We're back from an almost month-long vacation. First, it was two weeks in America; then, half a week back at work and off again to Mallorca for our triathlon training camp.
We had a great week there. The island is mostly known for its white sandy beaches, but cycling is another major source of tourism. We didn't train as intensively as the other members of our group, who are all accomplished triathletes (most of whom have completed Ironmen (Ironmans?) in 10-11 hours).
They would get up and swim every morning at 7 and then ride around a hundred miles a day.
The mountains on Mallorca go up to 1400 meters, with the highest paved mountain pass at 1100 meters. The longest climb is 13K at 7.4%. I've never climbed real mountains before and loved every minute of it. If I lived by mountains, I doubt I would be a runner.
Christian has no idea whether he is in Denmark, America or Spain. He liked the beach and the fact that we bought him toy cars and ice cream. He loves Lightning McQueen and screams "Lamma Queen!", when he sees anything related to Cars (which is all the time on the Mallorcan tourist strips).
Because of our peculiar life, Natali travels a lot, but she only sees the same two countries, and most of her vacations are spent at her mom's house. She lapped up the sights and sounds of Mallorca and tried speaking a little Spanish here and there. She is such a thinker; she notices and questions everything.
After we got back from America a few weeks ago, she missed her mom so much that she would wail in frustrated despair. It was difficult for a few days, but it got better. She has always stated that she wants to stay with her mom, and she smiles when I go on about how much I'm going to miss her. I think she considers me the strong parent; the one who will stay a constant in her life, no matter what. She often mentions that her mom does not miss her enough, and that she never seems sad when she says goodbye.
Now, her move back to La Crosse is just a month away, and she can see it coming. I realized that I have no more weekdays off until we leave for America in June. I told her, and the realization that we wouldn't have any more afternoons together dawned on her. I won't be biking her to school or picking her up - ever. Not for the foreseeable future, anyway.
Yesterday evening, we played soccer with the neighbor girls. She wore her new Barcelona jersey (number 10 Lionel Messi, away colors) and did the Messi cheer when she scored. She asked me whether I thought she would play soccer in America and if I would pay for it, if her mom couldn't. Later, she asked when our annual spring day in Tivoli (the old amusement park in downtown Copenhagen) was going to be. She perfectly well knew that no such day will happen this year, as I have no days off. And then, trying to pretend all her questions were unrelated, she wanted to make sure I would call her every day. She figured out that I could stay up till 11 and she would hurry back from school, and we could talk that way, despite the time difference.
It's horrible that she is leaving. I dread it and it clouds my mind.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Chippewa Moraine 50K -report
The ending is really exciting, so keep reading...
After my scarlet fever and subsequent antibiotic treatment, my plan for the race was to start easy and see how I felt. I didn't really think I could win, and when Brian Peterson showed up to register, it was no longer an option.
Before the race, I was recognized by many as the husband of "that crazy pregnant doctor with the blog". At least that's what I took their double-takes to mean.
We started off in a pack of 6, with Brian Peterson already running way out in front. The pack included John Storkamp and Joe Ziegenfuss, with whom I have raced (or have seen race) a few times. A young guy from Duluth, Craig Hertz, looked really strong. Jonas Ryttie was yo-yo'ing a little ahead and behind the pack, whereas Rob Semelroth followed the pace.
I didn't feel good and was noticably more out of breath than the others. At maybe 8 miles, I was spit out the back of the group with Joe Ziegenfuss and then Jonas Ryttie. The front group seemed long gone. Before the turn-around, I got lost going up a hill to a house, and didn't realize that I was off course until I was running over a buried septic tank. I Ran back down the hill to see the front group (including Brian Peterson) coming back from the turn-around.
On the way back, the two-way traffic made the trail a little crowded. On the other hand, it was fun to see how close the women's race was. The Girl was near the back, going a steady pace, still without contractions. We talked for a little while, during which Joans Ryttie, whom I had run with since the turn-around, got out of sight.
The course is so undulating that it's hard to spot other runners. Even if you see other runners, the trail twists so much that they could be ten seconds or two minutes ahead. I settled into a content pace for the next ten miles, during which I didn't see another runner. I was starting to feel pretty good and felt a little runner's high. On the one hand, it seemed like I was in for a typical strong finish, but on the other hand, it seemed like it was going to be a very lonely fast finish.
And now it gets exciting. With a few miles to go, I passed John Storkamp, and then saw two spectators, who shouted "there are a couple of runners up there you can probably catch!". Interesting. Suddenly it felt like I was in a race again, and I sped up. Almost immediately, Rob Semelroth came into view. When I passed him, I saw that both Craig Hertz and Jonas Ryttie were up ahead in the distance. The former was being passed by the latter. I figured I could catch them, if I dug deep and started surging ahead.
