Rooting Out

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One thing I’m still getting used to with home ownership is the ongoing stream of projects and maintenance.  Having rented for the vast majority of my adult life (12-13 years), I’m familiar with reorganizing and cleaning, but landscaping and painting – among others – are new ventures.

After a couple of years of living here, we decided it was time to tackle the outside of the house in a meaningful way.  The first year we lived here, we mostly just watched to see what plants came up in the yard and beds.  Last year, we evicted The Shrub That Ate Our Front Window, put in some new beds around the patio, and placed fresh landscaping fabric/pebbles around our firepit.  This year, we realized that the gorgeous silver maple tree in the backyard was planted just barely far enough away from the house and we also didn’t particularly like the Norway spruce in the front.

We called in an arborist to evaluate the silver maple.  Silver maples have shallow, invasive roots – the kind that can crack foundations and get into sewer lines.  The minimum distance to plant these trees from a house is around 20 feet, and ours is 21 feet from the base of the house.  The tree was actually one of the things we loved about the house when we bought it.  It’s one of those perfect trees for bird feeders, for climbing, and for shade.  I hoped it didn’t need cut down, but if it was a choice between the tree and our foundation, it was a no-brainer.

The arborist came out, looked at all of our trees and, happily, told us he could save the maple with no major issues.  In the fall, he’ll come and prune the roots to prevent them from reaching the house and take a limb off that’s starting to stretch up to the point where it will eventually grow over the roof.  He told us that the spruce in the front yard wasn’t going to invade the foundation since spruces apparently don’t have those kinds of roots, but that it’s planted too close to the house and showing signs of stress.  The arborist advised taking it out, and since we didn’t like it anyway, we’re looking forward to having it down sometime this summer.

One of the things the arborist noted in the evaluation was that when the spruce comes out, the stump grinder would damage the yucca plants at the base.  Well, the yuccas had gotten entirely overgrown and weren’t really in my vision for what I eventually want in that bed.  We decided to take them out.

Turns out, yuccas grow thick, fibrous roots that are an absolute nightmare to hack through.  What we thought would take one person about an hour took two of us about two and a half hours of hard work.  One of us grabbed the top of the plant and pulled, the other dug the shovel in over and over to break the roots.  The end result was worth it, however, and it all looks much neater.

House Before Yuccas

Before, with the yuccas in place.

House After Yuccas (2)

After – we didn’t even realize there were landscaping rocks under all of that!

Next up is getting rid of the bush behind the pine.  Having pulled a similar one out last summer, I know what we’re in for there.  Eventually, we’ll get to the fun part: figuring out and planting the landscaping we actually want.

This post is a part of Microblog Monday.  If you want to read more posts or submit your own, head over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.

Truly Amazing

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I keep seeing a lot of graphics and such popping up about doctors’ and nurses’ service right now, which is lovely.  I’m happy to see more and more acknowledgement of hospital/nursing home housekeepers and laundry as well as cafeteria/food service, incredibly important and often very unseen groups of workers.  They work beyond hard and a huge amount of infection control in facilities comes down to what they do on a daily basis.

One group of workers I’ve seen overlooked at times recently is the respiratory therapists (RTs).

I’ve been incredibly privileged to work with the most amazing RTs over the years, both from a professional standpoint and from a personal one.  They’re the ones adjusting ventilator settings, checking endotracheal tubes, monitoring oxygen settings, checking tracheostomies, setting up hi-flow systems, and doing breathing treatments – plus about a million other things.  They were the ones in NICU who were adjusting c-pap, checking and adjusting E’s hi-flow settings, finding flow meters that could give the tiniest liter flows as we weaned her off, and generally checking her ability to oxygenate properly.

In short, they are awesome.  Absolutely necessary and totally key in the fight against a virus that is hugely a respiratory issue.  Really, there are not enough thanks for everything they do.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more or participate yourself, head over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.

One Step at a Time

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When we decided to repaint the finished section of our basement, we knew we had to do something about the steps.  The entire basement was painted a blue-grey that just felt dark in a space with no windows, but the steps were an even darker shade of grey with an unpleasant texture. We tossed around the idea of replacing the treads entirely, but realized fairly quickly that this was going to run us more money, time, and trouble than we wanted to spend.  That left us with sanding and painting.

Steps Before

About halfway through the project.  The original paint felt really dark.

It took us a couple of weeks to get the steps patched with wood filler and sanded.  Then we realized we didn’t want to lose access to the basement for 24-72 hours at a time for painting, so we wound up painting every other step during one round, then doing the second batch (that way, if we were careful, we could get step over the painted steps and still reach the bottom).  It took three coats of paint on most steps and four on a couple to cover the dark grey.  We ran out of paint with one coat on six steps left to go and had to buy another quart.

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Finished with the paint!

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Treads on.

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Sea-glass green risers to match three of the basement walls.

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From the basement, the sea-glass green walls and cream wall visible.

It’s nice to have that project finished.  Next comes saving up and eventually replacing the carpet with vinyl plank flooring, but that will probably not happen until fall.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want more or to join in yourself, head on over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.

