I lay in a chaise contemplating the large pink room as it boast dimensions far greater than any room I have ever been in. Since arriving two days ago, I'm beginning to feel much differently. I had been grasping my kidney in the three hour ride from Dublin, just wishing I could have more medication for the pain. It was raining as we drove through the county limits of Sligo. The name seems to imply a dark, sinister place. We drove down an endless one lane road with moss growing down the middle of it. Soon, we came upon a massive manor house built sometime during the 1800's. In the dark, it seemed haunting, but the vista beyond it was unreal. Ruins of a castle built more than 1100 years ago and defended by Templar knights lay untouched by time. Only the vegetation and my children would seem to invade it today. I was pondering the idea of heading back to the states as my condition hadn't felt any better, but I could sense that if there was a place to heal, that this was it. The great ceilings in the home stand nearly 20 feet and the moldings within cannot be found elsewhere. Rodrick, it's owner, is a decedent of Lord Perceval, the original baron of the land from more than 1000 years ago. Little has changed since then. More than 1000 acres dotted with sheep graze their lands, while four dogs laze around the home waiting for scraps. In contrast to the larger mutts, the two working dogs tend to sheep proving who is really in charge on this farm. Our room was more like an apartment within the home with more than enough room for a dancer to leap around the floor. Funny enough, Peter sits so close at the moment that I can scarcely move my elbow while I type this. Much like sweet dogs that roam this property, he has enjoyed Temple House fully. He has run it's many acres and explored the ruins. Both he and Kate have made errors in judgment by touching the stinging nettles. They have explored the lake surround in row boats and seem to never want to leave. The miracle and the charm of this place is that time truly stands still here. Chris has enjoyed running through the single lane roads in the early mornings startling the sheep and in turn being equally startled back by their loud bellows. Kate has enjoyed the four course meal sitting under the massive portraits while they watch her sit at the same table that they had dined on many years before. I have enjoyed the feeling of less pain. The big house seems to have healed and given me a brighter outlook on the time to come in Ireland. I have enjoyed my camera even though it has been used far less than desired as I have had to take it slower than normal. For those that are searching for the less touristed part of Ireland, this area satisfies. Sinister Sligo has proven itself quite the opposite. The town is lively, the people are warm, and the scenery near the ocean is wild and the farmland is breathtaking. I won't soon forget it here and it's worth a revisit someday. The sun is shining, not a typical guarantee while in Ireland. So off we go to see what's ahead.
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I spent a fascinating first night in Ireland in Dublin's fair city. The red eye had left all of us wonky and myself very sore from my recent stent and surgery. We wandered into the hotel after the wonderful cab driver gave us the quick roundabout tour of the city. We were relieved in every way when the receptionist had found a room for us at 5:30 am Ireland time. We plopped down the bags and now is where the story begins. The kids fell asleep almost immediately while Chris looked at maps. I was thinking about the inevitable stent removal that my doctor had given me permission upon entry to Ireland. I had worked myself up over the previous five days reading horror stories of stent removals from disgruntled forum types. I ran a tub pulled off the bandages and pulled. The disgruntled forum types were right. The pain shot at me like bullets from a machine gun as I wailed in agony. After 45 minutes we all examined the torture device. Kate said "gross" as I asked her if she wanted to enter it into the Durham Fair as a used medical instrument collection. The pain became worst…and worst. Chris read that it make take a few hours for the spasms to end so I sent him out with the kids to walk about. While he was gone, I had experience delirious pain, vomiting every 10 minutes. It was clear that it was time to go to the hospital. As I screamed in pain, he looked up hospitals in the general area and I could tell he looked nervous. We have all been to the wrong hospital at one time or another. Today's miracle came in an Irish friend's phone number I had stored away on a FB message and Chris dialed it. First surprise, he said, "It's ringing", and then I overhear a woman's voice. My friend Jen sent us to St Vincent' Hospital just a few miles away. The cabbie who looked frazzled by my pain focused and got us their fast. This is when I decide that Ireland is the most wonderful place in the world. After horror stories of unhappy hospital customers from countries like this one, our fears were quickly abated. I crouched in acute pain, Peter looking terrified seeing his mom this way. Amazingly within 15 minutes, I lay in a cat scan machine dosed up with morphine, starting to feel less pain. A lady in the waiting room offered Chris to take care of the children as he went in to see me. She went as far as offering overnight care if we needed it. Then