The last mile is a long sweep around the perimeter of the field below the park headquarters. I could see that I was getting closer, and for a moment it seemed like I would get up to Craig and Jonas, but then they started surging up the hill, starting a long sprint. They were halfway up the last long hill when I got to the bottom, and a large part of me was quietly happy I didn't quite catch them. The two of them were forced to sprint/powerhike up the steep wall leading to the finish line. It was crazy to watch. Craig used long classic-ski style steps, whereas Jonas hiked with choppy, fast, short steps. Craig pulled ahead to take second and seconds later they were both rolling on the ground deep in oxygen-debt.
I thought the hill was terrible at an easy no-pressure power-hike and I can only imagine what if would be like to have to sprint against someone else in front of 50 or so spectators on a hill that steep.
I got fourth with a time of 4:15. All in all, a decent race. I've been regretting not speeding up earlier; I had a lot left at the end, and would have loved it if they turned it into a 60K. It's that feeling of "running out of trail to catch people". Maybe if I hadn't gotten lost, if I hadn't chatted with the Girl or if someone had shouted "you're about to catch a couple runners" a mile or two earlier...
Oh well, excuses and retrospections are always aplenty, and it's possible the other guys got more lost than me (after all, one little detour in a 50K is pretty good for me).
The Girl's very sensible DNF is well-described on her blog, of course. She had a good time, all things considered. We will definitely be back next year.
Results here
After my scarlet fever and subsequent antibiotic treatment, my plan for the race was to start easy and see how I felt. I didn't really think I could win, and when Brian Peterson showed up to register, it was no longer an option.
Before the race, I was recognized by many as the husband of "that crazy pregnant doctor with the blog". At least that's what I took their double-takes to mean.
We started off in a pack of 6, with Brian Peterson already running way out in front. The pack included John Storkamp and Joe Ziegenfuss, with whom I have raced (or have seen race) a few times. A young guy from Duluth, Craig Hertz, looked really strong. Jonas Ryttie was yo-yo'ing a little ahead and behind the pack, whereas Rob Semelroth followed the pace.
I didn't feel good and was noticably more out of breath than the others. At maybe 8 miles, I was spit out the back of the group with Joe Ziegenfuss and then Jonas Ryttie. The front group seemed long gone. Before the turn-around, I got lost going up a hill to a house, and didn't realize that I was off course until I was running over a buried septic tank. I Ran back down the hill to see the front group (including Brian Peterson) coming back from the turn-around.
On the way back, the two-way traffic made the trail a little crowded. On the other hand, it was fun to see how close the women's race was. The Girl was near the back, going a steady pace, still without contractions. We talked for a little while, during which Joans Ryttie, whom I had run with since the turn-around, got out of sight.
The course is so undulating that it's hard to spot other runners. Even if you see other runners, the trail twists so much that they could be ten seconds or two minutes ahead. I settled into a content pace for the next ten miles, during which I didn't see another runner. I was starting to feel pretty good and felt a little runner's high. On the one hand, it seemed like I was in for a typical strong finish, but on the other hand, it seemed like it was going to be a very lonely fast finish.
And now it gets exciting. With a few miles to go, I passed John Storkamp, and then saw two spectators, who shouted "there are a couple of runners up there you can probably catch!". Interesting. Suddenly it felt like I was in a race again, and I sped up. Almost immediately, Rob Semelroth came into view. When I passed him, I saw that both Craig Hertz and Jonas Ryttie were up ahead in the distance. The former was being passed by the latter. I figured I could catch them, if I dug deep and started surging ahead.
The last mile is a long sweep around the perimeter of the field below the park headquarters. I could see that I was getting closer, and for a moment it seemed like I would get up to Craig and Jonas, but then they started surging up the hill, starting a long sprint. They were halfway up the last long hill when I got to the bottom, and a large part of me was quietly happy I didn't quite catch them. The two of them were forced to sprint/powerhike up the steep wall leading to the finish line. It was crazy to watch. Craig used long classic-ski style steps, whereas Jonas hiked with choppy, fast, short steps. Craig pulled ahead to take second and seconds later they were both rolling on the ground deep in oxygen-debt.
I thought the hill was terrible at an easy no-pressure power-hike and I can only imagine what if would be like to have to sprint against someone else in front of 50 or so spectators on a hill that steep.
