Mel, one of my workmates is running the London Marathon for The National Association of Colitus and Crohn’s disease.

For the few of you that read this, I have a small request. Please go here and vote for the NACC to be the charity sponsored by Best of the Web at the SES NY Charity Party. Can you do it right now? Will take 30 seconds and March 5th is the last day they will take votes.

If you would like to go a step further and sponsor Mel for the marathon, you can visit his Just Giving page here. If you are a UK taxpayer, an extra 28% in tax will be added at no cost to you.

Thanks everyone!

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Called Bunin asking for some improv game suggestions for a giving and receiving feedback workshop I am writing and facilitating in a month. My thought is that using some listening games would be a fun way to get people thinking about being in the moment and it would be different from the usual thing.

He reminded me of the game Zip, Zap, Zop. Everyone stands in a circle, one person claps, points at someone else and says ZIP. The person that was pointed at claps, points at someone else and says ZAP. The third person that was pointed at claps, points at someone and says ZOP. . . and around and around you go. It is harder than it sounds.

He asked, “How are things?” and I said “Fine. Things are fine. Putting along. . . Running on my hamster wheel.”

And things are fine.

They’ve certainly been worse. Which I know isn’t a ringing endorsement, but I didn’t want to say what’s going on given I only chat with him a few times a year.

I have far too many friends like that in America. . . “How are things?” They ask and I say, “Fine. Never better. . .Oooo! Look! Cows!”

I wonder. . . if I don’t feel like I can say, . . If I feel like I have to protect them from my imminent nervous breakdown, are they still friends?

It is interesting the people in your life that you don’t see a lot and you can fall back into that easy banter with and others there is a distance and then I wonder was there always the Grand Canyon divide with those people and you chose to ignore it because they were standing in front of you?

I asked Mike, “How are things?” And he said, “Good, good, good. . . Things are good.”

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Steve, an old mate from Yahoo! is visiting for a couple of weeks. He’s been in Bangalore India for the better part of the last two years off and on and before he heads back to Los Angeles, he’s checking out Europe.

I took him to the pub quiz at the Frog and Forget-Me-Not because the pub quiz is an important part of British culture that most tourists don’t get to see. The team names at these quizzes are often hysterical, offensive and just wrong-wrong-wrong. The wrong-wrong-wrong ones are usually the funniest. You laugh, hate yourself for laughing, and then giggle again. For example the last time we went one team called themselves: ‘The New Prime Minister of Pakistan: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Bhutto’. My favorite from last night was, ‘She’s My Step-sister. Does That Count?’.

Stuart has said that he wants to use ‘Number Of Days Since I Last Had A Crap’ but I’m not sure I want to be a party to that even though it hysterically infantile. As the quiz progresses, the quiz master would read out the score, so it would be, Number Of Days Since I Last Had A Crap: 54. Number Of Days Since I Last Had A Crap:102. Number Of Days Since I Last Had A Crap. . . You get the picture. (Stuart claims to hate being English then he turns right to toilet humor. You just can’t run from your nature. . .)

The best question of the evening was ‘Microsoft has bid 44.6 billion to buy what company?’ Jen, Steve, Colm and I looked at each other and laughed.

“There’s a funny kind of irony.” Steve said pointing at himself then at me and Colm.

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Al is an insomniac and in desperation he went to our health clinic thingy here at the office. Probably because he was sleep deprived they up-sold him into having a fifty quid hypnotherapy session.

“How did it go?”

“Rubbish.”

“Why?”

“So I’m sitting there. And she tells me to feel my energy centres. Feel my energy centres. My instinct is to think of my penis. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“So I’m trying to not think of my penis and she’s going on about a blue light radiating out of my trunk. I shouldn’t have told her I’ve had insomnia since I was 14 because she wanted to talk about my childhood. So I thought, ‘Oh great, so now it’s my parent’s fault.’ A lot of things are my parents fault, but not sleeping is not one of them.”

“So it didn’t go well.”

“No. It most certainly did not go well. And she kept going on about Adult Al should give my inner child a hug and tell him it was ok. That he can sleep. A hug is so not what my inner child wants.”

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Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.

My friend Jamie sent this e-mail round to a bunch of us. It made me cry so I thought I would make the three of you that read this cry too.

I thank the universe that Doug has medical insurance otherwise there is no way in hell Amelia would be here today.

——————————

This is sort-of out of left field. But for me this is a really important day, and I just want to celebrate it out loud to the people I love and the people who love Amelia.