Depends On How You Define The Term

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For years, I’ve told people that I am supremely un-athletic.  When I say I’m uncoordinated, I’m not being modest or downplaying.  I just really don’t have a great sense for where my body exists in space (or which side is my left vs my right).  Once, during a softball game, I managed to hit the ball so that it bounced into fair territory but had so much backspin that it flew back up, hit me in the face, and tagged me out all at the same time.  It’s a talent, but not the kind that gets you endorsements and ad deals, more the kind that gets you 15 minutes of infamy as a meme or gif.

I also never had a standard gait.  As a child, I literally skipped just about everywhere and when I did walk, teachers and other students would remark on how odd it looked.  While today I would most likely have gotten physical and occupational therapy for the gait itself and the sensory issues that underlay it, back in the 80s when I was a kid, that wasn’t so much a “thing”.  I never particularly enjoyed being active, hated gym classes deeply, and when getting bitten by a dog plus developing bursitis in both hips put an end to my short-lived running habit in high school, I stopped doing much physical activity for quite a while.

It wasn’t until I was in my 20s and started as an aide in a physical therapy clinic that I started getting back into fitness.  Funny thing I discovered when I started working there: people who do PT for a living tend to like athletics and activity.  My coworkers gently helped me retrain my gait so that it’s far more normal (bonus, when my gait got better, I got rid of the bursitis) and, because there happened to be a fitness center attached to the clinic where we all got free memberships, encouraged me to consult the personal trainers there and develop a program – and continued to encourage me when I did that.  The positive feedback worked and I managed to get into the habit of activity that has continued to this day.

I’m still not coordinated, I still don’t have any athletic talent, I still trip over my own feet, I have a chronic back issue that flares up on and off, and my grand plan for winning any kind of race is to get into my 90s and win my age category by dint of being one of the only ones in that age bracket doing the race.  But I get out there, jog lightly, walk, and strength train around 2.5-3 hours a week, and find that it increases both my mental and physical well-being.  I’ve often said that I’m bookish and nerdy (true), but I suppose at this point, I can’t honestly say I’m un-athletic any more.

Variety Is The Spice Of Life

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It’s weird how time passes – the minutes or hours often seem long, but then suddenly, I’m in the middle of a new week or a new month.  What I’ve been doing with those minutes and hours is a mishmash:

  • Finished painting the basement. I have cream paint down the stairwell and along one long wall, then a sea-glass green to the other three walls (Benjamin Moore Windswept and Robin’s Nest if you’re curious).  It feels much lighter and airier than the blue-gray color that was there before and while I was a little worried – as always – that I wouldn’t like the colors, I love them.  I had wondered if my “anti-accent” wall would be too much (and thus should paint the whole basement in the sea-glass) or if the three colored walls would feel oppressive (and thus should paint everything cream) but the balance turned out nicely.
  • Now we’re on to the basement steps, which involves sanding the rough lumber that’s there. I’m pretty sure these were originally carpet-covered, but for some reason the carpet was removed and a dark blue paint slapped down. Not great looking and, because I have some sensory issues, I hated the texture on my feet.  The trick now is to sand enough to make them feel decent underfoot but not so much that the paint doesn’t stick.  We bought stair paint in the same cream and sea-glass green as the rest of the basement.  The steps themselves will get the cream, while the risers will be sea-glass.  Then we’ll throw some thin microfiber treads on the main part of the steps.  Hopefully it will look good (at least better) once it’s done.
  • I read Ariel Levy’s memoir The Rules Do Not Apply and Sarah DeGregorio’s Early: An Intimate History of Premature Birth and What it Teaches Us About Being Human. Both made me tear up for different reasons, both were excellent, and I’m hoping to delve into these with a more in-depth review here soon! (Content note – Levy’s memoir involves a stillbirth and DeGregorio’s also delves into neonatal loss.)
  • Started the paperwork to register E for kindergarten. This is awesome and honestly, pretty emotional.  Kindergarten was the thing I used to hang onto in the hospital and the NICU and as we went to specialist appointments and PT/OT/ST sessions, as in “someday, she’s going to be in kindergarten, we are going to make it…somehow”.  I’d picture her getting ready for her first day, beyond the terror that a simple cold would kill her, beyond the bradycardia episodes, and the monitors.  I really cannot believe we’re now so close.
  • Managed to finish a project for work on condensing some “good points” from continuing education course I did for the rest of my unit. It’s not a huge thing, but I’m really pleased with how it turned out.
  • Confessed to my choir director some long-term and (to me) embarrassing deficiencies in my music reading abilities. He was totally non-judgmental and basically told me that if we don’t admit what we don’t know, we never learn.  I’ve been meeting with him to remedy those and I’m excited because I’m actually learning how to do some of these things now!
  • Because we bit the bullet and went for the Dis.ney+ subscription service, Arthur and I decided to start watching the Marvel/Avengers movies as it feels like a lot of people talk about these. Have now seen “Captain America”.

What are you up to these days?

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more or participate yourself, head on over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.  

