Brian, is that you?

I've got an appointment to see a neurologist at the beginning of September.  First day of school.  I hope I can remember it.
In the last 30 days I've completely forgotten two appointments that I'd made for various things.  It wasn't until several days later that I was aware that I'd forgotten them.  I knew about them before.  I reminded myself a couple of times leading up to the dates.  And then it was all gone.  I looked at my calendar and noticed that I had something written in for a previous day and thought to myself "I don't remember doing anything that day.  What do I have written on the calendar?"
Oh, damn.  I had an appointment.  I was supposed to go and get a mammogram done.  Shit.
Panic sets in.  I start feeling my body to see if I have clothes on.  Yup, I do.  So, nope, I'm not asleep and having one of those "missed your exam while naked" dreams.  Damn.  This isn't like me.  I don't normally just completely forget appointments.
Brian, is that you?  Are you responsible for this forgetfulness?
My head hurts.  I have a headache.  I get headaches all the time.  I'm talking several times a month.  Thankfully, Advil and Tylenol seem to really help.  T3 helps when those other two aren't enough.  I was told and believed they were hormonal migraines.  But now I'm not so sure.
Brian, is that you?  Are you the reason why my head hurts?
When my head hurts, I feel like I'm only partly connected to this plane of existence.  It's hard to explain or describe.  Best analogy I can come up with involves the term "opacity" like one would use for a paintbrush tool in some Photoshop type of program.  When my head doesn't hurt and I'm not sick, my mind and body have 100% opacity.  I feel completely here.  When my head is hurting, depending on how bad, I start to feel somewhere between 70 and 60% opacity.  Like I'm mostly here, but there is a chunk of me floating off somewhere in the ether.  And it's really exhausting and takes a lot of effort to concentrate and be more here. Which doesn't really work, so I'm still not completely connected and now I'm really tired.
Brian, is that you?  Are you dragging my consciousness away?
And then there are those times where my stomach feels off (comes with the headaches).
I'm nauseous, but I don't feel like I'm going to throw up [and I don't].  My tummy just feels icky.  I have no appetite.
Brian, is that you?  How the hell did you get into my belly?  Why?
My left eye bothers me sometimes.  It gets dry and sore.  It often feels like there is something in it, but I can never ever find anything.  It lasts for about three days and then goes away ... then comes back again about a month later.  No rhyme or reason to it.  I end up pulling out a few eyelashes because it feels like one of them must be poking me in the eye.  But it's only ever the left eye.  Never the right.
Brian, is that you?  Are you messing with my eye?
When I feel good, I don't think about Brian at all.  But now, whenever I have any ache or pain or feel off, I can't help but wonder if it's just some random thing or is Brian responsible for it.
I don't think I've gotten completely ridiculous with it yet.  I was farting away the other night, but I blamed that on the chilli that I ate and not Brian.  He gets a pass on that one.  At least for now.

Suburban Tourist

On Thursday, Bob and I took the youngest boys up to Whistler.  I've been there once before (many, many years ago).  I've gotten it into my head that the boys HAVE to see certain things in this province.  Maybe it's because I've spent a lot of time in various places and haven't bothered to do the "tourist" thing and check out what other people from other places come here to check out.  So I kind of feel like a tool when someone asks me something about BC and I don't have an answer nor do I even have a good excuse for why I don't have an answer.
"Oh, you live near Vancouver.  Have you ever been to Whistler?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because it's for tourists."
Once upon a time that answer made some kind of sense to me.  It just sounds stupid now.

It really is a beautiful drive from Vancouver up to Whistler.  The sun was out, the weather was hot, and we had the car windows rolled down.  A perfect summer day.
We stopped on the way up to get a few photos at Brandywine Falls.

What's a terribly not cool thing to do?  Well, it's photobombing your own family, of course.

Whistler Village is an interesting place.  I think it's the love child of Disneyland and Las Vegas.  I fully expected to find either a Venetian gondola or a band of colourfully dressed characters singing theme songs from some movie or another to be just around the next corner.

We decide to be adventurous and take the Whistler Village Gondola (I knew there'd be a gondola around somewhere) up the mountain.  Really not a good idea for those of us with height issues, passing out issues and anxiety issues.  