At 8:09 p.m. today, Amelia will officially be four years old!(11:09pm Eastern and 10:09 Central Standard)

What’s the big deal, right? Well, some of you were there for this, some of you didn’t know about it when it was happening, and some of you didn’t know us yet, but…

When Amelia was eight weeks old she was hospitalized because she wasn’t digesting or absorbing anything anymore. I started to notice a problem at five weeks, but all the doctors we saw thought that she was just dehydrated. When we finally came to the ER the third and last time, she was lifeless. They ran us straight through triage to a room, and every doctor in the ER was in our room within minutes. They immediately gave her a CAT scan and a spinal tap, as well as a zillion other tests (I might be exaggerating). They had sent us home the night before after giving her IV fluids. I remember being afraid to go to sleep that night because I knew that something was wrong, and the ER doc (Dr. Praeger) knew it, too. He called me at home after his shift and told us to come back. I can’t say for sure, but I honestly think that his call might have saved her life. Wish I knew how to find him to say thanks.

Of course, we ended up staying there. They did abattery of tests. They asked us questions like, “Have you been exposed to any reptiles?” and “You’re not cousins, are you?” After exhausting hundreds of possibilities, her gastroenterologist told us that she had autoimmune enteropathy (beyond rare), and the prognosis for that disease is 2-4 years.

Until this week, I didn’t really realize how much that idea affected me, even though I knew that they had already decided she didn’t have it two years ago. Truth is, they didn’t know what she had then, and they still don’t. All we know now is that she gets a little sicker than other kids, and more often…but it’s manageable.

When she was two, her three doctors (each separately) sat us down and gave us this speech about how amazing it was that she was alive and well. They all seemed genuinely happy (and a little surprised). I had forgotten how grim it looked and I never really knew exactly what they had been thinking. They have good poker faces. One day in the hospital, however, they must have all talked to each other and agreed that she most likely had this really awful thing called congenital microvillous atrophy. Something that would have required a bowel transplant that would have kept her alive for two years or so. Anyway, their poker faces sucked that day. I knew something was up well before they talked to us about it. One of them said, and I’m not joking, “maybe just play her some Mozart or something.”

So we did.

Later that day Dr. Cynamon told us what they were all thinking. They took some cells they had collected from her large intestine and sent them to the most powerful microscope in the United States. It took about four days to get the results back, and I’ll never forget the way Dr. Cynamon came running into our room at 5:30pm on a Friday to give us the great news…out of breath (from basically running there) he said, “It’s not that!”

Happiest moment of my life. Incidentally, Doug’s happiest moment is when she got her PICC line out (IV straight to her heart - dangerous because of the serious risk of infection - which was how we fed her until she was about 6 months old).

We lived in the hospital for a month. While we were there, we met several other families with children who had chronic conditions and diseases. Parents of children with Leukemia and Sickle Cell. Parents of children who couldn’t walk or couldn’t breathe. There was even a little baby girl, a foster child, who had down syndrome and nobody was ever there at all. I would visit her. It broke my heart to see her there all alone.

All of them thought that Amelia was the sickest. The doctors, the nurses, and the other parents all felt helpless. As days went on and no answers were found, hope dwindled. They sent us counselors, came to hang out in our room and brought us presents.

A month of needles and heel sticks and IVs and starvation. Antibiotics and Steroids and Barium. X-rays and ultrasounds and catheters and biopsies. A colonoscopy, an endoscopy, a CAT scan, a spinal tap, a PICC line. Daily blood, stool and urine tests. Immunologists, Dietitians, Gastroenterologists, Pediatricians, nurses and counselors.

And no answers. Never any answers.

The following few months we fed her TPN (Total Parenteral Nutrition) through her PICC line (at home). They also let her have a few ounces of Pedialyte to keep her sucking reflex, three spoonfuls of applesauce a day to get her crushed sulfasalazine into her system, iron (yummy), and Prednisone.

Eventually they let her have an Amino Acid based formula (Elecare). It’s $30/can and tastes awful. But she didn’t complain. She almost never complains. In fact, when this all began, they kept asking me if she cried a lot. Because the answer was no, they weren’t too concerned. She’s had a sinus infection for three months and I only knew about it because every once in a while she’ll mention that her head hurts. Instead of complaining about her situation, she says things like, “I want to go get a shot from Dr. Biederman…but not that other Doctor.” She’s not such a big fan of Dr.Green because she often asks us to go for blood draws. Amelia doesn’t mind shots, but blood draws are another ballgame.

And as you all know, we now treat her “condition” with diet alone. A fact that her doctors are just astonished by. Dr. Green has been considering writing it up because it is truly a unique case.

Amelia understands her diet. She doesn’t mind that she can’t eat almost anything she sees the other kids eating, and she has never tried to sneak food she can’t have. She asks us if she can please have stuff like broccoli, and yesterday she fell in love with carrot juice.

