Pictures from the day at the lake and subsequent party.
Today, Tuesday, it’s supposed to be 65 degrees here in the Windy City and I, for one, am thrilled. Football is supposed to be happening this afternoon after class. Emily is taking the test for her new job today, and if she gets above a 90%, she gets to keep it. She’s serving at a little family-style restaurant called Leona’s.

The last week has been the most intense of my life.
Let’s rewind.
Friday night. Emily and I pick Hunter up from work and we head downtown to a party. We all have a great time. I pull him outside at some point and we are talking to each other, and I couldn’t help myself, I told him I loved him. He made this funny face and wouldn’t look at me and I asked him what was wrong and then apologized for telling him that if it made him uncomfortable. He promised me that it wasn’t the case and that he’s actually been wanting to tell me that he loves me for awhile.
Awesome!
He also tells me that he’s been reading some of my latest stories and that he really enjoyed them.
More awesomeness happened Saturday night. Hunter and Jake (Emily’s sort of boyfriend-person at Loyola) put together a band specifically for this HUGE party that was happening. The name of the band is Velociraptor. Well, the show was amazing. Two girl singers, Jake playing the bass, this kid Derek on guitar and Hunter on the drums. Emily and I got dressed up and danced and socialized and mingled and danced more. It was literally one of the best parties I’ve been to during college.
Okay, so Emily’s feet hurt and we’re looking to throw an afterparty at my house, so we go home. Hunter and Trifilo and I go to DunkinDonuts by the el. Hunter gets a call from Ian’s dad.
Where’s Ian?
No one knows. He was at the party.
And then he wasn’t.
So then we start getting all these text messages from Ian, who won’t respond to us or answer our phone calls and then we get a call saying that he’s been at his apartment and that he left a note.
Okay, so suicidal Ian is on the loose in Chicago and now he sends his sister a message telling her he’s at Bryn Mawr and Lakeshore Drive. Ok. So we get there, the cops show up, we’re all looking for him. We get another message that he’s somewhere else.
Ugh. My feet are soaking wet and freezing. His parents are there too, so Emily and I decide to head back to the boys house. We get there. Hunter, Little Emily, Coupe and Kyle are there so we all sit for awhile and then decide that we need to go to bed.
Forty five minutes after that decision, at 5:30, Kyle comes in to tell me that Ian is here. I go in and demand all of his pills (all of his Adderall were missing, and we suspected that he may have taken some). He tells me that he doesn’t have them. I watch him as he gathers some things and then listen as he tells me that he’ll be moving out and that he’ll be back.
And then he’s gone.
8:30. We’re all sprawled around the apartment, having improvised beds and sleeping arrangements. The doorbell rings. I’m the one that answers the door. “Chicago Police.” Great. I fill them in on the developments and then go back to sleep.
Turns out Ian was picked up by his parents and then taken to the hospital of apparent Adderoll overdose.

That morning, me, Emily, Hunter, Kyle and Coupe all went out to breakfast. It was nice to be able to have all of us there and to be able to be close with everyone. We were all exhausted but it was wonderful to be with the crew. Everyone laughed and lingered until we all felt alright.
That night, we convened at our place. Another gathering filled with the closest of friends and love.
Monday morning I was taking Hunter to school on a very narrow street when, out of nowhere, a man threw his door open. Slam! I heard a crunch. My side-view mirror was cracked and I could see a man climbing out of his car to check the damage.
“I don’t want to get you in trouble, or anything, but this is a rental car.” I’m freaking out and after we exchange information, there are tears. I go home, Hunter misses class because you really shouldn’t leave me when I’m in that situation, and then we go to the police station to make a report.
The police officer is upset because the other guy didn’t come in to file the report, but tells me it’s alright, because the accident was his fault. Also, the dent that was in his door doesn’t quite match my damage, so that’s a titch suspicious.
Okay. So then Tuesday rolls around. I’m in class with a teacher who for some reason seems to have it out for me, and I pull out a bag of grapes.
“Katie,” she says, interrupting lecture, “we don’t eat grapes in this classroom. Drinks are okay, water is fine, but eating isn’t allowed.”
I mumble something about thinking that grapes didn’t count since they are water based and all of sudden, I burst into tears and have to leave the room.
Great. I spent the entire class period freaking out in the hall about everything.
I go back in and actually stood up for myself, which was cool.
And then the week got moderately better.
We played football during the warm weather that Chicago got on Saturday and then all went to dinner at Chilis and then threw an impromptu party last night, complete with our first attempt at margaritas.
The weekend flew by, and things are shaping up.