Despite our discomfort, Lucas and I manage to get to the top in one piece.  I wasn't feeling all that great when we got to the end of the line, and I was wondering if it was just me and my health issues.  But as we stepped off our gondola, the group from the car in front was on the platform and a young girl of maybe 12 or 13 years of age was emptying the entire contents of her stomach right there.  I was never so happy to see someone vomit as I was then.  Yay, I'm not the only one who feels sick on these things!  Happy dance!
Let's go romp in the snow to celebrate!

 

I know it's hard to tell from the previous photos how deep the snow still is in July, so the next photo is to help with that.  It comes up to Lucas's shoulders.

So what is one to do after spending the afternoon on a mountain top?  Head to the lake and get wet!  We stopped off at Lost Lake, which, despite its name, was really easy to find and get to.

After the sun set, we left for home.  We barely scratched the surface of things to do in Whistler.  Maybe next time we'll either look for a nearby campground or rent a room in Squamish for a few days.  There's a slide and a maze that we might try and get to in a few weeks.  Or there's a whole bunch of hiking trails that we didn't get to go explore.  Or there's a bunch of stores that we just walked past.  So much more to explore.  All in all, it was a really good day.

Seriously?

I have a brain tumour.

I have been saying that to myself over and over for a little while now.  Ever since the doctor called yesterday morning to inform me of my CT scan results.  It looks like something called a meningioma.  Usually they are non malignant (NOT cancer).  I have no reason to believe that mine is cancerous.  It's small.  About the size of a cherry pit, I am told.  On the surface of the brain, high left side.  That's about all I was told in that call.  I mean, next steps were discussed:  trying to push up an appointment date to see a neurologist, go for an EEG, et cetera.
But I have a brain tumour.
I wasn't sure if I was going to say or blog anything about it.  But then I thought, this is a part of my life, a part of my experience, so why the hell not?  I'm not writing it for "prayers" or as part of a "poor me" thing.  I'm just writing about it because it's what I'm going through and it's on my mind (literally - the tumour is in the meninges which is the covering of the brain).
My third son is a cancer survivor.  He had bi-lateral Wilms when he was a year old.  I remember at that time thinking that I wished it was me going through it and not him.  Well, now I do have a tumour.  But it isn't cancer.  Maybe it's because of what I went through with him that I'm not really upset at the moment.
Or maybe it really hasn't sunk in and I'm in denial or in shock.
When I told my second son, he said he had mixed emotions about it.  On the one hand, he thought it was terrible.  But on the other hand, he thought it was cool.  That pretty much sums up nicely how I feel about it.  I feel terrible because I think I'm supposed to feel terrible about it.  But I also find it incredibly fascinating and, dare I say it, even funny.
I must have been away or not paying attention the day the pamphlet on "How to Feel about having a Brain Tumour" was passed around.  I spent a lot of time yesterday saying "I have a brain tumour" to myself and then giggling.  Maybe in time, when we start really getting into the nitty gritty of it and deciding what to do about it, I won't find it so fucking funny then.  But, right now, it amuses me.  And that's okay; isn't it?  There's nothing I can do about it at this very moment.  Being upset, sad, scared or serious isn't going to make it go away.  If it would, I guess I could muster up a good cry.  But it won't.  Life is chaos.  Throws shit at us all the time.  Lots of stuff we simply can't control (no matter how much we lie to ourselves and try and convince ourselves we do).  I can't, at this moment, control the fact that I have a brain tumour.  So if I think it's funny and want to laugh about it, I will.  I'd rather have a tumour and be happy than to have a tumour and be miserable.  
Either way, I still have the tumour.  
Don't get me wrong.  I'll be sad, angry, serious, scared when I have to be or when it just comes naturally on its own.  But I'm not going to force myself to be those things because that's what I think other people think I *should* be feeling.
If other people think I'm having an inappropriate emotional response, I suppose I can always blame it on the tumour.  Yes!  I have an excuse for my insanity now.  I can just be me and do my thing and if anyone has a problem with it, BAM, "I have a brain tumour.  What's your excuse?"

