Too much is happening all at once. I arrived back from Nova Scotia and Meg's wedding Saturday night about 11:30 PM. The wedding was beautiful, despite the fog, and took place outside beside the ocean. Meg looked beautiful in her white (pregnancy) gown. simple high waisted, beaded on the bodice and back, with flowers in her hair, and bare footed-since the dress was a tad too short, and she has no dress shoes anyway!
Myla was in a long white dress, too, running back and forth between her parents and Geoff (Meg's dad) me and Nana (Adam's mom), free and happy and unconstrained.
Adam looked handsome-and slightly awkward-in his tux, until Meg appeared, walking down the "aisle of trees" with her father and Myla, then he looked dazed and proud. He had absolutely never seen her looking so "girly" before and was dazzled.
There were 10 guests (counting Myla) and the dinner afterwards was beyond description. Let me just say, I have not eaten food like that in 20 years. And the Gray Goose Vodka was good, too! Pictures will follow eventually.
Last night Luke (my brother who lives in Denver, and got back from the wedding on Saturday, too) called to say Mom was not doing well, in ICU with pneumonia, on antibiotics and not responding well. This morning he called to say that she has refused all heroic means, food, and medicine. I am flying out tomorrow at 6 AM, my sister Catherine arrives at 9:30 PM, and Meg and Myla will fly in on Thursday. My father, who has been in the hospital for weeks, is now in a rehab facility, will be carted over for at least a while each day.
We don't know how long it will take her to die, but are all hoping sooner rather than later. There will be no funeral-she is giving her body to DU Med School-and any memorial service is likely to take place later this summer, or even next summer in the Poconos.
We kids are all responding in our own irritating (to each other) fashion-Catherine, in the middle of a major med change, has withdrawn and will do her mourning in a safer place than the bosom of the family, Luke is telling us all we MUST be strong (like him) and not break down at all, and I am weeping, and will continue to, except in front of mom, if it upsets her. She, in her inimical fashion, is pissed we are all coming-but will be glad to see us if she is coherent enough to know we're there.
And who knows about my father, stuck in a nursing home, still recovering from a month or more in the hospital. They were both there for their 60th Anniversary last month, and the nurses got them a cake. They held hands and smiled. They have not lived together since February when mom had back surgery. Since then one or the other or both have been hospitalized, in rehab, or home alone.
Aging sucks and the American way of dying is much, much worse. I will take my laptop with me, but have not always had good luck connecting there, so may be incommucado for a while. I want very badly to return to reading about your lives, my friends, and eventually will make it home and back to J-Land. I will be glad for your thoughts, prayers, meditations, whatever it is that connects you to your higher power, asking for a kind death for mom, and encouragement for all of us left behind.
Blessings, Margo
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Complications Where I come From, Complications Where I'm Bound
Yes, I have been out of it again. My original surgery was Feb. 28, '08, and that same day surgery turned out to be four days at Yale-New Haven Hospital. My "bleeding out" complication began March 13, and I was at Yale 5 days that time. I should have had surgery to open it up then, but my surgeon sees people all Friday and obviously didn't want to disrupt his schedule-or his weekend-with a complications surgery, so he decided to have his residents keep packing the wounds and sent me home. Within a day or two
Over the next few days, the holes through which I was supposed to be draining got larger, and continued to pass red blood, so I called my primary care physician (who I had met once only). She looked at it and referred me to a local surgeon, since by then I was clear I was NOT going back to Dr. T. in New Haven. I met the new, local surgeon at 4:30 Friday afternoon, and by 5:30 I was checking into L&M (our local hospital), scheduled for surgery the next morning!
I like doctors who are willing to treat aggressively, if I ask them to! This surgery was really debriedment, the stripping off of skin and infection, leaving me with a large hole in my right side, in front of my hipbone. And I do mean large-about 7 inches by 2 1/2 inches and fairly deep, too, with a 3 inch tunnel which runs under the skin towards my belly button.
I came home Sunday, and went back into the same routine of having a Visiting Nurse in daily to pack the wound. After a week, my wound vac arrived. You can Google it if you are really interested, but briefly, it is a two part system. The first part is fitted to the wound and sealed. The second part is a machine from which one side plugs in to an outlet and the other side into the sealed wound, causing negative pressure. It sucks the pink liquid out, and helps the wound heal quicker. Like in two months, as opposed to eight months if I'd stuck with Dr. T'homson's regime.
Am I angry? You betcha. I am enraged at Dr. T's treatment of me when I went back to Yale in mid March. I even suggested surgery several times to his residents, but they blew me off, as they did when I said I had a second tunnel. Eventually, when I am feeling better, I will write a stiff letter to Dr. Thomson, with copies to the head of surgery at Yale, and to Dr. Bell, my gastroenterologist, who recommended him.
Meanwhile, I am into my third month of being homebound, and feeling pretty much as if I am starting all over again at the beginning. Winter has gone, spring is busting out all over (to coin a phrase) and I am not supposed to leave the house without a minder because I am so weak-from surgeries, blood loss, lack of exercise, etc. I have been out (alone) to see my daffodils and little blue star flowers and crocuses, but there will be no working in the yard this year, alas.
Lonely? Sorry for myself? Yup, definitely, due to too many days spent alone, stuck in the house. I am tired of TV and reading and eating the same food over and over (luckily I froze a lot ahead of time). I know that this too shall pass. My wound van will have me healed in another month or two, and I will actually be looking forward to my former life of physical therapy, regular therapy, doctors' appointments and walks around the neighborhood.
I will certainly survive. I always do, no matter what life throws at me. I can hardly believe that I am writing this, but I am already beginning to think about whether to have my next surgery-on my left shoulder, and absolutely necessary in the long run-in the autumn, or wait for winter! Such is life. It just keeps going, and I have to go with it.
Blessings, Margo
Over the next few days, the holes through which I was supposed to be draining got larger, and continued to pass red blood, so I called my primary care physician (who I had met once only). She looked at it and referred me to a local surgeon, since by then I was clear I was NOT going back to Dr. T. in New Haven. I met the new, local surgeon at 4:30 Friday afternoon, and by 5:30 I was checking into L&M (our local hospital), scheduled for surgery the next morning!
I like doctors who are willing to treat aggressively, if I ask them to! This surgery was really debriedment, the stripping off of skin and infection, leaving me with a large hole in my right side, in front of my hipbone. And I do mean large-about 7 inches by 2 1/2 inches and fairly deep, too, with a 3 inch tunnel which runs under the skin towards my belly button.
I came home Sunday, and went back into the same routine of having a Visiting Nurse in daily to pack the wound. After a week, my wound vac arrived. You can Google it if you are really interested, but briefly, it is a two part system. The first part is fitted to the wound and sealed. The second part is a machine from which one side plugs in to an outlet and the other side into the sealed wound, causing negative pressure. It sucks the pink liquid out, and helps the wound heal quicker. Like in two months, as opposed to eight months if I'd stuck with Dr. T'homson's regime.
Am I angry? You betcha. I am enraged at Dr. T's treatment of me when I went back to Yale in mid March. I even suggested surgery several times to his residents, but they blew me off, as they did when I said I had a second tunnel. Eventually, when I am feeling better, I will write a stiff letter to Dr. Thomson, with copies to the head of surgery at Yale, and to Dr. Bell, my gastroenterologist, who recommended him.
Meanwhile, I am into my third month of being homebound, and feeling pretty much as if I am starting all over again at the beginning. Winter has gone, spring is busting out all over (to coin a phrase) and I am not supposed to leave the house without a minder because I am so weak-from surgeries, blood loss, lack of exercise, etc. I have been out (alone) to see my daffodils and little blue star flowers and crocuses, but there will be no working in the yard this year, alas.
Lonely? Sorry for myself? Yup, definitely, due to too many days spent alone, stuck in the house. I am tired of TV and reading and eating the same food over and over (luckily I froze a lot ahead of time). I know that this too shall pass. My wound van will have me healed in another month or two, and I will actually be looking forward to my former life of physical therapy, regular therapy, doctors' appointments and walks around the neighborhood.
I will certainly survive. I always do, no matter what life throws at me. I can hardly believe that I am writing this, but I am already beginning to think about whether to have my next surgery-on my left shoulder, and absolutely necessary in the long run-in the autumn, or wait for winter! Such is life. It just keeps going, and I have to go with it.
Blessings, Margo
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Complications, Complcations All Around
I have spent the last week and a half dealing with, and meditating on, the "small problems" which sometimes accompany surgery. I had one (a small problem) a week and a half ago that sent me by ambulance first to my local hospital, then later in the day, again by ambulance, to Yale New-Haven Hospital where I had my original surgery done Feb 28th.
I had figured I'd already had my "small problem" when same day surgery turned into a four day stay in the hospital, with the addition of four units of blood transfusion. (And, thank you, one and all, who donate blood. I really do appreciate "the gift of life.") I had returned home, lived carefully through the next week or so, had my two week check up with Dr. God, the plastic surgeon, and returned home exhausted but thinking I was healing.
(Now if you are really squeamish about blood and gore, either skip or skim the rest of this.)
The next day I woke up in a large pool of my own blood and gore. Luckily the Visiting Nurse was due soon, so I sat, keeping pressure on both sides of my wound until she arrived. And she quietly panicked, even while she efficiently took over. She cleaned me up, put pressure bandages on me, called the ambulance and promised to put out extra food for Roxy as they wheeled me away.
Emergency Rooms are very boring-hurry up and wait alone-and I had not had the wherewith of mind to grab a book. Four hours later the ER doc at my local hospital told me the obvious-I needed to go to Yale-and eventually another ambulance came to take me away. I was still bleeding, but quite well bandaged by then, thanks to a passing nurse. Yale ER is much crazier than my local hospital. I waited 2 hours for their ER doc, even though my surgeon's residents knew I had arrived. They turned up two hours after the ER doc and gave me the lie that "this is just one form of a normal problem, don't worry, it'll stop by tomorrow morning" then disappeared, after sticking gloved fingers into the three holes out of which I was bleeding. Two hours after that I finally got the pain med the ER doc had ordered, and was moved out into the hall to wait for a room.
I was actually one of the lucky ones because an hour later a bed opened on the surgical ward, and they put my name on it. By the time I was wheeled up to it, the hospital was full, leaving many others to spend the night down in the ER. Unfortunately, I arrived at the change of shift, so I spent two more hours, lying in my own blood and clots, desperately needing a bedpan. Help finally arrived at 1:00 AM, in the form of a horrified nurse, who cleaned me up, called for the on-call doc, demanded something be done, and (when told this was a variation of normal and they wanted me to pass the clots) said (to me) no way was this normal, nor was I going to bleed out on her time. She put on pressure dressings (not what the resident doc had wanted), and handed me heavy pain meds. Bless her, her name was Melissa, and I am deeply grateful to her.
