having a great life in spite of everything

Vogue Knitting Live! Los Angeles! Serious illness! Wheeee!

Let’s back this on up a bit. The week before VKL, I came down with shingles. If you’re blissfully ignorant of that like I was, it’s revenge of the chickenpox, when the dormant virus comes back and attacks your nervous system. And let me tell you, this disease has it all: incredible pain, disgusting rashes, the association with it being an elderly person’s disease, a stupid name that’s embarrassing to say, and heavy drugs that mess you up as bad as the disease itself.

So up to VKL. It was great, by the way, and I’ll do a whole blog post later about the awesomeness that is Franklin Habit. But I missed a lot, including all the demos I wanted to see, and I didn’t get to hit the marketplace as much as I wanted, either. You know how you start feeling better again, and then you try to, like, function normally, and it kicks your ass? Yeah, that.

To add to the fun, they had put me on prednisone. By the time I was actually in LA, the prednisone and the shingles were having a fine ol’ time together. Turns out the side effects of prednisone are very similar to the effects of shingles—great planning medical community, thanks a fuck of a lot for that one! And since I’m so freaking short—5′ 1.5″—and I only weigh 130 pounds, the dosage I was given was, oh, just a little bit more than I really needed. But no problem, right? It’s only a steroid, and if you stop taking it abruptly you’ll only go into anaphylactic shock and maybe die. So, oh, you’re having severe side effects? Well don’t stop taking it, you’ll just have to tough it out! Thanks again, medical community! (Fuckers.)

Now here’s a little demo of how tough I can be. On Saturday, at the conference, I’ve got vertigo so bad I’m starting to get dizzy, and my right eye and ear are kind of, going out. For the record, you need your eyes and ears to see and hear, so, you know, they’re kind of valuable to me (I bet you feel the same affection for your eyes and ears, too). My face was tingling all day, and it starts to move into active pain. I’m not a doctor, I don’t even play one on TV, but I know that’s all pretty bad. So I go sit in the hotel lobby and wait for my sister to be done shopping so she can take me to the ER. It’s bad enough that I’m going to make her do that, I can’t stand to insist she leave early, too. Huh, in retrospect, I am a freaking idiot. Which, actually, isn’t news to anyone who knows me. But damn, I do have teh pain tolerance.

In the ER: after dealing with the asshole nurse who tries to force me to admit that I’m just anxious (that’s the first thing they do in the ER, screen for overreaction), and talking to the doctor, I’m put on an IV. There’s your sign that the doctor did not think I was overreacting. The nurse giving me the IV blows out my vein on the first try, so I instruct her in how to hold the vein straight in the back of my hand so she can get that one. Wow, nurses really fucking hate when you instruct them like that. Hey, I gave her a chance, but she screwed it up, so then she gets the instructor treatment. I bet—other than doctors—teachers make for the most irritating-as-shit patients. Which somehow I find highly amusing.

Bloodwork and several other tests later, doc concludes that it must be side effects of the prednisone, and not actual damage from shingles. Did I mention that shingles can cause blindness and permanent nerve damage? Which is why the doctor and I were legitimately concerned (pay attention, Asshole Check-In Nurse). Doctor also says he thinks I was overprescribed on the prednisone, which I kind of had figured out by now. But don’t stop taking it! Remember there’s that possibility of death and all. So, oh well, sucks to be me.

So, this week I’m back home in Austin. Hey, you know what else is fun? Standing up in class and helping students with Flash and InDesign while still dealing with vertigo. Because I’m still on the prednisone (in the tailing-off stage), and I still get vertigo when I stand for too long. And the insomnia! That’s a real hoot, too, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since this all started.

So what’s the lesson here, kids? Once again, be a bad patient. I should have questioned the initial prescriptions I was given; they actually gave me a maximum dosage, which is way too much for me. But it’d been so long since the last time I dealt with prescriptions I’d forgotten about the dosage thing. And don’t think you can trust your doctor to remember that shit for you. Remember the last time you made a mistake at work? Exactly. They’re only human, you gotta be your own biggest advocate, it’s actually not fair to put it all on them.

But, um, Vogue Knitting Live was fun otherwise. And my sisters are pretty damn cool. The people who will take you to the ER and sit with you, cracking jokes the whole time, those are the people who make life worthwhile.