I guess this is the point when I should backtrack a bit and talk about how I got to here.  I mean, how did I find out I had a tumour.
Two weeks ago I had an "episode."  I've had similar episodes over the last, oh, four or five years, but I just poo-pooed them.  Basically, I was fainting in my sleep.  Although, three of the five episodes I was up and in the bathroom going pee.  All five episodes happened in the middle of the night, wee hours of the morning.
First two episodes, I'd gotten up to go and empty my bladder.  After I'd done my business, I felt "funny," so I laid on the bathroom floor and passed out.  I'd had a couple of drinks the night before and since I don't often drink alcohol, I blamed it on that.  I'm older; I don't drink much; my body must have changed and I can't handle it.  Those two episodes were over a year apart.  I pretty much avoided alcohol after that and things were going good.  Until last year.
Last fall, I got up in the middle of the night because I had cramps.  Actually, I was sick.  I had some kind of noro-type virus.  I went to the bathroom, had terrible runs.  I remember sitting on the toilet.  Next thing I remember is lying on the bathroom floor with my husband standing over me asking me if I'm okay.  I couldn't move and I couldn't speak.  Body fluids are coming out both ends:  vomit and diarrhea.  Hubby calls 911 and gets an ambulance to come for me.  He says I got up off the toilet, hit the floor, then got up again and fell again.  I hit my head on something on one of the ways down.  I do NOT remember doing it twice.
Anyways, I do remember asking hubby to help me clean up and put something on.  I was more worried about having strangers come into my home and find me naked covered in "stuff" lying on the bathroom floor than if I was sick or not.  Stupid vanity.
I'm taken to the hospital.  They do a finger prick and determine I'm not diabetic.  Give me fluids and Gravol intravenously.  Everyone figures I just passed out because I was dehydrated.  I didn't argue because it made sense to me.  Alcohol dehydrates, stomach virus dehydrates.  I wrote off those episodes as my body not liking to be dehydrated.  
The fact that I've had alcohol and noro-type viruses in the past and NOT had any episodes just wasn't that strong in my mind.
Then a few months later, on Christmas Eve, it happens again.  This time I hadn't had any alcohol and I didn't have a stomach bug.  But I did have a cold.  
What was weird about this time, though, was that I didn't make it to the bathroom.  I didn't make it out of bed.  I was sound asleep and woke up because I just felt wrong.  I don't know how else to explain it.  I just felt wrong and woke up just in time to pass out.  While I am still in bed.  
I have a needle/blood phobia.  I am prone to fainting at the sight of blood or when I have to get a blood test or get an IV put in.  That's happened all my life.  I'm not a stranger to "fainting."
The episode on Christmas Eve felt different than a normal faint.  When I faint, I remember what I was doing before, and then my memory picks up when I'm coming to.  I don't have any memories of anything in between.  But the episode on Christmas Eve, I do have memories of the "in between."  I remember seeing flashes of bright colours and weird shapes; I remember hearing a sound that I can only describe as a loud roar that sounded like a thousand people all speaking at once.  I couldn't make out what they were saying or even if they were speaking the same language as me.  And that terrified me.  I remember feeling absolutely terrified because there was all this sensory input that made no sense.  I was struggling to make any sense of it, and I couldn't.  
The colours and shapes faded to black.  The roar dulled into silence.  I remember being aware of sweat covering my body.  It felt good.  It was the FIRST thing that made sense.  I was aware of my body and aware of being in it.  It was a huge relief, and it felt really good.  So good that I felt like I was in a state of bliss.  I didn't want to move or speak.  I just wanted to stay in the bliss.  So I fell back asleep.  Next day is Christmas Day.  I feel weak and tired, but I'm sick with a cold.  I let it go as just another "sick" thing.
Until two weeks ago.  The same thing that happened on Christmas Eve happened again.  Except this time, I'm not sick.  I am aware in the morning that I feel tired and weak.  I'm weepy.  I'm crying for no reason.  I'm not sad; I'm not scared.  Tears just coming out of nowhere.  At this point I'm now wondering if I am actually fainting or am I having a seizure.  And then I'm not sure if I'd know the difference.  I'm not outside of myself when this is happening, so I don't know what I look like when it does happen.
I'm thinking about "connections."  These episodes all happen in the middle of the night.  All five episodes happened within 24 hours of me starting my menstrual cycle.  For the past five or six years, I've had horrible migraines associated with my menstrual cycle.  I'm at an age where being pre-menopausal is not out of the question.  Is this a hormonal thing?  
I figure I better call my doctor and get a medical opinion.  So I call, make an appointment to go in that day.  Doctor wants me to see a neurologist, but in the meantime sends me for blood work and schedules me to get a head CT scan done.  I get the blood work done and it comes back normal.  I expected that it would.  

