flailing wildly from the corner*


This has been a summer.

sharks everyone dies

I mentioned in my last post that Mom hurt her leg. It wasn’t anything super bad; she overdid it at the gym (and Matt may have hit that kneecap with an aluminum bat when we were kids, too, so there’s that). But then Mom hurt herself again. We thought at first she’d pinched her Sciatic nerve, but the doctors are starting to think she actually may have had a mini-stroke. She’s doing really really well, and while we’re all still worried about her, she’s being treated in part with something called quantum neurology and it’s working wonders. We also finally get a resolution to her breast cancer scare! The phantom lump, as Mom calls it, was really a swollen lymph-node, inflamed by a couple of factors that are being treated. There’s a chance it could still become cancerous later, but with the lifestyle changes Mom is making as part of her treatment, it should become a non-issue. So, like I said, she’s doing really, really well.

Of course, she still has to take it easy so that she’ll heal, and that often requires physically holding her down and putting on Ghost Whisperer so she’ll be too distracted to wear herself out cleaning the house/mowing the grass/running errands/ etc. I’ve even had to guilt trip her out of feeling guilty for not helping around the house a few times if you can believe it! So I’ve been picking up a lot of slack IRL that takes the place of time I’d normally spend talking to all you lovely faceless, voiceless, blocks of text on the internet, hence the lack of posts. I haven’t even been on Twitter as much as usual, which honestly feels a bit weird. But hey, the prices we pay for making sure our loved ones stay healthy, right? Right.

We’ve still got a ways to go on her path to recovery and we’re wading through the worst of it right now. They say that a patient who’s suffered a small stroke is at risk for a much larger one for the three subsequent months, and we’ve got at least another month before Mom’s out of the woods there. So good thoughts and prayers would be really appreciated, along with Netflix suggestions for when she finishes plowing through Ghost Whisperer.

For business as usual, I do have a few things in my drafts folder that I’m going to try get out in the next couple of days, including so poems, psuedo-editorials, and what I’ve been up to when not earning decent-human-being-points by playing nurse, so look for those. Also, I’ll be at the Walters AND on the streets of Baltimore during Artscape this year, so someone remind me to take lots of pictures. Otherwise, please keep my mom in your thoughts and prayers.


Only less happy and nerdy and more, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON HERE. WHERE ARE MY PANTS?"

Like this, only less happy and nerdy and more,   “I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON HERE. WHERE ARE MY PANTS?”


About Morgan Maria D'Isidoro

Morgan Maria D'Isidoro has lived in Baltimore, MD for most of her life, saving a handful of failed escape attempts. Given the murder rates, she'll probably die here too. Morgan is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry, a musician of dubious quality, cat aficionado, art history fangirl, kitchen sorceress, recovering pyromaniac, accomplished liar, and an all around person of questionable employability.
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