.) Also, I again note the reversal of the typical medical hospitalization scenario: we are hoping for as long a hospital stay as possible, as we are some weeks away from “viability” (what an awful word). However, hospital stays are expensive, and if by some miracle we do not lose this child before she comes to full term, The Wife will have endured a hospital stay of four months.
So what I’m saying here is that if anyone out there has any inclination to hit the tip jars in the sidebar — Amazon or PayPal available — now would be the time, and it would be greatly appreciated. Believe me, this is not the way I’d wanted to announce to Blogistan that we were expecting; fact is, I didn’t want to announce to Blogistan that we were expecting at all. What I wanted to do was post a photo of our new daughter just after her late-September birth. Her name, though, is decided, no matter when she comes. She will be Fiona Quinn.
That is all. Further bulletins will be made as events warrant.
(I will also be keeping this post at the top of the blog for a few days, so any newer content I manage to post will appear beneath this one probably until at least Monday, unless disaster strikes and The Wife is able to come home before then.)
UPDATE 5-11-07: Well, this is a strange kind of update: one in which I have nothing new to report. But in this current version of We Do Stuff the Hard Way at Casa Jaquandor!, having nothing to report is actually desirable. For now, Little Fiona is right where she should be.
Thanks to those who have offered and continue to offer kind words, thoughts, and deeds. All are welcome — especially the monetary donations, for which I hate to ask but for which I also need to ask. Every little bit helps.
UPDATE II, 5-13-07: Nothing’s changed, thank goodness. Fiona still in her gestation chamber. Me going through money like Grant went through Richmond. And so it goes.
Thanks again for the continued well-wishes and the shekels tossed in our direction!
In our home we don’t have cable, so unless the hockey games are on one of the national networks or I’m someplace that does have cable, I can’t watch the games. Thus, a lot of times when the Sabres are playing an important game, my general way of following the game is to go to the individual page for that particular game and hit “refresh” every minute or so. (Yeah, the individual game pages have automatic refresh, but where’s the fun in that?)
So last night I’m doing this, and I had added incentive as I was attending the 10:45 showing of Spiderman 3 with a friend from work who was actually at the game itself. And I’m hitting “refresh” all throughout, and the game is in a 0-0 tie through all the first period, all the second period, and just about all of the third period. Now, we’d already been hoping that the game would end in regulation so they’d be able to get from the arena to the Regal Cinemas in my neck o’ the woods, so the prospect of a scoreless tie in regulation was a clear complication to our plans.
At about 9:30 or so, I again refreshed and saw that with about twenty seconds or so to go, the score was now 1-0. Yay, they might get out of there on time for the movie! But wait — it wasn’t 1-0 Sabres, it was 1-0 Rangers with less than twenty seconds to go. Boo! And then I hit refresh less than a minute later, and it’s 1-1 with about five seconds left! Yay Sabres! But now we’re going to overtime, screwing up the movie plan! Boo!
Luckily, the game ended fairly quickly in OT when Maxim Affinnegennoff (pretty sure I spelled that wrong) scored the game-winner, and then it was off to the theater, where I awaited the arrival of the friend from work and his friend who apparently drove at point five past light speed to get there while the previews were still scrolling.
Funny tales from the game, via my co-worker:
:: When the Rangers scored to take the 1-0 lead with less than twenty seconds to go, apparently a bunch of people in the row in front of him got up and made their hasty exit from the arena. Oops.
:: Apparently the Sabres run a scroll of names on their Jumbotron scoreboard during games congratulating people on birthdays, and apparently one of the names submitted — and run — at last night’s game was “Jacques Strape”. Oops. Shades of Heywood Jablome.
Anyhow, Go Sabres!
Folks, when you’re engaging in any kind of outdoor activity, always scout your route before you commit to anything. This is a cardinal rule of whitewater boating, rock climbing, anything. This is why: it seems that a couple of teenagers in the Syracuse area went offroading near a rock quarry in that area, whereupon they climbed a steep embankment that they had likely scaled in previous trips to the quarry. However, it turned out that a recent excavation at the quarry had created a cliff on the other side of that embankment that the boys did not know now existed, and when their vehicle plummeted down the cliff, both boys were killed.
Always scout your route.
(Link fixed.)
I was charged with the task of acquiring candy for The Daughter’s Easter basket, which was easy enough — a box of those awful Peeps things, an egg-shaped plastic doodad filled with Hershey Kisses, and some jelly beans.
