Organ Recital, and Other Scintillating Stuff

Okay, I lied. The last time I said it was hot? I was lying through my hot, sweaty teeth (if you doubt that teeth can sweat, come sit in my upstairs with me for a few minutes. Monica is right--no air conditioner.) Today it is hotter than a truckload of $5 Rolex watches--over 90 degrees in Seattle, land of the liquid air. The cats have melted over the furniture in hairy puddles, looking for all the world like the clocks in the Dali painting. I am busy wondering if it is sick to shove a bag of frozen green beans down my scrub pants, in lieu of the ice cubes I keep forgetting to purchase the trays to make. Probably is. I may do it anyway. Point being, of course, that it is an abomination against nature to be scintillating in this kind of heat and you'll have to put up with "vaguely upright and sort of coherent".

First things first: Angie, dear--I'm so sorry to worry you. I can't say "don't worry" because I don't know yet if it's worth worrying about, but I promise I'm in good hands. It's not a very interesting story (feel free to skip ahead--there's a wonderful story about a child coming up) but it goes like this: remember a few months ago when I was pissing and moaning about my doctor doing that weird little "estimated" test and saying I had to have a truckload of tests to be sure my kidneys were okay? Well, I went to a kidney specialist who completely and utterly agreed. She said she was sure I was fine and agreed that the truckload of tests were unnecessary and just had me do one that would tell us one way or the other. And it did.

It it told us that I've lost nearly 50% of my kidney function. It should be a number over 120; it's 65.

We don't know why. We don't know how. We don't really know much of anything. And, since we know that the numbers can't be brought back up--kidneys being sort of a "lose 'em and they're gone" kind of thing--we're just "watching and waiting" right now (I like that phrase from my doctor almost as much as I like "Now, this might be a bit uncomfortable..."). And keeping me on a diet low in fat (kidney patients typically die of heart issues long before their kidneys finish failing, so we have to keep my heart extra happy--you know, bring it all the half-naked slave boys it could possibly want, feed it grapes...), low in salt, low in protein, and low in potassium. All of which should give my kidneys the organ equivalent of a vacation in the Bahamas...with or without half naked pool boys. In November, we'll test again and see if the numbers stayed the same, or strayed into kidney disease territory. There's really not much to do in the interim but knit. Especially since eating my body weight in ho-hos is apparently right out.

See? Boring. Enough of the organ recital and on to the good stuff.

I'm finally at the point where I not only don't hate my job, but actually enjoy it most of the time, and have moments of real love for it. One of those moments was today, when a 7-year-old asthmatic girl came in. Bright girl, and very confident and chatty. I liked her at once. At one point, I had to do a test on her to see how well she was breathing. It involves blowing into a tube and you have to do it a certain way, so it can be tricky for the little ones. I explained it to her carefully; then, when she said nothing, I said "That's a lot of directions, isn't it? Is it too much to remember?" Imagine my delight when she turned a very solemn face up to mine and replied, "No, it's not too much. I read books, you know."

Well, of course.

In spite of the horrid wet-army-blanket-for-air weather we've been having, I have persisted in knitting my blue birthday yarn sweater, mostly by throwing open the exercise room windows at 5:00 am and knitting on the exercise bike. Who says knitters aren't incredibly adaptable? I'd show it to you, but it hasn't changed all that much. Picture it the way it was last time....now add about six inches.

By the way, I feel that it is quite possible that the weather is my punishment for thinking that I could tempt the gardening fates who, apparently, are every bit as temptable (read: nasty little bastards) as the knitting fates. Because it turns out that there is nothing a bunch of new plants enjoy quite as much as a heat wave with no water--and they demonstrate this enjoyment daily by laying their limp little heads down on the earth so I can panic when I get home and try to water an acres worth of plants at once and inevitably soak my scrubs and grind mud into my pristine white nursing shoes into the bargain. 'Cause, of course, nothing improves your standing in the neighborhood quite like running around the yard like a soggy, mud-footed, pajama'd lunatic, shouting things like "Oh, for wool's sake! Stand up and grow a pair of roots, will you???"

I'm thinking of putting Cialis in the plant water. If the ads are true (and Mr. K used to work for the company that invented Cialis, so I'm pretty confident that they are), then all my plants should be perfectly perky and upright for at least 48 hours.

Or, you know--"whenever the mood is right".