So much to be thankful for.

Jeffy & Zeke on "third bed" (don't ask) (comforter sitting in the entryway) 
I have a confession: earlier tonight, I was in a dark place. I may actually be again sooner rather than later, circumstances depending, but I'm hopeful that I won't. See, holidays can be a rocky time around these parts. There is some kind of Gregory-related juju, passed down through generations, that completely steamrolls holidays without any notice. But it's completely inconsistent, so you really never know when it might hit. Two notable examples from the past are Christmas Eve 2006, which Scott & I spent with Zeke in the emergency room (he eventually was diagnosed with IBS); and most recently Presidents Day 2012, when my amazing mother-in-law was felled by a fainting spell that hit at midnight while we were on a visit. What a night at multiple hospitals that was (oh, and by the way, she's still arguing with her insurance to pay the bills ... yeah, that health insurance system sure works well as it is!). And we've had many non health-related dramas as well: Christmas 2010, when we were too busy to get a tree, went to the lot on Christmas Eve and found it chained and dark (tears!); and Christmas 2011, when we actually didn't get to open our presents until several days after December 25th ... because Scott had to spend all day on Christmas fixing our completely busted toilet, himself, and a flood was definitely involved.

So you understand my trepidation.

I worked myself into a state earlier about Jeffy, who really hasn't been feeling well these last couple of days. The really wonderful part of this story (and the only good part of the last two days of relating with him) is that he taught me an important lesson, as he usually does.

Scott & I often switch it up when giving Jeffy his sub-q fluids every night. This is mostly because we have a "get them into him by any means necessary" policy, and he is really not into it, and every night it takes a different method to get him to hold still long enough. Lately, we have settled into a routine where I am the needle-sticker, a responsibility which totally freaks me out. Like, I spend a significant amount of time each day silently freaking out about it. I'm not sure what makes me react this way. We've had many nights not end until 3am because I've flinched at the last second or otherwise wigged out, and Jeffy has caught that anxiety and gone crazy. Oh man. Those are not my finest moments, believe me. I feel really awful for having them, because ... it's not about me. It's about Jeffy. You know? Supposedly I got my "adult" card when I turned 30 this year, so I better stop acting like I need to still wear pull-ups! No offense to those in pull-ups.

laundry basket dreams
Anyway, tonight, with all the stress of the last couple of days and the mounting worry, Scott carried Jeffy downstairs, I stuck the needle in him, got it on the first try (something that has never happened before!) and the fluids flowed faster than they have ever flowed. It was amazing. I was elated. I felt like I'd won the whole Olympics, if you know what I mean! I keep thinking that maybe Jeffy took pity on me. But maybe it wasn't that; maybe I stopped taking pity on myself. It could have made the difference.

I am so thankful for Jeffy, that he's here and teaching me things every day and loving me every day and letting us know that he's not done with us yet. I truly hope that our Thanksgiving is wonderful, and uneventful, and filled with food comas and football and puzzles and an emergency grocery run right before the stores close ... and that's it. Wish us luck, and Happy Thanksgiving.


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