Two Weeks of Pneumonia

All I have to say is…let’s not make it three weeks.

The last two weeks have been downright heartbreaking. On Monday, April 23, I was diagnosed with pneumonia in one lung and went on a five-day course of antibiotics. Thursday and Friday that week I felt a lot better, and hoped to get to work on Monday. Then I spent Saturday vomiting and Sunday nauseous. Monday and Tuesday I started getting low-grade fevers intermittently, but they were so low and infrequent I couldn’t be sure what was going on.

I finally went back to work on Wednesday, May 2, but not because I felt better. I felt the same: Exhausted, coughing constantly, and occasionally spiking a low-grade fever. Wednesday afternoon I took the first bus home, went to bed, and took my temperature. Fever of just exactly 100.0.

I called the doctor and they said they wanted to see me that night. They said that not only was my original pneumonia not gone, but it was now in both lungs, and my cough was (as I knew) much worse. I got a stronger seven-day course of antibiotics, two cough suppressants (one pill and one inhaler), and strict orders to do NOTHING for the next few days.

I can go back to work “when I have enough energy.” I hope that’s tomorrow. The doctor left it to my discretion and said that I was young and fit, so that should help, but also reiterated what I already knew: Full recovery from Pneumonia usually takes a month or more. A month from May 2nd is June 2nd.

June 2nd is after Memorial Day, when I always participate in the 7 Hills Century as my first organized ride of the year. The next Saturday is Flying Wheels Summer Century, when I’ve traditionally tried to achieve a sub-five-hour century.

This breaks my heart. I had such high hopes for the year: I had, before getting sick, finally almost clawed my way back to fitness after the December 2016 pneumonia. I wanted to ride 500,000 feet of climbing for the year and was actually on track to do so. I had a bunch of big bucket climbs on my list: Mt. Baker, Hurricane Ridge twice, Mt. St. Helens. I wanted to try to finally get back some of the speed I’d lost in the last illness.

Over the last two weeks, and even now, I’m going through a process of mourning the loss of my bike season. I’m having to let go of my hopes and expectations for Bike Everywhere month (riding 800 miles, doing my usual two big first rides of the season, that stuff), of my expectations for how fast and how I’ll be able to ride when I get back on the bike, of the hope of riding with my usual group at our usual pace.

I know; the mountains will be there, my bike will be there. Granted, my friends will be stronger and faster. Rest, recover, you can get it back. But I can’t get this season back. It’s already gone before it’s started.

On top of this, I’ve had to cede almost all my mommying duties to Ian, who’s kept everything from falling apart quite admirably. He’s bought me lots and lots of time to just lay around and rest, which is exactly what I need. I’ve missed two Saturday Bridle Trails hikes and other regular family activities. The grass and weeds are delighted at my complete hiatus from the outdoors, although the ladies from our church group came over and helped beat back some of the weeds in the front yard.

I have no idea what’s going on at work these days. Earlier in the week I was able to call in, but the last couple days of the week, I just laid on the couch and watched movies. (I watched all seven of the Harry Potter movies. They actually aren’t bad, watched back to back like that.)

Throughout all this, I’ve struggled with feeling guilty about missing parenting duties and work responsibilities and helpless, desperate frustration about the biking situation. I feel such sorrow and impotent anger and disappointment and grief and guilt; and all these kinds of feelings trigger anorexia brain. Plus I’m not hungry anyway, because of being sick. I’ve lost weight because of the sickness, and I know in my head I don’t have a lot of extra to lose. But at the same time, deep inside, my anorexia brain is happy that I might be losing weight. That I deserve it, to assuage the guilt and shame and all that nastiness. It’s a battle to overcome the lack of appetite and the secret sense that I don’t deserve to eat anyway. Oh, I’m eating, because I want to recover and I want to lose as little muscle as possible (a fruitless and useless cause; I doubt I’ve got any of the fitness I earned left); but every meal, every food choice, is once again a battle.

I’m so tired of everything. So many times in the last few weeks I’ve just wished I could just… stop. But that’s not how life goes. Just keep going.

Mommying

Here’s what being Mommy looks like.

It looks like waking up at 3 am and staying up the rest of the night to hold and comfort your child as he repeatedly vomits. While he’s sitting in your lap, leaning over the toilet, you’re holding his head. Between bouts of vomiting, he murmurs, “I’m glad you’re here, Mommy.”
(No picture.)