I got fourth with a time of 4:15. All in all, a decent race. I've been regretting not speeding up earlier; I had a lot left at the end, and would have loved it if they turned it into a 60K. It's that feeling of "running out of trail to catch people". Maybe if I hadn't gotten lost, if I hadn't chatted with the Girl or if someone had shouted "you're about to catch a couple runners" a mile or two earlier...
Oh well, excuses and retrospections are always aplenty, and it's possible the other guys got more lost than me (after all, one little detour in a 50K is pretty good for me).
The Girl's very sensible DNF is well-described on her blog, of course. She had a good time, all things considered. We will definitely be back next year.
Results here
Sunday, April 17, 2011
10 vacation stories
1. Plane fever.
Rigors, high fever set in while waiting for the plane. About an hour into it, I am shaking and feeling like I could pass out if I moved my head too quickly. Natali watches the Lorax for two hours and I'm able to take max amounts of tylenol and ibuprofen and take a nap. I feel a little better after that and don't have another attack until we roll into the driveway at the Girl's parents house. Scary.
2. Madison Rendezvous.
The Lorax rus over to give Andreas a big hug. Andreas looks embarrassed, and he doesn't feel like hugging me either. I have lunch with the Ex, our two shared kids, their new step-sisters and the Lorax. It it pleasant, although disagreements are always breewing under the surface.
3. Is my son retarded?
Andreas is 7 and can't zip up his jacket (he can zip up everything else, but the jacket is apparently very challenging. He doesn't hear anything I tell him, stops mid-sentence, stops mid-putting on socks, mid-everything. When I bring anywhere public, he bumps into everything and everyone.
4. In the onions.
We're at the children's museum in Madison. The power-moms, who are done feeding their kids organic snacks, eye us sceptically as I let Andreas into the kiddie-area. It looked so appealing, and both he and the Lorax wanted in. I figure I can pretend we are both playing with the Lorax. Two minutes later, Andreas is hiding in a mud hut, banging fake fruits and breads together. With me 104 degree fever spiking at this moment, I feel unable to get in through the opening to yank him out of the hut (and the kiddie area). Instead, out steps Andreas, holding a some rubber fruit (a large plum?), which he proceeds to hurl at me.
It hits me square in the nut-sack.
I point at him, letting him know that he'd better follow orders, or there will be hell. He ducks into the hut, re-emerges with another fruit (this time a yam?) and hurls it at me.
You guessed it; direct shot to the onions.
He runs away, onto some swinging bridge, where I finally catch up to him. I grab him so hard, he starts crying. and pulled him out of the kiddie area. I get him into the back area and gave him a scolding he won't soon forget.
Of course I realize that this is all my fault. How did my life end up like this?
5. So Many Kisses
I am buying some shirts for Andreas at Dick's sporting goods. The Lorax is tired and getting ill, too. He keeps begging for stuff, as he sits on my shoulders, resting his snotty face on my head. I speak English to Andreas in front of the guy at the register but then the Lorax yells that he wants to ride in the bus outside the store. I say "only if I get a kiss". He bends down precariously to give me a snotty kiss and murmurs "dad, I give you so many kisses today". The register guy looks at us with a bewildered look.
6. Is my son a genius?
Jeebus. We are playing chess and Andreas knows how to play! Not just that; he concentrates, and he is good. I play without my queen, and with that handicap we have an even game until he makes a couple of mistakes. We rewind some moves so he can see how he can better defend himself, and he learns from his mistakes. Hmm?
He draws and writes stories. He focuses on robots and monsters with an excessive amount of weapons and powers, but there are intricate details in each drawing and his stories are good. One year ago, he couldn't even read, and now he writes full stories about heroes and dragons. Not hmm. Wow.
7. I Narrowly Miss Sarah Palin.
We almost got stuck in the protests around the Capitol, which have been simmering all week, We are on our way to see Rango, so this political stuff is inconsequential. Turns out Sarah Palin was there speaking to the Tea Partiers of Wisconsin.
8. My trail in La Crosse.
The Lorax got picked up by my mother-in-law, whereas the two other kids were at my Ex's house. My illness had been retreating for the last few days, and I go out for my first run in 6 days. Whew, the first few miles are rusty, then the legs get golden. The trail is the same; I run it without thinking. My feet know all the roots and rocks. One section washed away, but that has happened several times in the last few years.
9. I am in Love.
I miss the Girl more than I had expected. A vacation just isn't the same without her. We Skype and she flashed me. I feel ten years younger.
10. The Doctor Gets Ill part Deux.
I get back from my run, and prepare to shower. I have vaguely been aware of a rash on my forearms all day. My arms are all freckles and moles and hair, so a rash doesn't stand out like it does on, say, other humans. I take off my shirt and - BOOM! - I see a massive maculo-papular rash on my arms, chest, neck and back. And face, I realize! Shit, a rash like this a short week after getting a sore throat! Add to this the fact that Natali was diagnosed with strep throat the day before and this screams... Scarlet fever!