I go in last week for my head CT.  I had a blast. It was so much fun.
Technician was a good looking young guy who was really nice and made me laugh (as well as I think I made him laugh).
When I got in, I explained the whole needle fainting thing, and he said I didn't have to worry because I'd be lying down when he put the needle in for IV contrast. So I'm climbing on the table and trying to get in position, and I ask him if I'm in the right place or do I need to move up further. 
He says, "No, you're perfect." Pauses a couple of seconds and follows up with "But I bet you're used to hearing that several times a day every day."
I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so I immediately started telling him about how I caught a big ass frog last week and frightened my boys with it.
Then I asked him if the contrast was radioactive. He told me it wasn't. I said I was disappointed because I was hoping to be able to get some kind of super power from the experience. He laughs.
He gets the IV in, gets me in position, starts the contrast going and the test begins. I had my eyes open at first, but then closed them because I could see the spinning thing and it made me a little dizzy. It was fun sliding back and forth on the table with my eyes closed ... felt like I was on a theme park ride.
So then the technician comes and takes out the IV. He asks the other tech in the booth if they turned off the contrast pump. Then he turns to me and says, "I think you broke the pump."
Other tech comes around and says all the screens just suddenly went blank and now everything is flashing and they'd never seen anything like that. Technician says to me, "You definitely broke it."
I smile and say, "See, I did get a super power! Yay for me!"

I have a really, really good relationship with my doctor.  We've known each other for over 20 years.  
I appreciate the fact that she called me on the phone with the results and didn't make me come in for an appointment to tell me.  She was there through my son's diagnosis and treatment.  She knows I can handle this.

So that's where I'm at currently.
I have decided to name my tumour "Brian."  If it's going to be living in my head for a little while, it might as well have a name.  "Meningioma" isn't a very good name.

Sorry, what the hell is a Scoper anyway?

In my spare time, I proof and scope court and discovery transcripts. Okay; proofing is easy to figure out, but what is scoping? Scoping is when the rough transcript comes and you have an audio file and you listen along while going through the transcript correcting any spelling mistakes and filling in any words that were missed. Once the transcript has been scoped, it's then sent on to a proofer who makes sure the whole thing is squeaky clean and sparkly.
Basically, proofing and scoping are fancy ways of saying "a court reporter's assistant." And by "assistant," think Igor to Dr. Frankenstein. "Yes, Master. Right away, Master."
So what's it like to be a court reporter's assistant?  It's a fun, exciting and glamourous job.  I get to dress up and travel the world.
I think I can almost hear all the court reporters, scopers and proofers laughing their asses off right now.  All right.  So the truth is I'm actually wearing my pyjamas and daydreaming about other places I could be and other things I could be doing.  But that counts, doesn't it?
Yes, sometimes - most times - the transcripts can be excruciatingly boring.  Anyone up for six hours of expert accountant testimony?  Yeah?  Great!  Let's turn that into a week.
But most of the time I learn stuff I didn't know I didn't know.  For example, I know about "shy distance" and how to build a log cabin.  Two things that aren't related to each other, by the way, unless you're attempting to build a log cabin while driving down the road.  Now there's a transcript I look forward to working on!
Everyone I know who does this job - and who doesn't run away screaming right at the beginning - is a little strange.  We can talk with each other for hours about how people speak versus how it comes out on the printed page.  And it actually interests us!

For example, it amuses me that the stereotype of Canadians is that they say the word "eh" a lot.  I actually very rarely encounter that word in a transcript.  The word "sorry," however, will pop up several times on every page.
I am endlessly fascinated by how Canadians use the word "sorry."  I've heard some folks from other geographical locations comment on how polite Canadians are and how they're always apologizing for things.  Fact is that there is no actual apology being given 95% of the time the word "sorry" is used.  At least not in a nice way.  "Sorry, I disagree," translates to the insult "I'm sorry you're such a moron, but my opinion is educated and superior to yours."
Canadians will use "sorry" as an interjection:  "Sorry, I was here first."  Means the same as "Hey, I was here first," but also means "Sorry you're such a moron, but I was here first."  So it can do double duty as an attention getter as well as an insult.
But Canadians will often say it without thinking at all.  It becomes just a fluff word like "like."  "Like, I was going, like, up the road when, like, this guy, like, waved at me," in Canadian comes out as "Sorry, I was going, sorry, up the road when, sorry, this guy, like, waved at me."  Canadians will use the word "like" too.
"Sorry?"  That's the same as "Pardon me?"  If it's spoken softly and the inflection goes quite high at the end, it means "Excuse me, I couldn't hear you.  Please say that again."  If it's spoken loudly and the inflection doesn't go quite that high, it means "What the fuck did you just say to me?"
Quick test.  You bump into a Canadian and they say "Sorry," what are they actually saying?
a)  I'm sorry I was in your way.
b)  I'm sorry you're such a moron and couldn't see me standing here.
For a more scholarly analysis on the Canadian usage of "Sorry" go here.  See?  I wasn't kidding when I said this kind of stuff intrigues me.

