Well, last week was... enlightening. Is that the right word? Maybe life-changing? Or better yet: life-halting? More like sobering. That's probably the best fit. Last week was sobering. Say that word, sobering, enough times and it starts to sound foreign, less and less like a real word, and harder to make sense of. Have you ever done that? You re-read or repeat a word too many times, and you start to doubt that you're saying or reading it correctly? The words "kidney" and "failure" were mentioned a lot last week. But this time, those words didn't make any sense from the beginning. What does that even mean? Kidney Failure? As in flunk, no longer passing, can not pass 'Go', do not collect $200. Your kidneys are kaput. How can my mom repeatedly tell us that she feels fine and doesn't understand the big fuss, but her doctors are saying you're in real trouble here, and there's no coming back from it? That's where we were last week. Mom was sent to the E.R., quickly followed by an ambulance
ride to a hospital three hours away because her kidneys have failed to meet the mark nor cut the proverbial mustard. So mom spent a few days getting poked, prodded, tested, monitored, and fed simple foods with minimal liquids in an attempt to get her "numbers leveled out". Meanwhile, dad stayed in a hotel a couple blocks away and attempted to keep us kids back at home well-informed. Mom wasn't allowed any visitors due to the COVID restrictions, but the front staff gave pity on my pacing dad out front and let him sit with her for about 45 minutes. It provided a little peace for Mom and Dad. I was so grateful.
While Mom was in the hospital, Jason, the boys, and I were back in Hermiston packing for an extended weekend in Neskowin on the Oregon Coast with Jason's family. It's a yearly tradition, and always an appreciated break in the Fall after school has started and the weather is turning. But this year, the pre-planned trip preparation felt different. It felt wrong and gave me a bad taste in my mouth. I'm packing for relaxation and the ocean while my mom is anchored down in a hospital bed. Mom assured me when I called to see what I can do or bring for her, that she was just fine (other than tired of eating fish), and to enjoy the trip. Fortunately, my guilt subsided a bit when she called the first morning we were at the coast to say they had given her the green light and she was jumpin' ship! Mom had to eat lunch, get a final bag of iron through her I.V., double-check all the numbers, charts, doctors, etc, and then Dad would get the call to pick her up. Dad waited by the phone and hustled to get in and out with Mom before the staff could change their minds. I was elated, and relieved, and nervous. I was so happy that Dad got to be with his wife again. Bring her home, help her. And I was so relieved that Mom was well enough to get out of the hospital. But now I'm nervous. Mom is back home, with no check-ins or immediate access to fast-acting nurses if she were to take a turn for the worse. Now she's in charge and responsible for herself - and with all the restrictions, medications, and notes she came home with, it seems like a very heavy burden to bear. For right now though, I will choose to be thankful that she is home, my sisters are close by to check in and help with the right foods for her, and Mom's attitude is positive towards the abrupt life change.
While we were at the coast, the weather was insane. We're talking late-September on the Oregon Coast and it's 77 degrees! No wind, bright sun, and freezing waters. The boys swim in the coastal waters no matter what. Rain, wind, sunshine - it doesn't matter, they're suiting up and running in. Thank God for Jason and his ability to withstand the cold because that means he's going in with them, and I can stay on the sand in my five layers of clothes, wishing I had put one more on before we left the house. This year was different though - we had WARM SUN! It looked like Daytona Beach out there. Girls were sunbathing in their bikinis, dudes were walking their dogs in too-short shorts and no shirts. On a whim, Jason threw in his inflatable paddle board and because of the warmth and no wind, he was able to take it out on a side river that came through the beach. Barrett and Cord even gave it a shot and did great with it!
Ryan wasn't having it though. Which surprised us all because Ryan is the sportsman of the boys. He's athletic and naturally excels at any sport he tries. Upon further pressing, Ryan said he didn't want to fall into the water where the jellyfish were. And I don't blame him ONE. BIT. I don't know if there was a mass murder on jellyfish off the shores of Oregon, or what, but the amount of jellyfish and jellyfish shards that were rolling around the waves was off-putting for me as well. I never got over the obscene amount of gooey-like giblets riddling the waterline, but Ryan sure did. It was just too nice of a day for him to avoid that water. It was calling his name, and he had to answer.
