Declan Patrick: Part Three

As if I wasn't tired and depressed enough, it started to snow on Thursday, April 28th. And I mean snow. It was blizzarding outside by the time I arrived at the hospital. Brian dropped me off (I still can't drive for another week) and he and Paisley waved to me as I carried my nursing pillow into the hospital. I was getting to know the doctors, the nurses and the drill pretty well and while I wanted to bring him home more than anything, I knew Declan was where he needed to be.

Until he wasn't. I walked into the NICU that morning, over to bed 19 only to find a very sick little boy. This boy was on a ventilator and I could tell from his heaving chest that he was very ill. I grabbed his wrist to read his bracelet and saw another name. Not West - not my child. But someone's. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the snow or the very real fear that gripped my heart when I first walked over to his bed but I lost it. I made it outside the NICU doors and started to cry. Declan's doctor came rushing over, "They moved him but they didn't tell me" I cried, "I thought that little boy was him. I thought he had taken a bad turn overnight." She apologized profusely and took me to where they had moved my son. He was fine. He was lying there, all wrapped up, pinker than ever and on the low-risk side of the nursery. I was so happy to see him. All the machines that only yesterday looked so imposing now looked like nothing compared to what that other baby had been hooked up to. Despite my relief, I couldn't help thinking of that other boy and the mother who would be by his side today. For her there would be no mistaken identity...that was her baby.



Because Declan was responding so well to the antibiotics, the Foothills hospital transferred him to the Peter Lougheed in the North East quadrant of Calgary. It was far less convenient for us but we knew it meant we were in the clear. The Foothills is where the very sick babies go and they had had two emergency twin deliveries overnight. Our little guy wasn't a worry to them anymore and that was great news.



The next few days were a blur of driving across town, being dropped off, nursing pillow in hand while I waved good-bye to the other half of my family. I hated it. I cried every morning because I had to leave Paisley and every night because I had to leave Declan. I sat by his side all day and held him and nursed him. I had an awful headache and when I did go home and manage to sleep, my dreams were punctuated with the ringing and beeping of NICU machines. I was hearing the same noises as Declan except I was at home in my bed. Paisley was not handling things well and was having a hard time understanding where her brother was and why she hadn't yet met him. Mom was leaving her every day and the tension in the house was palpable I'm sure. Brian was great and took the whole week off to watch Paisley. The only positive in all of this was that the two of them got a chance to hang out and I know they both really enjoyed that.

On Sunday, May 1, 8 days after he was born (and three days ahead of schedule!), Declan came home with his family. Brian and Paisley came to pick us up and as I dressed him for the the first time and put him in his car seat I was shaking. I was excited and exhausted and a part of me felt guilty. I was leaving behind other Moms I had gotten to know and other babies who would not be leaving for a long time, if ever. I still think of them all and wonder if they are still there - waiting to go home.

I walked out of the elevator and watched as Paisley came running up to us. She saw her brother for the first time and I cried. She thought he was cute and was clearly overjoyed to meet him. By that time, the blizzard had passed and the sun was shining and both my kids were with me. It was one of the best moments of my life. That night I still woke up every three hours to feed but instead of a machine, I held the warm, healthy and strong body of my perfect little boy. Patchy head and all.



By the time we got Declan home, this is what the poor little guy had been through:

- IV's in each of his limbs and in his head,
- Heel pokes to draw blood over 40 times. His heels were shredded and eventually at the hospital, they would just squueze a heel and blood would come out of one of the holes,
- A lumbar puncture,
- Nasal tube and stomach aerated numerous times,
- A central line placed in his arm and up into his chest cavity.

Declan Patrick: Part Two

By day two in the NICU, Declan's sugars weren't getting any better. Also, I was fed up with my nurses and having to waddle (and I do mean waddle - a c-section on day 2/3 is NOT a pretty thing) across the postpartum unit and over to NICU every three hours and through the middle of the night. (Also, did I mention how much I hate hospital food? Ugh.) But mostly, I was starting to feel frustrated and concerned about my little guy. Every time they tried to pull back on his sugar solution, he dropped and they had to put it up again. The IV in his hand had already gone and the one on his foot looked like it was about to go as well. I just wanted him out of there.