It looks like playing the Hero Kids RPG at 6:30 am on Saturday, with Daddy GMing and Benji and I as characters. You work together to defeat a were-wolf, avoiding spiders and killing lots of wolves. During the game, your child takes a whole turn to bring your character up to full health, because he’s very worried that your character is injured.
Hero Kids: Adventure 2

It looks like going for walks in the woods together every week, rain or shine. You find a surprise patch of daffodils blooming in the woods, see innumerable trilliums and other native flowers, and avoid lots of horse droppings. But most fun of all is playing in the creek that’s really 6″ of mud with 1″ of water on top, poking it with sticks, building dams, and dropping big rocks in to make craters that fill in. On your walks, he wants to hold your hand no matter how narrow the trail.
Bridle Trails Walk: Daffodils

Bridle Trails Walk: Muddy Creek

It looks like staying home with your sick child when he has a cold, then getting the cold yourself — and then having the cold turn into the second round of pneumonia you’ve gotten in two years.
3 Generations of Face Masks

And this happens on the first week of the year it’s truly lovely — in the 70s and sunny — right when you’re about to start ramping up riding for Bike Everywhere month and the longer summer ride season. The pneumonia means you’ll miss at least a week of work and you won’t be able to help much with the child, which is real unfortunate, because this is the week all the grandparents and the regular after-school childcare are all unavailable.

Being Daddy, meanwhile, looks like trying to work as much as possible while also taking on Mommy’s jobs and all the after-school childcare.

Nobody promised parenting would be easy. It’s just the mixed-in moments of joy that make all the other moments worth it.

But I really am tired of pneumonia. Honestly.

Based on the recovery time last go-round, it’s probably ended my biking season plans before I even got to start them. I’ll spend the summer just trying to build back up to where I was last week, without any real hope of getting faster, doing the long rides I love, or keeping up with my biking buddies. I have to accept this reality and kiss goodbye the hopes and expectations I had for the season.

And that’s just biking! I have deadlines at work that I should be moving towards, projects and release-related stuff to write. It’s not going to be pretty.

It’s hard.

Under the Weather

Last Friday, I stayed home from work with Benji and his upset gastrointestinal tract. That, thankfully, only lasted a couple days, and then turned into a cold that seems to involve mostly coughing.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I now get to experience firsthand the joys of whatever virus this is. It’s mostly deep lung coughing and generally restricted airways, with a little bit of nasal congestion and an overall sense of extra tiredness.

There’s no good time to get sick, of course, but we had a release last night at work. That’s a particularly unfortunate time to come down with something, when I have to start extra-late at work and do a lot of extra preparing for the release.

I’m also bummed because, after several weeks of relentlessly cold and wet weather, we may actually have a few days when I would normally want to go outside. Maybe I’ll feel perkier tomorrow, but I know that today I barely dragged myself out of bed to work. I didn’t want to take a sick day, but I’ll leave work early.

Tomorrow’s another day.

Live Note to My Blog

Yesterday at work I got to do some… well, not exactly creative writing, but writing that was more creative than usual. Our marketing department it starting a blog–I guess they heard it’s what kids are doing these days?!–and I get to be one of the occasional contributors.

Yesterday I wrote my first post for them, and it reminded me of how much fun it can be to write with fewer constraints. I got to use a more playful, casual tone when taking about a new feature and I didn’t have to worry about getting all the technical details perfectly documented. So novel! (Actually it was more in the 50-word story length, nowhere near a novel.)

Anyway, it reminded me of how much I love to write and that I do have this poor, neglected blog that only gets a couple posts a month these days. I’m sorry, little blog! I still love you. I know the only reader left is my mom, but I’m not giving up on you.

I hope we can see more of each other in the future.

Change

The season is changing. We get to watch it happen a little bit at a time when we go to Bridle Trails, a wonderful benefit of consistently going to the same place every week.

Last week, we noticed the first pussy willows and carefully petted them. We also saw our first flowers — it reminded me that I want to get a plant identification book to bring along occasionally.

We keenly anticipate the arrival of trillium flowers, as there’s a trail in the park called the Trillium Trail. Benji seems to be under the impression that we will only see trillium on that trail and nowhere else. I hope he’s in for a surprise!

The Geopolitics/Diplomacy Game

I think I’ve mentioned that countries have replaced planets (mostly, for now) as Benji’s area of interest. This is slightly more interesting to us, too, because after three years of planets we had started scraping be l the bottom of the barrel as far as planet books for kids go. There are lots, it’s true, but we also read lots.

Anyway, we’re on to countries of the world! Benji has spent hours poring over our old have of Take-Off, which hails from my childhood, and consequently he’s learned Europe with West Germany and Yugoslavia, etc. He invents different games about countries, like having one in each continent marked that we have to guess.

Well, last night he came up with a new game: the geopolitics/disputed border game. In this game, he and Ian are two countries that are fighting about a border. They want things like access to imaginary rivers or to the real stairs. I’m the UN, and I come in and offer various possible compromises until I come up with one they both agree on. Borders are represented with pillows laid on the floor.

It’s a decently fun game, even for adults, but we had a hard time not laughing at the fact that we were playing it at all. What kid plays geopolitics and diplomacy?! … But it’s much better than some of the fairly boring planet games, so I’ll take it.