The next morning, the whole pantheon of residents and interns and hangers-on appeared at my bedside to reiterate the lie, this is all part of normal, as they again tried to pull clots out my holes with gloved fingers. I needed to be lightly dressed to draw the clots out, they said, not to worry they had it all in hand...while I, going on no sleep at all, tried to form intelligent questions about all the blood I was losing along with the blood clots. They hushed me, placating me until I felt stupid, and left while I was still trying to explain about the amount of blood I was losing.
Twenty minutes later, it was clear their light dressing were not a good solution, for once again I was passing a huge amount of bright red blood along with gigantic clots. Luckily, I am not squeamish. I rang for my (new) nurse, demanding that she call them back. She freaked a bit at the amount I'd bled in 20 minutes, cleaned me up, called them back, then left the room to have a heated argument outside my door, explaining that at the very least I'd need two units of blood to make up for what I'd just lost. Two residents returned half an hour later, when I had once again bled through the pressure bandages, and the chief resident said, quietly, "Oh, I didn't realize it was bleeding this much, this isn't normal at all, in fact it's almost unheard of for someone to bleed two full weeks after surgery." This out of the mouth that had been assuring me (lying to me) about "variations of normal" for 15 hours!
I was enraged, and said so. Four units of transfused blood and nearly eight hours later, the word came down from on high (my surgeon, Dr. God, who did not put in an appearance until three days later) that they would not do surgery, hoping that packing me would staunch the bleeding, but not stop the clots, which needed to drain out. That was Friday morning.
By Monday I was threatening to die of terminal boredom, so they sent me home Tuesday, feeling as weak as I did when they sent me home the first time. I did manage to keep a happy front up to Meg, and all the rest of the family because my mother, poor woman, was back in the hospital in Littleton, CO, due to "confusion caused by her meds" and uncontrollable diarrhea. She ended up having back surgery the day I came home, to fix a couple of her ruptured discs, in hopes this might help with her other problems. The family has been all riled up over her situation, so I downplayed mine.
And, indeed, mine is no longer acute. I have a visiting nurse come daily to put in a drain in one bad hole (I can do a lot of medical things to myself and others, but simply cannot use a sterile Q-tip thingy to stick a couple of inches of gauze drain into a hole in my side) Today I go back to Dr. God, who will look down his patrician nose at me as assure me (as he did the day before I started bleeding) that all is well, and I am on my way towards healing.
Yeah, in rereading this, I can see how angry I was, and still am, although it has dissipated some with time and less pain. I am no less susceptible to post-surgical problems than anyone else, but part of my rage was at their inability to understand that I was really in trouble, though several nurses backed my story up. These residents and interns will soon be out there as full fledged doctors, not listening to their own patients. And Dr. God only got second hand reports during the time I was really bleeding. He turned up the day before I left to inform me they had it all under control now. (Duh, I could have told him that.)
I did have several wonderful nurses, who took on the docs for me, demanding they get back up to see me, right now!, and others who just took really good care of me. My first 18 hours there were pretty scary; I was discounted and placated and lied to and ignored (nobody should lie bleeding heavily for two hours, despite speaking twice to a nurse and ringing the bell several times, and I did make a formal complaint about it). The scary thing is that we have one of the best medical systems in the world, and I am grateful to live here. I am also thankful to have good insurance and a fair amount of "consumer savvy" due to the number of surgeries I've had. (Too many!)
Whine, whine, piss, piss, moan, moan. I actually am quite grateful to be through the worst of all this, and though I am still exhausted and in pain, I am beginning to perk up and take a small bit of interest in the world of J-Land again. I'll be around a bit more, and am looking forward to reading journals again.
Blessings, Margo
I had figured I'd already had my "small problem" when same day surgery turned into a four day stay in the hospital, with the addition of four units of blood transfusion. (And, thank you, one and all, who donate blood. I really do appreciate "the gift of life.") I had returned home, lived carefully through the next week or so, had my two week check up with Dr. God, the plastic surgeon, and returned home exhausted but thinking I was healing.
(Now if you are really squeamish about blood and gore, either skip or skim the rest of this.)
The next day I woke up in a large pool of my own blood and gore. Luckily the Visiting Nurse was due soon, so I sat, keeping pressure on both sides of my wound until she arrived. And she quietly panicked, even while she efficiently took over. She cleaned me up, put pressure bandages on me, called the ambulance and promised to put out extra food for Roxy as they wheeled me away.
Emergency Rooms are very boring-hurry up and wait alone-and I had not had the wherewith of mind to grab a book. Four hours later the ER doc at my local hospital told me the obvious-I needed to go to Yale-and eventually another ambulance came to take me away. I was still bleeding, but quite well bandaged by then, thanks to a passing nurse. Yale ER is much crazier than my local hospital. I waited 2 hours for their ER doc, even though my surgeon's residents knew I had arrived. They turned up two hours after the ER doc and gave me the lie that "this is just one form of a normal problem, don't worry, it'll stop by tomorrow morning" then disappeared, after sticking gloved fingers into the three holes out of which I was bleeding. Two hours after that I finally got the pain med the ER doc had ordered, and was moved out into the hall to wait for a room.
I was actually one of the lucky ones because an hour later a bed opened on the surgical ward, and they put my name on it. By the time I was wheeled up to it, the hospital was full, leaving many others to spend the night down in the ER. Unfortunately, I arrived at the change of shift, so I spent two more hours, lying in my own blood and clots, desperately needing a bedpan. Help finally arrived at 1:00 AM, in the form of a horrified nurse, who cleaned me up, called for the on-call doc, demanded something be done, and (when told this was a variation of normal and they wanted me to pass the clots) said (to me) no way was this normal, nor was I going to bleed out on her time. She put on pressure dressings (not what the resident doc had wanted), and handed me heavy pain meds. Bless her, her name was Melissa, and I am deeply grateful to her.
The next morning, the whole pantheon of residents and interns and hangers-on appeared at my bedside to reiterate the lie, this is all part of normal, as they again tried to pull clots out my holes with gloved fingers. I needed to be lightly dressed to draw the clots out, they said, not to worry they had it all in hand...while I, going on no sleep at all, tried to form intelligent questions about all the blood I was losing along with the blood clots. They hushed me, placating me until I felt stupid, and left while I was still trying to explain about the amount of blood I was losing.
Twenty minutes later, it was clear their light dressing were not a good solution, for once again I was passing a huge amount of bright red blood along with gigantic clots. Luckily, I am not squeamish. I rang for my (new) nurse, demanding that she call them back. She freaked a bit at the amount I'd bled in 20 minutes, cleaned me up, called them back, then left the room to have a heated argument outside my door, explaining that at the very least I'd need two units of blood to make up for what I'd just lost. Two residents returned half an hour later, when I had once again bled through the pressure bandages, and the chief resident said, quietly, "Oh, I didn't realize it was bleeding this much, this isn't normal at all, in fact it's almost unheard of for someone to bleed two full weeks after surgery." This out of the mouth that had been assuring me (lying to me) about "variations of normal" for 15 hours!
I was enraged, and said so. Four units of transfused blood and nearly eight hours later, the word came down from on high (my surgeon, Dr. God, who did not put in an appearance until three days later) that they would not do surgery, hoping that packing me would staunch the bleeding, but not stop the clots, which needed to drain out. That was Friday morning.
By Monday I was threatening to die of terminal boredom, so they sent me home Tuesday, feeling as weak as I did when they sent me home the first time. I did manage to keep a happy front up to Meg, and all the rest of the family because my mother, poor woman, was back in the hospital in Littleton, CO, due to "confusion caused by her meds" and uncontrollable diarrhea. She ended up having back surgery the day I came home, to fix a couple of her ruptured discs, in hopes this might help with her other problems. The family has been all riled up over her situation, so I downplayed mine.
And, indeed, mine is no longer acute. I have a visiting nurse come daily to put in a drain in one bad hole (I can do a lot of medical things to myself and others, but simply cannot use a sterile Q-tip thingy to stick a couple of inches of gauze drain into a hole in my side) Today I go back to Dr. God, who will look down his patrician nose at me as assure me (as he did the day before I started bleeding) that all is well, and I am on my way towards healing.
Yeah, in rereading this, I can see how angry I was, and still am, although it has dissipated some with time and less pain. I am no less susceptible to post-surgical problems than anyone else, but part of my rage was at their inability to understand that I was really in trouble, though several nurses backed my story up. These residents and interns will soon be out there as full fledged doctors, not listening to their own patients. And Dr. God only got second hand reports during the time I was really bleeding. He turned up the day before I left to inform me they had it all under control now. (Duh, I could have told him that.)
I did have several wonderful nurses, who took on the docs for me, demanding they get back up to see me, right now!, and others who just took really good care of me. My first 18 hours there were pretty scary; I was discounted and placated and lied to and ignored (nobody should lie bleeding heavily for two hours, despite speaking twice to a nurse and ringing the bell several times, and I did make a formal complaint about it). The scary thing is that we have one of the best medical systems in the world, and I am grateful to live here. I am also thankful to have good insurance and a fair amount of "consumer savvy" due to the number of surgeries I've had. (Too many!)
Whine, whine, piss, piss, moan, moan. I actually am quite grateful to be through the worst of all this, and though I am still exhausted and in pain, I am beginning to perk up and take a small bit of interest in the world of J-Land again. I'll be around a bit more, and am looking forward to reading journals again.
Blessings, Margo
Sunday, March 02, 2008
After Surgery, briefly
Thank you, everyone, for your care, concern and blanket of love. I went into surgery more relaxed than ever before. I had every confidence in my choice of surgery, the surgeon, the hospital and my own preparation, which included all of you who were so kind to wrap me in that blanket of love in whatever way seemed right for you. Damned good thing!
The surgery was, indeed a success, but not an easy one. They carved out eight pounds of skin and trapped fat, took out Meg's C-section scar, found and fixed a small hernia at the bottom of my pouch, and generally marched through my abdomen like the Calvary coming to my rescue. Alas, there was a bit of collateral damaged. I lost over 800 cc of blood, took forever to come out of anesthesia, had blood pressure that kept threatening to bottom out, and ended up with four units of blood over two days.
So I got to spend an extra day or two at Yale/New Haven Hospital, miserable, but healing well, and finally made it home early this evening. Yes, despite the unexpected setbacks, I am well enough to be home alone four days after surgery.
I will write again later this week, when I have recovered a bit more. Meanwhile, Thanks again, everyone, I truly did feel peaceful and blessed as I lay on a gurney, wrapped in a powerful blanket of love.
