Recuperating :)

The tl;dr:  I did indeed have gallstones -- but they won't be bothering me anymore (lol) and while I am very tired, I am doing well, post-surgery.  :)    

Longer version: My surgery was at a new (opened last year), state-of-the-art hospital near here (about a 20 minute drive away) -- first time we'd been there. Very impressive, and the staff were all uniformly awesome. It was spacious and airy and not at all crowded, which was a relief from a covid perspective.  

I had to register and then head to the pre-op unit by 7:45 a.m., with surgery scheduled for 9:45-10.  Dh was able to come in and sit with me until they took me down to the operating room, and then waited in the waiting area outside. There was a big screen on the wall with patient numbers that he could check to see my status and where I was (in surgery, in recovery, discharged, etc.)!  

The nurse weighed me and took my blood pressure, etc., went over my medical history & medications again and I updated her on the prescriptions (pills and drops) I've been taking post-eye surgery. Was given some antibiotics to take as a precaution, and a gown and hairnet to put on. I had a visit from the very affable anesthetist and from the young surgeon I'd spoken with on the phone earlier this spring. This was the first time we'd actually met, which was a little weird (although I guess I wouldn't have met him if I'd needed an emergency removal either, right?), but I'd checked him out online and he was well rated. I heard him chatting with several other patients after me... sounded like he was doing several gallbladder removals that day, one after another after another.  

The one jarring note of the day:  He asked me if I'd be willing to allow a photographer in the operating room during my procedure for some hospital PR shots... I would NOT be seen in the shots, and I was under no obligation to say yes. I hesitated -- it's one thing to have all the medical staff seeing me sprawled out, half-naked and unconscious in a vulnerable position, but a guy with a camera? I said I didn't think I was comfortable with that and he said "no problem." That was the end of it -- or so I thought. 

9:45 a.m., the nurse came to get me to take me down to the OR. I put my phone and glasses in my purse and they took my purse and clothes (bagged and tagged) for safekeeping, and started wheeling me down the gleaming white hallway on the bed. Dh followed us as far as the door to the outside waiting room where he'd be during the operation, squeezed my hand and said he'd see me soon. 

Sooner than either of us anticipated. Got down to the stretcher bay just outside the OR, and the surgeon told them they had the WRONG PATIENT (!) -- that they were going to do the patient scheduled for 12 noon first, because SHE had said okay re: the photographer. I guess he was only there for a certain amount of time, and needed to get his shots done. 

The nurses all looked blankly at each other, checked with their supervisors, and eventually, someone wheeled my bed back down to the pre-op area.  Now *I* was scheduled for around noon -- another hour & a half to two hours to wait. I was more annoyed than mad.  They did apologize. I asked them to please bring me my purse so I could retrieve my glasses & phone while I waited, and could my husband be allowed back in to sit with me (again)? -- because he'd be worried about me if he didn't hear from me as expected. They were only too happy to comply, lol (and dh was surprisingly calm about the change in plans and the delay). Needless to say, if I'd KNOWN that saying no to photos was going to set me back another two hours, I might have answered differently. (But maybe not.)  

Anyway, around 11:45, they came back for me (again -- take 2!!). Back down that gleaming white hallway (lots of white, glass and natural light, which was nice), and then into the OR. I saw a big screen over the door and even though I didn't have my glasses on, I could make out my name on it. Rolled off the bed onto the operating table, they took my vitals and the nurses started trying to find a vein in my hand where they could hook up the IV to deliver the anesthesia. Of course I am blessed/cursed with narrow veins (eyeroll). The left hand proved to be inadequate and so my right hand wound up getting stabbed as well. Ow. (That one was more successful.) 