Jeebus. I called in some amoxicillin for myself three minutes later.
As always, my vacations are never boring. And I should add that the last 48 hours with Andreas have been the best we have had in years.
Rigors, high fever set in while waiting for the plane. About an hour into it, I am shaking and feeling like I could pass out if I moved my head too quickly. Natali watches the Lorax for two hours and I'm able to take max amounts of tylenol and ibuprofen and take a nap. I feel a little better after that and don't have another attack until we roll into the driveway at the Girl's parents house. Scary.
2. Madison Rendezvous.
The Lorax rus over to give Andreas a big hug. Andreas looks embarrassed, and he doesn't feel like hugging me either. I have lunch with the Ex, our two shared kids, their new step-sisters and the Lorax. It it pleasant, although disagreements are always breewing under the surface.
3. Is my son retarded?
Andreas is 7 and can't zip up his jacket (he can zip up everything else, but the jacket is apparently very challenging. He doesn't hear anything I tell him, stops mid-sentence, stops mid-putting on socks, mid-everything. When I bring anywhere public, he bumps into everything and everyone.
4. In the onions.
We're at the children's museum in Madison. The power-moms, who are done feeding their kids organic snacks, eye us sceptically as I let Andreas into the kiddie-area. It looked so appealing, and both he and the Lorax wanted in. I figure I can pretend we are both playing with the Lorax. Two minutes later, Andreas is hiding in a mud hut, banging fake fruits and breads together. With me 104 degree fever spiking at this moment, I feel unable to get in through the opening to yank him out of the hut (and the kiddie area). Instead, out steps Andreas, holding a some rubber fruit (a large plum?), which he proceeds to hurl at me.
It hits me square in the nut-sack.
I point at him, letting him know that he'd better follow orders, or there will be hell. He ducks into the hut, re-emerges with another fruit (this time a yam?) and hurls it at me.
You guessed it; direct shot to the onions.
He runs away, onto some swinging bridge, where I finally catch up to him. I grab him so hard, he starts crying. and pulled him out of the kiddie area. I get him into the back area and gave him a scolding he won't soon forget.
Of course I realize that this is all my fault. How did my life end up like this?
5. So Many Kisses
I am buying some shirts for Andreas at Dick's sporting goods. The Lorax is tired and getting ill, too. He keeps begging for stuff, as he sits on my shoulders, resting his snotty face on my head. I speak English to Andreas in front of the guy at the register but then the Lorax yells that he wants to ride in the bus outside the store. I say "only if I get a kiss". He bends down precariously to give me a snotty kiss and murmurs "dad, I give you so many kisses today". The register guy looks at us with a bewildered look.
6. Is my son a genius?
Jeebus. We are playing chess and Andreas knows how to play! Not just that; he concentrates, and he is good. I play without my queen, and with that handicap we have an even game until he makes a couple of mistakes. We rewind some moves so he can see how he can better defend himself, and he learns from his mistakes. Hmm?
He draws and writes stories. He focuses on robots and monsters with an excessive amount of weapons and powers, but there are intricate details in each drawing and his stories are good. One year ago, he couldn't even read, and now he writes full stories about heroes and dragons. Not hmm. Wow.
7. I Narrowly Miss Sarah Palin.
We almost got stuck in the protests around the Capitol, which have been simmering all week, We are on our way to see Rango, so this political stuff is inconsequential. Turns out Sarah Palin was there speaking to the Tea Partiers of Wisconsin.
8. My trail in La Crosse.
The Lorax got picked up by my mother-in-law, whereas the two other kids were at my Ex's house. My illness had been retreating for the last few days, and I go out for my first run in 6 days. Whew, the first few miles are rusty, then the legs get golden. The trail is the same; I run it without thinking. My feet know all the roots and rocks. One section washed away, but that has happened several times in the last few years.
9. I am in Love.
I miss the Girl more than I had expected. A vacation just isn't the same without her. We Skype and she flashed me. I feel ten years younger.
10. The Doctor Gets Ill part Deux.
I get back from my run, and prepare to shower. I have vaguely been aware of a rash on my forearms all day. My arms are all freckles and moles and hair, so a rash doesn't stand out like it does on, say, other humans. I take off my shirt and - BOOM! - I see a massive maculo-papular rash on my arms, chest, neck and back. And face, I realize! Shit, a rash like this a short week after getting a sore throat! Add to this the fact that Natali was diagnosed with strep throat the day before and this screams... Scarlet fever!
