Eureka Natural Foods sells it for $8.95. The Co-op, for $9.95. Given the state of my finances, I shouldn’t have spent the 10 bucks, but who can listen to the Obama-McCain debate completely sober? Hence, the pomegranate wine.
I saw my first (and only) McCain-Palin bumper sticker Monday. On a Hummer. I was driving Nick to San Francisco the morning after deadline. We left later than planned, but the silver lining arrived when we made that turn round the hill toward the Golden Gate – the one where suddenly the City sprawls out before you, all glittering lights and promise. Much like Humboldt, the absence of fog is notable in itself. The near-full moon shone over Alcatraz, the bridge glistened in the moonlight, the whole scene reeked of postcard memories.
The evening involved dinner at Q (again, Nick’s favorite and as long as we have to travel to SF for diabetic care, I refuse to deny him his indulgences), followed by a good night’s sleep at our friends – I am ever grateful to them for providing us a place to stay – and an amazing day (courtesy of said friends) at the new Academy of Sciences Museum. The excitement stopped only briefly, when we had to actually go visit the doctor.
First, the museum. It’s amazing. Incredible. Mind-blowing. But why use adjectives when we have verbs?
Nick and I strolled into the museum. An exhibit featuring sting rays and mini-sharks caught our attention. The albino alligator blew our minds. The centerpiece exhibit, a trip through the rainforest via Borneo, Madagascar and Costa Rica brought out a childlike wonder I haven’t seen in Nick since he discovered the humor of all things Judd Apatow-related. Butterflies, birds, fish, turtles, tortoises… We enjoyed it so much, we went back after the diabetes check up, despite my misgivings about how late that would put us on the road. I couldn’t say no to Nick’s enthusiasm.
About his appointment: the A1C level is good. Right where we want it. The ups and downs, not so much. A major shift in his insulin doses should fix that, they say. And he’s decided to opt for a pump (we hear nothing but good from people using it). The switch won’t be immediate, but we’re on track.
A friend asked me what the prognosis for diabetics is. As in, how long is Nick expected to survive? I’m lucky – I can say with confidence that, as long as we remain conscientious, his life expectancy isn’t any less than the average persons. But what a thing to think about. I expect he’ll outlive me. I don’t dwell on any other scenario less fear and sadness overwhelm me – but I do think of parents who have lost children. What an unbearable thing. The very thought… I simultaneously worry all the time and build a wall between me and that worry. Everything I hear about children in the news breaks my heart. Being able to function in the face of other people’s loss seems wrong, but I don’t know what else to do besides cry, hug my own children close, keep up the efforts to make the world a better place. Anne Tyler describes the sensation in Breathing Lessons. I can’t find the exact quote, but it’s something about the fear of losing a child making one unable to breathe, so the protagonist has another, thinking that will be easier, but it’s just worst. The more you have, the more you have to lose.
I totally relate.
But Nick’s doing fine and we have a new plan to make sure he does even better.
Seems like I had more to say, but suddenly I’m out of steam.