piecemeal, part I

I've seen Lilo and Stitch twice. Saw it for the second time with darla, badriyaz and her man on Friday evening. Once again, I got a little choked up when Stitch climbs out the window with The Ugly Duckling. Yeah, fuck you.

piecemeal, part II (exercise)

( workout )

mortality and the beach

I'm not remembering this right. I had hoped to put it all down earlier; now it seems scattered. Something about the order may be wrong. The important parts are all there, though.

Saturday, my uncle fainted behind the wheel and crashed. The accident was minor, but he was rushed to the hospital because he was unconscious. A CT scan showed a stroke. The next step would have been to perform a more detailed scan with a tracer, but there wasn't a tech available for that until the next day. My uncle regained consciousness, understood what was going on, and remained calm.

Meanwhile, darla and I chose a nice CD/MP3 deck for her truck.

Mom called me in the evening, told me about the stroke, asked me if it needed more urgent attention: Is this right? Do we need to get him to another hospital right now? Should we fly him to Boston?

Mom, I majored in Biology, but that doesn't mean I know how to treat stroke. Let me do some research- (Call your doctor friends call them) They probably wouldn't know what to do either, unless they had information I have no access to, information I wouldn't understand if I were looking right at it. Let me see what I can find out (Call me back) and I'll call you right back.

My internet connection was down, so I borrowed arcanus'. My uncle could have any of four different problems:

1. Ischemic stroke because there's a clogged vessel outside his brain
2. Ischemic stroke because there's a clogged vessel inside his brain
3. Hemorrhagic stroke because a vessel popped over his brain (subarachnoid)
4. Hemorrhagic stroke because a vessel popped inside his brain (intracerebral)

Wasn't sure if I had the details right (after fifteen minutes online), but I could tell none of them were good. Mom said they found bleeding, so it had to be (3) or (4). Outcomes aren't great. The treatments are similar, but surgery for (4) is a pile of trouble and risk. (3) is very bad news, while (4) is very very bad news.

I called Mom back. Mom, find out if it's subarachnoid or intracerebral. Either way, moving him anywhere might not be a good idea. Okay I'll call you when I know more.

Then anechoic, rojagato, darla, and I went to the beach. Winthrop and Revere have some pretty ugly streets, but the shoreline was nice. I stared at the water, noticed how nice some of these flat stones would look in my fish tank, read the sue-loves-jons on the sand. I laughed, I cherished the time spent with my friends. Mostly, I thought about decisions, people, time, and mortality. I thought about how I barely know this man -- he's new, by way of marriage, and I only know what he looks like -- but he's family, and my aunt loves him, and so does his daughter, and he could die. He's young.

Then we all went to a Chinese restaurant, where we ate very unhealthy food and drank horrendous cocktails. Here, my mind freed up some more, and I laughed more deeply, though I still worried.

Mom called me on Sunday. Intracerebral. She said he has speaking, responsive, mobile, and calm. The bleeding had stopped. I told her this was still very serious -- it could re-bleed at any moment. She said doctors were meeting to decide whether or not to operate. I told her there are terrible risks either way. Mom asked me to pray, and I promised I would. I don't believe, but I still think it's the right thing to do. I prayed, in my way.

The doctors decided to operate.

Monday morning at 7, the operation began. It lasted about ten hours. They were unable to clip the weak vessel, for fear of damaging the surrounding tissue. The surgeon used a substance or a device meant to stimulate encapsulation, which could indirectly seal off the weak spot. After surgery, my uncle was lucid, responsive. He moved his limbs. One couldn't hope for a better recovery from that sort of work.

Mom called me that evening to let me know he was about as well as possible. This means he could live another forty years, or he could fall over dead tomorrow.

We think an awful lot about things that don't matter that much.