As they began to administer the drugs, the anesthetist suggested I envision myself on a beach somewhere... or maybe snuggling with that cute little great-nephew I'd been telling him about. ;)  I chuckled and said that LGN isn't the cuddly type (too busy!!). But I did get a vision of snuggling up on the couch with Older Nephew's miniature dachshund (lol), and that was what I was thinking about when I drifted off. :)  

I woke up coughing. (I'd been warned by the anesthetist that I would be intubated and that my throat might be sore. It wasn't, but it did feel slightly irritated/ticklish, and continued to feel that way for a few days afterward, although it's mostly better now.)  I could make out by the large clock on the wall that it was 1:45 p.m. The (male) nurse in charge of me told me everything had gone well and offered me some ice chips, and then some apple juice, and I peeked under my gown to check out the gauze bandages over the FIVE incisions on my abdomen. (I was expecting three or four, so that was a surprise!)  My abdomen was also alarmingly awash with red, but the nurse quickly explained to me that it was NOT blood, it was antiseptic. (It washed off in a flash in the shower a few days later.)  He called dh to let him know I was OK too, and told him that so long as I was feeling all right, he could meet me downstairs with the car at the main entrance at 3:10 p.m. -- some 90 minutes after I first woke up! 

Sure enough, just before 3, he brought me my things, including a prescription and instructions from the surgeon on my recovery. I got dressed as best as I could, and then he returned to helped me put on my yoga pants and sandals, get off the bed, stand up and then get into a wheelchair. A volunteer appeared to wheel me down to where dh was waiting with the car.  We stopped at the pharmacy near our house to fill my prescription for heavy-duty painkillers before heading home. I'd told the anesthetist that I did NOT do well with codeine, so they gave me something else (I wanted to ensure I'd have something on hand, if I needed it) -- but it was not necessary. I did take Tylenol alternating with Advil for the first three days, according to a schedule in the instructions they gave me when I was discharged, but that was good enough, and I'm not taking anything now. 

I dozed for the rest of the afternoon, got up around 6:30 for some soup & toast (the first food I'd had all day) and turned into bed early, feeling very tired and groggy. I didn't sleep well that night -- or really any night since then,  to be honest. The dr didn't give me any specific instructions about sleeping positions, but I assumed tummy and side (especially the right side) would not be a good idea, for the first few days at least. I am NOT a back sleeper, even with a second pillow!  (I will probably attempt sleeping on the left side within the next day or so.)  I was very sore in the abdomen (felt like I'd been doing crunches!) and especially through the shoulders (& especially the right one) for the first day or two, from the air they use to inflate you. .. my hairdresser told me to use a heating pad which helped (as does movement -- another friend suggested a rocking chair can be effective, but alas, we don't have one!). It was more discomfort than outright pain, though. 

But I woke up Wednesday morning feeling much better -- and the day got better still when I was able to remove the gauze bandages from my incisions and take a shower, 48 hours after my surgery (woohoo!).  The incisions still have tape on top of them -- I was told it would likely come off in the shower (so far, it hasn't, although it's lifting around the edges in spots) and, if not, I can remove it after 7 days. No baths or swimming pools for 2 weeks, no heavy lifting, etc., for 4 weeks. 

I was very tired and somewhat cranky yesterday (Thursday) -- a combination of lack of sleep and (sorry, TMI) constipation -- which was resolved by afternoon, thanks to a leftover OTC laxative that was left over from our colonoscopy prep, lol.  I am still very tired today, albeit I had a slightly better sleep last night. That's probably my biggest complaint -- fatigue.  I am still a bit achy in spots (particularly if/when I move in certain ways), but overall, I think I'm doing pretty well. Beyond those initial few days, I haven't needed to take any more Tylenol &/or Advil (acetaminophen and ibuprofen). I should probably be out walking more (reduces the chances of blood clots and pneumonia, as well as constipation, lol), but it's been frickin' hot and very humid outside (current humidity indoors, with the air conditioner running non-stop, is 63%!) -- although I'm getting some exercise just getting up & down and going back & forth to & from the kitchen and bathroom, putting in eyedrops and taking pills, lol.  I've had to set up a schedule on my phone calendar with reminders to keep it all straight and make sure I fit everything in...! We also did some housecleaning today.  I didn't put as much effort into it as I usually do, but I did some dusting and cleaned the bathroom sinks,  while dh did the kitchen and vacuumed the floors. 