On the Monday night, Declan had a few regurgs (NICU speak for huge puke) and the doctors weren't happy about it. He was throwing up what looked like bile and his jaundice was getting worse. They decided to pull his feedings and start doing tests to see what was going on. By Tuesday things had gotten worse. All that day he never opened his eyes and never looked to feed. Not once. I knew that was not good and was becoming more and more alarmed each time I saw a doctor's face, because they too were getting worried. They started testing him for infections in his blood, urine and even CSF. This involved a lumbar puncture. I insisted on staying while they did it and helped to hold him still. I knew things were bad when he never flinched and didn't make a sound as they stuck the huge needle into his spine. I was worried sick. The cultures wouldn't come back for a few days but the doctors decided to start him on two different antibiotics right away.



My parents brought Paisley to the hospital that morning and she was so excited to meet her little brother. Unfortunately, she also had a horrible cough and a runny nose. There was no way she could come into the NICU. I was so happy to see her though and I know she was happy to see us again. It was hard to explain to her what was going on and we could tell she was a bit thrown by the whole thing. She loves my Mum and Dad but 4 nights away from home and then a missing baby brother and a weepy Mom had taken their toll. I was discharged that evening (against my wishes) and left a very sick little boy at the hospital. While I was happy to be going home and overjoyed to see Paisley I was devastated. We still didn't know what was wrong with Declan and he had had a bad day. We all had.

Getting up every three hours to pump milk is not fun. It is far more motivating to awaken to a needy baby than an alarm clock and the whir of a machine. But I did it - I felt so powerless to help Declan but the one thing I could do was ensure he was well fed.

I headed back to the hospital on the Wednesday morning and I knew that things were going to have gotten better or much worse. After 24 hours on the antibiotics, Declan should improve and if not then it meant we were looking at something far more serious than an infection. I walked into the NICU with my breath held and when I saw him, I instantly knew he was going to be okay. He was awake and wanting food! I started to weep I was so relieved and although we still had a long haul ahead of us, I knew that we had his infection on the run. His IV had indeed gone and so that day they put one in his head. My little boy had been born with reddish brown hair and it was quickly being shaved off in patches. It's only hair and with everything else going on, you wouldn't think it would bother me but I was sad knowing that I would have to shave his wee head.




Part Three: The emotional roller-coaster continues...

Declan Patrick: Part One

So, despite my doctors assurances (she actually used the words "zero percent chance") that I would never make it to my scheduled c-section date of August 23rd, I did. It felt like forever and all of a sudden, bam!, there we were. We dropped Paisley off in Okotoks on the Friday and Brian and I went for a nice dinner and went to bed knowing that in the morning we would be having a baby. Very strange feeling. Probably like a man on death row might feel the night before his execution, except much happier. (Just the knowing part, not the dying part).

We headed to the hospital in good spirits. This was so different than when Paisley was born. I wasn't in labour, there was no need for morphine, Brian wasn't forced to sleep in a dirty corner on his coat. We laughed and I tied various medical belts around my head and pretended to be a ninja. It was jolly good fun. At about 10:30 they came in to wheel me into the operating room. Brian had to wait in a tiny cubicle while they stuck the needle in my back for the spinal. Apparently one too many Dads has hit the decks upon witnessing this sight, and so now they are no longer welcome to watch. It was as weird as it was the first time. You can't feel your body and although you know it's there, it isn't. You can't help but feel very vulnerable as they shift you around and lie you down because if someone yelled "Fire!" and everyone chose to abandon protocol, and you, you'd be screwed. The only good thing I suppose would be the lack of sensation as the flames licked at your toes.



Brian was allowed back into the room and very shortly after they started to slice me open. I had requested that they lower the drape separating me from my lower extremities (which only exacerbated the weird out of body sensation of the spinal) as soon as they started to take the baby out and they did. So, there I am, looking at my own abdomen, cut open with a new person being pulled out of it. There truly are no words to describe just how weird and wonderful and otherworldly that was. Anyhow, there he was! Our baby boy. They whisked him away to clean him up and measure him and I lay there, waiting. I also managed to look at the placenta which by that time resided in a large Ziploc bag. Again, weird. They handed the baby to Brian who brought him over, and once again, like I had only three years ago, I fell madly and deeply in love.



Declan Patrick weighed 6lbs 12oz and was so cute it hurt. He had peach fuzz hair and tiny little ears and dark eyes. I couldn't believe that after so much time and so much anticipation, he was finally here.