When government fails ...

So we’ve had a skunk that has been hanging around our property for the last two months. We think it may have made a den under the neighbours’ shed. It keeps trying to get into our garage and has been successful, on occasion, resulting in it getting into our garbage bins and spreading the garbage all around inside the garage. It has also sprayed in the neighbourhood several times resulting in a nasty smell.
We have tried, unsuccessfully, to scare it away. It just keeps coming back and causing problems.
Last night/early morning, my oldest son managed to trap the skunk in a humane trap in our garage.
This morning I call the city animal control thinking that they could come and relocate the skunk to an appropriate place that won’t bother anyone or their property.
The city worker informs me that because it is my trap, we have to be the ones to release it. They won’t handle it. I ask them where I can release it.
I’m informed that skunks are a protected species and that we have to let it go “in the area.”
I ask her what that means. She repeats “in the area.” And I say, you mean anywhere in the lower mainland?
She says no. She says it should be within a block.
I say “Are you kidding me?”
She says that the skunk will bugger off and not come back if I do that. I inform her that we’ve been trying for two months to have the skunk bugger off and it hasn’t.
I also inform her that we live in a suburb and that it doesn’t seem right for me to release it in front of a neighbour’s house and make the skunk their problem.
Her answer to that was to just release it on the side of the road and not go onto the neighbour’s property.
I hang up the phone thoroughly disgusted with the conversation I just had.
I call the Ministry of Environment and tell them we have trapped a problem skunk on our property and we need to know what to do now.
Again I’m informed that it’s a protected species and that we have to release it within 24 hours and within 10 kilometers from where it came from.
“Within 10 kilometers?” I repeat back.
Yes.
Okay, fine. I can work with that.
I am not pleased about handling a skunk myself nor am I thrilled about the idea of transporting it in my car (don’t know anyone with a truck), but the law is the law and I’m not going to release it back into our backyard or onto a neighbour’s property.
So oldest son and I manage to get it into the trunk of the car and to our destination without getting sprayed.
I am, however, happy to report that we relocated this healthy bundle of joy 3.5 kilometers from our home within 12 hours of it being caught ... right on the front lawn of City Hall. They have a pond and a bit of a wooded area. It should be very happy there.
Just following the law.

My Gallifreyan Zombie Killer

I want to introduce you to one of my sons.  He has Asperger's Syndrome.

Being on the spectrum, my son doesn't like change very much.  Routines are extremely important to him, which is really hard for me (and him) because I'm a chaos magnet.

We don't go too many places with him because I don't want to stress him out; however, I do look for opportunities to take him somewhere new, somewhere different, just so he can practise interacting with the community.  I do as much as I can to minimize his anxiety on a daily basis, but once in a while, I will push him outside his comfort zone.  I've tried really hard over the years to go into his world as much as I can.  I think there is a part of him that recognizes that, and that's why he'll allow me to pull him into my world just a little bit.

I've never kept the fact that he has Asperger's a secret.  I'll tell everyone and anyone who is within earshot.  It's funny the things people will say to you upon being told that your child is Aspie.  "So what is he really good at?"

Hmm, what?

"You know, can he play the piano really well?  Can he hear a song on the radio and just play it?"

Umm, no.  He has Asperger's Syndrome; he's not a Savant.

"Oh, so then what is he an expert in?  What is the one thing he is interested in?  My friend knows this family and their son is Aspie and he loves bugs.  My aunt's neighbour's friend's child loves trains and knows everything about them.  So what is it for your son?"

Well, he doesn't have *one* area of interest.

"Are you sure he has Asperger's Syndrome?"

Yes, quite sure.

I get asked about his area of expertise so often that I started thinking about just what it is he is interested in.  Sure, he loves to use the computer.