my childhood friend walks in and offers help with the kids. I never got to see her as I was whisked from one floor to another. On first view, the hospital is antiquated and I was shifted from a hallway to even a closet briefly. The curtains had a look similar to that of 1960's Brady. The nurse held my hand as the pain subsided. When the doctor on call came in I knew a problem lay ahead. She announced that I has a 10mm stone at the bottom of my ureter. For those that have read the "purgatory" entry, you know of last weeks surgery. I felt angry at the American doctors for missing this three times on ultrasounds and x-rays as I cried in vain, unprepared for this news. My pain had been from a massive stone that could only be removed via surgery. Chris consoled me by telling that I would be one of the few tourist in Dublin spending a night in the city hospital. I was rolled into an old-fashioned ward that I shared with four woman all with various issues. I lay in the comfortable haze of a morphine pain killer cocktail watching the ladies around me. One was an older drug addict, another older woman had fluid swelling her lungs, one woman studying english from Brazil dealing with a blood clot and finally a 40 year old with severe pain. Like a tea party, after hours we all knew each other's stories. It felt similar to being at ease in an Irish pub rather we were all doped up on Morphine rather than Guinness. I thought of the views just out the windows realizing what I may be missing, but I was having a tourism experience of my own and I felt fortunate for some reason. I found myself saying lovely and fantastic like my new friends. The nurses gave me tea. I don't like tea, but i decided to add tons of milk and sugar and it tasted appetizing. The next morning, I joked about anesthesiologist with my anesthesiologist. I was threatened with a new stent after surgery. I begged her to reconsider. The OR was fantastically modern with a mind blowing picture window of Dublin, the town, I wouldn't see. With the mask coming close, I knew it was time and I closed my eyes. When I woke up I was told the stone had passed overnight and I was told that I had done all the work myself. Relieved, exhausted and very sore, it seemed to be over. Jen and her mother Breda shared the love and spent more than an hour with me talking of old times in the states. I feel forever a kinship with them and their generosity and kindness just strengthened it. My back still feels painful and I wont feel content about his stone being gone until the pain subsides. I lay in hotel bed thinking of my experience and realize I am living life fully, taking the good with the bad. My kids had a great day two days with dad. I could think of no better place to have been sick and now with 12 days ahead, no better place to heal. Kate is already looking into Irish real estate as she decided that she wants to soon become an expatriate. Perhaps she's right.
The drama of the past two weeks have left my eyes red from lack of sleep and my body feeling wrecked. A stent remains as a reminder that I should never take my health for granted.The pre departure details for the trip to Ireland snuck up on me yesterday as I hobbled around feeling overwhelmed as I tried to find some type of order that has been missing for a while now. Finding order has never been my highest quality. I have become so accustomed to being without it, that the personal every day miracles I see around me seem to happen regardless. I look ahead to a vacation to Ireland and know that as I travel over the pond, I am also journeying away from summer, my most beloved season of the year. Upon return, the adjustment of two new schools for the kids will begin. To add, people will expect me to bring Go Far into the cardiovascular systems of local kids once again and like the vocation it is, i'll do my best to make it happen. The excitement of digging deeper into photography opportunities will entice me, regardless of the fact that winter lay just ahead. Lastly, 40 looms just weeks ahead and I'll accept it thankfully with some Ensure to help keep my bones strong. Despite the chaos ahead in September, the trip to Ireland will be an opportunity to do what I long for each day of the year. As my feet find the floor each morning, the promise of exploration will be close at hand. I'll enjoy the expected and relish in the unexpected knowing that my one's personal exploration in this world is the most poignant part of life's frontier. I'll be seeing green and lots of shades of it. The kids will see their first castle, a task I'm eager to explore with them. I'll walk in the faded footsteps of my Irish grandmother who I was never able to meet, and get to know her as I journey through the country she called home. I'm excited to share with you the vista's of Irish heritage over the next weeks so you feel like your up close and personal. Bring on the green, and yes, I'm leaving in three hours and still haven't packed. Ireland awaits! If I could imagine what purgatory is like, I think it would look something like this picture. What’s funny about this photo is that I have no recollection of taking it. I recall throwing my little instant camera in the bag, but that’s where it ends. Yesterday was a long day. After a couple nights of excruciating pain and an ultra sound that seemed to give the all clear signal, I was sure I had passed this kidney stone. My doctor had raised her eyebrows