Welcome, October

Well, it's been a busy week. As they all are, during the school year, and maybe especially in the fall. 

Our week really started last Sunday night, maybe even before I finished my blog post, when Rocket Boy went in the garage and managed to tear his right rotator cuff (we think, no MRI yet). He was in terrible pain that night, so Monday morning we went to Urgent Care and they said they thought that's what it was. They put his arm in a sling, made him an appointment with an orthopedics PA for Thursday, and sent us home to take ibuprofen and be careful with the arm. 

So that was a blow. He can't really do much with that arm, so I am doing all the driving for now. I reminded myself that I did all the driving for FIVE YEARS while he was in St. Louis, and anyway, Teen A has his driver's license now and can help out if need be. As the week went along I also reminded myself of the times during our marriage when I was incapacitated (my knee surgery, the various procedures I had when we were trying to get pregnant, pregnancy itself, delivery, etc.). More recently it's seemed as though I'm always the one taking care of Rocket Boy, but he has certainly taken plenty of care of me in the past.

A little while after we got home, he got a phone call from a recruiter, offering him a job. It's a contract job with the government, very much something he's qualified for and would like to do. Only problem: it's at Buckley, which is probably an hour's drive from here in rush hour traffic. Maybe even more (it's 37 miles, but EVERYONE is on the freeway then). He told them sure, maybe could start October 20th. How he will do this, with a torn rotator cuff, is anyone's guess. 

Monday was also Miss Sillers' birthday. We adopted her from the Longmont Humane Society in the fall of 2020 and she was three at the time, so she is now eight. I got her a little chocolate cake at King Soopers and that afternoon we put eight candles on it and sang happy birthday to her (Teen A did not participate, too horrified by the lameness of it all). Sillers did not appreciate her party, though she did sample the cake, as did Baby Kitty. Cats aren't supposed to have chocolate, but I don't think it's as bad for them as it is for dogs.

Monday was also the "Showcase" concert at the high school, which Teen B was in, so Rocket Boy and I went to that, him with his arm in the sling and heavily medicated. Normally, the Showcase is held on a Saturday afternoon and moves in between the auditorium and the outside courtyard, but they couldn't find a good Saturday this year, so it was on a Monday night, and it had rained heavily that day, so they moved the whole thing to the auditorium. We sat way up in the balcony.

Teen B played in two pieces: one with the advanced band, and one with the band and orchestra combined. He had warned us that when they practiced with the orchestra the week before, the orchestra director was very unhappy with their performance, so I was expecting the last piece (a Dvorak "Slavonic Dance") to be clumsy, but I didn't notice anything wrong with it at all. 

Teen B started playing the clarinet back in 2018, and even though he never practices, I think he's a decent player, just from all those years of playing. The rest of the advanced band (and orchestra) must be too.

I had another week of feeling lousy on Mounjaro, even on the lower dose, but maybe it's improving a little, I don't know. Cooking was a bit rough this week, with Rocket Boy injured. Monday night we just had a frozen pizza, since we were at Showcase until 8 pm. Tuesday I drove Rocket Boy to Sprouts and he picked out some swordfish to cook, so we had that for dinner, with rice and salad, but of course I had to help a lot. Wednesday I made my favorite dish, sweet potatoes with black beans and cheese, very easy; Thursday we had Brenda's tofu (since it was October by then -- we have it once a month), and Friday I made a delicious pumpkin soup, very easy and everyone liked it.

Since the first of the month was this week, I should do a Mounjaro report, but it's not very positive this time.

June 14, 2024: 254.6

July 1, 2025: 217.8
Aug 1, 2025: 214.8
Sep 1, 2025: 210.8
Oct 1, 2025: 211.4

Oops. The thing is, my weight was all over the place all through September, from a low of 210.6 on Sep. 7th to a high of 215.8 on Sep. 21st. On Oct. 2nd it was 209.2, but this morning it was 213.6. So I don't know. I'll just keep chugging along, trying to go for walks (only took three this week), trying to eat right for diabetes, all that.

Of course, the fact that I brought out my Halloween candy dish and filled it with treats this week is probably not going to help. I just love having it, though. To be able to walk by and grab a few M&Ms -- not a huge handful, not the whole bag, just a couple -- and eat them and be perfectly happy, that's a big deal for me. And the rest of the family is equally reasonable about it (they come by it naturally; I have to be drug-enhanced). The kids grab some to take to school with them in the morning -- that's probably not good, but I don't care. Teen A, yesterday, asked me if I could please buy GRAPES and canned pineapple the next time I go to the store. I said, "We have dried apricots." He said, "I don't want dried apricots, I want grapes and pineapple." And then he took an apple out of the fruit bowl and bit into it crossly. So I think we're OK.

