State of the Onion* Address:

I’m actually feeling physically ok today, miraculously enough**. Of course, the last day I felt this good was the day before I ended up in the hospital. I’ve been living in fear of every sick kid (or adult) who comes into the library. I’m supposed to wear a mask all the time, but I can’t breathe with it on, and it makes my face break out. I have a bottle of vanilla walnut antibacterial gel to hand, and a box of those little wipes, for my hands and the phone, but I think about the fact that every book and movie that comes in is germy. Yuck. It has definitely become a kind of hell to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to work with the public again.
Even worse than the threat of disease is the emotional torment… I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been out a lot, or if it’s because of puberty, or it’s a new crop of kids, but I have had huge struggles trying to control the general misbehavior and vandalism. I found out that kids were throwing things (nice plastic bookmarks, that they also use as ammo, wooden tags for the upstairs computers, paper, etc) out of the upstairs windows, onto the roof of the neighboring building. These windows have no safety measures, so who knows when one of the children will fall – which will immediately be my fault – and the library’s problem. They have been raiding my little kitchenette (that I can’t use because I can’t leave this floor). Last week they stole a bottle of Hershey’s fat-free chocolate syrup (Sally and I made mochas) and poured it down the elevator shaft. They… “defecate”*** (and “regurgitate”) on the bathroom floor upstairs and then walk in it, or rub it on the walls; I ordered big cork boards for posters and notices, and then Joy and I ordered beautiful posters for them. The kids stuck pins in the faces. I was extremely peeved when they defaced one I’d bought special, but I got downright angry when I found pins stuck in the beautiful face of Lady Ella Fitzgerald. I actually considered asking the police to come and dust for prints, just to scare the little !#$%&*^#!s (grrr….) but then I was overcome by the same wave of hopelessness that I’ve been feeling in the face of all of this for sometime now. I mean, what can I do? (before you come up with a dozen or so suggestions that seem just skippy and should solve all my problems *bink *, consider that I’ve been doing this for 5 years now, and I’ve tried everything that I am allowed to try – and a few things that I’m not – it’s a “defecatey” setup here, and that’s the whole of it.) It sickens me that they have this fantastic facility to enjoy and make use of, and someone running it who genuinely cares about them, and they treat it with such incredible disrespect.
I can only discipline them if I catch them. I can’t catch them because they are a whole floor away. I am not allowed to keep them all on this floor, nor to ask anyone for help, beyond the puny measures I’m already taking. We have had cameras installed, but they haven’t been able to make them work (due to more ‘defecatey’ setup problems) and even if we could, we’d have to close circulation in order to be able to watch the cameras. There’s no intercom system there either.
On top of all that loveliness, they lie to me, insult me, they make fun of my illness, and they abuse my concern and hospitality constantly. It’s like having a !#$% husband.
I saw a notepad in a catalog that said “Women with teenagers understand why some animals eat their young”**** Man, do I understand that. Last Wednesday, I cried five times during the course of the day. My beautiful friend Catherine (whose 3 children are always here and would never dream of behaving this way) came in during the last meltdown that day and reminded me that they aren’t ALL like that – true (and I never forget that. I love and appreciate my good guys dearly). But the rest of them, relatively few though they may be, are enough to destroy my peace of mind, and crush my enthusiasm for the whole. I am so drained of energy that I cannot muster even a fraction of my usual concern and support. As if my health issues weren’t enough of a damper, there is this unending nightmare to contend with.
I know that if I were to consult with my boss, he would just castigate me for not doing a better job and tell me that I am supposed to be managing this, so I continue to just abide by the rules when I know who’s responsible, and clean up the mess when I don’t. And I bide my time.

I’m tired of feeling bad. I’m tired of bitching. I want ME back, body and soul.
Next week I have a meeting with my boss and two ladies from finance to discuss the leave that Jeff (Dr. Viar) prescribed. My boss said that the county would be doing an air quality test (YAY!), and asked if we could postpone the meeting until after that, but I explained that even if they find that there is now good air in the building, it’s not going to undo five months worth of damage. My immune system is so weak, not to mention my body itself. At the worst, they’ll determine that workman’s comp won’t cover my leave, and then I don’t know what I’ll do. (I’ve been offered several art jobs, as well as a little waitress job, and I have people clamoring for jewelry, so it’s not as if there’s nothing…) I’m afraid to ask them about all the medical bills I’ve compiled since September as well, but I think I have to. They’re adding up FAST.
It all feels like emotional tsunami.

