Lady horticulturist: cleanup and chill

My dear mother got finally persuaded that I could mess with the hedge trimmer as well. My ultimate and quite obvious argument was If you don't let me do it, I'll never learn it.

Also, she has vertigo on the first ladder step and I don't. 

And then, it's fun. It's destructive, not too finicky and things get done.

And then...

... even more destruction.

I also hear that smoke from fragrant herbs is a good protection against various noxious miasmata. Spruce is not a herb but it is fragrant enough and in times o plague...

Knitting in the times of cholera

I went to parents' for a few days and took some unfinished stuff in case there was a quarantine or something.

Five sweaters in various stages of progress and there are two more downstairs. 

The yarn in the upper right corner is Taiyo Sock in #4, discontinued for about five years. I got some but not enough for anything so when I randomly found some more, I got all they had. Same with pale blue Kumo. I have plans for them but first, I need to liberate some needles - meaning that I need to actually finish something. At least I found my dearly loved misplaced 40 cm/2 mm needle (and ordered a new one meantime).

And, yes, no bright blue nail paint on my toes. They're all in my place.

Anniversary

A year ago, I got my kidney removed. It was mostly tumour, anyway.

It was a story full of randomness. In winter, my depression worsened so the doc added new meds, I had some cold from hell, got a live vaccine and had a few other reasons to feel shitty. I had vertigo even when lying down, once, I had a syncope and when I became conscious again, I just was not able to get up from the floor, not sure if it was a lack of coordination or general weakness, this sort of stuff. I stopped taking the new psych meds and the vertigo started improving but I was quite a bit off and as I went to parents', I dropped by at my GP. She did the poking and prodding, decided that by all counts, I'm healthy, I don't look healthy at all, though, and I should get an ultrasound of my abdomen because I feel sickish and it could be the appendix. Well, I know where my stomach is but I didn't object. Some seven hours and five doctors' offices later, I ended up in the university hospital where a friendly urologist showed me a nice big potato on the ultrasound. I asked where my kidney is, then, and he explained that it was the thin line around that potato. Oopsie.

For my birthday, I got a CT which showed sliced potato. Kidney potato was hacked away with the rest of the kidney and the tubing and I ended up with a sexy scar.

And, I'm entitled to all the tasteless cancer jokes for the rest of my life.

One doesn't get many that important events in life

Which is what V. said when I apologised for ranting over and over again about my kidney.
"Sure," I replied. "I have a finite supply of kidneys and should I need to get rid of the other one, it would be an entirely different issue. Much more interesting."

There is actually something darkly funny about writing "get kidney removed" to the to-do list. In the last few months, everything seems to go wrong. Not abysmally wrong, just... I get some vague idea that matters are sort of settled, life can go on as usual, nothing exciting expected anytime soon. And, then things change enough to warrant some planning, rearranging and rethinking which needs time and energy, I plan, arrange and organise, dust settles, the first spark of a hint of a speck of idea that the dust might have settled and life is back to mundane, something changes again. Rinse, repeat... get kidney removed and finish rinsing and repeating when the pathology results are back.

My mother says that one should learn to find the positive side of everything and try to enjoy it as much as possible. She certainly did not mean gallows humour, I cannot even say that I still have one left or that in liver, it would be worse, it cannot be hacked off and they say that it is a pain in the arse to stitch it up.

You're fine

my GP said, and in one breath, she continued, "but the stomach should be seen by a surgeon."

I hear that everyone hates this sort of patients. They have a handful of vague symptoms pointing vaguely in several directions, most of them are whiners and hypochondriacs but then there is that handful who are apparently sick but it is not exactly easy to find out what is the problem.