The Halloween candy dish narrowly escaped disaster yesterday morning, though. Baby Kitty, he of the nervous stomach, jumped on the coffee table after breakfast and threw up all over it (the table, not the candy dish). I chased him off and he continued throwing up on the floor. So Sillers got a second breakfast, and I had to change the cloth on the table and wash off a few things (nothing big -- a clipboard and a remote control, plus a few old papers got thrown away). Not how I like to start my day.

Then later, that evening, Rocket Boy and Teen B and I drove to Westminster and had dinner at the Wishbone restaurant (a family-owned place specializing in chicken). I had chicken, even though I don't like it (still trying to get enough protein), and it was OK. Rocket Boy had salmon and just couldn't swallow it. He finally packed it all up and we left. But on the way home I realized he was in distress. We were on the highway, so I couldn't really pull over. I said to him, "You know, this car is old and has been through a lot. It won't matter if you throw up in it." He responded by rolling down his window and throwing up out of it. The rushing wind blew the vomit onto Teen B's window (which fortunately was closed) and even a little back into the car. Some got on my cheek! Then RB asked me to pull off onto the scenic overlook that's right before you go down into Boulder valley, so I did, and he jumped out of the car and threw up some more, into the bushes. 

That has never happened before. But you know, there's a first time for everything. I thought it was going to rain that night, so it would wash my car clean, but it didn't. It's supposed to rain tonight, so we'll see.

Backing up a bit, to Thursday, we saw the orthopedics PA at a 9 am appointment (after dropping Teen B off at school). She was very nice, manipulated RB's arm in lots of interesting ways, and said yeah, torn rotator cuff. We thought she would order an MRI, but she said our insurance won't cover it until RB has 2-3 weeks of physical therapy. So she gave us a list of PT places to call, and RB called them and set up an appointment for next Tuesday. 

Then, Thursday afternoon, he had an appointment with his regular doctor to discuss his recent bloodwork, and I went along to that one too, since I was still the driver. RB's blood pressure has increased significantly in the last six months or so, for some unknown reason. The doctor had put him on a diuretic a few months ago, but it hasn't helped, so now he is going to take lysinopril -- the drug I couldn't tolerate because it made me depressed (which is a very unusual reaction, by the way -- it gives most people a cough). RB's bad cholesterol is a little elevated now too, though he has WONDERFUL triglycerides, so the doctor considered putting him on a statin, but said as an alternative he could have a scan of his heart, which would show us what kind of shape his blood vessels are in. That sounded interesting, even though insurance won't pay for it, so he's going to have that done tomorrow afternoon. 

Tomorrow he should also receive his contract for the new job, so we'll see what they're offering him. Maybe it will be enough so that he can pay a Lyft to take him to and from Buckley every day. And I think he has an interview for another job, in the morning. La la la.

Tomorrow is also in-person conferences at the high school, from 4:30 to 7:30 pm, so we'll go to those after RB has his heart scan. Hopefully he won't be tired from the scan, but if he is, I could always go alone. Teen A has been struggling with physics, so I really want to talk to the physics teacher. Maybe he should have a tutor. I had a physics tutor in high school. I loved him and still think about him fondly.

I think I'll stop here -- I have a million things to do today and it's already 2:15. I slept until 10 am this morning -- we all did. It goes to show how much we don't get enough sleep on normal days. I was having a series of dreams about conferences -- we were late, we missed them entirely, we waited for the physics teacher to show up and consequently missed talking to all the other teachers, etc. Taylor Swift was also involved, somehow. Basic anxiety dreams. 

Earlier this week I had my dissertation dream again -- only this was a less positive version. In the usual version of the dream I realize that I haven't finished my dissertation (the one I finished in 1996) and need to hurry up and do it. But there's always a solution: if I buckle down and do it, I can get it done. In this week's version of the dream there were two problems. First, I decided that the last section of the dissertation would concern Armenian. I began studying Armenian, but it was too hard, I just couldn't learn it. Second, I made plans to work with a woman professor I am on bad terms with (since my professor died this past spring), but then I realized she retired a long time ago and couldn't help me. So at the end of the dream I concluded that I simply couldn't finish the dissertation and thus would not graduate. What does this mean?