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October 6, 2014

Last week, I was out of town on business (thankfully here in the United States!) when I received word that my father had died unexpectedly.  I caught the first flight to my mother’s house and made arrangements for my husband and grown children to join me there the next day.  We have spent the last five days traveling, making decisions, and comforting each other.

I arrived back at home late last night.  I had another infusion this morning.  I was glad that I already had one and kind of knew what to expect.

I haven’t slept in five days and am more exhausted than I can remember being.  I brought a comfy quilt:


I wore comfy socks:


I brought my drink in a cute sippy cup:


I slept for five of the six hours that I was there.  They woke me up every 30 minutes for vitals, but I just plugged my headphones back in (listening to The Little Princess from Audible) and snoozed on.

I’m now sacked on on the sofa at home with a quilt, waiting for the dizziness to pass.  Tomorrow I’ll try and get some office work done later in the day if I am up for it.

I am trying hard not to think of me when my dad hasn’t been dead a week yet, but I’m willing to take bets on how long before my disease goes out of control or when I will catch some bug going around.  Stress + Relapsing Polychondritis = a portent of evil things ahead.  For the uninitiated, the death of a parent is stressful.


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