showing clearly that she had heard this type of hogwash before. So she called me in to the hospital anyway. I sat in the pre-op area for many hours, as I was an add-on to the schedule. As boring as the time may seem there is much to be witnessed. While your stuck in your little cubicle, the hospital buzzes loudly with signs of diversity among the beeps of its vital machines. While only a curtain separated many of us, I heard medical histories that sounded like long criminal rap sheets. One lady was on her 16th surgery; allergic to everything except talking, which she did plenty of with no adverse affects. Around midday, a raspy voiced patient was wheeled in. It took the poor pre-op nurse an hour to get the guy to admit that he had done crack the evening before. I believe it’s true when Chris tells me that all corners of society come through the hospital. This is also true of Walmart and most county fairs in my opinion. But here I was, hoping for a small miracle that the stone had passed. I lay on a gurney waiting my time wondering when this would end. It is a strange feeling being wheeled on a stretcher. Endless doors are passed and the nurses and anesthesiologist make small talk to calm your nerves as you travel the halls of purgatory. Soon enough, you burst through some double doors ready to meet your maker. Rather than seeing God, you see your surgeon who may as well be God for the next hour or so. The first instinct is to bolt as the surgeon smiles down upon you. I look helplessly around for my anesthesiologist husband, who has a knack for making lurid jokes during perilous times like this. I find relief as I see Chris and his good friend ready to take their call of duty. They would be the final things I see before waking up to the view from this photo. So like a new haircut, can you notice anything different about me? I have 7mm less mass in my body. I would also like to make it clear to all kidney stones out there that your not welcome anymore. Life is too much fun and it should be about skipping stones, not passing them.
Being the positive thinker, I make it my position in life to take stress and adversity and make it work for you. So last night, as I sat curled in fetal position trying to pass this damn kidney stone. I started considering names for it. I was wide awake at 3:30 am and feeling tipsy from the percocet, so why else wouldn’t I be naming my kidney stone? I spent so much time and effort trying to get the stone out that it deserved a name really. Lucifer came to mind. I sat next to Miles who provided a great pillow after a few hours of agony. The name Stone Phillips came to mind. I laughed because in no way was this stone boring like the tv newsman. This stone had proven to be elusive to the point of trickery. After an xray and an ultrasound came up clear, the doctor is sure it’s hiding somewhere. Perhaps I should name it Sly Stone. This stone surly doesn’t depict beauty or perfect roundness, so Pearl is definitely out. So night has fallen and I get ready for another possible bout of pain tonight. Pain seems to like darkness. Tomorrow, I will be at the whim of doctors as they explore for trouble. Scopes, tubes and drugs will hopefully resolve this once and for all. I hope to wake up and meet my stone after we have long waited this day. I may have a few choice words to say to it. Regardless of the pain it has caused, it’s another life experience to shake off and make you realize that you really do have it pretty good most of the time. But for now, I think of the picture above and it seems all too real. I knew when I took it, that someday it would have relevance in my life. Sure enough, life imitates art.
Last week, one of my daughter’s best friends asked for a home-made birthday gift. Out came the wood cutting tools, paint, carbon paper and such. The gift would be much like the one that I had crafted for Kate for Christmas yet on a much smaller scale. Six months has passed since she unwrapped the colorful Christmas paper on her door and walked into her new room for the first time. The room looks more lived in, but she still loves her special place. I had decided that in the three weeks before Santa’s big day, this elf would get to work on a Harry Potter dream bedroom for Kate. Time was short and I systematically moved through the many aspects of the room at all hours of the day. It was great fun making an old dresser from the free pile come to life as the pages of the Potter’s great story. I took old books and gave them a new purpose as a nightstand. The fun was in the details. Making quill pens, antiquing journals, searching for owls, making Honey Duke candy jars and creating a mandrake greenhouse were all part of the creative process. But this story wouldn’t have a happy ending if it weren’t for the creative people that helped make it happen. Every creative person has limitations. The sooner one figures this out, the sooner that the project will actually come to fruition. I called my friend Cindy and asked her for help with my biggest “Littlest Pet Shop “eyes that I could muster up. Poor thing, there is nothing like getting a call from one of your friends less than a month before Christmas asking for a mammoth favor. I mentioned the vision I had for bed and she took it so much further. Cindy got to work and created the most amazing piece of living art that I had ever seen. The colors of her work are rich and her ability to bring fiction to life in the