They whisked us off to the recovery area and he started to eat right away. I felt wonderful and was on enough drugs to be pain-free, but not enough to feel woozy or out of it. He started having troubles with his sugars right away. We knew that with my diabetes (even though it was really well controlled) this might be an issue so we weren't overly concerned. After he had fed and they still didn't come up, the neonatologist told us he would have to admit Declan to the NICU. I was upset but the doctor assured me this was pretty normal and that he would likely be out in 24 hours.



Part Two: Read how doctors are life-savers but also notoriously bad at accurate predictions.

To Paisley: 38 Months Old

I am nearly 35 weeks pregnant now and so I am very aware, with every twinge, that our family of three will soon become a family of four. I am excited to meet this baby and start the next chapter of my life but I am finding the concept to be bittersweet. I have loved this time I've had with you - just you and me. We spend every waking (and many half-waking, should-be-sleeping) hour together and you really are my best little friend. I feel so lucky to have had so much time with you - to get to know you, to laugh with you, to watch you grow and cheer you on. I love hanging out with you and even now, I look forward to seeing your face every morning. It is still the best part of my day.


You are three years old and 2 months now. You are getting so big and in the last 6 months in particular, have become very capable. You are obsessed with being a "big girl" and doing everything by yourself. You dress yourself, are fully potty-trained, clean your room (when asked of course!), feed yourself, read to yourself, sign-out books at the library, play by yourself and put your coat and shoes on by yourself. You remind me ten times a day how tall/big/grown up you are and each time I am both proud and sad. I enjoy seeing you conquer the world around you and I love watching you develop your independence but it's all happening too fast for me.


You are so funny Paisley! You are a truly joyful little girl who starts every day with a smile and finishes it with a quip. You understand the subtleties of humour and have excellent timing. You are a very good conversationalist and can hold your own with any adult in the room. You are quick, and clever and delightful. I love hearing your observations and your stream of consciousness prattle ("The baby is jumping in your tummy? I can jump like this Boing! Boing! Rabbits jump too. And so do kangaroos. Rabbits eat carrots. What do kangaroos eat?") and even though it sometimes goes on for minutes without you apparently needing oxygen, I never tire of it. It makes me laugh. You make me laugh. The good thing is that you seem to think I'm pretty funny too and that means we have a lot of good times together.

We have a very busy life and you seem to like it that way. We are up and out to the Y most mornings where you either go to the babysitting to play with all your friends, go to swimming lessons or to your sports class. You love going to your classes and were so chuffed when you turned three and all your classes became unparented. "No Mommies! Just me, my friends and my teacher, right Mom?" you would repeatedly confirm with glee. The first day of sports class, I dropped you off and watched you run into the gym, wearing your new pink high-tops, and I thought I had brought you to the wrong class. These kids were so BIG. Then I realized you fit right in and much to my surprise, I started to cry. I never thought I would be that Mom and all of a sudden, I was. Motherhood is simultaneously the most wonderful and gut-wrenching thing I have ever done.


Most afternoons are spent on play dates with friends, or going for a walk or doing crafts together. As a sidebar, I hate doing crafts. I try, I really do but I am not the inspired Mom who has a huge box of supplies and a million ideas of how to turn toilet-paper-rolls into Princess castles. When prompted I usually give you a crayon, a glue stick and some paper and tell you to rip it up and stick it all together. Feel free to blame me if you never get accepted to art school. You really enjoy it though so I recently signed you up for a craft class at the Y. Know your weaknesses and then employ someone to compensate for them - that's what I say.

You look forward to Friday nights all week and ask almost every day "Is tonight Family Night?" On Family Night we play games and your absolute favourite is charades. You pretend to be an animal or a feeling or a thing and your Dad and I take turns guessing. Sometimes we pull the coffee table off the area rug and it becomes a stage for you to dance on. We play Candyland or Red Dog, Blue Dog. You just love it and we love it too. You know that dad doesn't work on the weekends and will exclaim on Saturday morning (once you have confirmed with me that it is indeed Saturday) that "Dad! You don't have to work today!"


You also spend quite a lot of time with your Grandma and Grandpa. About once a week we head out to Okotoks and you sometimes even stay the night. You play with Grandpa in the hot tub or go for a walk with Grandma. You are so comfortable there and I love watching the three of you together. When I grew up I didn't have my grandparents nearby. Although I loved them very much and was really close to my Grandma, I never had the familiarity with them that you do. I feel so lucky to have them in my life and I know you do too. They love you so much Paisley.