I have a follow-up appointment with the surgeon in mid-September, but yesterday morning, I got the report that he sent to my family doctor, as well as the pathology report, through the hospital app. All written in medical lingo, of course. From what I can decipher, I definitely had gallstones (largest was 1.6 cm) but the tissue was normal, which is a relief.  (I appreciate that they are giving patients access to this information now -- and it's certainly our right to have it -- but I think it needs to come with a translation into lay person terms...!)  

On a somewhat related note, my eye is doing better too. No irritation, and my vision is somewhat clearer too, albeit not perfect. I will still probably need new glasses, but I was expecting that (it's been 8 years since I got my current prescription). As mentioned above, I am still taking pills and eye drops (both prescription and over-the-counter) for that too. I'll be back downtown later next week to check in with the opthamologist again. 

Thanks again for your advice/tips and good wishes! Sorry I haven't updated before now, but last night was the first time I'd been on my laptop since Sunday (and instead of actually having it on my lap, dh is insisting that I sit at the desk in our library/office, lol -- which you can see behind me in the photo below!).  I have been on my phone constantly, but typing anything substantial on there just takes way too long...! 

Me (selfie) on Wednesday afternoon, after removing the gauze bandages
and taking my first shower, post-op. There's still tape over the incisions. 
Can you spot all five of them?? 

#MicroblogMondays: Get vexxed

There was a personal essay in the New York Times recently, in which the writer -- a black woman of Afro-Caribbean descent -- explained the concept of "vex money" -- a secret stash of money kept by the women in her family (and in her culture generally) to be used in case of emergencies -- particularly those involving a man. 

As several commenters noted, this is certainly not just a "thing" among black women, or only used to get away from abusive partners or bad dates.  Your car might break down;  your purse might be snatched... there are lots of good reasons why you might want an extra stash of cash around, because you just never know when it might come in handy.... 

Like the author, I grew up steeped in the message that I should get a good education and a good job, manage my own money and never be completely dependent on a man financially. It was the 1970s, and while feminism was on the rise, I saw lots of examples around me of women who had not taken this advice (and lived to regret it), and this just seemed like good common sense.  

On a more micro level -- I don't remember my mother ever telling me to do it -- perhaps I read it in a magazine? -- but I remember tucking a few dollars in my shoe before heading out to parties, and, before the advent of cellphones, always carrying some quarters in my pocket so that I could make a call from a payphone in an emergency. I know I was not alone among my friends in doing this. I still have a $5 bill tucked in a pocket of my Filofax planner, "just in case."  It's been there for years. (Maybe I should increase that to $10 or $20? -- after all, inflation!  lol)  

I was amused that the first comment at the top of the "Readers Picks" was from a man admitting he had never heard of this practice. A few others in the replies hadn't either. Men clearly inhabit a different reality, don't they? 

(I wrote a post about a similar "men are different/a-ha" moment back in 2018.) 

Do you keep your own "vex money"?  Or is this a new concept to you? 

You can find more of this week's #MicroblogMondays posts here. (I will update this post with the exact URL link later.)  

(My thanks to Mali at No Kidding in NZ and A Separate Life for posting the link to this post on Mel's #MM post for me while I have my gallbladder removed (!)!)  

Pre-surgery odds & ends (& jitters!)

