What's in my Magma?

Lucy Beam.  As Friday approaches, my nerves are shattered, why would I engage in decision making?  Bad enough that this linen piece of whatever the hell was dipped green to tone the red, violet to drown the yellow, bleach to start over, and it just kept going.  I still don't like it, but since the sampler is tight with stitches, it will be just fine.

More thread than called for, I have almost double on the ring so I can choose as I go.

Seeing my cardio at 8am and will be scolded for not taking my meds.  My routine test numbers look fine, next up is the CT scan for the pulmonologist checking on the particles in the upper lung that he said are sometimes precursors to lung cancer.  Not thinking about that now, trying to gauge what dose of Ativan I will need Friday since I will be alone with Carole for these two critical talks.  She is inconsolable and the stupor from Oxy is making it worse.  She adores and trusts my reasonable and stable husband, but he isn't even allowed in the freaking building, banished again to a long hallway with no food or drink for most of the day, and a long walk across the street to the back of a huge parking garage for the nearest restroom on the third floor.  He's vaccinated, I'm not.  Make sense?

Sitting outside by myself, Petey left, Nitzy is in the house and a absolute challenge to administer eye drops three times a day.  It's an ulcer, medication to bridge the recess for healing, antibiotic, pain.  Back in two weeks and drops will be for at least another month.  Once healed, both eyes will require a steroid type medication which if given now, would destroy his eye.

Carole will be calling soon, sobbing and asking why this is happening, when will it stop, and I need to shore up for what should be the last such call today.  They start in the morning and continue until late evening.

Goodnight stitching buds.  Sleep well.

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Pete and I

 Hot weather has arrived, and after spending two and a half hours in a doc office with Carole, going for my own blood work after, all the while Mark is waiting in the parking lot, here I sit on mom's swing.  Nit and Missy were here too but once Petey tries to join, they leave.  

He got up and looked at me as if to ask "how long will it be before I'm a part of the brat pack".  Petey, I've been an outcast since grade school, nothing wrong with being a loner, but it does requires strength.  And when your family is reduced to a handful, you become more alone with each passing year until there is no one, just you.   

Lie down Pete.  You and I will enjoy the warm weather and bright color against a darkening sky.  

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Is it Sunday?

Realizing we're into June has not been accepted, so not being certain of the day goes along with that denial.  Very busy week.  Nitzy has not been himself and we finally have an appointment for which I need to get half of a Valium into him.  And since it's not until late afternoon, he will be howling all day wanting to go out.  Hoping sometime today we can grab him but the recent warming trend has him lounging on the deck.  Tuesday I have to meet Carole at the wound clinic, Thursday is my cardio visit, must be in Cleveland at 8am Friday.  No idea what to expect.  She can't even tell the time looking at the clock.  Oxy increases despite family objections had led to delusion and lack of coherence.  I've talked to several departments and I must say this facility is more open and informative for any concern.  The doctor feels pain control is more important at this point.  We are all fearing Friday's visits.  I may have to private pay for the ambulance service she has used for years.  Kind, gentle, and necessary on a two hour ride.  She missed an appt last week because the facility's contracted transport (new to her)  insisted on a wheelchair, even though she cannot drop her legs, so she refused.  Days before hey left her in one with legs elevated and she screamed and sobbed until someone came for her.  This is not the norm for her disease, most patients get relief by hanging legs off the bed, pain is unbearable at rest.  She is the opposite, no one knows why, and a stretcher is required.

Decided to continue unloading items I have no use for and finally put away the tablecloth pieces I hope to one day create into vintage small something or others.  That was a plan a few years ago to make some extra money and sell online, but we are going so deep into that pit that it's not worth the effort right now. 

The pillowcases and leftover small pieces that I love yielded this pale blue thread on white lovely.  Never really paid attention until it fell from the pile, and I saw the back.  

It's a pillow sham.  Sweet little one, I'm assuming for a baby?  Any other ideas why this is so small?  You always offer answers and guidance and I have no hankering to research.  Sweet isn't it?

I've been ordering items online, still entering stores but honestly, I am the only one with a mask.  Teens, twenties, thirties, and over, they cannot all be vaccinated.  Anyway, we've lost so many stores and almost everything I need is unavailable so this has moved from a precaution to a necessity.  My hair loss is massive and I ordered the gray Toppik.  Been using browns that I had before, but the darker fibers on my scalp (which you can easily see through very thin hair) look like the tiny droppings on a feral's skin from flea infestation.  Yes, the front section which is the worst, looks loaded with flea poop.  So I'm hoping the gray blends better.

Haven't looked for another project, but it seems whenever something lands on the floor, it gets my attention whether I have the energy to pick it up or let it lie.  This time, Lucy Beam's Family Sampler 1839 and Nash's Paisley.  I'll still look through the pile, the only kitted projects are quite large. 

Enjoy the weekend, stay safe.

Jackie, I cannot reply but there is no history listed with the Withrow sampler.

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Margret Withrow

 at age 14 in 1809

From Gigi R

 

Some threads a few shades darker

extended border

added leaves

But other than that .....

I was a good girl

Wonderful sampler

 not too large

not too complicated

no over one

very forgiving and adaptive 

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An end within reach

 but only for this sampler.  Still spinning my wheels and dealing with a patient in constant pain, unable to accept the diagnosis, possibly not survive another surgery, spending hours and hours on the phone for info.  No openings, we must wait another ten days to see a doc at CC.  Today, I found out that the case worker we were referred to, responsible for patient applications to the Waiver program (three requests to her personally within two weeks time), never did.  Damn good thing I called the state agency to check on status this morning.  

Not much more to stitch for a finish on Margret.  I honestly have been wondering why I'm continuing.  A crumpled ball of nerves and confusion and questions is not being calmed by needlework.  I placed a three item order yesterday for a small project and linen piece, only because I was notified that it was back in stock.  We'll see what happens to my mojo in the coming weeks after we see more doctors.  But a large sampler would not be advisable.  Margret's design allowed concealment for a multitude of color and placement errors but the beauties waiting in my stash would not.  

This motif was to be completed in the light brown but when that thread ran out, I saw a needle with pink thread so used it instead.  Not the first time laziness ruled, and these little changes have turned out quite nicely.  

I also need to make a tough decision about the vaccine.  Advised not to, and I fear my reaction would cause another autoimmune to present itself because of my dormant but very high markers, or the fissures on my tongue could worsen and spread to my throat.  Another lock down, I was there before it, and being in and out of all the facilities and each appt, I don't know what to do.  Half of the US is vaccinated, but locally, 90% are without a mask.  That large unvaxxed percentage would have been banned from public not that long ago. 

I don't know what day it is, so I'll just say to have a good one, whatever the hell it is.

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