You are very excited to meet this baby. As of late (and who can really blame you) you have started to get inpatient. "This baby is taking a long time to come Mom!" You're right - it's a long wait. With every passing day, my belly gets bigger and I get more tired and more fed up with the whole thing. But every time I think "Ugh, I just wish this baby would come!" I stop myself and remind myself to hold on to what I have. To this amazing little girl who has given me more joy and love and hope than I ever thought possible and to the fleeting days I have left being a mother to just her. I am so very lucky.


Love,
Mama

Fat & Fitness

It seems like every day I hear something about obesity. The newspapers are full of interviews with alarmed statisticians and staggering numbers. I've heard interviews (in the past week alone) with fat people, former fat people, doctors, nurses, urban planners and health advocates, all pontificating on how we got here and how we are going to fix it. Naturally it is something I think about a lot and something that really concerns me.

When I was pregnant with Paisley I gained a lot of weight. This was the first time in my life where I had ever really struggled with my weight. After she was born I was left with an entirely different body - an unfamiliar visitor that left me feeling awful. I felt like the inside no longer matched the outside and that people looked at me differently. There were all kinds of reasons why I put on the weight and although the diabetes didn't help, it was ultimately because I had consumed more calories than I expended. I realize the relationship isn't always so linear, and that the more we learn about our fat metabolism and obesity, the more complicated it gets, but still, you can't escape the fact that if you take in less calories than you burn, you won't continue to gain weight.

I started getting fit. I watched the pounds drop off and made friends at the local YMCA. I gained muscle tone and energy and enthusiasm for life. I looked better, I felt better and I was discovering a whole new me. At some point I passed over to evangelism. This happens to people. You discover running, or fitness, and you can't believe how it changes your life. You start to feel like if everyone could discover what you have discovered, they would feel this way too. It becomes a solution to everything you see around you - depression, obesity, heart disease, fad diets and low self-esteem. You start to see it as a cure-all and the people around you start to feel annoyed. :)

Here's the thing though. Exercise is a cure-all. That's not saying everyone likes it. I've come to realize that maybe some people will never feel the rush I feel after a good run (although part of me still insists with consistent effort over a long period of time it will happen) but nobody can argue that the run won't do them any good. The human body is designed to move. Our metabolisms are based on certain energy outputs and evolved under conditions with way less food and far more movement than we have today.

This pregnancy has been so incredibly different from my first, and it is all because of fitness. Losing the baby weight, getting healthy and then maintaining my routine throughout the pregnancy has left me feeling strong, energized and free. The baby of course is better off as well. I haven't gained nearly the weight I gained last time and I have no doubt the recovery will be easier, faster and more enjoyable as well. The only thing worse than being overweight was being pregnant and overweight.

Recognize that I am not talking about being skinny. I have a good friend who is super-fit and does Ironmans - she is incredibly strong and healthy. And she will never be skinny. It's not who she is or how she is built, but she (and her body) derives the benefits of fitness the same as anyone. I firmly believe that if I could snap my fingers and have everyone in the world experience feeling truly fit for one week, nobody would ever go back. It's the getting there that is so tough.

Across the world (or at least across the Western hemisphere) people are looking for an answer to obesity. If I could find that one motivator that would work for people, to push them over the edge into changing their lifestyle I would be a billionaire. Several times over. I often wonder what makes some people get off the couch and 350 lbs and start running, while others (the majority to be fair) just stay there. Is it personality, environment, chemicals? Have they just not found their motivation yet or is it so much more complicated?

I understand that genetics, social groups, past hitory, urban planning, social economic status, culture, race and education all play into this. I get that it's not simple - but what makes some people hit that wall and make a change while others watch from the sidelines?

2011

Wow. Nearly 6 months since I last posted here. That's pretty lame. I have to admit that although blogging more regularly is one of my New Year's resolutions, I don't feel particularly inspired. I will give it a try for the next few weeks and see how it goes. As far as updates go, there are plenty!