• My gallbladder removal surgery is tomorrow (Monday, August 15th). I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. Aside from having my wisdom teeth out when I was 30, and the d&c I had two years ago for fibroids, and my recent eye procedure -- all relatively minor examples -- I've never had "real" surgery before. Recovery from my recent eye surgery/procedure has been longer and more involved than I had anticipated (albeit I am doing better all the time) and I've found myself thinking, "WHY did I sign myself up for this?? (And so close to my other surgery too!)"  But then I remember how absolutely miserable I was last fall, and several other times before that over the past 20 years -- and other times when I wasn't in outright pain but wasn't feeling great either. Hopefully this will help (crossing all crossables...!).   
• Adding to my qualms, I can't help thinking about my great-grandmother, who died of complications following gallbladder surgery... 94 years ago, in 1928. She was just 44 years old.  :(  She was also, it should be noted (UNlike me...!), the mother of NINE children (!) (plus at least one more stillborn that we know of), ranging in age from 25 down to 11, including my grandfather, who was 16 at the time. (As my mother said, "No wonder the poor woman died young...!")  I'm not sure exactly where she had her surgery, but they lived on a farm in rural Minnesota -- it definitely wasn't at a newly built, modern big-city hospital, like the one I'm going to be at. And gallbladder surgery techniques (and medicine generally) have come a LONG way since then...!  
• Unless there are some surprises along the way, it should be a "keyhole"/minimally invasive procedure, and I will be home later in the day. (My mother thinks it's criminal how quickly hospitals release patients these days -- but then she spent two weeks in the hospital after I was born...!  Different times...!) I'm told most people would take two weeks off from work to recover (not an issue here, thankfully), and up to four weeks to fully heal. I will have to stick to a low-fat diet for the first while afterward, but in most cases, the body eventually adjusts and you can eat pretty much whatever you want without suffering (which is what most people who have had this surgery tell me). Here's hoping...!   
• Wish me luck!! 
• I have a #MicroblogMondays post ready to autopost tomorrow morning. I didn't think I'd have the time to post from my laptop before we leave for the hospital (or the savvy to do it on my phone later...!). 
• My sister & her partner bought a new house!!  They have been looking longer than we've lived in this condo  ( = six years!) but as in so many other Canadian cities, the market has been ridiculous lately, and even when they've bid on houses in the past, they have lost out in bidding wars. Their current house is tiny -- smaller than our condo unit, about 600 square feet -- and they have been wanting something a little larger for a while now -- in part so that they can host future family celebrations, given that our aging parents just can't do it like they used to. Possession will be in early September, so I should get to see it next time we head there to visit (which will hopefully be in October for Canadian Thanksgiving). 
• I've already been seeing back to school ads and posts on social media from friends in the U.S. (primarily the southern states) for the past week or so.  From past experience, I know this will continue through mid-September (schools here generally start the day after Labour Day, but junior & senior kindergarten classes sometimes start a week or so later).  Bracing myself for the onslaught...!  I have several friends sending kids off to to college/university for the first time this fall too. 
• On Medium, Yael Wolfe asks "Why Does Everyone Want Us to Feel Sorry for Mothers?" Sample passage: 

There are few tangible social supports that hold women up in this culture. And that includes mothers who get the benefit of the cultural clout that comes with motherhood but little else. It’s important to me not to diminish the challenges that mothers face in a society that only pretends to support them.

However, it’s also important to me to highlight — at every opportunity — the fact that single, childless women like me have even less social supports...

...no one is stepping up to offer to help us. No one asks if we need assistance changing the batteries in that smoke detector that is too high for us to reach. No one asks if they can bring by a bag of frozen dinners when we are sick. No one offers to come help us for a day here or there, altering their own schedules to fit into ours.

No one makes any effort to know — to really know — what it’s like to be a single, childless woman. And god knows, no one is asking anyone else, on our behalf, “Don’t you have so much sympathy for her, now that you know what her life is like?”

...how about we all stop feeling sorry for each other and just help each other, instead?

• In the Washington Post, this opinion piece caught my eye: "I was a foster child. Foster care adoptions won’t solve the end of Roe." Here's the opening paragraph: 

With the fall of Roe v. Wade, anti-choice governors have advice for what to do with unwanted children: Give your newborns to the foster care system, and they’ll be adopted. But if these governors had even the barest understanding of their states’ foster systems, they would know that adoption is not the true purpose. I’m certain of this because I grew up in the system myself.  

"Don't Stop Believin'" by Olivia Newton-John

I was midway through "Arrow Through the Heart," a biography of Andy Gibb (reviewed here), when Olivia Newton-John passed away at the age of 73.  Since I was already immersed in a book about '70s music and musicians (including ONJ who, like the Bee Gees and Andy Gibb, was born in England but grew up in Australia), it seemed logical that her 2019 memoir "Don't Stop Believin' (which was also in my e-reader) should be my next read.   