Jeebus. I called in some amoxicillin for myself three minutes later.
As always, my vacations are never boring. And I should add that the last 48 hours with Andreas have been the best we have had in years.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Preview of Chippewa 50K and Life in General
First, my running. I am impressively out of shape. My training reminds me out my intern year, the other year in recent memory, when I have been this undertrained. I can't remember another time, other than intern year, when I have been this un-injured and permanently feeling fresh. Every workout is a treat to be savored.
That's the positive spin on it. The negative is that I am 5 pounds overweight and 10-15 minutes slower over 50K than I should, or could, be. I can feel in my workouts that the typical spring "pep in my step" hasn't come. I can hold a decent pace for a decent amount of time, but it's not better or worse than it has been the whole winter.
Chippewa is my big spring goal race. Let there be no mistake about it. I am no ultrarunning hipster; and I won't pretend that it's just a fun run or a training race. But, on the other hand, my current form dictates that I will have to run my own race and get whatever place falls into my lap. Ironically, Chippewa in 2008 continues to be the race where I have most severely bonked, and the 2011 version could surpass that, if I started out too fast. Besides, Joe Ziegenfuss, who probably runs a 50K on par with a very in-shape me, has signed up, so there is no realistic chance of winning.
But, again I have to be honest, one can always dream, a la Jim Carrey's "so there IS a chance!". Who knows what kind of shape this Ziegenfuss fellow is in, and who knows if he will even show up. And as people think "but there are so many other people, who could beat you", I remind you all that I do not read minds. There is a chance of winning ,however small it might be. And as I always tell people, the fun races and the ones where I have a decent chance of winning, placing, finishing in the money, or getting a PR.
Hmm, the bravado is getting me excited. Too bad it's too late to train. Maybe I could drop a pound or two?
Now, to life in general. Denmark is enjoying the first few days of spring, and the effects are everywhere. Nurses are flirting with paramedics, stroke patients are learning how to wink with their good eye, and my recently divorced friend and future hematologist started dating one of the nurses on the leukemia floor.
And yours truly is feeling it, too. Reader(s?) will know that I tend to get melancholy when I think of the uncertainties of the future. Last week, we hit a low in that regard. The Girl suggested that we move close to La Corsse, so Natali live with her mom (my Ex), which suddenly meant that our, admittedly tentative and perhaps realistic, plans for moving to Oregon or Alaska had to be cancelled. From one moment to the next, we had quasi-settled on four possible locales: Madison, Twin Cities, Rochester and Iowa City (in that order of preference). The cities with med schools, that is.
I had looked forward to living with Natali and exchanging her for Andreas (who was always going to live with my Ex, anyway) duting school breaks. But our new plan will work, too, although I was depressed for a few days after this new decision. Not because of the plan, just because something so basic to my happiness can change so rapidly, beyond my control. Natali would prefer living with both her parents within a few hours drive0
, too, so she and the Girl are actually agreeing for once.
So once we had our new plans settled, and a fair amount of pointing at the Girl going "you're not going to change your mind again, are you, because 15% of my brain is constantly is constantly thinking about this!" had occured, things started getting good. The weather happened upon us, as we ran an almost-marathon in a beautiful forest on Sunday.
It's almost to the point where I feel optimistic about life.
Work is okay.
We found a name for the baby: Mattias.
Natali is doing well.
Andreas is doing well.
Christian is speaking fluently now, and is making slow progress in his potty training.
Mattias is healthy, as far as we know.
The Girl's research is going well.
Our plans for next year are solidifying.
Our plans for life are solidifying.
And in ten minutes the Girl will bring back the Lorax from music class. I will bike with him to pick up Natali at the gym, where she is currently in her "young fitness" program. We'll have a few minutes before the emerges from the gym, and to pass the time, the Tallest Slide in Næstved awaits us; he shrieks as he slides down, his long blond hair flying behind him. He knows that I, on occasion, will have a few gummi bears in my pocket to reward him for particularly spectacular descends, and he looks up optimistically the moment his feet hit the sand.
Life is all right.
That's the positive spin on it. The negative is that I am 5 pounds overweight and 10-15 minutes slower over 50K than I should, or could, be. I can feel in my workouts that the typical spring "pep in my step" hasn't come. I can hold a decent pace for a decent amount of time, but it's not better or worse than it has been the whole winter.