I went to see my GP because I reached her on the phone, otherwise I would see my ob/gyn who is closer at hand and as good for vague stomach complaints. I listed my vague stomach complaints and other vague complaints and kept apologising that I know that these are vague complaints but I generally feel crappy and it's differently crappy than normally crappy so I though I would rather get checked. The doctor did her poking and prodding, found out that I do not look fine overall but there is nothing much
I was referred to a surgeon who ordered a few tests, nodded his head, said something about something being wrong with my kidney, added an uncalled-for rant about how they might save said kidney and referred me to urology to the university hospital.
The inevitable part of medical care is the red tape and following the protocols so as an outside patient, I had to go through the emergency entrance and start there. Apparently, a paper starting with STAT has quite a bit of mana so I proceeded fairly quickly.
The urologist did his ultrasound and showed me what the problem is, something that looked like a potato. I nodded and asked where the actual kidney is, just for scale and the doctor showed me a thin line surrounding the mass.
"It is not pretty, is it," I said.
"No," the doctor replied and scheduled me for a CT scan and for a next checkup.

I was down and pissed. Rather more pissed than unhappy because I had exams to do and things to write and with the damn depression, I was not exactly productive so having another so another goddamn problem and another need to rearrange what I had already rearranged  annoys me to no end.

Nectarines

I like them not really ripe and crunchy. I used to get them in Spar down the street, slightly more expensive than elsewhere but they were great.

I got another package today, they looked good but they are past their prime, slightly squishy and less crunchy than I would like. One had a tiny rotting spot... and the package contained a substantial amount of fruit flies who were smart enough to sit still when I carried it outside.

I believe that all living things should be treated fairly and with dignity, with the exception of the ecosystem under my bed, metaphorically speaking. In other words, I don't want to share my room with tens of fruit flies. They are used as a model organism in genetics because they breed rapidly and mutate fast so within a week, I'd be living with thousands of mutant Drosophillas.

I put the offending nectarine in the trash bin along with some kernels and other leftovers, placed the good ones in the fridge and then took the trash away - the fruit flies will certainly fare better in the trash bin anyway.

Most of them are gone but there is half a dozen sitting on the wall giving me a doubtful look. So what, where's some food?

Nope.

Some more random whines

I feel somewhat off place quite often. I haven't got used to it yet.

I play my card of I am another studip Erasmus student when around the university, mostly for myself because people don't generally want to interact with me.

And then there are the cultural differences.
I am clumsy so since... well, forever, my cellphones were of the sort that can fall from the 3rd floor and nothing happens. And I am not an iThing person, for various reasons, one being that them poseurs can stick their apple stuff up their posteriors - and this is quite a general opinion on my home turf. Also, why should I pay twice as much for something that will break in three days maximum, because it will take three days maximum until I drop my phone on the stone floor.
Which is beside the point. I have an android thingy which looks like carved out of an old tyre, I dropped it the moment I unpacked it, it jumped a few times and looked as happy as any other time, and it has a microUSB port. Which means that to charge it, I need a USB - microUSB cable. Of which I have plenty, there are several circulating around our household and obviously, I took one with me to Vienna.

One.

It survived a month.

I set out to find some place with USB cables. I live 100 metres away from Mariahilfer Strasse (*) and some months ago, I went to H&M and noticed that they have phone cables and dug through them to find a nice colourful cable for mom's iPhone that needs super special weirdo cable so I supposed I'd just go there, grab that damn cable and go home.

Did I say that I don't exactly thrive in new environments, and in places with too many people? Which is why I am not too adventurous and why asking someone is the last resort?

I ventured to Vienna's main shopping street... I got a scented candle in H&M - it had a sticker with a warning that it contains some-or-another aromachemical which may cause allergic reaction and shouldn't be eaten or whatnot, which is why I immediately liked it - but they only had iPhone cables. They had only iPhone cables even at the mobile operators' shops. At the end, I found one of those stationeries that has stationery and all sorts of other crap. The shop clerk warned me that this is not for iPhones and asked three times whether I am sure that I don't need an iPhone cable.

WTF.

Not that I wouldn't be able to survive without my phone for a week but I only have my public transport ticket in the app.



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(*) I hereby state my intention to ignore the ß. The German orthography changed since my school days so I don't know where should it go and although this ligature developed from the sz digraph, today it stands for ss and it's developed from the ss digraph as well so I can happily apply some folk etymology and consider the ß a long s and s rotunda digraph... so... anyway...you get what I mean. [Insert slightly desperate handwaving.]