(You might think, with that title, the book would be about the band Journey...! -- but it's also the title of a ONJ song and album from 1976, several years before Journey's classic song with the same title.) 

I'm a longtime fan of her music, dating back to the early 1970s, but I learned so much about Olivia Newton-John from this book (and was reminded of things I'd forgotten too).  She had a lot of sadness and tragedy in her life:  As a child, she lived through her parents' divorce. Over a very short period of time, her beloved goddaughter died of a rare form of cancer, her father died of liver cancer, her older sister Rona died of brain cancer in 2013, and she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1992 (which came back not once but TWICE, and which she treated with a combination of traditional and natural healing therapies). She also fractured her pelvis in 2018!  In the romance department, her marriage to much-younger actor Matt Lattanzi disintegrated;  a later relationship with cameraman Patrick McDermott ended bizarrely when he simply vanished into thin air from a fishing trip. In her later years, she found happiness with businessman and herbalist John Easterling. 

ONJ's experiences led her to become an activist for  cancer treatment, research and wellness (there's a cancer treatment and wellness centre in Melbourne, Australia, that bears her name), as well as environmental and conservation issues. I will admit that I found some of her thoughts about healing just a little "woo-woo" -- particularly a trip to the Peruvian rainforest with her future husband, Easterling -- but through everything, she remained upbeat and positive, and that's the tone and message that permeates this book. It's poignant to read the final chapter, in which she writes, "I'm winning for the third time when it comes to cancer." If only...! 

From an ALI perspective, Olivia endured multiple miscarriages before and after giving birth prematurely to her daughter, Chloe, in 1986 when she was in her late 30s, and was planning to adopt a Romanian orphan before her cancer was diagnosed.  And after the death of her sister in 2013, she teamed up with Amy Sky and Beth Nielsen Chapman to write and record the album "Liv On,"  all about carrying on after loss and grief. In the final chapter, she describes a retreat she attended in Cancun, Mexico, with a small group of other women living with cancer. "Just spending this time with these strong, amazing women left me feeling so empowered," she wrote. "Women reinforcing women is a powerful healing tool."  Amen to that!

She had a full, amazing life!  I am so sad that we've lost her, far too soon -- she was a bright light in this world. But what a legacy! 

4 stars on Goodreads. 

This was Book #34 read to date in 2022 (and Book #3 finished in August), bringing me to 76% of my 2022 Goodreads Reading Challenge goal of 45 books. I am (for the moment, anyway...!) 7 books ahead of schedule. :)  You can find reviews of all my books read to date in 2022 tagged as "2022 books."  

"Arrow Through the Heart" by Matthew Hild

When I was in high school in the late 1970s, there was no bigger band in the world than the Bee Gees. In 1977, we learned that the three Brothers Gibb had another, younger brother, Andy, who was releasing his own album. (There's also an older sister, Lesley, who prefers to stay out of the limelight.)  

Andy was just 19, only a few years older than me; he was gorgeous, and like his famous older brothers, he could sing. I bought (and still have -- among the very few albums I did not hand over to Older Nephew -- even though I have nothing to play them on these days, lol) Andy's first two albums, and listened to them over & over again. Lately, we've been listening a lot to the Stingray Seventies channel, and I've loved hearing some of those songs again for the first time in years. 

One of my best friends was crazy about Andy, and bought concert tickets when he opened for Neil Sedaka (!) in Winnipeg in the fall of 1977. Earlier in the day, she called around to the major downtown hotels, putting on an English accent: "I'm trying to reach Mr. Andy Gibb, is he staying there, please?" Clerk after clerk politely checked for her and told her no, there was no one by that name registered there. When she got a curt "NO!" followed by the slam of the phone receiver, she knew he was at the Holiday Inn, lol. She & her friend hightailed it over there as soon as Andy finished his set (sorry, Neil Sedaka!). Lo and behold, they almost literally bumped into him, strolling past the pool, and he briefly chatted with them and posed for photos. I will swear that she gave me copies, but when I went looking for them in my old albums, I could not find them. I did, however, find photos from that concert that another friend in the city sent me. (See below!)   