So. What ELSE is happening in the world of Sam? Not much. Life has been sick/work/
sleep/housework/sick/work/sleep for some time now. No get-togethers, no comedy show. My body doesn’t take the travel well, I don’t have the energy for rehearsals, nor can I stand second-hand smoke. My appetite’s been pretty puny too. When I have time off, I either try to clean a little (my poor Casa de Luna!), make jewelry (aw, y’all WAIT ‘til you see my new stuff*****!!!), read, or sleep. The jewelry-making is a comfort in more ways than one, but sometimes I don’t even have energy for that.
Chris is a rock in the midst of all this. He may not be real good in the ‘remembering ANYthing department’, or in the ‘closing-the-potty-lid’ department but he’s good at being sweet to me, fetching and carrying, and putting up with my b.s. I feel closer to him every day. It’s nice to have something in the ‘L-O-V-E’ department that feels so REAL, not to mention comfortable, trustworthy and safe. He talks to me, about everything, he fights with me when I feel like a good row******, he makes me oatmeal when that’s all I want, and pets my head with his cool fingers when I feel really bad. He tells me that I’m pretty and that he loves me every day, he makes good gin and tonics, and a mean pot-pie. He has a lot of patience, and he is so beautiful to me. When I look at him my heart goes all squashy and I think “Man, I am a lucky girl.” He tells me that HE is the lucky one, so yay, lucky us!
Luna is well, but she’s having some depression and jealousy issues. She’s jealous because George is the center of attention, and it doesn’t matter to her that we are constantly paying attention to him because he’s so damned BAD! Jeesh, this !#$% CAT!
He knocks pictures and ornaments off the wall, jumps onto my shoulder from, I dunno where, !#$ hyperspace (literally) while I’m trying to do dishes or cook, he keeps burning his whiskers off – anytime he sees an open flame he rushes straight to it to try to smell it… A few days ago he burnt the pad off of one of his back toes, jumping onto a hot burner on the stove. As soon as we can get him snipped and completely immunized, we think we’ll have a very happy indoor/outdoor kitty (I think we’re not gonna’ have any choice…). Otherwise, we fear that we’ll be eaten (or duct-taped to death, or some similar horrible end) in our sleep.

Well, that’s basically the latest update.
For those of you who have written and called, I’m sorry if I owe you a reply. I don’t have easy access to the ‘net right now, and I’m too tired to talk when I come home at the end of each day. It’s catch as catch-can. But I love hearing from you, so don’t be discouraged by my silence. I hear you, and it makes all the difference.

Much love,
-s

*Well, not counting my pet migraine, FoFs.
**S – “Ogres [read: Orcs] are like onions”
D – “What they smell bad?”
S – “NO!”
D – “They make people cry?”
S – “NO!”
D – “Oh I know, when you leave em out in the sun they start turning brown and sprout
little white hairs?”
S – “NO DONKEY! Layers! Ogres have layers! Onions have layers....”
D – “...cake, everybody loves cakes... parfaits may be the most delicious thing on the whole
damn earth...”
***god forbid I OFFEND someone…
****I saw another one that made me think of you Andi, and Buffy –
“I childproofed the house, but somehow they keep getting back in.”
*****I’ve designed pieces called “Moon and Sixpence”, “Van Gogh Spring”, “Chinatown”, “Green River”, “Music of the Night”, “Indian Summer”, “Courage”, etc… ooooo-wee! And I just got a bunch more pretty stuff to use, too. Yay!
******’s never over anything serious or mean. Just things like whether we should play ‘Clue’ or watch ‘Pole to Pole’, or why he finds it easier to lie or clam up than say what he really THINKS. We’re gonna conquer that one, damnit.

Well, just when you think it can’t get any worse...