Expect the unexpected
in the places
that you haunt.
Never give up hoping,
or maybe just don’t start.
Instead of wanting desperately,
wait patiently to find,
that some of the things
we discover
were right there all along.

*I wrote this poem sometime in July of 2007. I found it tonight and thought you might like it.

Illness=coughing.
Ugh.

Meeting the parents went well, I think.

I’m tired.

Tomorrow I meet the parents.
Yesterday he remarked on the fact that we’ve been together almost four months and it’s probably serious.
Ha, nervous.
He told me all I have to do is talk and they’ll like me.

Thrown headlong back into what is possibly the busiest semester of my life, I found myself staring at the pile of dirty dishes and bottles scattered over the kitchen this morning as I watched my necessary cup of tea circle the microwave.
We’re sick. Something is going around between all of us. Ian has been carrying an orange bottle of cough syrup around for days. Emily, Hunter and I have sore throats. I am exhausted.
I woke up yesterday and my throat didn’t begin to relax nor the pain to ease until I’d had three cups of hot tea.
I sat with Hunter and Coupe in Coupe’s room as we watched the inauguration. I can honestly say that my eyes almost teared up. The fact that there was stumbling during the swearing in was endearing. The worse the wedding, the better the marriage, right?
Today, there are whispers of the closing of Guantanamo. People all over the world have a sense of relief. They’ve exhaled, finally.
Last night, I threw the best party I’ve ever thrown. Emily and I used our crock-pot for the first time to create a simplistic stew. I threw in a large piece of meat and some broth and as it slowly cooked, I added potatoes. Emily’s contribution was onions and at seven, we spooned it out into bowls for everyone. It was delicious. Hunter cut the meat and divided it amongst us.
We dressed up. I wore my suit. Emily wore a black dress. The boys wore suits. It was a classy affair at the beginning. The amount of people in our apartment swelled and swelled. People from Loyola came as did people from Columbia. Emily’s dad dropped in with some wine. I had two glasses, but as the exhaustion overcame me, I felt the need to police the party, which I was told could be heard down the street. I closed the windows, though, which seemed to help and denied all requests for music.
I kept an eye on the recycling and on the guests, making sure that everyone had what they needed.
We bought a cheesecake at Costco the other night, and I cut up strawberries and blueberries to put on it. The top of the cheesecake became a peace sign crafted out of strawberries and the sides were ringed with blueberries. How patriotic.
Cheese and crackers completed the attempt at mild sophistication.
I tried to go to bed at 11.
The party was raging on the other side of my wall, though, and at one point, I was called back into the chaos. My mood shifted and I found myself cranky. As everyone left, I played mom and began cleaning.
Overall, however, one of the best parties of the year.

I hope you found Aretha Franklin’s hat as amusing as we did.
This week has killed me. Since I got back, I haven’t had a chance to breathe. Classes, work, so much work, Simon, Hunter, Emily, the apartment…time is moving quicker than we’d like to think.
Soon enough I’ll be 21.
The invitation is still standing. My apartment. Chicago. May 18, 2009.
And there may be a chance that Hunter will join me for Easter. Slight because he will most likely be on family vacation, but still a chance.
ugh.
Upton Sinclair calls.

Well that was fun.
I got to the boys house the other night and realized that someone had hit my car. Great. Smashed it.
The entire bumper is shattered and I’m a little upset.
It happened between leaving the restaurant for dinner and me getting to the boys house. In that time, I parked one block north of my apartment. I also had people in the car the entire night, so it’s not like I hit something and just bailed.
I didn’t hear any crunching and when I parked, there were no cars behind me. I drove to the boys and when I got there, I noticed the damage.
It doesn’t add up to me, but I’m really frustrated that someone would hit my car and then not leave a note.

ugh.

The lake I first fell in love with lays calm in the frozen air. It’s blue edged in lighter blue that fades to white as the ice and snow take over. The water laps softly at the shore.
I stare from the window of the warm room. I see a religious statue, marking its place in the world, significant for few.
Trudging out into the snow-covered parking lot, I find my illegally parked and still frozen car.
I come home to my cluttered apartment, hot and bright. I open the window to let some air in and then close the fridge, which sometimes doesn’t seem to stay shut.
I pull leftover out and compile a meal of sorts. Peanut butter, celery, raisins, a diet soda, a taco from dinner last night.
We sprawl on the furniture, exhausted in the early evening. There is no end. Tomorrow I can sleep in. And I will.