In March 1988, I was sitting in a shuttle van that carried mail and passengers back and forth between my company's headquarters in downtown Toronto and our operations centre in the northeast part of the city, en route to a meeting there. The driver had the radio on -- and that's how I heard that Andy was dead. He had just turned 30 years old. :(  I think I was aware that he had a problem with drugs, but to say I was stunned is an understatement, and I struggled to hold back tears as the station played one of Andy's songs (I think it was "I Just Want to Be Your Everything").  He actually died of myocarditis, an inflammation of the heart, but his heart had been weakened by years of cocaine abuse.

So young, so gorgeous, so talented. What a waste. :(   

*** *** *** 

Although he was one of the biggest stars of the day, there's never been a book about Andy Gibb -- until now.  I don't remember where I first heard about "Arrow Through the Heart: The Biography of Andy Gibb" by Matthew Hild, but I eagerly downloaded a copy to my e-reader shortly after it became available a few weeks ago. (The title of the book is also the title of the last song Andy ever recorded.)  None of the Gibb family spoke with Hild for this book (Maurice died in 2003 and his twin brother Robin in 2012;  Barry Gibb is the only surviving Bee Gee), but he drew on a wealth of existing family interviews, and also talked to many of Andy's friends and band members.

Andy shared his famous brothers' good looks and considerable talent (many felt that he had the best voice of all the brothers) and they did a lot to help launch and promote his career -- but he was emotionally fragile, highly insecure and full of self-doubt. He was also haunted by a brief teenaged marriage and bitter divorce just as his career was taking off, and only saw his only child (a daughter named Peta) once, when she was 2.  His was a case of too much, too fast, too soon, and sadly, he quickly succumbed to the lure of drugs, cocaine in particular, as well as alcohol. He was also devastated by a tempestuous, well-publicized romance and break-up with actress Victoria Principal (then famous as Pam Ewing on "Dallas").  He started missing out on recording sessions, scheduled TV appearances and cancelling performances of the musicals he appeared in. By the early 1980s, his once-skyrocketing career had crashed, and never fully recovered. He declared bankruptcy in 1987, a few months before his death.    

This is a detailed and well-researched portrait of Andy, his life and career, and does a competent job of telling his story. In some ways, the book suffers from the unavoidable fact that the story it tells is a very sad one:  we know right from the start that it doesn't end well, and it's painful to watch someone so young and gifted self-destruct so spectacularly, knowing what ultimately happens. (On a pickier, editorial note, my e-book edition suffers from a lot of typos.)  

On the plus side, the author does a good job of highlighting Andy's career achievements and personal appeal. Despite his flaws and obvious problems, it's clear that he was well loved by his fans, his family and the people who knew him, and the book helps us understand why, and why he is still so fondly remembered. (The epilogue makes the striking point that by 2020, he had been dead longer than he had been alive. He would be just 64 years old today.) For me, it brought back a lot of good memories from my youth -- of Andy, the Bee Gees, and other celebrities of the day, including the Bay City Rollers (they did several concerts together), the Osmonds (he & Marie were briefly a "thing") and fellow Aussie Olivia Newton-John, who (sadly) died as I was reading.  

3.5 stars, rounded down to 3.  

This was Book #33 read to date in 2022 (and Book #2 finished in August), bringing me to 73% of my 2022 Goodreads Reading Challenge goal of 45 books. I am (for the moment, anyway...!) 6 books ahead of schedule. :)  You can find reviews of all my books read to date in 2022 tagged as "2022 books."  

*** *** *** 

I was curious about what happened to Andy's daughter, Peta. Hild relates in the book's poignant epilogue that she and her mother (Kim Reeder) flew from Australia to England after Andy's death and then attended his funeral in Los Angeles. 

I did some Googling and found a 2017 article where she spoke about her famous father for the first time. She's now 44, a high school teacher, singer and mother of two children, living in Australia. In recent years, her Gibb cousins reached out to her and together, as the Gibb Collective, they recorded a tribute album of classic Gibb songs, honouring their fathers. 