1. We moved! In September we moved into Arbour Lake - a neighbourhood just 10 minutes down the road from where we were before. It's a real house with a garage and a backyard and so far, we love it. It fuelled a major existential crisis when we bought it (see #2) but so far we're enjoying it. I can walk with Paisley to the library, the YMCA and all the shops I could ever need. People are friendly and decorate their house for Halloween/Christmas etc. and there is a private lake 5 minutes away that has ice-fishing, skating, swimming, kayaking and scuba diving. Brian can walk to the train which means he has cut a bus out of his commute and although it isn't shorter, it is easier. We are really looking forward to the summer so we can enjoy the yard, have people over for BBQs and meet all the little kids around.

2. The decision to move was an ugly one. We knew we needed more space and wanted out of the condo. We had this idea of who we are as a family, and unfortunately it had a hard time holding up to reality. What we wanted was an inner city house within a short commute (or hey, walking distance!) from Brian's work. We wanted to not need a car and to have a local corner market and coffee shop. We wanted a stoop where we could sit and say hello to neighbours and a school nearby for when Paisley is older. The big problem was that we also didn't have $2 million in the bank. Sigh. So, that left us with the same urban dilemma that faces thousands of young families. Rent at an exorbitant rate (if we could even find what we wanted that is) close to the core, or move out to the burbs. After much analyzing, discussing and tears, we headed further out of the city. We felt like we were abandoning some principles along the way and that never feels very good but we also knew that we would benefit a lot from the things that the suburbs could offer us, like say, affordable housing.

3. When we bought the house, we knew it would need a new kitchen. The house isn't old and in fact the kitchen looked quite nice but there was no room for a kitchen table. Weird. A four-bedroom family home and you couldn't put a good-sized table anywhere. The house had been on the market for awhile and was already significantly less than the other house on the market so we went for it, on the condition that we would remodel the main level. Fast forward 3 months and you have a haggard couple on the verge of divorce in a half-finished kitchen, washing dishes in the upstairs bathroom, drowning in mounting debt and losing faith that life will ever get better. Fast forward to now and all is well. The kitchen is mostly done and while the bills are not yet paid, they are no longer growing. We managed to finish just before Christmas and are really happy with the results. The emotional scars will heal in time. Right?

4. I'm pregnant! We found out the same week we bought the house (elation!) and I had all kinds of complications the week we moved (stress!) but now everything seems perfect (trend?). The official due date is May 1st but due date has ceased to mean much. I have a bicornuate uterus, which essentially means that rather than having one big pear-shaped uterus, I have a heart-shaped uterus with two individual horns. I always knew this was the case but nobody had ever really made a big deal out of it. My doc thinks that having a baby may have made the condition more pronounced and now says it is the reason I had a hard time conceiving before Paisley was born, it's why she was born early and it's why this one will likely be early too. So - between that and the diabetes I will be having a baby sometime in late March to mid April. Let's hope no earlier. (Or god forbid, later.)

5. Paisley is nearly three and deserves her own post (more like 50 posts but let's get real), so I'll get on that. Short story is that she is awesome. Really funny, talking like crazy and the joy of my life.

6. I quit work. Again. From the time Paisley was about 6 months old until this summer I had been working part-time from home. I was writing for magazines and websites and newsletters and all sorts of things. I actually really enjoyed the work but not the schedule. I was getting up at 5:00am before Paisley awoke, writing for a few hours and then writing again during her naps or after she went to bed. To make matters worse, I would calculate my hours at the end of a long, exhausting, stressful week and find that I had put in 8 hours. All that stress for only 8 hours!? It just wasn't worth it. So, when the chance came to take a break over the summer I did. And I never looked back. I thought I would miss it but I don't. Not even a little bit.

7. Paisley is in a day home on Wednesdays and I am really enjoying having one day to myself. I love being a Mom but as she gets older it becomes harder on her to drag her around for errands and appointments. I have had a ton of appointments with this pregnancy and it didn't seem fair to take her with me all the time. So this way, I schedule everything for Wednesday's and she gets to play with her new little friends at the day home.

Ok, that's it for now. To anyone still optimistic enough to have me on their RSS feed, thank you. And wow, you're a really positive person.

A New Pair of Sex

Often in the mornings, Brian will bring Paisley into our bed if I am still asleep. Most days she proceeds to poke me, prod me, yell "Wake up Mama!" into my face and generally bug me until I get out of bed. On lucky days, she will lie beside me and cuddle with me for awhile. I wake slowly but happy to have her next to me. We chat, she kisses me and we sing or play little word games. Yesterday, Brian put her on his side of the bed and when I rolled over to look at her sweet angelic face, she said "I need some sex Mama."