So what?  So do a lot of people.  He doesn't know how to build one and doesn't seem to have any interest in learning to do software coding.  He just likes using it.

Scientific methodology appeals to him.  So do numbers.  But I'm not sure that he actually loves those things; he likes them because he finds them comforting.  They are stable and consistent.  For him, one plus one will always equal two. 
It's so much easier than trying to figure out what a person's mood is when they say something to you and what the appropriate response should be; it doesn't always equal two and if he's guessed the wrong answer, the results can be disastrous.

So what is it that he does currently love?  He loves the television series Dr. Who, and he loves zombies.  That's kind of cool for me because I like those things too.  My son and I will lie in my bed together and watch episodes of Dr. Who or we'll watch zombie movies.  It's just him and me.  The rest of the family isn't interested, but that's okay.  The bedroom becomes a TARDIS; my son is The Doctor and I'm his beautiful travelling companion.  I enjoy the adventures he takes me on.

I won't list off all the books and graphic novels my son has about zombies.

But I guess he's read and observed enough to be considered somewhat of a zombie expert.  He will ask total strangers (and has), "Do you think a flame thrower would be a good weapon against a zombie?"

He'll pause for several minutes and then follow up with "It wouldn't be. The flames won't kill the zombie; it's already dead.  And it is still coming at you, but it's on fire.  Now you have two problems."

He'll then go on to list the pros and cons of all sorts of various weapons.

By the way, according to him, a machete would be the best weapon because it is light, doesn't need ammunition and can be used for other things ... not just for killing zombies.

In the city I live in, they do an annual event called a Zombie Walk.  It's where a bunch of people dress up as either zombies or zombie killers and parade through the streets for an afternoon.  It's not a protest.  There is no political message behind it.  It's just something fun to do.

I decided to take my son to the Zombie Walk this year.  Like I said before, I look for opportunities to get him out and engaged with the world. 

He was reluctant to go.  He kept asking me over and over "Do I *have* to go?"

My response was "Yes, you do."

So his dad, his brother and I dressed up as zombies; he dressed up as a zombie killer.

We gathered downtown with over 6,000 other people covered in fake gore.

There was an Umbrella Corporation army truck there as well as several Umbrella Corp. soldiers.  There were other types of zombie killers there, and they all smiled and nodded at my son and told him they were all on the same team.  He had a plastic machine gun and was "shooting" zombies for quite a while.  The majority of the zombies he shot, total strangers, would play along and fall down at his feet.  They'd get up and smile at him; he smiled back.  Lots of positive social interaction.  Weird and strange social interaction, yes, but still positive.

On the way home, he told me he was glad he went because he had a good time even though he thought he wouldn't, and he'd like to go back next year.

Yes!

So the next time someone asks me what my Aspie son is good at, I guess I'll just have to tell them:
Killing zombies ... and running! 

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Wednesdays ...

Just over a month ago, I found out that a good friend of mine was in rough shape and was a few weeks away from being homeless.  I made arrangements with her to drive up and get her and bring her and as many of her worldly possessions that would fit into the trunk and back seat of my Honda back down to the Lower Mainland.  We'd find her a shelter here and, hopefully, they'd get her on the path to finding an affordable and secure place to live longer term.  A week and a half before I was supposed to drive up there, I got a phone call informing me that she'd had a heart attack.  Her heart had stopped, but they managed to get it started again.  She went in for immediate surgery and had a stent placed.  Three days later she was released from hospital.  Five days after that, I was driving her and her things back here.

She managed to find a good shelter that was willing to work with her recent health issues.  It sounds like they've been doing a wonderful job of getting all her health concerns addressed, as well as working towards finding her a more permanent residence.
She can come and visit me at my home, and she's allowed to spend the night.  We did that a few weeks ago.  So I thought nothing of making the same arrangements with her for last Wednesday.  Come and visit all afternoon, spend the night, and I'd take her back the next day.

Before that, my father had flown out for a visit and stayed with us for a week.  It was a wonderful visit.  My brother also came over and stayed a few days at the same time.  My brother is also currently in a rough place in his life and needs a little support to "start over again."  So it was decided then that he'd move over here from the island and stay with us a while so that he can do what he needs to do just to hit zero again.  For those of you who are struggling in this economy, you know exactly how striving to reach zero feels almost like an impossible dream.  My brother said he'd be back in about a week or two because he needed to take care of things where he was (like giving a month's notice to his landlord and move his stuff out, et cetera).