Chippewa is my big spring goal race. Let there be no mistake about it. I am no ultrarunning hipster; and I won't pretend that it's just a fun run or a training race. But, on the other hand, my current form dictates that I will have to run my own race and get whatever place falls into my lap. Ironically, Chippewa in 2008 continues to be the race where I have most severely bonked, and the 2011 version could surpass that, if I started out too fast. Besides, Joe Ziegenfuss, who probably runs a 50K on par with a very in-shape me, has signed up, so there is no realistic chance of winning.
But, again I have to be honest, one can always dream, a la Jim Carrey's "so there IS a chance!". Who knows what kind of shape this Ziegenfuss fellow is in, and who knows if he will even show up. And as people think "but there are so many other people, who could beat you", I remind you all that I do not read minds. There is a chance of winning ,however small it might be. And as I always tell people, the fun races and the ones where I have a decent chance of winning, placing, finishing in the money, or getting a PR.
Hmm, the bravado is getting me excited. Too bad it's too late to train. Maybe I could drop a pound or two?
Now, to life in general. Denmark is enjoying the first few days of spring, and the effects are everywhere. Nurses are flirting with paramedics, stroke patients are learning how to wink with their good eye, and my recently divorced friend and future hematologist started dating one of the nurses on the leukemia floor.
And yours truly is feeling it, too. Reader(s?) will know that I tend to get melancholy when I think of the uncertainties of the future. Last week, we hit a low in that regard. The Girl suggested that we move close to La Corsse, so Natali live with her mom (my Ex), which suddenly meant that our, admittedly tentative and perhaps realistic, plans for moving to Oregon or Alaska had to be cancelled. From one moment to the next, we had quasi-settled on four possible locales: Madison, Twin Cities, Rochester and Iowa City (in that order of preference). The cities with med schools, that is.
I had looked forward to living with Natali and exchanging her for Andreas (who was always going to live with my Ex, anyway) duting school breaks. But our new plan will work, too, although I was depressed for a few days after this new decision. Not because of the plan, just because something so basic to my happiness can change so rapidly, beyond my control. Natali would prefer living with both her parents within a few hours drive0
, too, so she and the Girl are actually agreeing for once.
So once we had our new plans settled, and a fair amount of pointing at the Girl going "you're not going to change your mind again, are you, because 15% of my brain is constantly is constantly thinking about this!" had occured, things started getting good. The weather happened upon us, as we ran an almost-marathon in a beautiful forest on Sunday.
It's almost to the point where I feel optimistic about life.
Work is okay.
We found a name for the baby: Mattias.
Natali is doing well.
Andreas is doing well.
Christian is speaking fluently now, and is making slow progress in his potty training.
Mattias is healthy, as far as we know.
The Girl's research is going well.
Our plans for next year are solidifying.
Our plans for life are solidifying.
And in ten minutes the Girl will bring back the Lorax from music class. I will bike with him to pick up Natali at the gym, where she is currently in her "young fitness" program. We'll have a few minutes before the emerges from the gym, and to pass the time, the Tallest Slide in Næstved awaits us; he shrieks as he slides down, his long blond hair flying behind him. He knows that I, on occasion, will have a few gummi bears in my pocket to reward him for particularly spectacular descends, and he looks up optimistically the moment his feet hit the sand.
Life is all right.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
We have been thinking hard about a name for the baby. I have always felt that picking a girl's name is so much easier that a boy's.
We want a name that's primarily Scandinavian but will also work in America. A name that makes people go, "yeah, that's right, he was born in Denmark", but not one that he will spend a lifetime spelling and explaining.
For the readers who know my name, it's very unusual for America, but the corresponding last night is pretty common. So it's not completely unfamiliar to most Americans, but probably a little bit on the weird side, if I'm to be completely honest. So that's a consideration.
Here's a top 10 (and this will be fun to read in ten years):
1. Mattias
2. Tobias
3. Carl-Mattis
4. Anakin (yes, like Skywalker)
5. Mats (like Wilander, the tennis star)
6. Samson
7. Isak (probably a little higher than 7th)
8. Lukas
9. Eric
10. Emil
I was discussing my unusual family structure with my department's professor. We were talking careers, and I mentioned that going back to Wisconsin/Minnesota isn't so much a work thing as it is a kid thing. The professor understood and confessed that he too had step-kids and kids with step-parents. I told him how Andreas had looked at me and called me Jeff (my ex's new husband) and I swear the professor got a little bit of a tear in his eye.
Another attending is on his third marriage and has a complicated structure of kids and step-kids, so he is another person who can relate.
The truth is that Andreas is doing better than ever. He has always been an introverted, shy kid. He has always been well-liked, though, and he is a handsome, tall boy. His favorite things to do is play video games and draw robots. He doesn't like Skyping, so I don't get to talk to him very much, but the other day he read to me from a book about Christopher Columbus. I didn't even know he could read more than a few words, and now it turns out he reads like a 4th grader (he is 7). Jeebus. He was in summer school last summer, because his reading was subpar. So he is doing well, no thanks to me.
