When it hits you

I didn't realise how bad off I was after my gut ruptured until I went in a year and a half later for ostomy reversal surgery. The nurses, who were obviously familiar with my file, would casually say that such-and-such would be easier this time around because last time "you were so sick" or "you were really sick" or "you really weren't very well". When a nurse on a surgery unit, who no doubt sees a lot of different kinds of not well, tells you that you really weren't very well, then you can assume that you REALLY weren't very well.

I was lucky, I admit it, but I was also a little confused as to why no one told me how sick I'd been. Maybe they thought that the two days in intensive care and waking up still intubated might have given me a clue?

Well, it's not like I'd ever had that type of experience before, so I guess that maybe it didn't.

As a result, it took that second round of recovery from surgery for me to understand that I had been really sick and, in fact, could have died.

That, my friends, is a weird feeling to deal with.

So what happened when it hit?



Nothing, really. That's the weird part. It's like it was just another thing about my life to file away. On November 22, 2014, I nearly died.

Is that normal, do you think? I mean, it's not like I avoid thinking about it. It just doesn't seem to bother me, or make me want to live life to the fullest, or whatever it is that's supposed to happen to you when you could have died.

I do think about it. I sort of have to. Either that or avoid looking in the mirror, because I have a constant reminder right there. This, by the way, is why there wasn't the usual photo at the top of the post. It's down here, because I realise that not everyone's thrilled about scars and things like that. For those of you who don't mind or don't care, however, just keep scrolling for a look at how I'm healing.

Yep, that's the ostomy scar. For those who don't know what surgical scars look like, the dots are from the staples and will fade. The incision will tighten up a little and contract somewhat. It'll still be significant, though.

It doesn't bother me. I wouldn't be putting it on the internet if it did.

Why should it bother me anyway? It's part of my life. Part of my almost-death. It's an outward sign of an experience that will always be with me, and it needs to be accepted.

I'd be wasting a lot of time on stupidity if I didn't, really.



Aaanyway, there's how things stand. Me'n the scar need to end the post now, so type at you later.

Pointless photos of the day:

Dad's Mock Orange bushes were absolutely full of blooms this year. Here's some phone shots:

Hey, it's another post!

Probably another short post because I'm literally just waiting for the (watercolour) paint to dry on something I'm doodling for Illustration Friday. See the other blog in a while for the end result, if I feel like it's worth posting.

The prompt this week is vintage, by the way. Kind of a weird one.

Anyway, today's flower. I wish I could have gotten a better shot of this poppy, but it was a bit windy yesterday (today? Rain, so not much better). It's pretty spectacular, though. Pink double with purple bits on the underside. The funny thing? Dad has no idea where it came from. The oriental poppies we had before came from my grandma's former house, and they were straight-up orange.

I hope this one seeds, because I'd like to see it around for a while.

Speaking of Dad, did you know that yesterday was Father's Day? It was for us, since I had to work last Sunday. That edible plant walk for the local U of Alberta alumni (Quaecumque vera! And yes, I'm an alumna as well. 91 BSc spec (Zoology). Sheesh, 1991. And now I feel even older...) went well, at least. Anyway, when I found out that I couldn't come in for actual Father's Day I asked Dad if I could take him out for dinner the next Saturday -- yesterday, in other words -- instead. He chose a local Chinese buffet, which let me off cheaper than I intended. I'm always up for decent buffet, though, and this one turned out to be just that.

Decent, that is. Definitely Chop Suey (Chinese heavily modified for Canadian tastes, that is), a few too many battered and deep fried things, lacking in something spicy except for the sriracha they had out, but generally tasty and definitely fresh. That waitress put on an awful lot of miles continually restocking things.

It was definitely the pseudo-Chinese food of my childhood, and probably what I would have kept eating except for a friend I had at U of A (Quaecumque vera...). She was the daughter of from-China parents who had a restaurant in Fort Macleod. At the restaurant they served  the Canada-friendly stuff, but at home it was straight-on real Cantonese. When she and I would go to the Chinese restaurant close to our places she'd order completely off the menu and get things that I wouldn't have even imagined existed. Not everything went over well immediately with this small town Alberta girl, but it certainly gave me a taste for something that wasn't sweet and sour pork.

And good on her. Life's boring if you only ever eat pineapple chicken balls.

Anyway (again), my paint's dry now so it's on to the pen & ink.





Don't expect much, by the way. I never do.

Pointless photo of the whenever

Actually, I have a bunch of flower photos (taken with the phone since I didn't bring my real camera this week), so there may actually be a few posts in the future.

Don't fall down in shock.

After all, there may be new photos, but they may all be of mating insects like you see here. Oh, you didn't notice the mating insects? You will now.

Anyway, this post is mostly just to say that I'm still around, and it's short of necessity since I have a few things to do before I take Dad out for a belated Father's Day supper (I had to work last Sunday).

Aaand the dryer just went off, so this will be even shorter. Later, folks.

Love you

The picture is of a butterfly in the Blue group (appropriate). I haven't had a chance to look it up yet.

Anyway, here we go.

As far as I know, I've never told my father that I love him. We weren't that way,  you see. We were never huggy or demonstrative. I don't even remember my dad telling my mom that he loved her. I know he did -- I was there after she died -- but it was never said out loud in front of us.

I'm tired of things being behind the scenes.

I love you, Dad.

You drive me nuts sometimes, but it doesn't matter. You're my dad, and you're a good dad. You've been there through a lot of things, including my first word to you being "don't" when you were emotional seeing your kid in intensive care when I didn't realise how sick I really was.

I have a good dad, and I'm lucky. I know it.

I just hope you know it too.



I love you, Dad.

Random garden things

Here's the last scheduled photo post for the week. We'll see if I have time to do something off-the-cuff later on.

Grape leaves

Anyone know? My grandma called it Sea Lavender, but it isn't.

Johnny Jump-ups. European originally, but they grow wild here now.

More irises

I did warn you...

There's something about the swirls...

And finally, it wouldn't be me if I didn't mess with one a little bit.