Thinking I might still be half asleep and clearly mishearing her, I said: "What!?"

"I need some sex right now Mama!"

I didn't even know what to say. I was thinking to myself "How does she know what that is? Where did she hear that? What am I supposed to say to that!?"
Then she clarified. "Mama, my feet are like ice. I need some sex!"

Oh. Socks. No problem.

Low School

Facebook has reconnected me with a lot of old friends from high school. It's been nice to see how everyone is doing, but strange to see so many people who I still remember as teenagers, having babies of their own. I was happy to leave high school and Fort McMurray and anxious to start a new life somewhere else. In hind sight, I was probably too anxious. Sometimes I wish I had stayed more connected, kept friends a little longer and not been so quick to start fresh. I was looking through pictures tonight and so many people I went to school with are still friends and still hang out together. It made me feel a little sad - like maybe I was missing out on the only thing I have left of my teenage years.

It has also made me think a lot about the people we lost along the way. Friends who died or were killed or who made decisions that they never really recovered from. It made me think especially about the handful of people I knew who committed suicide. When we were in high school, everything mattered so much. Who you dated (or didn't), who you hung out with, what you wore, whether you were in band or drama or played sports. It was a lot of pressure and I don't think any of us really dealt all that well with it. I guess some of us were better at hiding it than others.

When I think of the young people who chose to end their life it makes me feel so sad. I felt sad at the time of course, but now, standing on the other side of things, the real sadness of those loses is greater, even if it is numbed by time. If only they could have hung on a little longer, the things that seemed so bad would have become bearable, and eventually, laughable. Now, nearly 15 years later, the cool crowd doesn't exist anymore - we are all just people with partners, and jobs and kids. Nobody cares what you wore, or what bands you listened to or whether you were cool. The cliques merged long ago and the embarrassing moments have been forgotten. The heartbreaking words, "slut", "loser", "fag" have lost some of their power and we are all a little kinder and wiser. They were so close to making it out, out into the real worlds, into their lives full of opportunity and the potential to become what they wanted. The girlfriends they thought were worth dying for would have become nothing more than a school crush and the agony of not belonging might have fueled a life full of compassion and promise.

I wish so badly that I could go back and tell them to keep going. I wish I could go back and tell myself that it wasn't so bad. I think of so many of the people I went to school with and most of them (even the ones often underestimated) have done well for themselves and are off living their lives. I have not forgotten those who are not.

Here Today, Blog Tomorrow...

I miss my blog. I miss the feeling I get when writing a post - like all my thoughts are pouring out onto the computer, leaving me cleansed and at peace. I miss the rush that would come when I hit the publish button. The sense of connection that came with each comment. I have written for many reasons over the years; to share adventures with loved ones far away, to work through muddled thoughts that weren't made clear until they were organized into words, and to entertain. I have written to record time and leave memories for myself and for Paisley and to gain insight from other web dwellers on a particular topic. For years now this blog has been an extension of myself.

Lately, I have not been writing. I have excused myself, rationalized and apologized. I have felt guilty and pressured. Tonight I am sitting here thinking, "Why?" Does my lack of blogging mean something more than I want it to? Does it reflect my quieter, far less dramatic life? Am I unable to appreciate the little humours and gifts that parenthood brings or unable to weave them into stories worth hearing?

I think the truth is that I am happier than I have ever been. Much of my writing over the years has been fueled by guilt or angst - or more often, both. I have felt compelled to write to fill some void, to address a hollowness that never left. When I think of myself not writing I feel ashamed. I know it is who I am and what I am "meant" to do and so when I am silent, I am failing. While this is still true, I feel okay about that now. Not okay about failing but okay about just being. I write every single day for work and I love it. I take pictures and sing songs and spend every waking hour with Paisley, making memories. I am proud of who I am, excited about my growing business, optimistic about life and my future, healthy, inspired and peaceful.

I no longer fear an empty page.

Weak but Detectible...

If this blog showed up in the emergency room doorway, it would most likely be pronounced dead on arrival. No pulse, no life, no activity. I am sad to say that I myself may have even agreed until recently. But now, now I am determined to keep this thing alive. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe as a self-serving outlet for my own ramblings, maybe in an attempt to stay connected with the handful of readers still hanging on. Either way, I’m here.

We’ve got a pulse.