What a depressing day. An online friend of mine has just lost her child, and it’s giving me feelings of, “No, the universe isn’t supposed to work that way!!!” The three-month-old baby was fine Sunday, in the hospital with viral pneumonia Monday, better Wednesday, worse Thursday and now gone. I knew that any time you have an infant (or anyone, I guess), in the ICU, it’s very serious, but I guess I just expect that people will get better from diseases. I mean, I understand that miscarriages happen all the time because so many things can go wrong in developing a whole new person; I understand that sometimes neonates die because something was wrong with them or went wrong with the birth; I even understand that sometimes babies die for no apparent reason with SIDS. I’m just used to modern medicine being good enough that diseases get handled and people get better. It seems trebly tragic because her mother went through a lot to conceive her, then had a difficult pregnancy, and was so happy to be a mom. Also, the baby’s name was Felicity, so I keep harking back somehow to the loss of Joyce (Joy for short) in Anne’s House of Dreams – I guess I tend to sink into stories as a way to react to real life occurrances. (I am only writing about my own reactions here, in my own blog, because the mom is on other social media I participate in, and any mention of the death there should be about trying to support and comfort her.)

She’s someone I know via a Ravelry group; I’m really hoping we can pull together to do something, whether it’s a group donation, a blanket, or whatever. Not getting much response yet, though.

I’m a bit down at the moment anyway; this is the week between the anniversary of my dad’s death in the Gregorian calendar and the yahrzeit in the Hebrew calendar. Then yesterday, I got scheduled for a colonoscopy next Friday and I think this will majorly suck. Not so much the procedure itself, for which I’ll be sedated, as the prep and maybe the recovery. I have to go on a clear-liquid diet Thursday, which is going to make the workday interesting, drink 32 ounces of some stuff that’s said to be fairly unpleasant that night, drink 32 more ounces in the morning, go in at 9:15, come out three hours later and have someone to drive me because I’ll be groggy, and not drive a car for 16-24 hours after due to persisting grogginess. Apparently I won’t be completely knocked out, but the stuff they give you has an “amnesiac effect” (the doctor’s words) so I likely won’t remember it anyway. Somehow this has always seemed like slightly less of a big deal when it was my mom going through it, which is probably partly because it always seems worse when it’s yourself, and partly because she’s brave about this kind of thing.