Blessings to all,
Margo
The surgery was, indeed a success, but not an easy one. They carved out eight pounds of skin and trapped fat, took out Meg's C-section scar, found and fixed a small hernia at the bottom of my pouch, and generally marched through my abdomen like the Calvary coming to my rescue. Alas, there was a bit of collateral damaged. I lost over 800 cc of blood, took forever to come out of anesthesia, had blood pressure that kept threatening to bottom out, and ended up with four units of blood over two days.
So I got to spend an extra day or two at Yale/New Haven Hospital, miserable, but healing well, and finally made it home early this evening. Yes, despite the unexpected setbacks, I am well enough to be home alone four days after surgery.
I will write again later this week, when I have recovered a bit more. Meanwhile, Thanks again, everyone, I truly did feel peaceful and blessed as I lay on a gurney, wrapped in a powerful blanket of love.
Blessings to all,
Margo
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Bring Out the Blankets of Love
This afternoon I FINALLY heard from Yale-New Have Hospital, about the time to arrive for my abdominoplasty. Robin and I are to arrive at 6:30 AM, which means the surgery is probably scheduled for 7:30 or 8:00 AM. I am going to ask if you will wrap me in a blanket of sky-blue love from, say, 7:17 to 7:45 AM EST.
I am as ready for this surgery as I'll ever be-soon I am going over to Meg's so she can(reluctantly) take some before pictures. She's not thrilled because of -euww-seeing her mother half naked, but I told her if she could take dead bodies out of cars as a firefighter, surely she could click a half a doze pics of me in bra and panties!
And I get to see Myla again, too, O Happy Day!
I still have a lot of organizing to do. I always pack a book, though I know it will be weeks before I read and retain info again. I've got three pairs of night garments because I don't know exactly how the drains will work. I have a list of people to call and e-mail
I am very grateful to Robin, who is a massage therapist in the Cancer Center in our local hospital. I know she will be the best advocate I could have, so I don't have to hold it together on my own.
And give thanks for all of you who have promised to pray, meditate, etc., holding me in my sky-blue blanket of love so I can let go and go with the flow of the surgery and the beginning of healing afterwards.
Blessings to all of you, Margo
I am as ready for this surgery as I'll ever be-soon I am going over to Meg's so she can(reluctantly) take some before pictures. She's not thrilled because of -euww-seeing her mother half naked, but I told her if she could take dead bodies out of cars as a firefighter, surely she could click a half a doze pics of me in bra and panties!
And I get to see Myla again, too, O Happy Day!
I still have a lot of organizing to do. I always pack a book, though I know it will be weeks before I read and retain info again. I've got three pairs of night garments because I don't know exactly how the drains will work. I have a list of people to call and e-mail
I am very grateful to Robin, who is a massage therapist in the Cancer Center in our local hospital. I know she will be the best advocate I could have, so I don't have to hold it together on my own.
And give thanks for all of you who have promised to pray, meditate, etc., holding me in my sky-blue blanket of love so I can let go and go with the flow of the surgery and the beginning of healing afterwards.
Blessings to all of you, Margo
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Banishing Anxieties
As February draws to an end, we finally begin to get more winter weather. I'm not sure which goddess is in charge of weather. I think perhaps Demeter, because she caused permanent winter when mourning for her daughter Persephone, kidnapped into the underworld. All I know is that I could wring her neck, as we are in the middle of a typical storm.
Of course I choose to live in South Eastern, CT. Our winter storms tend to be the snow, sleet, rain, then when night falls everything freezes over. After that it is likely to snow some more, so the roads look just snowy, but have glare ice underneath. Now, I have always worked jobs in medical facilities that never closed, so I got pretty good at leaving early and driving slowly and carefully. These days I seem to be retired, so why should I care?
Usually I don't, but yesterday I had two vitally important doctors' appointments-vital for the surgery. Without them, there will be no surgery. One was the second half of a stress test, required by my cardiologist. The other was an appointment with my new PCP, required by my surgeon. Both canceled me at by 7:30 yesterday morning. I am blessed in some ways because each was able to get me in on Monday, after I freaked and explained my situation, but I am cutting it REALLY close.
I do not seem to be worried about the surgery, or its aftermath, but I am doing a lot of totally unnecessary free floating anxiety about what I need to do between now and Thursday. I had scheduled my appointments much earlier in the month, but because of storm, doctor's sick children, and scheduling mix-ups, too much has come down to the last week or so. Of course, I do know it's all my control issues rising up to grab me by the head to throw me off balance. And perhaps some unconsciously denied anxiety about the surgery itself.
Now that I have written this down, perhaps I can work on changing my thinking. After all, I do know the only thing I have control over is myself, what I choose to do and think.
And Demeter, like all archetypes, is not interested in me or any individual, just is creating her own pattern of energy. Who can control the gods and goddesses, anyway? (Actually, now that I think about it, lots of religions seem to try, from the Hindus marching their statues down the streets on festival days to the Catholics who ask intercession by Virgin Mother-another archetype- to the Buddhist who does good deeds to improve his karma, to me with my little altars and shrines all around my house.)
So yesterday, I let it all go, using one of Peggy Huddleston's suggestions (She is the developer of the "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better" that I am using.) Her suggestion is to take 30 seconds and go to your place of relaxation in your head-any place that is relaxing for you- and get away from the worry. When I need to, I go to a hammock by the Tobyhanna River in the Poconos. When I return, I've got a better handle on the unimportance of whatever anxiety I have. Thank Goddess, it works for me. I just have to remember to do it more!
It is difficult to look at how much I let myself suffer, when I have tools that work to change the situations that make me crazy. But I am learning.
Blessings, Margo
Of course I choose to live in South Eastern, CT. Our winter storms tend to be the snow, sleet, rain, then when night falls everything freezes over. After that it is likely to snow some more, so the roads look just snowy, but have glare ice underneath. Now, I have always worked jobs in medical facilities that never closed, so I got pretty good at leaving early and driving slowly and carefully. These days I seem to be retired, so why should I care?
Usually I don't, but yesterday I had two vitally important doctors' appointments-vital for the surgery. Without them, there will be no surgery. One was the second half of a stress test, required by my cardiologist. The other was an appointment with my new PCP, required by my surgeon. Both canceled me at by 7:30 yesterday morning. I am blessed in some ways because each was able to get me in on Monday, after I freaked and explained my situation, but I am cutting it REALLY close.
I do not seem to be worried about the surgery, or its aftermath, but I am doing a lot of totally unnecessary free floating anxiety about what I need to do between now and Thursday. I had scheduled my appointments much earlier in the month, but because of storm, doctor's sick children, and scheduling mix-ups, too much has come down to the last week or so. Of course, I do know it's all my control issues rising up to grab me by the head to throw me off balance. And perhaps some unconsciously denied anxiety about the surgery itself.
Now that I have written this down, perhaps I can work on changing my thinking. After all, I do know the only thing I have control over is myself, what I choose to do and think.
And Demeter, like all archetypes, is not interested in me or any individual, just is creating her own pattern of energy. Who can control the gods and goddesses, anyway? (Actually, now that I think about it, lots of religions seem to try, from the Hindus marching their statues down the streets on festival days to the Catholics who ask intercession by Virgin Mother-another archetype- to the Buddhist who does good deeds to improve his karma, to me with my little altars and shrines all around my house.)
So yesterday, I let it all go, using one of Peggy Huddleston's suggestions (She is the developer of the "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better" that I am using.) Her suggestion is to take 30 seconds and go to your place of relaxation in your head-any place that is relaxing for you- and get away from the worry. When I need to, I go to a hammock by the Tobyhanna River in the Poconos. When I return, I've got a better handle on the unimportance of whatever anxiety I have. Thank Goddess, it works for me. I just have to remember to do it more!
It is difficult to look at how much I let myself suffer, when I have tools that work to change the situations that make me crazy. But I am learning.
Blessings, Margo
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Asking for Help
I am writing this entry to ask for help, something I am still learning to do in my life. I will get to what I need shortly, but first I'd like to catch up.
January was a reasonably slow month, mostly spent fighting my own doctor's office and workers comp for physical therapy, with a few assorted appointments thrown in for "excitement." February has taken off like a rocket and I am now lock stepped into a race with time as I count down to surgery on February 28. I have had to fight with most of the doctors' offices to squeeze me in, because I need their OK's for the surgery. This process is always necessary and always exhausting.
Then I have to force myself to actually get to each place at the appointed time. Between now and then I have appointments with my pain treatment specialist, my cardiologist, my surgeon, a brand new personal care physician, my therapist, three appointments with my physical therapist, and three with my personal trainer. I'm exhausted just contemplating all this! Each doctor's appointment is stressful, especially meeting my new PCP and saying, "Hi, you don't know me, but please clear me for surgery!"
Then, of course, there is the surgery itself. I have chosen-and fought the system-to have an abdominoplasty. This is essentially a very extensive tummy tuck. Since I lost the 220 pounds, I have been left with literally pounds and pounds of hanging skin and fat, which cannot be exercised or dieted away. Every time I get out of the shower and see myself in the mirror I smile wryly and think of the Elder Statesman in the Babar series-I am wrinkled from my breasts to below my knees!
Of course I know I am lucky to be here, healthy enough to look in the mirror at all, and the point of the gastric bypass was health, not beauty. Butone does end up with a new kind of deformed body and new medical problems-rashes and infections where the skin hangs down. Hence the need for an abdominoplasty.
(Skip the following if you are not interested in specifics) The surgeon at Yale/New Have Hospital will make a roughly X shaped cut from below my breasts to above my pubic mound, cut and tighten my stomach muscles, slice off hunks of skin and fat, then stretch the remaining flesh back together and staple it into a long scar around my waist. I'll end up with drains, pain and a couple of months of healing and exercises on my part to rehab.
Now you would think after all the surgery I've had-one biggy a year for the last four years, eleven since 1994-I would not get nervous anymore. Not true, of course. I seem to get more scared each time. I'm not worried about the general anesthesia (if I die, then my time was up, and I'll go on to somewhere or nowhere; I have no control over that) or even of the surgery itself. What I am scared about is the pain afterwards. I have found that any surgery cranks up my normal level of chronic pain, and it can be months before it settles back down to a dull roar. This fear inevitably gets in the way of facing surgery calmly and resolutely.
So this time I am using Peggy Huddleston's "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better " program. This consists of an hour's one--on-one workshop containing guided imagery for deep relaxation and three end results that you choose to enable you to move back to full health easier and faster after the surgery. It works on the principle that a truly relaxed patient is a better patient, and she has tons of medical research to back her up on this. I have had the training given by Peggy, and am authorized to give the workshop myself, which can even be given over the phone. (If anyone is facing surgery, all you need is to buy the book and CD, and I can give you the workshop free, over the phone, as it is one way I am volunteering these days.The book and CD cost about $30.00)
A friend led me through the workshop, and I have been listening to the relaxation CD regularly, in preparation, and this is where I need all the help I can get. I need at least 20 people to wrap me in sky blue blanket of love in the half hour before surgery. You can do this with prayer or meditation or picturing me or sending it out across the universe, whatever feels right to you. And then in the first few days after the surgery, you can also hold me up for easy healing whenever you think of me. If you are involved in a prayer group or meditation circle or spiritual meeting, please spread the word. I welcome all denominations, all faiths, anyway one connects with the Light.
