A blood transfusion is looming.

We go this Friday.

So today, something from the vault:

On a day with a bit more energy

Some days, when you have a kid who has a thing, and when the thing gets too much, she can cry because your extra sensory perception wasn’t working properly, and you gave her porridge instead of corn flakes, or too much honey, or not enough honey, or the wrong coloured straw to drink her smoothie (that you really want her to drink, because she needs every bit of help she can get right now), or you are helping her to get dressed because she is so damn tired, and you choose the mauve knickers instead of the pink, all before your morning shower.  These are the days that you know you have to tell her.  It’s time to tell her.  Really, it’s unfair not to tell her, that today will be the day when she gets the blood taken for a cross-match.  But still you waver.

These are the days that when all the other kids are jostling around, and straggly lining-up to go into class to start the last day of school, you will be sitting in the school car-park after dropping the big one off, applying Emla to the tender skin of the inner arm.  Looking at the those thin blue streaks and hoping one of them will be plump enough to puncture.

These are the days when all the other kids are sitting on the mat in a circle, perhaps thinking about who they will play with at little lunch.  Your kid is sitting in a hospital waiting-room that smells of chlorhexidine and the ghost of urine, hopefully also thinking of who she will play with at little lunch, but more likely thinking about nurses and tourniquets and things that pierce vulnerable flesh to get to the life blood beneath.

So these days are the some days when you think it could all go pear-shaped.

And then it doesn’t.

You tell her that it’s today, and she doesn’t lose it.  Instead she looks at you, eyes so big and blue, innocent and wise all at once, sclera so yellow it’s almost green with the funk of excess bilirubin, and says, “Yes, I think I am ready for a transfusion, I pulled my eyelids down yesterday, and looked at my conjunctiva, look, they’re really pale.  I must be low.  Even though I’m not really that tired, only when I have to stand up for too long, then my legs get all wobbly.  And what is the plural for conjunctiva anyway, do you think it’s like the word octopus?”

These days, your heart leaps and lurches all at once.  It zings with relief, at the miracle of adaptation.  That the plasticity of the brain, and the wiring of the body, can allow a human adapt to almost any situation, given time.  Given the right conditions.  And in that very same moment, your heart feels denser than element 117 and just as unstable, as you yearn for a life for her that doesn’t know anything about haemoglobin or conjunctiva or local anaesthetic creams or blood typing or even hospitals and their strange layered smells.  You wish all there was was little lunch.  And then big lunch.  And shithouse spider craft.

Okay, this could be the last in these transfusion posts for a few months. Thanks for humouring me. 

If you are able to give blood, Coco would love some of yours. Call 13 14 95 to make an appointment.

…From The Ashers xx

Our personal beliefs are a funny thing, aren’t they? They are so much a part of us that sometimes we can’t see past them. And we think that others will think the same as us, come to the same conclusions, if given the same information. And I guess that sometimes happens.

And yet so many other times it doesn’t. Hence the reason for so many wars in life and on Facebook. But that knowledge doesn’t seem to stop us from trying. From presenting our beliefs, trumped up as information, in the hope that others will join us in our world view. I suspect it might be because having more people on our team makes us feel more right. Safety in numbers and all that. Just like all the despots in history.

Recently I had a conversation with a lovely lady who has strong religious beliefs, and follows a particular faith. I couldn’t tell this just by looking at her of course, it was revealed in the progression of our chat, when I mentioned that my daughter has regular blood transfusions. My comment was pertinent to what we were discussing, however it wasn’t imperative that she comment on it. At this juncture, however she chose to let me know that her religious beliefs forbade blood transfusions, on the basis of some scripture in the Old Testament. I admit I didn’t quite catch the rationale, but it was something to do with blood being from source, from god, and only for god. I think it was that only god can be in control of the blood. (Disclaimer: I may be misquoting here.)

I asked if she could eat red meat which contains blood, she said she could, as long as it was bled. Whatever that means. Because red meat still has red blood in it, doesn’t it?

I asked if she could get a transplant which contains blood, she said she could, as long as some of that blood was squeezed out of it. it wasn’t imperative to get all of the blood out, just a certain percentage.

So it kind of sounded to me that some of the blood has the god bit, and some of it doesn’t, given that she was allowed to have some of it, just not all.

I wondered aloud where the god bit was, in the blood, as blood doesn’t have DNA, like, say, all the other cells of the body. So where  could it be hidden?

I wondered what would happen if someone accidentally got the god bit of the blood and not the other, human bit. (Seeing as percentages seemed to be kind of important. Who knew that scripture was so full of maths?)

She didn’t say.

I told her that our daughter could die without transfusions.

She said, “Yes.”

Then quietly, “Perhaps.”

I said I thought that sounded a bit shit.

She said, “Perhaps, but it would be god’s will.”

I said I thought that god sounded a bit shit then. And that he shouldn’t have invented blood transfusions. Or tiny little seven year old kids with Pyruvate Kinease Deficiency who need blood from wonderful donors, and who could die without it. If god didn’t want to share the blood around, that is.

She didn’t say anything to that.

But she did give me a couple of pamphlets that she happened to have on her, with a useful website to clarify it all.

They look a bit shit.

I reminded her that our kid could die, not pamphlet dead, but real dead, if she didn’t get transfusions.

She nodded.

And I don’t think a shit pamphlet would help that much.