Thursday was one of the best days I’ve had in a while. I was mostly headache free, and definitely feeling better spirit-wise that I have in a while. I was still a bit “puny” from this recent bout of yuck, but I was up to going over to Stewart’s for a bit. Chris and I stopped in at Wendy’s and I got my fave, a baked potato, a Caesar salad and a frosty. We hung around with Stewart, KoL’d a bit, played a couple of hands of cards - and then I started getting tired first, and then queasy.
I’m queasy a lot these days, so at first I didn’t worry, but as the tired settled in, the queasy got worse, and by the time we got to the car, I knew that it was worse than usual. I had to have Chris pinch my hand all the way home to quell the nausea, and by the time we got home, I knew I’d have to consign Chris to the front room so that I could have the potty to myself.
That was the beginning of definitely one of the worst nights of my life, health-wise. The last time I can remember feeling that bad was when I last had pneumonia. I was in high school, and I almost died. Even then, I wasn’t as sick - “reverse peristalsis-wise” as I was that night. At first I threw up ever hour and half, then every hour, then half-hour, then 15 minutes. Oh yeah, it was lovely.
At 6 am, after the tenth* bout, I woke Chris up (he was starting his new weekend work-all-night schedule and I didn’t want to screw that up) and asked him to take me to the ER. Aside from all the other yuck, my ribs were screaming, my sternum had filed for divorce, and my abdomen muscles were on strike. This illness did not give one happy horse____ - it had called in SCABs.
I thought briefly that I might have food poisoning, bad lettuce, I dunno, but without giving any (more) disgusting details, there were certain “key elements” of typical food poisoning that were not present. Suffice it to say that nothing I’d eaten the day before had digested at all, and my body had processed no food or liquids for at least 24 hours. I felt like I’d been chemically poisoned.
They got me into a room and when the doc finally came, she asked if I’d been exposed to anyone with stomach bugs. That’s when I remembered that at least two of my kids at the libob had been notoriously sick the previous week, and had been borrowing the libob phone repeatedly**.
They hooked me up to an IV and started pumping fluids and fenergen into me - between visits to the potty - yes the fun went on and on and on... They took blood (white blood cell count WAY up), they took pee (sickos), Xrays to check for blockages or other serious intestinal kinks and finally said that it seemed like a stomach bug, but that I was way sicker than I shoulda’ been. Doc finally explored my recent medical history and determined that my seriously undermined immune system was probably the culprit. She STRONGLY recommended that I get a flu shot and a pneumonia shot, and asked if I was certain I’d had my childhood vaccinations and tetnus, because my body would have a hard time handling anything else right now.
Apparently each successive illness and weakness has chipped away at my strength until I’ve gotten to the point where a little stomach flu can put me into the hospital. Lovely.

My family doc told me almost two weeks ago that I really must take some time away from work (both allergy and stress-wise) or I am never going to heal. Spring is right around the corner, SERIOUS allergy season is on it’s way - I’m actually afraid. Of Spring.
But there’s so much to do, and there’s no one to work for me when I need time off as it is (my few remaining volunteers - god bless their dear hearts - are SERIOUSLY overtaxed, Margaret can only work so many hours...) There have been other worries too - a patron anonymously called the STATE LIBRARY to register a LIST of complaints against me, and a caring co-worker did the same thing, but only on a local level, thank goddess. I admitted to my boss that I was definitely guilty of some of the infractions (even the ones I was simply unaware of), and instead of apologizing, I promised to try to be more on my toes, but some of the accusations were lies, and some were ridiculous personal attacks. That is definitely JUST what I need right now.
I’m grateful that my boss was understanding and professional***, and let my past reputation and the library’s success speak for itself. I assured him that I would be more aware of the things that I was letting slip, and try to be more “my old self” as far as the service of the community was concerned. It’s hard though. I am worn so thin.
‘Thing is, I feel like if I leave now, people will think I am running, and you KNOW how that is, especially if you know me. Plus, no captain worth a !#$% leaves his ship, especially if it’s not even sinking. It’s just got a little WIND damage, that’s all...
Short story: More stress.

So, after a day or so of watered down juice and endless Sopranos, I got the strength to get off the couch. I called folks who were expecting me for various reasons to make my apologies, and when I talked to Buffy, she finally spelled it out for me. I have got to take care of myself, or I’m not going to be taking care of ANYthing.

It’s so hard for me to accept that I am this sick. I keep saying “It will pass”, but the fact of the matter is, it has no chance to pass. I realized that the onset of the constant migraines coincided with the installment of the new carpet in the basement. There’s still a mold problem in the building, there will ALWAYS be a dust and dust-mite (my two most serious non-chemical allergens) problem there - not to mention the constant chemical assault of perfume, hairspray, deodorant, cleaning chemicals, and of course, paint and new carpet. As it is right now, both the stairs and elevator of the building where I work are severely toxic to me. The stairs still smell like the incredibly ugly, relatively recent paint job as well as mildew-fest 2005, and the elevator has brand new carpet, which has a similar effect on me as DDT and gasoline to a new baby caterpillar.