I do not yet know what time my surgery will be yet, and probably won't until the day before. I'll make an entry as soon as I know so you'll know when to send the love to me. (I know this is a hardship for those who live on the West Coast or out of my time zone, but as long as I am asking for help, I might as well do it big time!) Again the surgery is Thursday, Feb. 28.
Phew! I did it. Asking for help is never as difficult as I think it will be, and I am getting better and better about it.
Blessings, Margo
January was a reasonably slow month, mostly spent fighting my own doctor's office and workers comp for physical therapy, with a few assorted appointments thrown in for "excitement." February has taken off like a rocket and I am now lock stepped into a race with time as I count down to surgery on February 28. I have had to fight with most of the doctors' offices to squeeze me in, because I need their OK's for the surgery. This process is always necessary and always exhausting.
Then I have to force myself to actually get to each place at the appointed time. Between now and then I have appointments with my pain treatment specialist, my cardiologist, my surgeon, a brand new personal care physician, my therapist, three appointments with my physical therapist, and three with my personal trainer. I'm exhausted just contemplating all this! Each doctor's appointment is stressful, especially meeting my new PCP and saying, "Hi, you don't know me, but please clear me for surgery!"
Then, of course, there is the surgery itself. I have chosen-and fought the system-to have an abdominoplasty. This is essentially a very extensive tummy tuck. Since I lost the 220 pounds, I have been left with literally pounds and pounds of hanging skin and fat, which cannot be exercised or dieted away. Every time I get out of the shower and see myself in the mirror I smile wryly and think of the Elder Statesman in the Babar series-I am wrinkled from my breasts to below my knees!
Of course I know I am lucky to be here, healthy enough to look in the mirror at all, and the point of the gastric bypass was health, not beauty. Butone does end up with a new kind of deformed body and new medical problems-rashes and infections where the skin hangs down. Hence the need for an abdominoplasty.
(Skip the following if you are not interested in specifics) The surgeon at Yale/New Have Hospital will make a roughly X shaped cut from below my breasts to above my pubic mound, cut and tighten my stomach muscles, slice off hunks of skin and fat, then stretch the remaining flesh back together and staple it into a long scar around my waist. I'll end up with drains, pain and a couple of months of healing and exercises on my part to rehab.
Now you would think after all the surgery I've had-one biggy a year for the last four years, eleven since 1994-I would not get nervous anymore. Not true, of course. I seem to get more scared each time. I'm not worried about the general anesthesia (if I die, then my time was up, and I'll go on to somewhere or nowhere; I have no control over that) or even of the surgery itself. What I am scared about is the pain afterwards. I have found that any surgery cranks up my normal level of chronic pain, and it can be months before it settles back down to a dull roar. This fear inevitably gets in the way of facing surgery calmly and resolutely.
So this time I am using Peggy Huddleston's "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better " program. This consists of an hour's one--on-one workshop containing guided imagery for deep relaxation and three end results that you choose to enable you to move back to full health easier and faster after the surgery. It works on the principle that a truly relaxed patient is a better patient, and she has tons of medical research to back her up on this. I have had the training given by Peggy, and am authorized to give the workshop myself, which can even be given over the phone. (If anyone is facing surgery, all you need is to buy the book and CD, and I can give you the workshop free, over the phone, as it is one way I am volunteering these days.The book and CD cost about $30.00)
A friend led me through the workshop, and I have been listening to the relaxation CD regularly, in preparation, and this is where I need all the help I can get. I need at least 20 people to wrap me in sky blue blanket of love in the half hour before surgery. You can do this with prayer or meditation or picturing me or sending it out across the universe, whatever feels right to you. And then in the first few days after the surgery, you can also hold me up for easy healing whenever you think of me. If you are involved in a prayer group or meditation circle or spiritual meeting, please spread the word. I welcome all denominations, all faiths, anyway one connects with the Light.
I do not yet know what time my surgery will be yet, and probably won't until the day before. I'll make an entry as soon as I know so you'll know when to send the love to me. (I know this is a hardship for those who live on the West Coast or out of my time zone, but as long as I am asking for help, I might as well do it big time!) Again the surgery is Thursday, Feb. 28.
Phew! I did it. Asking for help is never as difficult as I think it will be, and I am getting better and better about it.
Blessings, Margo
Monday, January 28, 2008
Still Herfe and Living my Life!
"Where the Hell are you?" asks my friend Anne.
Alive and well and back in Gales Ferry. It took me a while to process all the experiences of my Road Trip. The short version is that I realized that I am still capable of traveling on my own, slowly, but nevertheless happily. This was a great relief, because traveling is something I love to do. I also discovered that my aloneness (as opposed to loneliness) is not my "fault" -those who knew me from my journal welcomed me wonderfully, treating me like an old friend, or new family member. I appreciate their love (and indeed everyone who reads my journal's love) more than I can say. I realized my aloneness is a matter of life events, over which I have had little control. And I found that I am quite happy to be off by myself, exploring not only the world, but my own response to it.
Then I came home and recognized that this is my life. In some way I have been waiting to "get through" this surgery or that rehab for a new life to start. Wrong. My new life started August 7, 2003, (the day I fell at work), took a left turn when Rene moved out, and continues daily. It's not the life I would have chosen, but it is the life I have. I have been sad about this, but have not found myself standing motionless beside Hecate in the depths of the earth. I have simply kept getting up each day and continued moving, sad or not.
And, after some struggle, I decided to have an abdomi- yet another major surgery. The idea of yet another operation does not thrill me-I have had four biggies in the last five years, and face shoulder surgery-this time on the left-come summer. But I saw the surgeon, gathered the proof of necessity for insurance (which turned me down last time), and let it go over Christmas. I figured it would happen or not. And I was accepted this time. This will require a lot of organization, preparation and more courage than I really want to put out. I am, however, determined to do this surgery smarter and better, preparing better and asking for more help than in the past.
Then I spent 3 weeks at Christmas in Colorado with my parents, a bittersweet experience, for I realize I am mother's main emotional support. They have moved from their duplex into a very good, very expensive retirement community. Unfortunately, they are not really taking advantage of most of the wonderful opportunities the place offers. My father happily tootles off the Dining Room every evening, where he has the choice of five entrees. My mother orders hers in, where she happily dines alone. The main reason? She is so deaf, even with 2 hearing aides, that sitting at a table with strangers is torture. He doesn't understand her isolation, or particularly care.
My father, 85 next month, still claims he is in charge of their health-as he is because he has to drive her to each doctor's appointment. She hasn't driven since her brain and eye surgery in April, because the eye runs in bright light (and Colorado is full of relentless sunlight). I suspect she'll never drive again. My father should not be driving at all, plus he goes into all her appointments, gets impatient with translating for my mother (who can't hear what the doctor is actually saying) and announces that he'll tell her later-then forgets what the doctor had said, leaving her in the dark.
And her med. situation scares me to death. Halfway through the visit she gave me one small pill and asked me to go to the drugstore and renew the prescription. She wasn't sure what the pill was, what it was for, just that she took one every night. Or was it morning? Well, most days, because she thought it was a diuretic, and she didn't take it when she has a lot of diarrhea (a side effect of her cancer 4 years ago). And she didn't have the bottle because she empties all her pills into a box with small dividers with scribbled names. Her hand doesn't work well (she has overused it for 70 years, since her left arm was amputated) and pills jump from section to section, making her more confused.
Now I am not saying she is incompetent. She just needs someone patient to teach her how to take them correctly. The retirement community has a great medical center, complete with geriatric specialists, many programs, and nurses who could help her, but she thinks she doesn't need them. Luckily her back Dr. has prescribed physical therapy, which she will do there. I hope that will at least get her in through the door. Alas, there is noting I can do to fix the situation. And when I talked to her last she was unhappy with me because I spoke disrespectfully of my father. I apologized, but the truth is I have little respect and less patience with him, though I recognize she made her choices years ago, and depends on him a lot. they have been married for near sixty years, most of then unhappily.
I understand the age and cultural gap between her life and mine, and I wonder what it is like to be married to someone-anyone-for 59 years. Especially someone I didn't really like much, but was used to. I recognize that after the two marriage I seriously and truthfully committed to failed, I have been left alone and struggling. Mom is much better off financially than I because she chose to stay married. And she has someone to visit her daily in the hospital when necessary, and to drive her to appointments, and run interference for her in life.
On balance, I think I'd rather live alone than with Geoff or Rene, though I am quite friendly with Geoff now, and still miss Rene's friendship. She made the choice to cut me out of her life completely, and I am still sad-and sometimes angry myself-about this kind of anger and unforgiving behavior that she has exhibited not only with me, but with others she once loved. Water under the bridge these days, I guess, though part of me will always love her.
How on earth did I get there? Ahh-living alone, and facing more surgery, verses my mother's choices in her life. Give me living alone. I have learned to run interference for myself-with doctors and workers' comp and surgeries and hospitalizations and all the more mundane aspects of running a life. I have chosen, and at time thrown into, this over staying in an unhappy marriage. This is right for me, I know, but not right for my mother. As a child I used to act as go-between, to try to protect her from my father. It didn't work then, either.
I am sure there is some archetypal god/goddess, father/mother/daughter story that covers this place I find myself with them, but I don't know what it is, or I'd be busily meditating away on it, like a cow chewing her cud. It's probably just as well I don't know such a story because I am going to need my energy to prepare to face surgery and recovery this month. I will be asking everyone's help later, to wrap me in a blanket of love before surgery, and to pass the word on to others who might understand. I'll explain all that soon-which is another way of promising not to disappear for months again soon!
Blessings to all, Margo
Alive and well and back in Gales Ferry. It took me a while to process all the experiences of my Road Trip. The short version is that I realized that I am still capable of traveling on my own, slowly, but nevertheless happily. This was a great relief, because traveling is something I love to do. I also discovered that my aloneness (as opposed to loneliness) is not my "fault" -those who knew me from my journal welcomed me wonderfully, treating me like an old friend, or new family member. I appreciate their love (and indeed everyone who reads my journal's love) more than I can say. I realized my aloneness is a matter of life events, over which I have had little control. And I found that I am quite happy to be off by myself, exploring not only the world, but my own response to it.
Then I came home and recognized that this is my life. In some way I have been waiting to "get through" this surgery or that rehab for a new life to start. Wrong. My new life started August 7, 2003, (the day I fell at work), took a left turn when Rene moved out, and continues daily. It's not the life I would have chosen, but it is the life I have. I have been sad about this, but have not found myself standing motionless beside Hecate in the depths of the earth. I have simply kept getting up each day and continued moving, sad or not.
