Last Monday, Aunt Barb had another stroke. She's my dad's mother's sister, and I think she may have turned 90 last month. Her speech is unaffected, but she's lost the use of her left hand, which is incredibly frustrating for her. When I talked to her last night, she actually apologized for not having finished Hunter's baby blanket, but she's doing physical therapy and hopes to regain enough movement to be able to crochet the rest of it before Hunter arrives.

Her condition is saddening, yet over the years, I've been able to come to terms with her failing health, and when it is time for her to go, I'll be able to say goodbye.


What I was not prepared for was my mother ending up in the hospital on Tuesday with excruciating cramps and intestinal bleeding.


Excuse me? If anyone's supposed to be having sympathy pains, it's Shawn, and blood coming out of your body was never part of the deal.

The doctors put her on pain meds and antibiotics. Yesterday they ran some tests and found that the bleeding has been stopped; there's still some residual inflammation which should clear up relatively complication-free. There seems to be a consensus that future episodes can be avoided by increasing exercise, so, as Dad pointed out, as scary as this was, it may end up being a beneficial motivator for a healthier lifestyle, which is a good thing. He's looking forward to chasing her around the block.

I feel much better now.

In retrospect, at least it allowed me to celebrate St. Patrick's Day in that most traditional of non-alcoholic Irish ways: using music to transform pain into something of beauty.

I think that next year, I'd rather just look for four-leaf clovers.

---

QotD

Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
— Shelley