What’s my point with all this?

Well, she’s four and she’s NOT dead! How great is that!!

Oh, but don’t give her a Dorito, because that actually could kill her.

I feel so genuinely blessed to have such a beautiful, healthy child. When I think about those other kids on the 4th floor of Cedars-Sinai back in March 2004, or the ones who are there today, or when I think about what could have happened if this had happened 10 years earlier, or even 5, or if we had gotten the wrong doctors, or if my mom hadn’t told me that if I thought something was wrong, something IS wrong, or if Dr. Praeger hadn’t called me that morning, or…

Well, let’s just say thank God for Science, thank God for miracles, thank God for my sweet, beautiful, lovely baby girl, and thank you for taking a moment to celebrate her life with me!

Love to all,
Jamie

ps - I’m attaching some photos of Amelia with her first ever birthday cake & cupcake (made possible by our dear friend Elizabeth - Thanks again!) - i totally cried about it, since it really was so very special

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-Is it just me, or does this pic make me look like I have a lazy eye?

This is me. I’m Seventeen. It was taken in the autumn of 1987.

I thank the gods that my hair isn’t as big as some of my fellow classmates. My senior yearbook photo however has got some SERIOUS big hair. I am now happy that I only broke the aquanet out for special occasions.

I graduated in Spring/Summer 1988, but the 20-year reunion won’t be until Homecoming in October.

Maybe I’m nuts, but I wanna go. I didn’t go to my ten year because my cock of a boy friend at the time had borrowed so much money from me I couldn’t really afford to go. (Side note visit to bitter island. Le Cash? Still hasn’t paid back. I sometimes wish I was a bitch and just demanded the interest from the 3K but there is no way the fuckwit could make the 10-year vig. I sometimes wonder if he picked the fight with me a year ago so he wouldn’t have to make good. I suppose it’s a win-win. He got 3 grand and I never have to deal with him again, which is priceless.)

Reason number two, same cock of a boyfriend refused to go with me even if I made it financially possible. Really didn’t want to go to a reunion stag if I wasn’t single.

Reason the third. I was fat.

So now I have 10 months to lose weight- but to be honest- if I don’t lose weight? I’m not that fused. I know how to wear a dress and look pretty even with my big tits and ass. One of the benefits of getting old.

But why do I want to go?

There are some people that I would like to touch base with. Some people that I thought were great, but for whatever reason they weren’t in my circle. And. . . I really don’t give a fuck about the bullies anymore. And- it’s an excuse to go to Vegas. Maybe I will finally do it as a tourist.

I informed Stuart that we were going.

I received an e-mail last week from one of the people organizing the reunion looking for some missing classmates and I felt like a bit of a voyeur flipping trough the spreadsheet seeing where the names that I recognize and where they live and if they are married and if they have kids. She also included the list of people that have died. Something you don’t think is going to happen to you when you are seventeen. I pulled my yearbook down from the loft to put faces with names. I’ve mentioned before that my friend Ray is on that list. Always makes me feel sad.

The way I look at it, the reunion might be fun. Might have some good conversations. Might keep chatting with some folks after.

No mater what, I definitely will be meeting up with my mates and having some laughs, so if the reunion is a wash, it will be all good.

It would be funny if it was fancy dress and we all had to come dressed as ourselves from 20 years ago. Or. . . the people we would be if we could be seventeen now. 

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A for Alcoholic or S for Stupid.

Plan was to order a take away.

I was hungry at 5 and didn’t feel like dealing with watching the door like a hawk (our door bell is broken) decided to go meet Preston and we would go to the BBC and have a glass of wine and tapas.

Kitchen was nearly closed so we decided on two large glasses of red each there then went to Dish Dash for yummy Persian food and shared a bottle of red.

Jen mentioned that this was her New Years Eve since she has to work the 31st.

Foolishly we decide to keep drinking after dinner at The Bedford. I think we had three pints.

Came home. Jen thinks it would be funny if we went up to Stu and my room in our shoes and jump up and down on the bed to wind up Stuart. I get to the door, push- Stuart pushes the door closed and my pinky gets jammed. I scream. When we see that it hasn’t fallen off and that we are thwarted in our attack upon Young we decide the best course of action is to open another bottle of red.

Didn’t go to bed until 5 am.

I will be doing it all again today.

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On November 4th one of my work colleague’s husband had a stroke. A trader in the city, he kept crazy hours and he was driving home to his wife and two small children in Kent when it happened. I’m not sure how long he was in the car before he was found and taken to the hospital.

I just read the e-mail announcing that he passed away Thursday.

He was 42.

The children were able to say goodbye and my colleague was with him at the end.