And, after some struggle, I decided to have an abdomi- yet another major surgery. The idea of yet another operation does not thrill me-I have had four biggies in the last five years, and face shoulder surgery-this time on the left-come summer. But I saw the surgeon, gathered the proof of necessity for insurance (which turned me down last time), and let it go over Christmas. I figured it would happen or not. And I was accepted this time. This will require a lot of organization, preparation and more courage than I really want to put out. I am, however, determined to do this surgery smarter and better, preparing better and asking for more help than in the past.
Then I spent 3 weeks at Christmas in Colorado with my parents, a bittersweet experience, for I realize I am mother's main emotional support. They have moved from their duplex into a very good, very expensive retirement community. Unfortunately, they are not really taking advantage of most of the wonderful opportunities the place offers. My father happily tootles off the Dining Room every evening, where he has the choice of five entrees. My mother orders hers in, where she happily dines alone. The main reason? She is so deaf, even with 2 hearing aides, that sitting at a table with strangers is torture. He doesn't understand her isolation, or particularly care.
My father, 85 next month, still claims he is in charge of their health-as he is because he has to drive her to each doctor's appointment. She hasn't driven since her brain and eye surgery in April, because the eye runs in bright light (and Colorado is full of relentless sunlight). I suspect she'll never drive again. My father should not be driving at all, plus he goes into all her appointments, gets impatient with translating for my mother (who can't hear what the doctor is actually saying) and announces that he'll tell her later-then forgets what the doctor had said, leaving her in the dark.
And her med. situation scares me to death. Halfway through the visit she gave me one small pill and asked me to go to the drugstore and renew the prescription. She wasn't sure what the pill was, what it was for, just that she took one every night. Or was it morning? Well, most days, because she thought it was a diuretic, and she didn't take it when she has a lot of diarrhea (a side effect of her cancer 4 years ago). And she didn't have the bottle because she empties all her pills into a box with small dividers with scribbled names. Her hand doesn't work well (she has overused it for 70 years, since her left arm was amputated) and pills jump from section to section, making her more confused.
Now I am not saying she is incompetent. She just needs someone patient to teach her how to take them correctly. The retirement community has a great medical center, complete with geriatric specialists, many programs, and nurses who could help her, but she thinks she doesn't need them. Luckily her back Dr. has prescribed physical therapy, which she will do there. I hope that will at least get her in through the door. Alas, there is noting I can do to fix the situation. And when I talked to her last she was unhappy with me because I spoke disrespectfully of my father. I apologized, but the truth is I have little respect and less patience with him, though I recognize she made her choices years ago, and depends on him a lot. they have been married for near sixty years, most of then unhappily.
I understand the age and cultural gap between her life and mine, and I wonder what it is like to be married to someone-anyone-for 59 years. Especially someone I didn't really like much, but was used to. I recognize that after the two marriage I seriously and truthfully committed to failed, I have been left alone and struggling. Mom is much better off financially than I because she chose to stay married. And she has someone to visit her daily in the hospital when necessary, and to drive her to appointments, and run interference for her in life.
On balance, I think I'd rather live alone than with Geoff or Rene, though I am quite friendly with Geoff now, and still miss Rene's friendship. She made the choice to cut me out of her life completely, and I am still sad-and sometimes angry myself-about this kind of anger and unforgiving behavior that she has exhibited not only with me, but with others she once loved. Water under the bridge these days, I guess, though part of me will always love her.
How on earth did I get there? Ahh-living alone, and facing more surgery, verses my mother's choices in her life. Give me living alone. I have learned to run interference for myself-with doctors and workers' comp and surgeries and hospitalizations and all the more mundane aspects of running a life. I have chosen, and at time thrown into, this over staying in an unhappy marriage. This is right for me, I know, but not right for my mother. As a child I used to act as go-between, to try to protect her from my father. It didn't work then, either.
I am sure there is some archetypal god/goddess, father/mother/daughter story that covers this place I find myself with them, but I don't know what it is, or I'd be busily meditating away on it, like a cow chewing her cud. It's probably just as well I don't know such a story because I am going to need my energy to prepare to face surgery and recovery this month. I will be asking everyone's help later, to wrap me in a blanket of love before surgery, and to pass the word on to others who might understand. I'll explain all that soon-which is another way of promising not to disappear for months again soon!
Blessings to all, Margo
Friday, November 09, 2007
Strange Eulogy for Aunt Louise
It has been a long time since I wrote, and much has happened. I have a new-to-me car, which I bought with great trepidation, a line of credit on my house and every red penny I could squeeze from everywhere, including my poor parents who (at 84 and 82) were in the middle of an excruciating move into senior housing.
But I now have a 2004 pearlized gray Honda Accord with only 35,000 miles on it. I expect it to last another 200,000 miles-well through my next road trip! If, of course, I can avoid totaling it, too. (This is a joke. I've totaled my car for this lifetime, and managed to walk away physically unharmed!
I have a lot more to write about the trip, and my struggles since I got back, but I have a more somber story to write about today. My Aunt Louise died yesterday. It was well past time, she was 84, nearly 85, and really never took good care of her health. She was the epitome of a spinster aunt, my mother's older sister. My grandparents, who kept her at home in their long lifetimes, referred to her as slow. My mother called her marginally retarded, and today we would probably say (being PC) that she was somewhat developmentally disabled.
What this has always meant to me is that she really had no life of her own, even after my grandparents died. She then moved into a small apartment complex near my parents, where my mother kept an eye on her, and my father took over her finances (a subject she resented for the next 40 years). Once a year she vacationed alone at the Jersey Shore in some boarding house, where she made her only real friend -Priscilla who lived there on a good deal of money. They wrote letters back and forth, and visited once a year.
Two years after my parents moved from the Main Line of Philadelphia to Denver, she admitted that she could not live completely alone, and my parents moved her out to near-but not too near- them. At some point she converted to Mormonism-something my mother could not tolerate-so she did have "visitors" once a month-volunteers who brought pamphlets to the elderly and "sheltered" and stayed for a strict half an hour.
And my poor mother struggled all her life with guilt around her sister. My grandmother pushed Louise off on mom as much as possible, then compared mom badly to the neurotically neat Louise at every opportunity. Mom grew up massively conflicted and guilty about her sister, a situation that lasted over 80 years. They met for lunch regularly, she spent holidays with them.
Every time I visited, I made time to visit her for an everlasting "tea." Each time, I admired her extensive stuffed animal collecting, her small but spotless apartment, and listened gently to her repeat herself over and over, talking about her endless sicknesses, colds, the flu, high BP, ER visits (usually timed when my mother was away, so my brother Luke and his wife Mary would have to cope) and most though most hospital visits ended up with testing which showed nothing much really wrong with her, she share her worries with me.at great lengths, And, boy, did she worry about her health, and shared that worry with anyone she saw, especially my poor mother. I would gently remind my mother that she had little else in her life besides her hypochondria, but it was difficult to listen to, time after time.
And her timing was a family joke; when my mother was diagnosed with bowel cancer, and Louise went to the ER with stomach cramps, which she was sure was cancer. Thousands of dollars of tests later, which she had to pay out of her very small trust fund, she was diagnosed with indigestion. But her letters to my mother (stuck in the Poconos with surgery, chemo and radiation) never acknowledged mom's illness, just went on endlessly about her own health.
Poor woman, she was lonely, completely self absorbed, and though I adored her as a small child, by the age of twelve, I had outgrown her. Today she would live happily in a group home, and enjoy a job as a file clerk. She was unlucky enough to be born in a time and social strata which kept handicapped family members at home, though , luckily, my grandparents did not try to keep her hidden away. Just home, and not very busy.
I do have good memories of her, though, that keep me crying on and off. Her enjoyment of her one glass of sherry at daily cocktail time at my grandparents. And her sly pleasure of drinking a glass occasionally even after she had converted to Mormonism. She even offered me some at my last visit for tea in April, and we indulger in a thimbleful each, along with our Earl Gray.
I also remember her pleasure of piano playing-competent at best, but good enough for Sunday School children in the local Mormon church. (And the Mormons were much better to her than the Episcopalians ever were). She loved her season tickets to the Philadelphia Orchestra, and once, when my grandmother was talking about how shockingly shaggy the conductor's hair was, she confided in me, sottto voice, that she loved Leonard Bernstein's long hair, especially when it flopped into his eyes and he jerked his head to move it away. It was sort of sexy, wasn't it? I grinned and nodded, a moment in time shared secretly between aunt and niece.
It was the only time I ever heard "sexy" pass her lips, for she was the old fashioned epitome of a spinster aunt. Never dated, never had a man interested in her, live alone, both with my grandparents, and for the 40 years after they died. She enjoyed her TV programs, her neat apartments, her stuffed animals, and her food, as she grew stouter and stouter as the years progressed, happily going out to lunch with anyone who asked, who would pick her up and take her.
She also loved her sicknesses, her hospitalizations, because of the attention they brought her-sad but real-and, in her own limited way, my mother and her two nieces and her nephew. And we loved her, too, more at sometimes, less at others, each of us in our own way, for our own reasons. I am glad she died quickly, with my parents and Luke and Mary by her side, and I hope that where ever she goes now, she will have a happier, less lonely and more fulfilled life.
Good bye, Aunt Louise, I will miss the forbidden thimbleful of sherry at tea with you.
Blessings, Margo
But I now have a 2004 pearlized gray Honda Accord with only 35,000 miles on it. I expect it to last another 200,000 miles-well through my next road trip! If, of course, I can avoid totaling it, too. (This is a joke. I've totaled my car for this lifetime, and managed to walk away physically unharmed!
I have a lot more to write about the trip, and my struggles since I got back, but I have a more somber story to write about today. My Aunt Louise died yesterday. It was well past time, she was 84, nearly 85, and really never took good care of her health. She was the epitome of a spinster aunt, my mother's older sister. My grandparents, who kept her at home in their long lifetimes, referred to her as slow. My mother called her marginally retarded, and today we would probably say (being PC) that she was somewhat developmentally disabled.
What this has always meant to me is that she really had no life of her own, even after my grandparents died. She then moved into a small apartment complex near my parents, where my mother kept an eye on her, and my father took over her finances (a subject she resented for the next 40 years). Once a year she vacationed alone at the Jersey Shore in some boarding house, where she made her only real friend -Priscilla who lived there on a good deal of money. They wrote letters back and forth, and visited once a year.
Two years after my parents moved from the Main Line of Philadelphia to Denver, she admitted that she could not live completely alone, and my parents moved her out to near-but not too near- them. At some point she converted to Mormonism-something my mother could not tolerate-so she did have "visitors" once a month-volunteers who brought pamphlets to the elderly and "sheltered" and stayed for a strict half an hour.