I don't miss him the way I missed him and Natali when we first moved here. when Natali came to live here, I was ecstatic that I had at least one of them, so the desperate feeling disappeared. But I think about him every day, and there is a constant sense in my mind that things didn't turn out like they were supposed to.
So there's another sappy post in a long line of sappy posts.
But I do like the name Andreas. I felt it was a little too Germanic, when my ex insisted on it, but I like it more and more. When Andreas watches the Tour de France with me, he is fascinated that there are other Andreases out there (like Kloeden from Radioshack). In a tiny, but palpable, way it connects him to the Old Country.
We want a name that's primarily Scandinavian but will also work in America. A name that makes people go, "yeah, that's right, he was born in Denmark", but not one that he will spend a lifetime spelling and explaining.
For the readers who know my name, it's very unusual for America, but the corresponding last night is pretty common. So it's not completely unfamiliar to most Americans, but probably a little bit on the weird side, if I'm to be completely honest. So that's a consideration.
Here's a top 10 (and this will be fun to read in ten years):
1. Mattias
2. Tobias
3. Carl-Mattis
4. Anakin (yes, like Skywalker)
5. Mats (like Wilander, the tennis star)
6. Samson
7. Isak (probably a little higher than 7th)
8. Lukas
9. Eric
10. Emil
I was discussing my unusual family structure with my department's professor. We were talking careers, and I mentioned that going back to Wisconsin/Minnesota isn't so much a work thing as it is a kid thing. The professor understood and confessed that he too had step-kids and kids with step-parents. I told him how Andreas had looked at me and called me Jeff (my ex's new husband) and I swear the professor got a little bit of a tear in his eye.
Another attending is on his third marriage and has a complicated structure of kids and step-kids, so he is another person who can relate.
The truth is that Andreas is doing better than ever. He has always been an introverted, shy kid. He has always been well-liked, though, and he is a handsome, tall boy. His favorite things to do is play video games and draw robots. He doesn't like Skyping, so I don't get to talk to him very much, but the other day he read to me from a book about Christopher Columbus. I didn't even know he could read more than a few words, and now it turns out he reads like a 4th grader (he is 7). Jeebus. He was in summer school last summer, because his reading was subpar. So he is doing well, no thanks to me.
I don't miss him the way I missed him and Natali when we first moved here. when Natali came to live here, I was ecstatic that I had at least one of them, so the desperate feeling disappeared. But I think about him every day, and there is a constant sense in my mind that things didn't turn out like they were supposed to.
So there's another sappy post in a long line of sappy posts.
But I do like the name Andreas. I felt it was a little too Germanic, when my ex insisted on it, but I like it more and more. When Andreas watches the Tour de France with me, he is fascinated that there are other Andreases out there (like Kloeden from Radioshack). In a tiny, but palpable, way it connects him to the Old Country.
Monday, March 14, 2011
It's a bois!
The Girl carries a sonographically normal little Lorax!
She's a little more than halfway through her pregnancy, juggling her monster PhD, her multiple other projects, two kids, me, running, swimming, biking, bills, her Green Card (it's approved for another two years), our taxes (Danish and American), dishes, painful breasts, minimalist hipsterism and smoky gourds forgotten in the oven.
It's not easy to be the Girl right now and I should work harder to keep her happy. The Girl, if you read this, this quest for your happiness will start after my guys' soccer night on Wednesday!
She's a little more than halfway through her pregnancy, juggling her monster PhD, her multiple other projects, two kids, me, running, swimming, biking, bills, her Green Card (it's approved for another two years), our taxes (Danish and American), dishes, painful breasts, minimalist hipsterism and smoky gourds forgotten in the oven.
It's not easy to be the Girl right now and I should work harder to keep her happy. The Girl, if you read this, this quest for your happiness will start after my guys' soccer night on Wednesday!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Two patients with leukemia
These two patients are examples of why hematology is such a crazy, unique specialty.
Patient one has an incredible story. As a teenager, he developed leukemia while living in tribal Pakistan. His family must have been wealthy, because he had access to several expensive medications that kept the disease at bay for a year or so. Then, his family's business was extorted by the Taliban and/or the local warlord but refused to pay. His parents were killed and he fled through Asia to Europe.
When he got to Denmark, he may have had to lie about his age. He had no papers and it's slightly less impossible to gain political asylum if you are a minor. So we're not sure exactly how old he is.
