The Long February

It's the shortest month of the year, and yet ...

Every year since we've been married, Sarah and I have dealt with some disaster on or around Valentine's Day. Usually, it's a sickness. Our first Valentine's Day as husband and wife, I got gastroenteritis, a nasty stomach bug that violently hurries all food and liquid out of your system from the nearest available orifice. Repeatedly.

Subsequent Valentine's Days have been less ... explosive? expulsive? ... but still no fun.
Then came 2009. Neither of us was sick. Sarah's parents were visiting, and they watched Hattie while we had a leisurely breakfast and strolled around downtown SLO. It was wonderful. We reveled in it.

And we paid for it. Ah, hubris.

Toward the end of the month, Sarah developed a sore throat that looked, sounded, and felt like strep. But it wasn't. Two tests confirmed that. Fortunately, the mysterious symptoms went away after a couple of days. But they were replaced by ... can you guess? ... gastroenteritis.

As you may have gathered from my earlier description, this particular malady is horrible under the best of circumstances. But since Sarah was also 27 weeks pregnant, horrible took a turn for the worse. And scary.

After it became apparent that Sarah wasn't going to be able to keep anything--anything at all--in her system, we hurried to the ER at a nearby hospital. That was 10:30 on a Wednesday night.

Long story short, Sarah came home from the hospital on Thursday. The next Thursday, that is. She spent more than a week with an IV sticking out of one of four places on her arms, moving from the ER to Step-Down to Med-Surg to OB. She was poked and prodded while she puked. And every doctor (about half a dozen came through to tell her she was rather far along in her pregnancy to still be having morning sickness) had a different theory and line of treatment. One doctor, who actually made some helpful comments mid-way through Sarah's illness, later came in to tell her that her chakras were back in alignment. Nice.

I kept a notebook with me (I took a few days off work and slept at the hospital for four of the nights), and I'm glad I did. In more than one instance, I told a confused doctor or nurse Sarah's most recent blood pressure, the last time she kept food down, or some other detail about her care. Twice I suggested a different pharmaceutical than the doctor was suggesting. In both cases, my suggestion was safer for an unborn child and proved effective at helping Sarah's healing process.

To be fair, we encountered some amazing nurses and doctors, too. Once we landed in OB, where the staff could keep Sarah on the road to recovery and monitor the baby's health, we felt secure and listened to. People answered every question we could throw at them, and if they didn't know the answer, they helped us find it. We're very grateful to them.

Sarah is now home. She's tired and feeling weak, but the baby seems to be doing well (moving and kicking and dancing around, just like Hattie did) and Sarah's been eating meals and downing fluids.

February, however, had more in store. While Sarah's digestive issues were finally settling down, our property management company called to tell us the owners of our rental decided to see if the house will sell in this market. Realtors have been calling my recuperating wife to try to set up times to show the house to prospective buyers. I'm not thrilled with this.

Next year, we'd like to go back to the crummy Valentine's Day if it means a less-crazy rest of the month.

(Hattie, by the way, spent the week with grandparents. As she was preparing to leave for an as-yet-undetermined number of days, I loaded her into her carseat and tried to explain that I didn't know when I'd see her again. I kissed her goodbye and asked her if she wanted to sing a song with me. Her response: "No. Close the door.")

Man vs. Nature

It's one of the basic conflicts in narrative literature, right up there with Man vs. Self and Man vs. Society.

This morning, when Sarah settled onto our futon to check her e-mail, she noticed an ant in the carpet. Then another one. Then another. And another. Soon, we had traced a trail--right across a pile of clean, folded laundry--to cracks in our fireplace and bookshelves. We're not sure to what they were making a trail: that damp rag? that It's-It wrapper we accidentally missed while cleaning up from dinner last night? that empty container of Gerber Graduates Finger Foods Peach Puffs that Hattie uses as a drum? There were ants here and there on all of those things, but they mostly looked like they were still deciding where they were going to concentrate their efforts. Nothing had been settled on.

We immediately began shaking out the clothes outside, when I noticed that our lawn was overrun with weeds: dandelions, black murdoch, and more I can't identify. Obviously, weeds like that don't spring up overnight--or maybe they do. While Sarah treated all of the ant entryways with clove oil and vacuumed the carpet, I hunkered down on the grass and tried to rip out as many unwanted plants as I could by the roots. Hattie chose to help me with chores by tearing off leaves from the tallest offenders.

After we'd been at our gardening endeavors for a while, a shadow fell across us. Then again. And again. I looked up to see a turkey vulture circling us. It was quite low in the sky--unlike the ants, it seemed to have made a decision about what it wanted to eat. I scooped up Hattie and went inside.

By early afternoon, as I type this, the ants have been evicted, the lawn is mostly grass again, and the turkey vulture is gone. Still, I feel that nature got the upper hand today. I hope that nothing goes wrong when we go to the Charles Paddock Zoo in Atascadero this evening.