And my poor mother struggled all her life with guilt around her sister. My grandmother pushed Louise off on mom as much as possible, then compared mom badly to the neurotically neat Louise at every opportunity. Mom grew up massively conflicted and guilty about her sister, a situation that lasted over 80 years. They met for lunch regularly, she spent holidays with them.
Every time I visited, I made time to visit her for an everlasting "tea." Each time, I admired her extensive stuffed animal collecting, her small but spotless apartment, and listened gently to her repeat herself over and over, talking about her endless sicknesses, colds, the flu, high BP, ER visits (usually timed when my mother was away, so my brother Luke and his wife Mary would have to cope) and most though most hospital visits ended up with testing which showed nothing much really wrong with her, she share her worries with me.at great lengths, And, boy, did she worry about her health, and shared that worry with anyone she saw, especially my poor mother. I would gently remind my mother that she had little else in her life besides her hypochondria, but it was difficult to listen to, time after time.
And her timing was a family joke; when my mother was diagnosed with bowel cancer, and Louise went to the ER with stomach cramps, which she was sure was cancer. Thousands of dollars of tests later, which she had to pay out of her very small trust fund, she was diagnosed with indigestion. But her letters to my mother (stuck in the Poconos with surgery, chemo and radiation) never acknowledged mom's illness, just went on endlessly about her own health.
Poor woman, she was lonely, completely self absorbed, and though I adored her as a small child, by the age of twelve, I had outgrown her. Today she would live happily in a group home, and enjoy a job as a file clerk. She was unlucky enough to be born in a time and social strata which kept handicapped family members at home, though , luckily, my grandparents did not try to keep her hidden away. Just home, and not very busy.
I do have good memories of her, though, that keep me crying on and off. Her enjoyment of her one glass of sherry at daily cocktail time at my grandparents. And her sly pleasure of drinking a glass occasionally even after she had converted to Mormonism. She even offered me some at my last visit for tea in April, and we indulger in a thimbleful each, along with our Earl Gray.
I also remember her pleasure of piano playing-competent at best, but good enough for Sunday School children in the local Mormon church. (And the Mormons were much better to her than the Episcopalians ever were). She loved her season tickets to the Philadelphia Orchestra, and once, when my grandmother was talking about how shockingly shaggy the conductor's hair was, she confided in me, sottto voice, that she loved Leonard Bernstein's long hair, especially when it flopped into his eyes and he jerked his head to move it away. It was sort of sexy, wasn't it? I grinned and nodded, a moment in time shared secretly between aunt and niece.
It was the only time I ever heard "sexy" pass her lips, for she was the old fashioned epitome of a spinster aunt. Never dated, never had a man interested in her, live alone, both with my grandparents, and for the 40 years after they died. She enjoyed her TV programs, her neat apartments, her stuffed animals, and her food, as she grew stouter and stouter as the years progressed, happily going out to lunch with anyone who asked, who would pick her up and take her.
She also loved her sicknesses, her hospitalizations, because of the attention they brought her-sad but real-and, in her own limited way, my mother and her two nieces and her nephew. And we loved her, too, more at sometimes, less at others, each of us in our own way, for our own reasons. I am glad she died quickly, with my parents and Luke and Mary by her side, and I hope that where ever she goes now, she will have a happier, less lonely and more fulfilled life.
Good bye, Aunt Louise, I will miss the forbidden thimbleful of sherry at tea with you.
Blessings, Margo
Friday, October 26, 2007
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jog
I am home from my Wonderful, Magical Road Trip and can say categorically it was the freest, most enjoyable, most interesting vacation I have ever taken-even better than the narrowboat holiday that started in Wales and ended with a week in York that Rene and I took in '02. And I thought nothing could beat that trip.
I admit to starting this Road Trip with a bit of trepidation, after both Peggy and my stalwart daughter Meg told me they could never embark on such a journey. I was not worried about the miles to cover or meeting people I had invited myself to visit, but of the times in between, when I had days and days alone. Loneliness was my main fear, and, to my great pleasure, I rarely felt more than a few tweaks of loneliness the whole 2000 miles!
I can honestly say the trip was so much fun that I'd leave tomorrow to do nearly all of it all over again, if I could. Unfortunately, I can't. The trip which went so smoothly for 23 days, ended with a bang the 24th day, on Rte 115 near Brodheadsville, PA, when I smashed into someone who had stopped while I glanced off into the woods, and totaled my car. Yeah, Bummer.
I've never been in such a crash before. I was well seat-belted in, and the airbags went off. (I never knew the one on the driver's side was pink, the one on the passengers side was green.) Smoke and powder filled the car, the woman whom I hit leaped out of her car, which did not look too badly damaged, and can roaring over to scream at me. By that time I was sitting half out of the car, saying softly, "I'm having chest pain, could someone call an ambulance?" Good strategy, cooled her jets fright down. I asked if she was OK, she said yes, but her puppy was upset, at which point the ambulance arrived and took me away.
I am fine. The chest pain was from the seat belt, not my heart, and while I spent rather too long on a backboard-nearly 4.5 hours!-they finally decided I was free to go, and I called a taxi and draggled into a nearby hotel, asking for soup and a room near an ice machine. I must have looked baaaad because they practically ran to get me settled. The next two days I was really, really sore, but have recovered well. Meg came to get me, and, though we argued all the way home (too much stress and pain, not to mention pain meds, on my part) I arrived safely and have since recovered.
The difficult ending did nothing to dampen my spirits about the rest of the trip, however. I loved it, Every day, the people I met, the back roads I took, the time alone and with my friends, all of it was fun and fascinating and even educational at times.
I believe I left off recounting my trip 'way back in early October when I was visiting Judi and Virginia, and our time at the Zoo. The one thing I forgot to say that besides the wonderful Octopus, I also got to see Judi's mural up close and personal. She painted it years ago, and I remember reading about it for a long time while she worked on it, and seeing the pictures she posted. I only want to add that it is more wonderful in person than in pictures, for I could look at each little bug, each special tree, animals half hidden in grasses, oh my! I felt the history I had read about in her journal all those years ago come together with the present in such a special way. Another gift from both of them-time and space to look and enjoy.
I will write more about the rest of the trip, my time with them, in Charlottesville with Mr. Jefferson, with Kas and her family (yes they are as wonderful, crazy and busy as her journal indicates, and I now consider them family, in a very special way), with Alpha, my friend Persephony's daughter, with my god(dess) son Ian, and with Martha, Adam's mother. (Adam is Meg's fiance.) I'll also tell about my continued relationship with Gertrude, my GPS unit, for she has now become another kind of family member-a pushy one!
I will slowly catch up with my journal reading, although some of it has already gone west. I had 876 e-mail when I got home and was a bit overwhelmed. Now I am trying to figure out how to afford and buy a new second hand car (UGH, one of my most hated time wasters, but necessary for life today, I guess.)
Many Blessings, Margo
Tags: Magical Road Trip End, Smashing Ending, Judi's Mural, Promises of More Stories
I admit to starting this Road Trip with a bit of trepidation, after both Peggy and my stalwart daughter Meg told me they could never embark on such a journey. I was not worried about the miles to cover or meeting people I had invited myself to visit, but of the times in between, when I had days and days alone. Loneliness was my main fear, and, to my great pleasure, I rarely felt more than a few tweaks of loneliness the whole 2000 miles!
I can honestly say the trip was so much fun that I'd leave tomorrow to do nearly all of it all over again, if I could. Unfortunately, I can't. The trip which went so smoothly for 23 days, ended with a bang the 24th day, on Rte 115 near Brodheadsville, PA, when I smashed into someone who had stopped while I glanced off into the woods, and totaled my car. Yeah, Bummer.
I've never been in such a crash before. I was well seat-belted in, and the airbags went off. (I never knew the one on the driver's side was pink, the one on the passengers side was green.) Smoke and powder filled the car, the woman whom I hit leaped out of her car, which did not look too badly damaged, and can roaring over to scream at me. By that time I was sitting half out of the car, saying softly, "I'm having chest pain, could someone call an ambulance?" Good strategy, cooled her jets fright down. I asked if she was OK, she said yes, but her puppy was upset, at which point the ambulance arrived and took me away.
I am fine. The chest pain was from the seat belt, not my heart, and while I spent rather too long on a backboard-nearly 4.5 hours!-they finally decided I was free to go, and I called a taxi and draggled into a nearby hotel, asking for soup and a room near an ice machine. I must have looked baaaad because they practically ran to get me settled. The next two days I was really, really sore, but have recovered well. Meg came to get me, and, though we argued all the way home (too much stress and pain, not to mention pain meds, on my part) I arrived safely and have since recovered.
The difficult ending did nothing to dampen my spirits about the rest of the trip, however. I loved it, Every day, the people I met, the back roads I took, the time alone and with my friends, all of it was fun and fascinating and even educational at times.
I believe I left off recounting my trip 'way back in early October when I was visiting Judi and Virginia, and our time at the Zoo. The one thing I forgot to say that besides the wonderful Octopus, I also got to see Judi's mural up close and personal. She painted it years ago, and I remember reading about it for a long time while she worked on it, and seeing the pictures she posted. I only want to add that it is more wonderful in person than in pictures, for I could look at each little bug, each special tree, animals half hidden in grasses, oh my! I felt the history I had read about in her journal all those years ago come together with the present in such a special way. Another gift from both of them-time and space to look and enjoy.
I will write more about the rest of the trip, my time with them, in Charlottesville with Mr. Jefferson, with Kas and her family (yes they are as wonderful, crazy and busy as her journal indicates, and I now consider them family, in a very special way), with Alpha, my friend Persephony's daughter, with my god(dess) son Ian, and with Martha, Adam's mother. (Adam is Meg's fiance.) I'll also tell about my continued relationship with Gertrude, my GPS unit, for she has now become another kind of family member-a pushy one!
I will slowly catch up with my journal reading, although some of it has already gone west. I had 876 e-mail when I got home and was a bit overwhelmed. Now I am trying to figure out how to afford and buy a new second hand car (UGH, one of my most hated time wasters, but necessary for life today, I guess.)
Many Blessings, Margo
Tags: Magical Road Trip End, Smashing Ending, Judi's Mural, Promises of More Stories
Road Trip, Entry Four 10/15/07
Road Trip, Entry Four
Today I am in Pittsburgh, PA, visiting Martha, Adam's mother. (Adam is Meg's fiance). I arrived yesterday, and, after supper tonight with my God(dess)son, Ian, I start the journey homeward. Alas.