It’s been quite a journey, hasn’t it?

TIRED.
Made it back to Chicago safely.
I didn’t realize how much I missed Simon until it was me and him hurtling up I-55.
Hunter’s been a dream, making me dinner and keeping an eye on me.
Emily chose to stay behind, so I’ll see her sometime either tomorrow or Sunday.
I cancelled babysitting today. I’ve been sleeping and needing it.
School starts Monday.
I broke my laptop.
ugh.. coherent thoughts aren’t possible. Sentence form will come later.
All is well, for the most part, though, and for that I am grateful.

The phone call shattered Christmas Eve for me.
“I know you’re going to worry even though I’m telling you not to,” Dr. Davis said. She told me that the cells that we had identified and then biopsied in September weren’t going away and that the next step would have to be taken between now and May.
Well, I chose now and referral in hand, I let the tears fall.
I cried for almost two hours.
And so, plans were made for the 30th of December, an office visit, to give me local anesthetic in/around my cervix and then proceed with the LEEP procedure. Basically, they cut and cauterize your cervix all at one time.
Well, I went online to do more research and became completely unglued. We’re talking hysterical. I usually take things and pain very well, but the idea of this really bothered me.
Of course, the office was closed for the holiday weekend, so there was no time to call the doctor and talk about other options until Monday (the day before the scheduled procedure).
I called and told them my fears and that I would feel more comfortable doing it under general anesthesia, something that Dr. Davis and I had discusses. The assistant told me that the doctor had actually thought that general anesthesia would be a better approach for me. (The LEEP is super common, and some of them are done under anesthesia but most are done in office. Sorry, not my deal at all.)
Mom, who has been to every doctor’s appointment with me, was right behind my decision and we changed my plane tickets to today.
We met with the doctor on the 30th. She’s a wonderful lady who hugged me and assured me that everything would be alright. She didn’t seem inconvenienced at all by my decision and she made me feel a lot more comfortable about the whole process.
Dr. Davis did a good job of referring me and for that I am eternally thankful.
When I first got the abnormal PAP results in September, I called the Loyola Wellness Center (specializing in terrible healthcare) and asked them for a referral to a gynocologist out in Chicago. The response?
“Chicago’s a big city. Look in the phone book.”
I was on a plane two weeks later. Nothing for me beats having a doctor that I absolutely trust and feel comfortable with.

The thing that got me was the mention of a tube for the smoke. Smoke!?!? out of there???
Mom didn’t believe me that there was actually smoke, but we settled that up with the nurse yesterday. “Enough to cloud the area,” she said.
Gross.

So I went in yesterday morning, starving since I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since midnight, and got ready for surgery. They took me back, attempted to start the IV, which failed miserably. It felt like something was trying to fit into too small of a vein. That plan was scrapped and we switched arms.
Then they gave me some fluids and we chilled out for awhile. The hospital gowns are the least attractive things in the world and I felt absolutely exposed, but the nurses were nice enough to bring me like four hot blankets.
When the nurse went out to get Mom, she told her that I was a very nice daughter. (Which I am.)
Eventually, the doctor came in and talked to me and my mom. And then the anesthesiologist. And then the surgery nurse. And then the resident who was going to assist. (Ugh, I was not a fan of her. You know when you just get a vibe? Well…I hope she got a good show. She didn’t even introduce herself to Mom. FAIL.)
So they gave me a sedative which I did not start to feel. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to remember the ride down to the OR. Which I do. I hopped off the bed and onto the super skinny surgery table and the doctor held my hand while I fell asleep.

BAM!

I woke up in recovery, still starving. They had told me I was going to be nauseous but that was most definitely not the case. They gave me a pain pill and some crackers and let me chill out for a while and then Mom and I went home.
I parked myself on the couch, munching on pills throughout the night to keep me comfortable and here I am today.

Mom texted/called all the necessary people. I do believe that she used that time to work into the conversation with Hunter a visit to Denver. Emily was glad I’m alright and she’ll be picking me up tonight at the airport.

A little sore but no worse for the wear. So I’ll be on drugs/pain pills for most of today and then I’ll probably take the last one as soon as I get to Chicago. (No driving on Vicodin!)

So yeah.
Hopefully this will be my last experience with metal in that area.
But if not, this was definitely a very comfortable and worthwhile endeavor. Mom agrees. I am lucky to have one as supportive as her.