A couple days after my brother left and my dad left, my friend called me from the shelter and I made arrangements with her to come and spend Wednesday into Thursday with me.  

The Tuesday night before, I was babysitting my nieces and my mother informed me that my brother and his kids were coming over on Wednesday.  I admit that for a split second I panicked, but then I calmed down and thought that, while things will be a little cramped, it was just one night that she'd be in our full house and it would be fun.

So Wednesday August the 3rd rolls around.  I go and pick up my friend at 11:00 a.m.  We spend a wonderful afternoon just visiting and catching up.  My older boys are all excited and chatting with us off and on about a concert they're going to that night (Slayer/Rob Zombie) downtown.  Firework competition display is also going on that night, so they were a bit concerned about public transit being quite busy.
Older boys head off around 4:00 p.m.  I make dinner (spaghetti with no-salt-added tomato sauce -- really good, by the way) and my friend and I visit some more.  Phone rings around 8:00 p.m. and it's my ex-husband.  He's the father to my oldest two boys and, despite separation and divorce, we have managed to stay really good friends.  He informs me that oldest son called him because second son (18 years old) drank way too much alcohol and is puking and incoherent at the bus terminal.  Ex is driving on his way to get second son.  

Fifteen minutes later, phone rings again.  It's my brother's daughter calling to say they were on the 8:15 ferry.  A quick mental calculation indicated they'd arrive at my house by 11:00 p.m.

Phone rings again 10 minutes later.  Ex is telling me that second son is lying in the dirt beside some railroad tracks and refusing to move.  My ex is having a hell of a time getting son into the car.  I tell ex to tell son that he has 5 minutes to get in the car or else an ambulance is going to be called.  I also tell my ex that, once son gets into car, he needs to take son straight to the local hospital and I'll meet them there.

I apologize profusely to my friend, but am thankful that she's there.  My husband would be on his way to bed soon and she was willing to let my brother and his kids in if I was still at the hospital with son.  Almost 9:00 p.m. and I'm off to the hospital.

When I arrive at the hospital I see my ex standing behind our son who is sitting in a wheelchair.  At least I assumed it was our son.  All I could see was a body with a bucket on its head.  I walk over and confirm that bucket head really is my son.  Triage nurse comes over and asks what the problem is.  My ex says he thinks our son has a bad case of "Captain Morganitis."  Nurse has no idea what Captain Morgan is and is not amused.  Ex says that son has had too much to drink.  Nurse replies "then why did you bring him here?"  I jump in at this point and say "I'm concerned about dehydration due to excessive vomiting and also want to rule out alcohol poisoning."  Nurse nods her head in understanding and simply says "oh."

Son is taken back to a bed in the ER, told to put on a gown and then an IV was put in.  There are obviously more things said and done in here (some quite humorous), but I have to skip over them at this time to keep the story moving.  

 
Ex is talking to me about how things are going with him.  His dad died a couple of months ago and his mother recently moved in with him as she was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.  The bucket son had on his head is the bucket she keeps with her after radiation treatment.  Ex explains that she has about a week's worth of rad treatments to go.  He lets me know he's seeing a therapist and is on stress leave from work right now.  We talk for a bit and then ex needs to leave for about half an hour (needs to pick something up from the store before it closes to take to his mom).  He says he'll be back, and he is.  By that time, a bag of IV fluid had been put into son and he's more alert.  Alcohol poisoning is ruled out and we're given the go ahead to take him home and care for him there.  Son takes off hospital gown and leaves the hospital in his underwear (no interest in putting on his vomit soaked clothing).  We live in a small town, it's after 10:30 at night, and no one seems to notice or care.

Son rides with his dad back to my house.  When I pull up, I see my mom's van parked across the street.  I can't understand why she's there.  My brother isn't arriving until 11:00 and is she really at my house this late to see him come in?!?
Ex stops car in front of my house.  Son tries to argue that we should just let him sleep on the bathroom floor downstairs as he won't make it upstairs to his bed.  I disagree and figure as long as we get him moving, I can get him into his bed.  My mom, however, comes out the front door and is standing in the path between us and the house.  Immediately she comments "He's got no shoes on.  Where are his shoes?  Isn't he going to need his shoes?  He's going to be walking across gravel in sock feet."