I spent last week with Kas's family (Hestia's Homeschool for Wild Young Women)and what a week it was. Kas, her husband David, and the three girls, Mandy, Tabitha and Shelby, are every bit as wild as her blog would suggest, and perhaps even more so! I had a really wonderful time there, though I did struggle with a bit of exhaustion. Kas is as busy as her blog indicates, then multiply by 9 or 10 times and one arrives at the true measure of her life. And each girl is more interesting than the last. Dave lives quite calmly in this sea of estrogen and busyness, sleeping by day and working by night!
I will, of course, write more about my time there, as well as finishing the story of my visit with Judith and Virginia, not to mention my days sightseeing in Charlottesville, VA, but not today. Today is for resting and trying to prepare for the rest of my trip-including a visit to Becky and John and the two boys in NJ on my way home.
I expect to be home by the end of this week, then, after a few days of total crash time, start working on picking my regular life up again. I'll be very glad to see Myla, Meg, Adam and Roxy again, but not half as glad as Roxy will be glad to see me!
I am 600+ e-mails behind, so I expect it'll take me a bit of time to re-join the world again, but wanted everyone to know I am alive and well, and still traveling happily onwards.
Blessings to All-I miss what's going on in everyone's lives, and look forward to catching up!
Margo
Today I am in Pittsburgh, PA, visiting Martha, Adam's mother. (Adam is Meg's fiance). I arrived yesterday, and, after supper tonight with my God(dess)son, Ian, I start the journey homeward. Alas.
I spent last week with Kas's family (Hestia's Homeschool for Wild Young Women)and what a week it was. Kas, her husband David, and the three girls, Mandy, Tabitha and Shelby, are every bit as wild as her blog would suggest, and perhaps even more so! I had a really wonderful time there, though I did struggle with a bit of exhaustion. Kas is as busy as her blog indicates, then multiply by 9 or 10 times and one arrives at the true measure of her life. And each girl is more interesting than the last. Dave lives quite calmly in this sea of estrogen and busyness, sleeping by day and working by night!
I will, of course, write more about my time there, as well as finishing the story of my visit with Judith and Virginia, not to mention my days sightseeing in Charlottesville, VA, but not today. Today is for resting and trying to prepare for the rest of my trip-including a visit to Becky and John and the two boys in NJ on my way home.
I expect to be home by the end of this week, then, after a few days of total crash time, start working on picking my regular life up again. I'll be very glad to see Myla, Meg, Adam and Roxy again, but not half as glad as Roxy will be glad to see me!
I am 600+ e-mails behind, so I expect it'll take me a bit of time to re-join the world again, but wanted everyone to know I am alive and well, and still traveling happily onwards.
Blessings to All-I miss what's going on in everyone's lives, and look forward to catching up!
Margo
Road Trip # 3; Another Library 10/5/07
Another Library, another entry! I am on Rt 52 in some small town- I don't even know where exactly but on a scenic road on the Ohio River- and I saw the universal library sign and my car simply turned involuntarily! One of the things that hit me is that I have not been afraid the whole trip (so far!), thought I have been careful, of course. Last night I stayed at a large trucker motel ($43.50 with AAA discount) where I can assure you I was the only single female late middle aged traveler.
I realized this when I walked across the parking lot to the Lounge for dinner. The first sign that greeted me was "No Fire Arms Aloud." Of course I wondered immediately if silent firearms were permitted, or if firearms with silencers were okay. The next sign informed me that Men and Women must were shirts, shoes and no short shorts. Somehow, in this overwhelmingly masculine world, men in short shorts seemed unlikely.
The music was LOUD but the food was good. On the way back across the parking lot two groups of men, in their twenties and thirties, invited me to join them for beer, but I cheerfully declined. Marc is right, I am now dating my GPS system exclusively, despite her no-nonsense voice and her frustration at my unwillingness to stay on major highways. (See MakeMarc's comment to last entry).
I don't know why the print changed, either, but, oh well, every machine I touch seems to have a mind of its own these days, even my car! She is running well, but only wants to go slow up hills and mountains in no passing zones when we have a huge truck behind us. The rest of the time she wants to speed up hill and down dale!
Now, back to Judy and Virginia. I have been reading their journals since early on in J-Land history, and had gone back to read all the earlier entries when I stumbled upon them. When they picked me up at the Hotel Friday night I had thesame reaction I did with Mortimer, within ten minutes we were talking, and really never stopped till the dropped me off Sunday afternoon.
It's nice to be with a couple who takes care of each other, but don't seem too joined at the hip. Judi worried about Virginia getting enough to eat (she's a vegetarian who does not like vegetables), and Virginia worried about the Art Center taking advantage of Judi's willingness to be helpful, but neither in a neurotic way.
Saturday morning we went to the Zoo-my one request-and after checking out the tigers and lions, headed right for the Invertebrate Exhibit, where they volunteer. They were really just showing me around, but fell into their interpreter roles immediately, both for me, and anyone else in the vicinity. It was fascinating, and I learned a lot. I had no idea invertebrates make up most of the creatures on earth! Though I live near Mystic Aquarium, and some of their specimens actually came from Mystic, I had never heard most of what they patiently explained.
Then we went behind the scenes and hung out, meeting a couple of the scientists who are the exhibit keepers, hearing bits of zoo gossip..er..news and then, as a total highlight of the Zoo visit, it was time for Judi to feed the octopus. What a creature, a specimen in his (her? I can't remember!) (NOW I KNOW IT IS A SHE, so ignore all the masculing pronouns, please)prime! I had watched him being fed earlier from out front, watched as he rose to the top of the tank, spreading his tentacles wide, perfect suction cups down to the very end of each arm, opening his mouth-a beak in the center of his tentacles-to engulf the shrimp offered to him. I found him to beamazing.
Then Judi invited me up the steps to the top of the tank, where she was going to give him another shrimp, this time in a tube like toy, so he would have to work a bit for his food . We hung over the top of the tank and Judi gently rippled the water. He came right up to her, tentacles reaching out to embrace the tree-like trunk in the water. We both gently poured water on to his exposed body.
Slowly he pulled his head out of the water and onto the trunk, and lay there looking at us, while his arms delicately moved to hold onto the branches for balance. Each suction cup down to the very end was perfect, his skin turning colors , from grayish to orangey to reddish, as he balanced on the tree limb and looked at us. I began to cry.
Judi gently let the toy down into the water, where he grasped it, fished around the tube with his agile tentacles, extracted the shrimp, ate it, then when we stopped plashing water onto him, let go of the tree and re-submerged to look out at the crowd which had gathered below. (Yes, he can see them.) It was such an unexpected connection with a sea creature that I was moved beyond all expectation. In fact, it was the biggest gift the two of them could ever have given me, and I will treasure it as such.
More about my visit with them, and Charlottesville eventually, but tomorrow I get to meet Kas and her family and I am so excited! I will try to keep in touch.
Many Blessings, Margo
Tags: Road Trip #3, Trucker's Motel, Judi and Virginia and the Octopus
I realized this when I walked across the parking lot to the Lounge for dinner. The first sign that greeted me was "No Fire Arms Aloud." Of course I wondered immediately if silent firearms were permitted, or if firearms with silencers were okay. The next sign informed me that Men and Women must were shirts, shoes and no short shorts. Somehow, in this overwhelmingly masculine world, men in short shorts seemed unlikely.
The music was LOUD but the food was good. On the way back across the parking lot two groups of men, in their twenties and thirties, invited me to join them for beer, but I cheerfully declined. Marc is right, I am now dating my GPS system exclusively, despite her no-nonsense voice and her frustration at my unwillingness to stay on major highways. (See MakeMarc's comment to last entry).
I don't know why the print changed, either, but, oh well, every machine I touch seems to have a mind of its own these days, even my car! She is running well, but only wants to go slow up hills and mountains in no passing zones when we have a huge truck behind us. The rest of the time she wants to speed up hill and down dale!
Now, back to Judy and Virginia. I have been reading their journals since early on in J-Land history, and had gone back to read all the earlier entries when I stumbled upon them. When they picked me up at the Hotel Friday night I had thesame reaction I did with Mortimer, within ten minutes we were talking, and really never stopped till the dropped me off Sunday afternoon.
It's nice to be with a couple who takes care of each other, but don't seem too joined at the hip. Judi worried about Virginia getting enough to eat (she's a vegetarian who does not like vegetables), and Virginia worried about the Art Center taking advantage of Judi's willingness to be helpful, but neither in a neurotic way.
Saturday morning we went to the Zoo-my one request-and after checking out the tigers and lions, headed right for the Invertebrate Exhibit, where they volunteer. They were really just showing me around, but fell into their interpreter roles immediately, both for me, and anyone else in the vicinity. It was fascinating, and I learned a lot. I had no idea invertebrates make up most of the creatures on earth! Though I live near Mystic Aquarium, and some of their specimens actually came from Mystic, I had never heard most of what they patiently explained.
Then we went behind the scenes and hung out, meeting a couple of the scientists who are the exhibit keepers, hearing bits of zoo gossip..er..news and then, as a total highlight of the Zoo visit, it was time for Judi to feed the octopus. What a creature, a specimen in his (her? I can't remember!) (NOW I KNOW IT IS A SHE, so ignore all the masculing pronouns, please)prime! I had watched him being fed earlier from out front, watched as he rose to the top of the tank, spreading his tentacles wide, perfect suction cups down to the very end of each arm, opening his mouth-a beak in the center of his tentacles-to engulf the shrimp offered to him. I found him to beamazing.
Then Judi invited me up the steps to the top of the tank, where she was going to give him another shrimp, this time in a tube like toy, so he would have to work a bit for his food . We hung over the top of the tank and Judi gently rippled the water. He came right up to her, tentacles reaching out to embrace the tree-like trunk in the water. We both gently poured water on to his exposed body.
Slowly he pulled his head out of the water and onto the trunk, and lay there looking at us, while his arms delicately moved to hold onto the branches for balance. Each suction cup down to the very end was perfect, his skin turning colors , from grayish to orangey to reddish, as he balanced on the tree limb and looked at us. I began to cry.
Judi gently let the toy down into the water, where he grasped it, fished around the tube with his agile tentacles, extracted the shrimp, ate it, then when we stopped plashing water onto him, let go of the tree and re-submerged to look out at the crowd which had gathered below. (Yes, he can see them.) It was such an unexpected connection with a sea creature that I was moved beyond all expectation. In fact, it was the biggest gift the two of them could ever have given me, and I will treasure it as such.
More about my visit with them, and Charlottesville eventually, but tomorrow I get to meet Kas and her family and I am so excited! I will try to keep in touch.
Many Blessings, Margo
Tags: Road Trip #3, Trucker's Motel, Judi and Virginia and the Octopus
Road Trip, Still Alive & Having Fun 910/03/07
I am alive and well and still traveling, now in West Virginia, on my way to Kas's home in KY. I have not written at all because Adam, my future son-in-law, fixed the computer he leant me to be so carefully protected that I can't get on line anywhere. Not his fault, he didn't know it would be this way, but I can't even get it to work in a big book store or little Internet cafe! I am now in the library of White Sulfur Springs, WV, taking time off the road to let you all know I'm doing fine.