He has no family and no friends in Denmark. He lives in a refugee center, while his case is being processed, but spends most of his time in the hospital. The leukemia is mutating, so over the last 9 months, it has progressed despite all the possible and impossible combinations of medicines we have tried on him. He now has what amounts to a second or third body's metabolism from the leukemia cells. He sweats and hurts and his spleen weighs 15 pounds.
He is dying, but has one shot left. There is a clinical trial in Sweden testing out a new drug that happens to target his main mutation. So he rides an ambulance to Lund, Sweden, across the bridge, once a week, with his refugee passport that took a million phone calls to push through.
He has such an incredible story that touches everyone in our department. He speaks halting English and, by now, understandable Danish. He has a naive optimism that the Danish teenagers with leukemia don't seem to share. When they sit with earphones on, typing on their laptops, he talks to the other patients. Everyone, doctors, nurses, janitors, patients all know who he is, because he is always there. He is the only patient I have ever seen being allowed into the nurses' station to eat ice cream. The other day, he looked one of my colleagues in the eye and said "I am so scared that I'm not going to live long enough to have a family" and 6 of us were in tears during noon conference.
He should have been dead 5 times over already. Killed by the Taliban and four more times by leukemia. Hundreds of thousands of people die from poverty and cruelty and misery every year all over the world. This guy has beaten the odds in such a way that he might even pull through.
Patient number two is an 87-year old woman who, by all accounts, lived a good life. Two sons, an unknown number of grandkids, and 10 great-grandkids. She has had enough and is in the hospital to die. Her hemoglobin is dropping but she has chosen that she doesn't want any more transfusions. In the next few days, she will lose consciousness and die, while being kept comfortable by morphine and tranquilizers.
I thought her plan was reasonable, when she told me how she wanted to die. Patients are rarely as straight-forward about death as she was; she was very clear about not wanting transfusions. I called her sons and they were equally reasonable.
If this were Chicago Hope or ER, some emotional tune would play as the camera scans the hospital floor. Our old lady would pass away quietly, while at the same time, the new study drug would start working on our teenager.
We'll see.
Patient one has an incredible story. As a teenager, he developed leukemia while living in tribal Pakistan. His family must have been wealthy, because he had access to several expensive medications that kept the disease at bay for a year or so. Then, his family's business was extorted by the Taliban and/or the local warlord but refused to pay. His parents were killed and he fled through Asia to Europe.
When he got to Denmark, he may have had to lie about his age. He had no papers and it's slightly less impossible to gain political asylum if you are a minor. So we're not sure exactly how old he is.
He has no family and no friends in Denmark. He lives in a refugee center, while his case is being processed, but spends most of his time in the hospital. The leukemia is mutating, so over the last 9 months, it has progressed despite all the possible and impossible combinations of medicines we have tried on him. He now has what amounts to a second or third body's metabolism from the leukemia cells. He sweats and hurts and his spleen weighs 15 pounds.
He is dying, but has one shot left. There is a clinical trial in Sweden testing out a new drug that happens to target his main mutation. So he rides an ambulance to Lund, Sweden, across the bridge, once a week, with his refugee passport that took a million phone calls to push through.
He has such an incredible story that touches everyone in our department. He speaks halting English and, by now, understandable Danish. He has a naive optimism that the Danish teenagers with leukemia don't seem to share. When they sit with earphones on, typing on their laptops, he talks to the other patients. Everyone, doctors, nurses, janitors, patients all know who he is, because he is always there. He is the only patient I have ever seen being allowed into the nurses' station to eat ice cream. The other day, he looked one of my colleagues in the eye and said "I am so scared that I'm not going to live long enough to have a family" and 6 of us were in tears during noon conference.
He should have been dead 5 times over already. Killed by the Taliban and four more times by leukemia. Hundreds of thousands of people die from poverty and cruelty and misery every year all over the world. This guy has beaten the odds in such a way that he might even pull through.
Patient number two is an 87-year old woman who, by all accounts, lived a good life. Two sons, an unknown number of grandkids, and 10 great-grandkids. She has had enough and is in the hospital to die. Her hemoglobin is dropping but she has chosen that she doesn't want any more transfusions. In the next few days, she will lose consciousness and die, while being kept comfortable by morphine and tranquilizers.
I thought her plan was reasonable, when she told me how she wanted to die. Patients are rarely as straight-forward about death as she was; she was very clear about not wanting transfusions. I called her sons and they were equally reasonable.
If this were Chicago Hope or ER, some emotional tune would play as the camera scans the hospital floor. Our old lady would pass away quietly, while at the same time, the new study drug would start working on our teenager.
We'll see.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