Something More

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A friend posted about the latest study making the rounds regarding miscarriage/loss and the impacts on those who experience it.  Basically, the study showed that in both the short and long term, women who experienced loss had fairly high rates of post-traumatic stress, anxiety, and depression.  I’ll admit that I myself, while very much appreciating the fact that the study (finally) validates my own experiences, rather side-eyed the amount of surprise the researchers expressed at how high the numbers came out.  Clearly, they haven’t spent much time around people going through infertility/ectopic/miscarriage/loss, because this seemed pretty obvious to me.

My friend, however, noted that the article talks about how the researchers “hope the findings will encourage women to speak more openly about miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy and help others understand the impact of early pregnancy loss on women.”  I checked it out a little further, and the article states: “Having a greater appreciation of the results hopefully with enable friends, colleagues, employers, and family members to better support women and their partners going through a pregnancy loss.”  As my friend noted, there’s very little about better helping women connect with mental health care or how the medical care of these conditions might change.

Peer support is a marvelous thing.  Openness is a marvelous thing.  I mean, I’m here, blogging about miscarriage and infertility as are a lot of others.  I have no trouble talking about my own miscarriages in real life.  Peer support and community and blogs got me through some of the darkest moments of this thing.  Peer support and speaking out and awareness matters.

But it’s not the only thing that’s necessary here.

When I was pregnant with M, I almost lost my mind through the first trimester.  Unfortunately, that’s not hyperbole.  I was anxious beyond all possible belief and struggling through panic attacks regularly.  I had intrusive flashbacks to my first pregnancy – a missed miscarriage – that left me in a terrible place.  Add in a subchorionic hematoma that also left me bleeding/spotting semi-regularly, which caused a great deal of concern thanks to my third pregnancy, and I was a total wreck.

I’m incredibly fortunate because my OB, who knew my history, had me to come in weekly through the first trimester to check for a heart beat until I could pick it up on my home doppler, then feel movement.  I do not think I could have coped and functioned otherwise, because that’s how extreme the anxiety had gotten.  I also had access to mental health/therapy, which helped at other times.  Peer support is wonderful, but I needed access to professionals and a different plan of care than the current standard.  I had it, but I’m also pretty certain I’m an exception, not the rule.

To this day, I still get an absolute pit of fear in my stomach when people announce pregnancies, separate from any sadness/jealousy left over from the infertility because I know how much can go wrong.  I breathe a sigh of relief when people pass 13, 24, 28, 32, 34 weeks’ gestation.  Ultrasound pictures, among other triggers, can still send me into flashbacks and intrusive thoughts/memories or occasionally outright panic attacks.  Part of me hates to acknowledge that despite the fact that I’ve had some good outcomes, I still struggle (yep, therapy – among other things – are a part of my life currently).

What I’m saying is, how does the medical system need to change to adjust for this study (and I say this as someone who has a career in healthcare, so this is not an abstract question for me)?  How do we connect people better with mental health professionals?  Do we need to see more follow-up appointments?  Better screening tools?

How can we encourage women to speak out about their experiences without making it a mandate, another “to do” for people already in pain?

I sincerely hope that this study is a call for new goals/initiatives/treatment plans, well beyond what currently exists, not only awareness.

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more or participate, head over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting. 

The Odyssey

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Last year, Arthur and I left our long-time church denomination after the worldwide conference voted to make a decision we simply could not abide by.  After we took a couple months off entirely and spent Sundays making waffles, reading, and just being generally lazy in the best possible way, we knew we wanted to work on finding a new church more in line with our values.  Eventually, we landed and started putting down roots.  There’s plenty that churches and denominations have generally in common, and while this is a new tradition to us in many ways, it’s also very familiar.  There are still occasional moments, though.

Listening to the organ play the intro to one of the communion hymns yesterday, both Arthur and I recognized it immediately.  It’s a particular favorite of mine, to the extent that it’s the music I walked down the aisle to when we got married, but as I looked down at the words, I realized they were definitely not the old, familiar ones I know by heart.  The closing hymn was the reverse: I knew all the words, but they were not set to the music I know.  Both of us laughed afterwards – so close, and yet so far!

Such it is right now in this period of transition generally.

I think one of things that is alternately frustrating and comforting is that after everything (waves hand generally at the last seven or eight years) the building blocks of who I am are still the same.  I’m still introverted, stubborn, bookish, prone to wrath, able to laugh most days at the absurdity of life.  The bedrock is there.  The circumstances have changed fairly vastly, the worldview expanded, perspective changed, but I’m still, well, me.  Also, in some big ways, not.  The familiar sitting in such close company with all the new is a little disconcerting.

Perhaps one of the things I expected after the everything was a personality transformation into something entirely different.  Something that overcame my weaknesses.  Something that transfigured my strengths.  Something motivational.  Something fabulous.  And, perhaps, an ending, a there, a destination.

Instead, as one of the characters says to the protagonist in the novel (This Tender Land  by William Kent Krueger) I’ve been reading and re-reading, “You believe you’ve been looking for home, Odie.  This is where your belief has brought you.  That doesn’t mean it’s the end of your journey.”

This post is a part of Microblog Mondays.  If you want to read more or join in, head on over to Stirrup Queens!  Thanks to Mel for originating and hosting.