So, I haven't written in this journal in ages. Apparently it takes a near catastrophe or a major event to make me do it. That said, here goes.

My mother was just diagnosed with what is either scarring of her liver or cirrhosis of the liver. Either way, the first one will lead to the second one, provided they can't use some treatment to reverse it or remove the damaged part. Apparently the liver can self-regenerate, much like a starfish's arm. But in the case that it doesn't work, the liver will continue to get worse until it refuses to work at all. Then there are looming on the horizon two options:

1.Transplant
2.Death

Neither of which anyone particularly wants to think about. Transplant sounds great, until you remember that it's major surgery and it doesn't always take. Not to mention the bit where someone has to die to give you an organ. And if my mother were to die, that would be something very close to the end of the world. That may sound selfish to those of you who have lost parents, but I have no other way to express it.

For two weeks she has to wait and monitor things and then she goes back for more tests. Basically, they are checking now to see how severe it is and decide what course of action to take. My mother is terrified, naturally. I can't speak for myself. I'm not really sure how I am reacting.

The one thing I am sure of is that she's had the same symptoms for almost 10 years and been to several doctors to seek treatment. And not a one of them realized that all of those symptoms together might mean liver problems. Many things can cause it, of course one of them being excessive consumption of alcohol over the lifespan. Anyone who knows my completely anti-alcohol mother knows that wasn't the cause. Poor lifestyle choices such as not eating right and not exercising can also cause it, and certainly do exacerbate it when you have it. This is the point where I acknowledge that I am frustrated with my mother for refusing to take care of herself all these years, even at the urging of myself, my father, and her doctors. It would not have killed her to try and eat well like the rest of us or get exercise. We always worried about my father's family history with heart disease, but no one ever saw this coming.

Why the hell didn't anyone see this coming?

Took Emma to the vet today. She was a trooper. She only meowed once or twice and was really good when the vet gave her the shots. Now she's asleep beside me on the couch. I was somewhat nervous that she would freak out like she did that one time I tried to take her outside. But taking her in the carrier was obviously a great idea. I had never taken a pet to the vet myself before, so I was worried it would be unpleasant. But the vet was nice and Emma was only mildly nervous, so all is well.

Time is winding down. 17 more high school days and fewer even still of college days. 4 major projects due over the next two weeks, and tomorrow I have my interview with the MTA people in the education department to see if they want to let me into the master's program for real.

It's gonna be a crazy month.

I will give four hundred cool points to anyone who can name the work of literature the subject line comes from. 5oo points to the person who can name the character who said it.

I helped give the ACT today. The side of me that likes to torment seemingly innocent teenagers enjoyed it thoroughly. The side of me that hates getting up early on a Saturday did not.

I am settled now into my new abode. It is just large enough for me and my collection of random odds and ends that other people might refer to as housewares. It is also big enough for my new kitten, who I have named Emma. I wasn't thinking of Jane Austen at the time, though it does seem oddly fitting. Here she is:





She's a bit of an odd thing, with one eye being sort of slanty and one leg being tilted out at a strange angle. But she is as sweet as a cat ever was and she seems to like living with me so far. That is all one can ask, I imagine.

Time to go watch Mel Brooks' "History of the World: Part 1." Goodnight!