I’ve been so hoping that the ending of this story would be different from what I feared it would be.

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. . . was a resounding success. My stuffing was nothing at all like my Mom’s, which was disappointing on one level, but it tasted absolutely amazing so I was pleased.

Ended up cutting the squash, cabbage, green beans and baked apples from the line up.

Libby brought a yummy nut loaf and Amanda covered the pumpkin need with a lowcarb pumpkin cheesecake that was absolutely delish.

(Aussie ex flat-mate) Jen made up a cheese platter and along with Al helped me out in the kitchen with peeling and slicing and carving.

Everyone brought wine and beer and I think we drank it all along with the vanilla extract.*

The turkey was too dry I am afraid. I didn’t take it out when I wanted to because the meat thermometer made it look like it needed a bit more. I think it lied to me. Still, I would rather serve over cooked turkey than kill my guests.

Even more important than the food was the company. Was a good laugh.

When Chris and Libby arrived, it was so cute. . . Chris said, “Happy Thanksgiving! . . . That is what you say right?”

Al wanted us to go around after dinner and say what we were thankful for but it got lost in the vino and a competitive game of Cranium.

One funny moment that I missed: The meeting of American Jen and Aussie Jen.

Aussie Jen to American Jen: It’s Jen is it?

American Jen: Yes.

Aussie Jen. I actually prefer Jennifer.

American Jen: That would be nice if it was your name.

Aussie Jen: Actually it is.

Last night the kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in it and I was really not looking forward to the washing up. This morning I let myself have a lay-in, which I deserved after cooking and not going to bed until 1:30 and with all the red wine floating in my blood. Got up at 11:45, shuffled down the stairs and I saw a shocking, shocking sight.

Stuart doing the dishes.

I gave him an enormous hug and kiss. He has no idea how much I appreciate that he did that.

Jen took photo’s of the drunken Cranium madness and I can’t get over how fat I look. Going for a long walk right after I eat a platter of leftovers.

* Family Ties reference. Tom Hanks (before he was Tom Hanks) plays the visting alcoholic Uncle and he is so desperate for the sauce, he drinks an entire bottle of vanilla extract.

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I’m doing the dinner on Saturday. I’ve done a couple of big roast dinners now but this will be the first turkey. Slightly nervous about it. As usual we have a large group of 10-12 people coming, which I know is slightly nuts. What is even more nuts is that I make so much food 10-12 people can’t eat it all.

My Late Thanksgiving Day Menu

Olives
Crudités
Dip of some sort

Turkey
Veggie Main Dish (Prob a nut loaf which will be brought by one of the veggie guests)
Gravy
Bisto Veggie Gravy
Stuffing with sausage
Stuffing with mushrooms
Heart Attack Inducing Mashed Potatoes
Baked Onions (from Nigel Slater’s The Kitchen Diaries)
Parsnips
Roasted Red Bell Peppers
Marinated Mozzarella
Cranberry Sauce
Braised Red Cabbage
Roasted Squash (maybe. not sure. also from Mr. Slater)
Green Beans
Broccoli with garlic and red pepper
Green Salad

Chocolate Mousse
Baked Apples

Can you tell I am scared to bake a pie? I need to try it one of these days without the pressure of other people.

Made the cranberry sauce last night from a recipe that I got from Meredith and it is rather tasty although has a slightly bitter aftertaste, but is that just the cranberries? Worried that I got some pith in with the zest. I’ve only just started to like cranberries as they were on my list of yuck food when I was a kid- I think because we often had the cranberry jelly in a can and the congealed blob always grossed me out.

Whole Orange Ginger Cranberries

16 oz of whole cranberries (fresh)
2 cups sugar
1 cup fresh orange juice
1 tbsp orange zest
1 tbsp peeled finely minced fresh ginger

Combine ingredients in saucepan. Cook over medium heat until berries pop open, about 10 min. Skim any “foam” from top & discard. Cool. Refrigerate, covered. Keeps for up to 2 MONTHS (refrigerated)!

From my POV keeping it in the fridge for two months kinda scores high on the ewww scale.

Turkey: I took it out of the freezer and put it in the fridge Wednesday night. This morning it still feels rock solid so I’ve taken it out of the fridge altogether since our kitchen is cool enough. Which means I can make the stuffing, marinated mozzarella salad and the roasted red peppers today because I have room in my little stupid English fridge.

It better be defrosted by tomorrow. . .

Yesterday for Thanksgiving proper Stuart and I went out for Indian and then got in a big fight. All is well now and I suppose it is good as we were following tradition.

It just isn’t Thanksgiving if there isn’t a gineourmous argument with divorce and/or death with a large knife threatened.

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