Oryx and Crake (x2), The Year of the Flood, and MaddAddam
Weight: 50.4 oz
Method of Disposal: Sent one home with my mom and donated the rest
My mother gave me this Atwood series for Christmas after having heard about it on NPR. It sounded very interesting and, given her previous work, it seemed like it was practically guaranteed to explode my mind. I did not realize it at the time, but I had also purchased the first book in the series at some point in my earlier life because I found an older edition in my library later.
The first book I read while I was sick. It was the holidays and my mother was staying with us. Harriet and her were watching a terrible television show (Reign) so I would read and bite my tongue about all the awkward costumes and poor historical portrayals. Everything I had heard about the book had me riveted, but when I actually read it I was under impressed. I could not decide if it was more about who I am now or about the writing itself. I did not care for the main character and all the references to child pornography was making me feel queasy, When I got to the end, though, I did want to read the second one and was disappointed (at that time) that it was not a book involving the same character even if I did not like him. The second book in the series was by far my favorite (hanging out with a bunch of religious, nature-inspired, folks living commune style) so I thought the third might be the one with the most potential, but that one let me down too. The end of the world has happened and in between the rapes, murders, and chases there are bright blue waving penises with innocent intentions. Woohoo. I was constantly right there with her and then let down. Right there. Let down. To be fair, I had very high expectations.
My mother read the first one and then apologized for giving them to me, which seems extreme even now. The idea of them was irresistible, and I read them all the way up until now. It took me awhile because I was also reading other books and never getting well. I went to the doctor for the first time since my coughing and breathing issues had started back in December. I started using an inhaler all the time and could not sleep through the night without waking up in a breathless panic. I continued going back to the doctor and eventually set up an appointment with the specialist. I still ended up in the ER with IV fluids and medications being pumped into me at, what I found to be, an alarming rate. I cannot even begin to tell you how shocked I was when they said they were going to admit me to the hospital. I had to leave all my work and friend plans behind and. just. lay. there. But my beautiful Harriet stayed with me the whole time, and we "slept" together wrapped up on a hospital gurney, patiently waiting the 12 hours it took to get a slightly larger hospital bed. She was scared. I wished I could make her feel better. We felt incredibly close. Soon enough, we left the hospital and continued care at my father's house before coming home. At that point, I took her crashing down with me. Now she is coughing and short of breath. They say hers is not a pneumonia yet, but I can see it following the same path as mine. I sure hope she gets better soon. I am worried, and she still wants me to feel better.
I am behind at work, my chest hurts all the time, and I feel weaker than before, but I also can breath, which is really the main thing. I am getting better and maybe it was all a blessing in disguise (for me, not The British One). I've never been content to be a quitter (even as one) when it came to smoking, but I am officially over it all now. I like breathing. I like it so much and, when I do go out, I hope my chest is not exploding or dissolving into itself. I hope I can catch my breath. That if I cough something comes up instead of just hanging around, growing in size.
While I was in the hospital, I missed saying goodbye to a dear friend who moved to Connecticut for health and financial reasons. She left gifts behind for me and Harriet, and we are texting more now that we did when she lived in Georgia, but it is not the same of course. She told me today that she has emphysema. Sometimes life feels like one gigantic lesson with people who actually play all the parts, and it is always unclear who the lesson is actually for since so many people are hurt (or helped) in the making. I just hope that years from now, when she goes out, she is able to catch her breath and not feel that weight on her chest.