There’s something about seeing that IV needle in my arm that makes it all hit home. I experienced the same thing back when I had to have the MRI. That needle and tube were far scarier than being put into that claustrophobia machine.
Things have been the same for so long that I am afraid of making a big change. I am afraid of letting down everyone who was so proud of me for getting this job, and for finally being a “grown-up”****. I’m afraid of being weak, of being seen as weak, of being a quitter, of letting down the people who have depended on me, of walking away from something safe - for once.
But here’s the deal: IT’S JUST NOT SAFE ANYMORE.
The paycheck is nice. Best, consistent one I’ve ever had. But it may well keep me from being able to ever make another consistent paycheck again. My body has been compromised to the point that I really am heading toward the - heretofore humorous - bubble.
When I realized that pneumonia, the flu, the next asthma attack, another 27 - or 2 - kid-borne illnesses could take me out of the picture permanently, I started to realize that I have GOT to find another way.

I am going to try to talk to my boss this week and see if I can go to part-time to finish out this month. We have some programs coming up that are important and I don’t want to leave anyone else (‘cause all of us are overtaxed) holding that ball. The lab needs to be moved, if it’s safe, there’s a lot of grunt-work needing to be done, we’ll have to find and train someone else... There’s a lot to do. But if I can’t get my health back in some sort of decent shape by Spring/allergy season, none of it’s going to matter, at least not to me.

Buffy pointed out that there was a lot going on. Getting off of anti-depressants, X’s new job, house problems (the flooding and plumbing problems continue...), hugely mounting medical bills, money problems, considerations about my life changes... all of this adds stress, which weakens me further. It shouldn’t BE that way - I used to be energized by change. Friends keep pointing out that I’ve changed, I’m not my old self, I’ve lost my sparkle. !#$% that. Is ANYTHING worth that?
I could give up my health, sell my soul for the possibility of 401k security, but what good is a plan for a future if you don’t live to enjoy it, or worse - you live, but your quality of life is !#$%?
I can do other things. I can support myself, I believe that. I’d enjoy that, and I’d be fulfilling my dream and filling my soul - and staying away from people wearing Eau de Death in the bargain. I have GOT to get to that place, I have no choice.
I realized today when I was driving from bank to bank trying to avert a small financial disaster (and getting my truck out of the hospital - my water pump died last Tuesday *sheesh*...), that I really am not my self. It’s a gorgeous day, warm, sunny, and I thought I was going to have to work on my day off and didn’t, and yet I just felt drained, weak and worried. Normally, I’d feel like a million bucks on a day like that. I’d be bubbling over to paint or clean or go for a walk, but all I could manage was the minimum, and I didn’t feel the least enthusiasm for the golden sun and promise of warmth to come. I heard this***** song on my wonderful WEBB and thought “This is how I feel all the time now. This is not me. I am the optimistic one, I am the hopeful one. I get so frustrated with my friends who refuse to see a good side (*ahem* you KNOW who you are...) and they come to ME for hope. I can’t lose that. I can’t afford to. The past would come upon me like a tsunami and I would be lost. I know. I’ve dealt with tidal waves before.

People have called and written and said they’ve read my rant and are worried - thank you. People say that when they’ve heard I was down other folks said to go read my rant. I am so glad that you all care, and that I can come here and keep you posted. Knowing that y’all care means the world to me. And let me say here that Chris has been keeping my head above water in every way. He has been so good to me. I went into his room while he was day-sleeping after his first graveyard shift, and just his eye and the top of his shaggy head were showing. I looked at that one sleeping eye and felt a surge of love so strong it almost hurt. I am lucky and blessed that he loves me and that he can handle what I can’t. It’s not much, but it’s an important little bit. It’s mostly just me (and cleaning the cat-box when I’m nauseous. Vital, believe me.). For those of you who worry and who have prayed or wished me blessings, I have them, and he’s a big part of that. Thank you.

I will keep you all posted. Thank you. I miss you.
-s

*Buffy said “Huh-uhn! I throw up THREE times, my ass in at the Doctors’!” It’s not like I’m hardheaded or anything! Gosh!
** Grrrrr....
***Go fig.
****Well, ok, somewhat...
*****Wishing Wells by Ron Sexsmith

Wishing wells
Are fine in fairy tales
But they've got no business here
Where evil's very real
And children are known
To just disappear

Magic spells
Still hold no currency
Where people are lining up
To sell their dignity
When reality's a show
They'll crawl through mud

I fear sometimes
We ain't got a hope in hell
I've half a mind to hang the next fool
To wish me well
To wish me well

It comes as no surprise
All that rises to the top
Before our very eyes
With each generation expectation drops

I feel sometimes
We ain't got a hope in hell
I've a half a mind to hang the next fool
To wish me well
To wish me well

Tell me when
When will the truth prevail
To clear away all
The smug and smirking juveniles
And save us from all
The blood thirsty thugs

I fear sometimes
We ain't got a hope in hell
I've half a mind to hang the next fool
To wish me well