As much as the boys live for getting their bodies numb in the Pacific Ocean's waves, they can match that excitement for a solid dig in the sand. Which was fantastic when the last day we were there turned into your average Fall day on the coast: 50 degrees, windy, and overcast. Ocean swimming was off the table, but not the sand. The boys found full-sized shovels (not those cheap, plastic beach ones) at the rental house, and we all set off for some sand time. The boys like to play a game of "Build It And Protect It". Basically, you build yourself something right on the cusp of the rolling in tide, then you dig a moat or blockade in an attempt to ward off the rushing waters. Jason got involved with the piling of sand, and it quickly became a MASSIVE mound of sand. The boys were impressed and quickly set out to protect the build. I'm one that loves to be there to watch, but rarely partakes. The thought of cleaning sand out of my hair and ears does not excite me and leads me to be leary about my sand interactions.
However, this time, that huge pile was too much to resist. So my previous life's cake-making skills came out and I created. It was so fun to zone out and just be right there, in the sand, not over-thinking or really doing anything of any importance. The boys were thrilled with the sand just being a huge pile to protect, imagine their trench-building intensity after they saw my rudimentary Godzilla thrashing through Tokyo.
Our time at the beach was mellow, simple, and exactly what I needed. I'm a classic overthinker and have a knack for mulling over impossible scenarios as potential life circumstances. For some insight, I'll give an example. I do not step on any sidewalk grates, manhole covers, or anything less
than a solid pathway. I am convinced that if I were to step on one, I would fall straight to my death. No way around it, I know I'll fall, so I avoid them at all costs. I won't even step on those that you can see the ground through underneath it! Jason, and particularly the boys, enjoy this about me. What's more fun than sprinting full force and jumping right onto the grate that mom thinks I'll fall through? Yeah, real funny, kids.
Back to my overly dramatic way of thinking. While on our drive home from the beach, Jason and I spoke more about our next trip in the RV down to Arizona, then onto Alabama for a family wedding. This will be our first trip since we started RV'ing where we have no final destination, or intent to come back home. Yes, we have points we are stopping, family and friends to see on the way, but where do we stop? Where do we LIVE?! Pretty surreal, right? I mean, a person has to live somewhere! But not us. It's insane and impossible for me to get my head around the fact that we are home anywhere with the RV. It's freeing and mind-boggling! I suppose we'll get the hang of it, and Jason is superb at plotting our routes and back-up plans. Maybe I need to just hang on for the ride. Let the road and our life's path lay down before us as it happens. Be open to possibilities, adjust to speed bumps, and reset our course as needed. Yep, I probably should do that. Don't mind me, I'll be over here thinking about apocalyptic alternate universes that will, one day, collide with ours.
While I'm at it, what about our family and friends?! How do we begin to grasp the concept that we don't know when we'll see them again? We no longer have any planned vacations, birthdays, dinners, celebrations, hospital stints, etc. that suggest we should stick close to home. Furthermore, our families
are excited to see and hear about the adventures ahead of us that we keep telling them about. Not much to share if we keep seeing each other in the local supermarket aisles or parked out in their yard. But how do we say goodbye? How do I drive miles and miles away from my mom knowing her health is less than stellar? What do we say before we pull out of Gramma and Popa's driveway tomorrow morning for, possibly, the last time for a few months? How do we explain to our boys that we don't know when they will see their friends again? I know there are telephones, computers, gidgets and gadgets-a-plenty to keep in contact, but we all know those devices won't be sufficient the first time we get a call about someone in the hospital. Or having a baby. Or gets the role of Tree #3 in the school play. Or starting quarterback. Or whatever monumental event is bound to happen the moment we skip town and can't be here for. Tomorrow is the first time we're facing a true goodbye. And I'm not sure my heart can take it.
So here's to healing kidneys, easy weekends, and not goodbyes, but see you laters.
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