most realistic way is hard to wrap your head around. I love how some of her most peaceful and serene paintings come to light while she works under the influence of heavy metal bands and David Grohl music. Pretty cool. I summoned the talents of my brother to cut signs so I could paint them into Potter store signage. Another true talent, he can make anything out of wood. Adding to the room, my father rewired an antique chandelier and made Kate a beautiful custom Nimbus broomstick of her own. Even Peter contributed his talents and fabricated his own clay golden snitch to be hung in case a game of Quittage was ever summoned. It all came together with a medieval tapestry from my childhood, an Oriental rug and pretend caldron lit in the fireplace. The final “Oooh La La” moment undoubtedly came on the final day of construction, when the bed was placed as the centerpiece of the room. On Christmas morning Kate and I collapsed on her cozy rug as I lay my head on the dog, exhausted from the effort while she looked inspired by what she saw around her. Somewhere in the preceding month I had discovered that you get virtually nowhere on your own. What you have to show for your efforts rarely reaches its potential without the help of others. The world is a virtual treasure trove of talent and creativity just waiting to be tapped and discovered. How lucky a girl my daughter is to have the inspiration of others around her. Thinking outside the box (and box stores) made her dream room possible. The room is filled with not one heart, but by those hearts that surround her and make her feel safe. With this in mind let’s remember that in this world, “that we as a whole are only as good as the sum of our parts.”
Mary Chapin Carpenter said it well, “sometimes you’re the windshield, some times you’re the bug.” In the case of the picture above, sometimes you’re the seagull, sometimes you’re the fish. It’s been that kind of week. Just days ago, I looked at my relatively clear calendar and smiled thinking of all the fun things we would do. Since then, two in a family of four have put the medical insurance cards to good use. That’s half! To add to it, one of my closest friends has moved far away and my laptop breathed its last gigabyte. While our little issues are small beans, one can’t help but notice that when you don’t feel well, the entire world feels upside down. I scanned through my hard drive, looking for a picture of a big rock (to represent my kidney stone), but thought the picture of the fish would better represent how I feel. So I’m taking proactive steps to set things right. Our trip to Ireland is looming and getting one’s affairs in order seems appropriate. Gallons of water later, I’m determined to get this stone out. Thanks to the internet, I have spent way too much time looking into quackery that may or may not dissolve or push the stone along. I have drank cider vinegar, watered down. It taste like really putrid wine and you don’t get a good buzz from it. In between dealing with this, I have sat curled up in a ball whaling like Fred Sanford to his beloved Elizabeth. If a miracle ever happens, it will be when I give birth to a 6mm kidney stone. Maybe you can help me name it. Although I can’t bring my friend back from her big Colorado move, I’ll focus on the things I can try to address. My beloved 6-year-old laptop lived a long happy life. It is the computer that held out its arms and welcomed the thousands of photos that I fed it when I first got into photography. While I can bring it to the genius’s at the Apple store, I realize that no amount of brilliance may save this old friend of sorts. Perhaps I’ll go to the Apple nursery to adopt some new technology, but now without a bit of sadness. So good riddance to this stone, happy trails to my good friend Sandie, and to my little 13 inch power punch of technology, thank you for your service. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll be the windshield or the gull. One of life’s greatest miracles swirled in tonight. Someone up there wanted to be heard and gave us the greatest light show. We all sat on the porch watching the storm come in. As I sat in the rocking chair, the dog curled himself around my leg. Kate, Peter and the neighborhood kids shrieked each time the thunder clapped. You could feel it deep down in your belly. Chris stood content noticing the smell of fresh rain after it had fallen on the garden. The plants in the yard rejoiced. The hydrangeas especially, who reached out their massive blooms like they were cupping their hands for a drink of water. As soon as the storm passed, the camera beckoned despite the pile of dirty dinner dishes. Although dealing with some stomach issues today, some things are just more important, like capturing a moment that will quickly dissipate into the darkness of evening. Not knowing how long the light show would last, I stayed close to home never venturing more than a mile from the David Miller homestead. It’s probably best that way, as I captured my usual close to home photo haunts in a new light. Tonight, nature brought more nutrition to our souls than the bowls of pasta I had served for dinner. It makes me hope that my parents looked up from Final Jeopardy to notice it. Now, back to cleaning the dishes where I see no miracle in sight. No worries though, tonight’s views should carry me through until the next one comes along.
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