A very busy week

 For someone who officially doesn't have very many commitments at this point in her life I sure as hell seem to have had a busy couple of weeks. I've barely been home this week. I've been visiting Britta in hospital the last few days as well as helping her mother make a photo book about the accident for Britta's little girl, which we finished yesterday morning. I cried making the book, realising how much this little person has to take in, and how much her little mind must be trying to make sense of. She's a smart cookie, though, just like her mother. She's wise. She'll be OK.

Britta has graduated from the hospital to the rehabilitation facility. She appears to have gone from strength to strength this week, which surprises no one who knows her, but still seems beyond anyone's expectations. It is her birthday today. There's going to be a small surprise gathering for her in the patients lounge at the new facility. Her internal injuries have stabilised and now begins the very long process of healing her muscles, nerves, and bones. It must be so disconcerting to be unable to move, to lose all of your independence, to be absolutely immobile. It's like the stuff of your nightmares. Right now the focus is on getting her settled and comfortable in the new facility. I think I'll take her some things to brighten up her room.

News of Britta's accident and injuries was obviously a very horrible end to last week/start of this week. But it hasn't all been doom and gloom. My dear Anika graduated from her PhD on Saturday, to much fanfare from those of us who love her and have been a part of her thesis journey. I could not have been more proud. She has worked so bloody hard on that thesis, with so much guts and determination. Talk about a woman on a mission - she definitely had one of those with that project.

Anika and Sasha after the ceremony

The only sadness of that day was realising that the tea we were served as part of our celebratory High Tea at the Park Hyatt was somewhat over brewed, and that the scones had a slightly offensive fruity glaze (that's an in joke). I did dearly wish that I was up there with Anika, both of us graduating together. But that was not to be. At least not yet. Maybe my turn will come. Maybe my thesis will be finished. Maybe not. Who's to say anything with any certainty any more?

By far the cutest thing of the day was Anika's little daughter, Sasha (my god-daughter) calling out 'that's my mummy!' when everyone was clapping her as she received her testamur on the stage. It reminded me that little children don't really 'get' that their parents are anything other than their own particular mummy or daddy all the time. We all hoped that Sasha would remember the day in years to come, though we also all professed that we couldn't remember much of ourselves at three-years-old, apart from stories we'd been told.

Because Anika was in Melbourne from her current home in Canberra for the graduation, we also enjoyed a little party for Sasha's third birthday, which fell the week before. It was rabbit themed, as she pretty much loves rabbits to the exclusion of all other things. She calls them 'hop-hops', which is too adorable for words, really. I bought her Little Ted from PlaySchool and she loved him.

Trying to get a photo of all three of us proved impossible!

The birthday girl

On the home front I don't have much to report. I owe the Australian Tax Office $35 after submitting my tax return. I'm thinking of asking them for a $1 a week payment plan on that! Given that Britta has been utilising everything our fabulous public health system has to offer I was actually glad to pay extra tax this year. If only all our tax dollars were being spent on such important things.

I'm thinking of planting about one million Camellia plants in my front yard in Max's memory. The one we planted for him in November is going so well that it's really given me faith that perhaps propagating Camellias is my calling. . . stranger things have happened. For someone who has not ever been interested in plants or nature, I find what I am about to say just as eery and weird as you might find it. Here I go, though: it's been a very good winter for Camellias in Melbourne. That's what anyone who knows anything about plants has been saying, so now, I'm saying it too! Oh, how things have changed. I don't know who I am anymore. Next thing I'll be wearing sensible shoes. . . oh, wait. . . that's already happened too!

Leslie is still looking for another job after being made redundant. I am still asking myself 'what now?', though I'm working on that with my psych by way of defining my personal values. More about that another time once I have a clear idea of what they are! We are still forging ahead on the 'get pregnant quick' scheme. But, as Phil Collins made very clear in the 80s, you can't hurry love, and by extension, fertilised embryos I guess. He also sang something about 'One more night', I think, so I guess we'll give that a try. He seems to have known what he was on about.

I want to plan a gathering and service to honour Max's birthday in November. I've been day dreaming about it. I had this vision of John Farnham performing a song I'd written for Max on the day. Is that weird? I think it is, but it's probably not the weirdest thing I've had in my head over the last eight or so months. Perhaps I'll get my people to call his people. Isn't that how these things work? If anyone has any ideas for a venue I'll gladly take them. I want a lovely, small-medium room in Melbourne that has audio-visual equipment and is not super expensive to hire.

I've been managing quite a bit of anxiety of late. I thought that my all of my anxiety had gone away. Normally it manifests in me unable to leave the house, cancelling all engagements and social responsibilities, unable to use the phone or do anything much to help myself. I haven't had any of those feelings in a while now, so I assumed that some how I'd been miraculously cured. It turns out that anxiety is a clever son of a bitch though. Did you know that it can sometimes disguise itself as manic activity? A desire to be everywhere, to find out everything, to run around like a headless chook in service of some aim or another? That's what I've been doing. I thought I was just being productive, looking for answers as to what happened when I was pregnant; looking for answers as to what we might be able to differently next time, if there is a next time; planning project after project to do in Max's memory. . . the list goes on. My psychiatrist raised the point that it might be anxiety driving a lot of my current behaviour; a desire to mitigate risk and uncertainty. And she's right, you know. She's most often right. I can't trust any of my motivations or feelings anymore. I don't know what is a good idea and what is not. I don't know when I'm being sensible and when I'm being anxious. I don't know what is real. I feel completely ungrounded. And, no, I don't really like it.