…From The Ashers xx

In a shocking turn of events, it appears that I have nothing to blog about today.  I might have mentioned once or twice that I’m working full time at the moment, and my poor little fingers have been worked to the bone. Which makes typing an interesting proposition. Coupled with that: I only had the morning with the kids, so they didn’t really have a chance to do anything funny to pass on to you.

The cat is asleep, Nath is snoring and Casino Royale is on the telly and I am, quite frankly, beyond inspiration. So it appears, dear RRs that there will be no blog today.

Before the snore-a-thon began, I did ask Nath what I should blog about, and he suggested a chat about things that money can’t buy. So far I can only think of intangible things like my soul and possibly health, but money could give you some different options on the health thing, so I guess it’s not entirely true.  As for my soul, I could be persuaded to sell that off in exchange for the house I want overlooking Little Cove.

Little Cove, Little Cove, my soul for a cove

I am reminded of a bit of repartee I had with my Anatomy lecturer in second year. We were discussing who we would or, in my case, would not sleep with for money (it was around the time of ‘The Colour of Money’).

Him: Would you sleep with me for a million dollars?

Me: (Checking out his weird anatomy-lab scented hands and Ned Kelly-not in fashion then-beard) …Umm, yes, I guess…

Him: Well then, would you sleep with me for ten bucks?

Me: (Aghast) No way, what do you think I am?

Him: We’ve already determined that, now we’re just haggling over the price.

So I guess it’s true what you say about breathing in the pickling fluid (it makes you nuts, in case you haven’t heard).

I thought I should leave you with one more thing… I went to a Problogger seminar on the weekend and one of the speakers shared this clip.  It’s funny if you are on Instagram.

And on that note, I bid you adieu.

I hope your pelvic floor muscles are holding up to the comedy of the blog today.

…From The Ashers xx

On the way to school, the Evil Geniuses One and Two play a game where one tries to make the other laugh.  The other is supposed to remain stony-faced, and often arguments ensue over whether there was a change in expression.  Usually once one of them finds a mirth trigger, they just do it over and over (and over) again until the other one nearly pisses their pants.

Today Liam found a trip wire.  He made up a song that went a little like this:

I’m a magical unicorn, Flying through the sky, Pooping out rainbows, And shooting butterflies.

Which Coco found hilarious.  Of course.  Poo and shooting.  What’s not to love?

And that got me thinking about something I saw a little while ago on Smaggle‘s website.  Smaggle has a Kickstarter campaign going, where she is doing ‘Silly things for a bus’.  We pledge some money, and she will film herself doing something silly, in order to raise money for a bus for the special development school she works at.  So I told the kids about a few of the things she is willing to do, chiefly: to go into an ice-cream shop buy an ice-cream, ask them if they believe in unicorns and before they answer, smoosh the cone on her forehead, and gallop out of the shop.

The kids thought this was so entertaining they laughed the rest of the way to school.  I’m not telling if anyone suffered hilarity incontinence, but I will reveal that Coco did say, “Stop it Mummy, a piece of wee is coming out.”

As they were being dumped getting out of the car they asked if they could buy that unicorn-silly-thing with their pocket money.

My heart almost busted out of me, with pride.  And then I remembered they spent all their money on Pokemon cards last week.  So guess who is now buying a silly unicone ice-cream stunt?

Turns out they may not be so evil after all.  Seems they are geniuses though.

Check out Smaggle’s thingy  HERE.  Maybe you’d like to make her do a silly thing for a bus too. 

Random Unicat is not happy. No money raised.

…From The Ashers xx

So I’m here.

On the Gold Coast.

By myself.

I was by myself for three hours in the car, and then again when I arrived here, and all of the long, ripe Gold Coast night, and now again this morning. And it is very interesting.  So even though I will be amongst a massive gaggle of bloggers all weekend, and my beautiful mate from Melbourne, who I don’t see nearly enough, will be coming up to join me this afternoon, I’m still alone.

In that the things that will be required of me will be whatever I want.

Just me.

I have a very easy life, and a family that indulge my desire to write these things here.  I have a job that I love, and I get to live in a beautiful place of warm open skies.  I have kids that are funny when they are awake and sleep like hibernation every night.  I have a husband who is a champion among men who is by my side every step of the way.  So you wouldn’t think that there would be anything missing from the landscape of my world.

So perhaps it isn’t something missing, instead, something to be added in.  Perhaps I could sketch in a little area down around the bottom right corner of the landscape, a little area of space that could have just me in it.  Nothing else.  No bells or whistles or sparkly widgets and link-ups.  Just a squiggle representing itself.

Last night I had a beer and ate some cashews and just sat in the thick silence.  I looked at Twitter to see what the other conference attendees were up to, and a few friends messaged me to see what I was doing, so there were spurious connections with the outside world, but mostly I just opened up the balcony doors and listened to the tumble of the waves and the echo of the cars below.

There’s something wonderful about just sitting isn’t there?

My mind wandered around, looked for things to latch onto, and then let them recede.  Just like the ebb of the waves.  Still there, still relentlessly swirling, but not requiring any input from me to maintain their impetus.  And there is something extremely comforting in that.  The world will turn and turn and turn, regardless of whether I’m plugged in, or checked out.

Disclaimer: It might be easy to say all of this when this is the view from my bed:

Problem: the sun is too, umm, sunny to get a view of the beach for a photo.

How about you, do you love your time alone?

Tell me your number one way to sketch out a space for yourself.

…From The Ashers xx