I want her to get out of the way and don't feel like having this discussion right at this moment and so I say "his dad picked him up rolling around and puking in gravel; he can walk across this 6 inches of it just fine.  I do NOT want to talk about this right here right now."

I get son moving and, sure enough, I get him upstairs into his bedroom and into his bed.  I come out of his room and into the upstairs living room where my friend is sitting.  I ask her "Why is my mom here?"  She says to me "I need to talk to you.  Is there somewhere private we can go?"

So we go out the back behind my garage.  My friend relates how my mother came over and my third son answered the door and my mom let herself in.  She starts to come upstairs and is yelling for my husband.  Husband is in bed, but he gets up to see what she wants.  She wants to know if my brother is here yet.  No, he isn't.  She wants to know where I am.  Hubby tells her.  She wants to know when my brother will get here.  My friend tells her.  Then my mom blurts out that she needs to speak to him because there was a murder on the island.  My friend then took my mom downstairs and was talking to her there while hubby went back to bed.  My friend tells my mom that she shouldn't tell this to my brother with his kids present.

Just as my friend is finishing telling me all of this, my brother pulls up at the back where we are.  I walk over and calmly tell him that our mom is there and that she'd like to talk to him alone.  My brother asks if everything is okay.  I say "I think so.  She just wants to have a moment to talk to you alone." 

My brother lets the kids out of the van and proceeds to go around the block to the front of the house where my mother still is.

I take the kids inside and let them settle in front of the television.  Then I go out the front to tell my mom that my brother is here and on his way to the front.  She's standing in the street talking to my ex who is still there as well.

My brother pulls up and says hi to my ex.  They are good friends as well.  My brother has to take two ferries to get off the island because he's going from a small island to a bigger island then back to the mainland.  A small ferry and then a big ferry.

My brother starts relating how they were delayed from getting off the small ferry.  The captain had said over the intercom that everyone needed to have ID ready.  Police boarded the boat and were checking ID's, writing down licence plate numbers and searching all vehicles.  My brother was driving a van and the police searched it top to bottom.  Then everyone was allowed to disembark.  He didn't know why they were doing that, but thought maybe it was an Amber Alert.

My mom says she has more information that may shed some light on that, but my brother can finish visiting with my ex first.  I say "No.  You can't leave him hanging like that.  Tell him.  Finish what you started."  My ex agrees with me.

So my mom proceeds to tell my brother that there was a murder on the island.  His landlord is dead and her son has been flown to hospital in critical condition.  Suspect is at large.  He should call the police and talk to them.

My brother calls the island RCMP and talks to an officer there.  He gives them my number and they are told to call any time.  They do.  Calls were coming in from them up to about 5:00 a.m.

We decide not to tell his kids that night.  They are safe here.  My brother just tells them that there's some stuff he has to deal with back home.  My mom goes home.  Kids go to bed.  My friend and I talk for a little bit.

Over the course of the next few hours I find out a bit more about what happened.  The suspect is a friend of my brother's.  My brother and his kids were actually with the suspect and the victims about 10 minutes before the assaults happened. 

The island is on complete shutdown.  No ferries coming or going.  About 50 officers and SWAT have gone to the island.  Helicopters, Coast Guard and police boats are patrolling the island.  Residents are warned to go inside and keep doors and windows locked.  They are told to keep their pets inside so as to not impede the dog teams that have gone over.

My brother is worried about the safety of his ex (mother of his kids) as well as all his friends on the island.  Police were on a manhunt but could not find the suspect.

No one on the island slept that night.  My brother didn't sleep that night.  I finally fell asleep around 4:00 a.m., but was up by 6:30 a.m.

Around 9:00 a.m. word came through that suspect was located and arrested.

*News story here*.  

The next day, Thursday, was a long exhausting day.  My brother's kids were informed of the basics of what had happened.  I apologized profusely to my friend saying that had I known even one of those things were going to occur, I would have postponed my invitation for when she should come and visit.  I asked her if she could call the shelter and see if she could spend another night.  I said I would drive her back, but on only two and a half hours of sleep, I'd rather not drive if I didn't have to.  She said they usually don't like people staying away for more than one night, but when she called and explained the situation, they let her stay an extra night due to "unusual circumstances."

Like I said earlier, there are a lot more details throughout the entire evening, but I thought I'd write down just the bare bones gist of things because I needed to get it out.