Dollars and Sense: Book Review and Response

Ian got this book from the library after hearing an interview with the author on NPR. Long after, actually, given the wait time on new library books… Anyway, he read it and what he told me about it convinced me to read it, too.

I like to think we make reasonably good financial choices. We try to save some, after all, and we love within our means, not gathering a lot of debt.

What this book did was open a window into how we–all of us–think about money wrong almost all the time. The book explored the behavioral psychology of financial decisions, spending most of the time covering the pitfalls we all make.

According to the book, these are the main ways we think about money wrong:

  • Relativity: We think of how much we’re “saving” when buying stuff on sale, when we’re actually still spending money. If you were going to buy the thing anyway at full price, then great, you did actually save. On the other hand, if you only bought the thing because it was on sale, then you’re still out that cost. But we compare the same price with the nominal original price, and in so doing are tricked into thinking it’s a deal. Really, the “original” price is irrelevant: only the sale price matters. Takeaway: Don’t look at sale vs. original; instead, only look at the current price and think in terms of it costing you that much.
  • Mental accounting: We tend to sort money into categories like entertainment, living expenses, etc. When it seems like there’s extra money in one bucket, we tend to spend more because it’s “extra.” Actually, there are no buckets: it’s all just your money, and spending it is spending it. Takeaway: Mental accounting can be helpful when it keeps you from over-spending, but watch out when it feels like you can spend extra. There’s only one bucket: your money.
  • Pain of paying: We feel actual pain when we pay for stuff, moreso when we pay with cash than a credit card, and much more than paying online with something like Amazon one-click. This actually helps us choose not to spend. The easier and more painless it is, the more likely we are to spend without thinking. Takeaway: It’s not a bad thing to have some pain when spending. It helps keep us in check. Don’t always make it easy to spend.
  • Anchoring: We are influenced into thinking of the price of an item by seeing other numbers, even miners that have nothing to do with the item. So if you see a car listed at an MSRP of $30,000, you start thinking that’s what it’s worth. If you get it for $27,000, you then think you’ve gotten a great deal. But you could see the same vehicle listed for $20,000 and you’d think the vehicle would be worth less. Takeaway: Seeing an initial price makes us base other pricing and expectations on that… even random numbers!
  • Endowment effect and loss aversion: We start to feel a sense of ownership for things, even for things we don’t yet own. Once you start feeling like you own a thing, that makes it harder to give things up — or harder to not buy them.
  • Fairness and effort: We’re working to pay more if it seems like someone worked hard on something. Conversely, we expect to pay less if something seems easy (even if it’s not) or takes a short amount of time. For example, when a locksmith comes and opens the locked door for you in 30 seconds, then charges you $200, that doesn’t seem fair. But we don’t take into account the expertise required to do a job quickly and efficiently or all the time it takes to attain that expertise.
    Self-control: How easily we give in to concerns about money in the present rather than prioritizing future self. For example, you can defer your annual bonus to your 401k, out it can be deposited into your checking account. Since it’s a bonus, you didn’t count on it, and it makes sense to save it for the future. But it’s hard to see the value to your future self, while spending the money in a new TV will definitely make your present self happy… For a while.
  • Overemphasizing money: How hard it is to compare price of a product with actual value/how much it actually makes your life better. Money is so abstract, and our global economy so complicated, it’s really difficult to say how much value something provides. For example, I’ve been looking at buying an $80 computer mouse for work. I’ve gotten to try borrowing one for a while and I really like it… But is it really worth $80?
  • Pay for experiences. To answer the question above, perhaps; some things may be worth paying more for, if they make the an experience more enjoyable for you. For example, going to a fancy restaurant and having the sommelier describe the wine may help deepen your enjoyment of the drink. Paying more for that kind of language and rituals can bring greater value, as can paying ahead and then anticipating the experience. expectations, such as planning and issuing for a vacation ahead.

After reading this, I really have been thinking about choices differently.

For example, the book talks about setting yourself up so you can’t make bad money choices. It cites the efficacy of taking retirement savings out of a salary before you ever see the money, so it feels like it was never there and you just live on the smaller amount.

I’m that vein, the bonus deferral example I mentioned earlier is real. I deferred 100% of my bonus without knowing what it was but knowing that, while we didn’t need it to live right now, we very well might appreciate that extra in 30 years.

… Then I learned what my bonus was and I thought, “Dang! I could have done some amazing upgrades to my bike with that!” But it was already gone into my retirement savings. I guess I feel glad about that, in an intellectual way, but I still kind of wish I’d gotten the bike parts, too.

I know that I’ll be thinking about and mindful of these mental traps for a long time. I definitely recommend this book for insight on how you–we all–think about money, and how to use those thought processes to our advantage rather than our detriment.