At Least They're Committed

Ouch. Damn. Stretching my jaw out only makes me cough which makes that throbbing spot in my temple ache more. I’ve been clenching my teeth, I guess.

I’ve recently learned that when you love someone and she’s fighting for her life, you’re fighting too no matter how far away she is. Fighting the forces of nature, bargaining, making pledges and sacrifices of biblical proportions (well, not Abraham and Isaac proportions, I never bought into that one).

I picture my energy pouring out of me in waves, purple because evidently that’s the color of my aura, and heading east. I envision — not ‘imagine’ because I want this to be real — it rolling over fields and rivers and cities and states like a powerful, deafening wind until it surrounds her and heals. I dedicate my workouts, walking, elliptical, push-ups, to Robyn. I found out my dad has been doing the same.

The light dusting of snow on the ground is showing no sign of melting. Not sure if I’ll get to walk, but I’ll get something done. Maybe I can buy Richard Simmons’ “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” at Blockbuster. Heh. Doubtful that it’s even there. Pity. I need something simple and stupid to get my ass in gear and I’ve broken most my equipment from overuse. Hmmm. Tried to add a graphic element in here, honest. It didn’t work. Kept coming out corrupted.

Today I’m trying something new: to channel my energy through Laura. We have an excellent connection, especially after my visit in October. She’s right there by Robyn’s bed and maybe if I channel my spirit through her instead of trusting the universe to deliver, the force will find its mark faster and more efficiently. Maybe it will help.

D was so encouraged after his interview on Wednesday, but the guy was supposed to fax benefits information to him by yesterday and we kept checking back . . .

No new news on the blog yet today. The family has been really good about daily updates on Robyn’s condition. Cystic fibrosis is a cruel, vicious thing. Robyn, petite and pretty like Mia Farrow, just turned 35 in the hospital. She wasn’t feeling up for much of a party, but she did get to see her baby girl so that’s good. Sweet little things, both of them.

I was awake for two hours again last night. 3:30 a.m. to 5: 30 a.m. or so. The latest all-consuming hot topic? I’m fat and old. That’s on top of Robyn’s health and D’s impending joblessness, of course. Oh, and I balanced the check book in my head. Good girl!

I stopped sending the encouraging daily e-mails because she’s heavily sedated now and that would be just one more thing for her family to slog through. Besides, the last one I sent was in celebration of the ‘baby steps,’ or improvement, in her condition, only to find out that things had turned again even before I’d e-mailed. Pthththtttt!

Wow! My adopted college football team that shall go unnamed totally kicked ass last night! That’s encouraging. Note I said ‘adopted’ and not ‘surrogate.’ I thought of surrogate, but that means ‘instead of’ and I am still fully committed to and supportive of the Michigan Wolverines and, secondarily, the CU Buffs even though they suck. It’s just that their seasons are over and I want to play on.

So, we went from praying that Robyn beat the infection quickly, to praying she beat it at all, to praying for a lung transplant — oh, as if that’s not a tough one. think about it. for her to get those lungs another young person must die so you’re like, “Dear God, if you’re going to take this certain person anyway, can you maybe enable something good to come out of it such as saving my cousin’s life?” — to praying Robyn is gets strong enough to be eligible for the transplant if it does come available.

Shingles. Fun! Actually, I mean that. When D got them they were debilitating. He was out of work for three weeks. Me? Mine are like the ultimate emotional release. A 2-inch by 1-inch patch of red, raw, bubbly skin on my left flank that aches at least 6 more inches around and a couple deep. Kinda cathartic to claw at it.

Two pieces of bacon and a fried egg for breakfast is less than 200 calories. Add the low-sodium V-8 and it’s about 230.

I was coughing, hard, at lunch yesterday. DSII says, “Mom, are you OK?” I said yeah, and I was a little hopeful because I thought maybe if we could all just take a little of Robyn’s infection, if God could let us take on her burden and take it off her poor ravaged lungs, she would be OK and so maybe that’s why I was coughing. “MOM!!” DSII blurted. So I explained that my lungs would be able to fight off her infection in just days, or, knowing me, (I heal quickly) hours. What’s threatening her life is something most of us wouldn’t even recall a couple weeks down the road.

Time to feed the fam. Hey! I’m down to 123 pounds today!

Hang in there little girl. Please hang in there!