Oh, and maybe you did great work and all and it used to be worse, but, fuck you, Arthur Nobile. Sorry, that’s just how I feel about you right now.

Someone emailed me asking for help modifying the Easy Leaves Scarf pattern. I fixed the chart to make it much easier to figure out how to do that, highlighting the repeat area and clarifying that you have to cast on 8 extra stitches per repeat. It’s a tricky one because it’s actually a multiple of 8 + 9 stitches, not just 8 or just 9 stitches wide. If that’s clear as mud, just look at the chart, hopefully that’ll make it all easier to understand.

And, one more time I’ll warn you, I hate that scarf. Actually I think it’s the yarn, that stupid tencel yarn didn’t block well so it curls, and it fuzzes like crazy. Really I think it’d be a great pattern if only it was a fair bit wider, shawl-width instead of a scarf, then the curling wouldn’t be an issue no matter the yarn, plus I think it would show off the leaf pattern better. Ooo, or an afghan, that’d be cool. Maybe I’ll actually do that one of these days, but in the meantime if you’d like to try it yourself, there’s the new chart!

Now available on Etsy, the Sleeve Scarf:

The funny thing is, I don’t hate this. I can tell it’s some good knit work, and there’s something cool about how the scarf part is twisted around on itself. It’d be awesome on a fashion runway. But, seriously, can anyone pull this off in real life? I’m not sure even in NYC or Paris that this would be a good look out on the street. Especially not with the electric blue spandex pants (nice camel toe!).

The price is a deal breaker, too, it’s $200. Now I know—oh god, do I know—that’s a fair price for the amount of time that went in to knitting that piece. But the cold, hard truth is that you can’t always charge for your time, things are only worth what someone is willing to pay for them. And hey, if they can get people to pay $200 for that, more power to ‘em. But I kinda doubt that’s happening.

My father was a strict, self-disciplined man. He went to bed at 9 pm every evening to get up at god knows what hour for the hour-long commute to his job in downtown Houston. He rarely took a sick day, and he definitely never took a “mental health” day. Somehow it’s his rigid work schedule that stands out in my mind as the strongest example of his regimen.

I don’t remember him as being affectionate, or even particularly nice. He worked hard because that’s what he was supposed to do. Like any kid, I craved my father’s love, and there were many times I never felt as if I received it. There were moments, as there always are, but with men like him you have to look harder for them. And when you find them, they’re all the more beautiful for their rarity.

Earlier today, I took my dogs for a walk on the trails by our house. A group passed by us on bicycles, dad in the lead followed by his four children, all chattering happily and calling out to my dogs as they sped past. It brought back sudden memories from when I was very little, ones I hadn’t thought about in a long time. My parents used to take us out for bike rides, my older sister and brother had their own bikes, but my younger sister and I were too little to keep up. So she rode in a seat on the back my mother’s bike and I rode with my father. I remember riding around our neighborhood, especially as we got towards the back streets where it turned hilly. Sometimes my dad would detour, and then race as hard as he could to catch the group again. I remember the thrill of going so fast it was almost scary, tightly gripping the sides of my kiddie seat—boy, would those things not be considered safe enough now—while the wind whipped my hair around and I tried to lean over to see as much as I could in front of us. It was exhilarating, I really loved those rides.

During those bike rides and remembering them now, I feel connected to him again. And I suddenly realized this is why I love riding my bike so much. I liked running a little, I enjoy yoga, but the bike! It’s like an addiction, I love it far and away more than any other kind of exercise I’ve ever done. Calling it exercise seems wrong, almost demeaning, it’s a complete zen experience beyond mere exercise or workout. I love the feeling of pumping as fast as I can up a hill and then flying down the other side, turning corners so hard that I’ve got the tires on the edge of the tread. I love riding slowly and smoothly along and just feeling the pedals turn. I love everything about it. And now I remember why, it’s because somewhere in those times, my dad is with me again.

It’s almost too cute, but since it’s knit with super bulky yarn it’s also soft and warm. My daughter knit this for a friend in the northeast. The free pattern can be found at http://www.spudandchloe.com/blog/2010/01/leaf-free-pattern