But not just any jelly beans, mind you. No, I had to indulge her enjoyment of All Things Harry Potter and get her the box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, which according to the box contain beans of flavors like grass, soap, bacon, rotten egg, vomit, and booger. “Never fear!” thought I. “I’m sure those are fake names for beans that taste like normal old jelly beans.”
Not so.
“Alas, ear wax!” Dumbledore said once when trying a bean. Alas, ear wax, indeed.
Most of the people who commented on the fact that I was linked on the pay-subscription section of Fark.com the other day in an apparently non-flattering light told me to not take it seriously, don’t lose a whole lot of sleep over it, and so on. And sure enough, I didn’t: I’ve been blogging for five years and I was on Usenet for five years before that, so believe me, the faces behind the paid-subscription wall at Fark are going to have to come at me with a lot more than “Overalls and long hair, ewwwww!” if they want to disrupt my dreamtime at night.
But one thing I have thought about just a little was the comment that apparently launched the thread. It was nothing more than a link to the main blog page (i.e., not to a specific post) with this comment: Do I really envy this guy’s life, or does it make me want to shudder? I can’t decide.
Well, there are aspects of my life that are certainly shudder-worthy. In terms of career accomplishments, you might think that a guy nearing 36 years of age would have a few more ladder-steps beneath him, I suppose. But what else? The trappings of having grown up? Is my life somehow shudder-worthy because I as yet don’t own a house and still wear my hair long and I’m not in middle management and I’m not doing what I studied in college?
Certainly not. The way I see it, I’ve got a family that’s currently coming back into Joy after some very serious detours into darknesses no one thinks about. I’m good at a variety of things, and I’m constantly learning new skills. I work for a company that’s been repeatedly named one of the best in this country to work for. My hobbies don’t require giant amounts of cash, and they make me smarter and more artistically aware. My daughter does well in school. My wife is very good at what she does. My marriage is intact after being tested a few years back by everything the Fates could throw at us, short of a direct meteor hit. I eat well, and for not a whole lot of money either. I don’t get to hear live music as much as I might like, but I can take ten bucks in my wallet and treat my family to a fine day on just that. And I live in Buffalo, a city where things aren’t freakishly expensive and where the weather’s just fine most of the time (OK, I’ll be honest, spring here sucks). I live where chicken wings were invented, for God’s sake. Ninety minutes down the road is one of the world’s great cities. I’ve got friends, I’ve got cats, I’ve got Tolkien and fountain pens and candles and an antique writing desk. I’ve got electric light, second sight, and amazing powers of observation.
Go ahead and shudder at my life, if you must. But before you do, ask yourself: Whadda you got?
End of sermon.
The language in the commentary gets a bit salty at times, but check out the stunning photos of what is apparently the Cuyahoga County Courthouse in Cleveland, OH. What a gorgeous building.
(via)
A good time was had by all yesterday, for the holiday known as Presidents’ Day. After we lit memorial candles for Zachary Taylor, Chester Alan Arthur, and Warren Harding, and after we sacrificed six live weasels in hopes of securing the favor of The Gods of Rodents for George W. Bush*, we took The Daughter to Rochester to visit the Strong Museum. I’ll have pictures up on Flickr in a week or two (I need to upgrade my account before I do more uploading), but for now, let me note that if you haven’t been there in a long time you should definitely go again. It is one of the classiest places I’ve ever been, and it’s actually been significantly improved since then, what with the addition of an entire new wing and an amazing butterfly habitat exhibit. We were there for more than five hours, and we still didn’t see everything before we staggered back out for the drive home. The admission prices are very reasonable, and the parking is free. So those of you with kids, what are you waiting for???
And wouldn’t you know it, but at one point while we were there, we rounded the corner to head into the Sesame Street-themed exhibit area when I was stopped by a woman who asked, “Hey, do you have a blog?” I answered affirmatively, and it turns out that she’s a regular reader of Jennifer‘s, her name is Tracy, and she’s just launched her own blog, LitMama. Again, Blogistan turns out to be a very small place! (I can’t imagine how she recognized me, though. You wouldn’t think that long-haired guys wearing tie-dye and overalls would stand out that much.)
Anyway, more connections are being made all the time! What a world.
* No, we didn’t sacrifice weasels. What kind of ogres do you think we are!