...that two hour phone conversation with [Maurice's daughter] Sam made Peta realise that there was someone out there who had shared exactly the same experiences, and made her feel part of her dad’s family, and it gave her a feeling that she wasn’t alone in all of this.

“My father is an integral part of the Gibb musical legacy. I came to the conclusion that if anyone was going to represent him, it should naturally be me”.

...Joining The Gibb Collective began as a way to face her past and connect with her dad, but for Peta she has gained something so much more.

“I’ve found such a connection with my cousins. The long overdue family reunion to come out of this project is something I never expected. I’m finally able to connect with that side of my life in a positive way, on my terms and in a way that makes me feel proud.”

Andy Gibb, on the cusp of superstardom, Sept. 2, 1977, in Winnipeg, Manitoba. 
Sent to me by a friend who was there 
(not the one who actually met him later that evening!). 

#MicroblogMondays: More odds & ends & updates

• Thank you for remembering our little girl with us yesterday. 
• It was a very quiet weekend. We ordered Chinese food for takeout dinner on Saturday night, and went through the drive-through at Dairy Queen on Sunday afternoon for Blizzards (sat in the car in the parking lot to eat them) -- both "traditions" on/around this date.  
• We visited the cemetery a few days earlier with pink roses (also a tradition) -- we had appointments in the area and decided to do it then and not make a return trip on Sunday. 
• I'm glad we did that, because we've been in a heat wave for the past few days, and yesterday was incredibly hot and humid (high of 32C, humidex 43C = about 90F/109F). Aside from the brief trip to DQ, we stayed in our air-conditioned condo. ;)  
• Even then, with the a/c running continuously all day, the thermostat reading inside was 77F/25C (it's normally set to 74F/23C in the summertime) and the humidity was 62%.  
• Today is not much better, but we should get some relief tomorrow.
• While I was mourning my own daughter, my high school girlfriend's oldest daughter (of two) got married on Saturday, in British Columbia... some photos were posted on Facebook. She's in her early 30s. 
• My gf says she'd like to be a grandmother someday, but not counting on it. I think the odds are in her favour, but I'm glad she's taking that attitude. 
• Today is two weeks since my eye surgery (superficial keratectomy), and four days since my first follow-up visit on Thursday, when the contact lens bandage was removed (which was a relief!). My eye is about the same as it has been for several days now. Still feeling slightly irritated (like there's an eyelash stuck in there somewhere -- very annoying, especially when I know I'm not supposed to rub or touch that eye). There are times when I think the vision is improving ever so slightly, but it's mostly still fairly smudgy/blurry/foggy, which is discouraging (even though I know that a complete recovery will probably take up to two months). I don't think it's any worse, though, which I guess is something positive? 
• Bloglovin' is back on my laptop this morning!  (For how long, who knows??)  It's been on the fritz since July 14th -- more than 3 weeks. :p 

You can find more of this week's #MicroblogMondays posts here. 

24

I turned 24 years old in 1985. I had two university degrees, was living with my parents (temporarily) and had a job working in my chosen field (journalism) at the local weekly newspaper. In July that year, I got married, moved far away from my family to Toronto, found a cute little apartment in a nice area of the city and job hunted and explored my new city while setting up housekeeping. My post-student adult life was just beginning, and was so full of promise. It was an exhilarating time in my life. Everything seemed possible.   

In 1998, I was 37, and (finally) pregnant for the first time. It also turned out to be the last time, although I didn't know it then. (I did fear it, though.)  The baby girl I had long dreamed and planned for was stillborn at 26 weeks on August 7th. 

It's 24 years later. I am now 61 years old. My baby girl would be 24 later this year, in November, had she been born on or close to her due date. She never drew a breath, but her presence still looms large in our lives. I no longer cry every day over her -- but I still think about her in some way every day. Who would she be today? What would she be doing? Where would she be living, working, studying?  

We'll never know. All we know is we loved her then, we love her still, we will always love her. And wonder...