Everybody should be able to take a Road trip in late middle age, or early old age, or what ever I am at a somewhat disabled 58. I am finding out a lot about myself and the friends I have visited.
Who knew Mortimer is an expert on Atlantic City and its history? I learned so much following this sweet man down the boardwalk, around the streets, and into his beloved bar. Seeing Studio Six was fascinating, and " Mortimer's Dressing Room"-a cubby by some stairs-where he dressed for his shows was great. Even having drinks downstairs on a dull night was fun for me. And what a good person the give up his weekend evenings to tow a walker-bound woman around his beloved city, plus take me to the bar two nights in a row. I miss him and wish I could have stayed longer. I look forward to talking by phone, as well as e-mail.
Then I went on to the Washington area to meet Judith Heartsong, and her partner, Virginia. I cannot do that visit justice sitting in a small library in a small town in WV. Briefly, we went out to dinner Friday night at a great vegetarian restaurant, went to the Zoo and Great Fall State Park (the water was very low) on Saturday, then to the Official Opening of VisArts, the art center Judi has volunteered and worked for, and where she and her present boss will have an office. Then we wandered around the area for a while, ate lunch/dinner and they dropped me off at my hotel.
That is a brief outline that does no real justice to our time together, and I will eventually write more about these two wonderful women, who enjoy each other's company so much, and were kind enough to give me a precious weekend of their time. I loved my time with them.
On Monday, Oct 1, I drove down Skyline Drive to Charlottesville. I promise to write more about that experience, too, eventually, and my visits to Monticello, Mitchie Tavern, Ashlawn and the University of VA, which Jefferson founded, and from which my father graduated from Law School not long after I was born (1949).
Today, Thursday, I am making a slow journey towards KY, stopping a lot to stay awake, out of too much pain, and happy. Some of the things I have learned are that I can travel and sightsee quite well by myself, thank you very much. Though it hurts a lot at times, I can push myself to sightsee, and visit and walk with either cane or walker quite far(well, a couple of miles) though the cane-which is easier in public-makes my shoulder and arm hurt more than the walker.
I have also realized that all those years at home and alone have given me the ability to be alone, and on my own, without feeling lonely or lost, wherever I am. This was something I wondered about before I left. Also, I don't panic when I'm lost somewhere. Of course that could have something to do with my GPS system, which is helpful up to a point. It (or she, as I think about her, because of the calm but declarative female voice in which she gives directions aloud) does not like it if I leave the route she has chosen for me, sometimes sounding rather testy when I don't follow the directions she keeps trying to give me!
Come to think of it, maybe anthropomorphizing my GPS system proves that I've totally lost my mind, especially when I admit I occasionally talk back to her! Oh well, I'm out here having a good time, and this kind of trip is kind of crazy, anyway. But I don't have to tell you all that I boarder on crazy most of the time, anyway!
Will write again eventually.
Many Blessings, Margo
Tags: Road Trip Entry #2, Atlantic City, DC, Charlottesviolle, VA, Thoughts on the Road
Everybody should be able to take a Road trip in late middle age, or early old age, or what ever I am at a somewhat disabled 58. I am finding out a lot about myself and the friends I have visited.
Who knew Mortimer is an expert on Atlantic City and its history? I learned so much following this sweet man down the boardwalk, around the streets, and into his beloved bar. Seeing Studio Six was fascinating, and " Mortimer's Dressing Room"-a cubby by some stairs-where he dressed for his shows was great. Even having drinks downstairs on a dull night was fun for me. And what a good person the give up his weekend evenings to tow a walker-bound woman around his beloved city, plus take me to the bar two nights in a row. I miss him and wish I could have stayed longer. I look forward to talking by phone, as well as e-mail.
Then I went on to the Washington area to meet Judith Heartsong, and her partner, Virginia. I cannot do that visit justice sitting in a small library in a small town in WV. Briefly, we went out to dinner Friday night at a great vegetarian restaurant, went to the Zoo and Great Fall State Park (the water was very low) on Saturday, then to the Official Opening of VisArts, the art center Judi has volunteered and worked for, and where she and her present boss will have an office. Then we wandered around the area for a while, ate lunch/dinner and they dropped me off at my hotel.
That is a brief outline that does no real justice to our time together, and I will eventually write more about these two wonderful women, who enjoy each other's company so much, and were kind enough to give me a precious weekend of their time. I loved my time with them.
On Monday, Oct 1, I drove down Skyline Drive to Charlottesville. I promise to write more about that experience, too, eventually, and my visits to Monticello, Mitchie Tavern, Ashlawn and the University of VA, which Jefferson founded, and from which my father graduated from Law School not long after I was born (1949).
Today, Thursday, I am making a slow journey towards KY, stopping a lot to stay awake, out of too much pain, and happy. Some of the things I have learned are that I can travel and sightsee quite well by myself, thank you very much. Though it hurts a lot at times, I can push myself to sightsee, and visit and walk with either cane or walker quite far(well, a couple of miles) though the cane-which is easier in public-makes my shoulder and arm hurt more than the walker.
I have also realized that all those years at home and alone have given me the ability to be alone, and on my own, without feeling lonely or lost, wherever I am. This was something I wondered about before I left. Also, I don't panic when I'm lost somewhere. Of course that could have something to do with my GPS system, which is helpful up to a point. It (or she, as I think about her, because of the calm but declarative female voice in which she gives directions aloud) does not like it if I leave the route she has chosen for me, sometimes sounding rather testy when I don't follow the directions she keeps trying to give me!
Come to think of it, maybe anthropomorphizing my GPS system proves that I've totally lost my mind, especially when I admit I occasionally talk back to her! Oh well, I'm out here having a good time, and this kind of trip is kind of crazy, anyway. But I don't have to tell you all that I boarder on crazy most of the time, anyway!
Will write again eventually.
Many Blessings, Margo
Tags: Road Trip Entry #2, Atlantic City, DC, Charlottesviolle, VA, Thoughts on the Road
Road Trip, Part One, 9/27/07
I am definitely on my journey, staying in Atlantic City in the Resorts Hotel. Despite living half way between two of the biggest casinos in the Western Hemisphere, I had never stayed in a casino hotel before, and it is very grand. My room is as big as my living room and dining room combined!I am trying to pick out one piece of joy for each day.
Monday it was crossing the Tappen Zee bridge, which is sowide and amazing with the sun glinting off of it. I could picture Dutch settlers moving up river into the wilderness and grinned like a fool. Tuesday's joy was standing in the Atlantic Ocean, as the tide came in washing oven my feet and legs, then digging a hole around my feet with the backwash. I kept moving sideways so as not to roll into the surf, shallow as it was.Yesterday, Wednesday's joy was meeting Mort.
For those of you who read his journal, he is just as he portrays himself: a nice guy, a gentleman, the kind of man who would use his two days off the show me around the city. We started talking the moment we met, and did not stop for hours! Last night we ate in the Rain Forest Cafe, looked at lots of sights, then he was kind enough to take me to show me the bar complex in which he works. The man had gotten off work at 9 AM that morning, slept a few hours, then took me back there 12 hour later, on his night off because I asked. A nice guy.Today, eventually, we will get together, and he'll show me more!
Tomorrow I head for the DC area to meet up with Judi and Virginia. Am really looking forward to it.I am finding the long distance driving difficult-I have to stop a lot, and listen to the guided imagery tape on relieving pain that Robin gave me, It slows me down a lot, but I'm going to be okay, which has been nice to learn. I must make this short-I am using the hotel computer, because my borrowed one wouldn't work here with their system. It is Adam's computer, and he set it up to be very protective of it, which is fine for him, but frustrating for me!
Blessings to all, Margo
Tags: Atlantic City, Mortimer, Road Trip
Monday it was crossing the Tappen Zee bridge, which is sowide and amazing with the sun glinting off of it. I could picture Dutch settlers moving up river into the wilderness and grinned like a fool. Tuesday's joy was standing in the Atlantic Ocean, as the tide came in washing oven my feet and legs, then digging a hole around my feet with the backwash. I kept moving sideways so as not to roll into the surf, shallow as it was.Yesterday, Wednesday's joy was meeting Mort.
For those of you who read his journal, he is just as he portrays himself: a nice guy, a gentleman, the kind of man who would use his two days off the show me around the city. We started talking the moment we met, and did not stop for hours! Last night we ate in the Rain Forest Cafe, looked at lots of sights, then he was kind enough to take me to show me the bar complex in which he works. The man had gotten off work at 9 AM that morning, slept a few hours, then took me back there 12 hour later, on his night off because I asked. A nice guy.Today, eventually, we will get together, and he'll show me more!
Tomorrow I head for the DC area to meet up with Judi and Virginia. Am really looking forward to it.I am finding the long distance driving difficult-I have to stop a lot, and listen to the guided imagery tape on relieving pain that Robin gave me, It slows me down a lot, but I'm going to be okay, which has been nice to learn. I must make this short-I am using the hotel computer, because my borrowed one wouldn't work here with their system. It is Adam's computer, and he set it up to be very protective of it, which is fine for him, but frustrating for me!
Blessings to all, Margo
Tags: Atlantic City, Mortimer, Road Trip
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Nearing Departure!
I am nearing departure! Today I woke up at 6:30 AM and was up and moving immediately, on a Sunday no less. I'm not too excited, am I?
By 10:30 AM I had done laundry, ironed clothes, gone out to breakfast with Peg, found my bathing suit, swept the kitchen floor, and scattered all the clothes that fit me across the living and dining room.
Then I was ready for a nap!
I persevered, however, by reading my e-mail, chatting briefly with a friend (Hi, Lisa!), checked out my GPS device( How did I ever travel without one? It not only shows me a map, offers hotels/motels, food and attraction info-although I am not sure if "Gold's Gym rates up there with state parks and monuments as an attraction-it talks to me in a low, firm, female voice!), found my suitcases, organized my CD's, and began folding my clothes.
By 12:30 I was struggling to stay focused, and still needed that nap.
Then I folded the rest of my clothes, glued a pair of shoes back together, organized my meds, chose what little jewelry I am taking, took my morning vitamins(running a bit late on that, I fear), organized my maps and triptik (I am a belt and suspenders type), called Meg, who was napping-lucky girl!- packed up some food and odds and ends, then -finally- allowed myself a pain pill and a nap.
Twenty minutes later Meg, Adam and Myla were at my door, to say goodbye. I staggered up and sat on the porch with them until Myla got fussy, and I had to let them go. I had a momentary pang.
What on earth am I doing, I asked myself, taking off on a trip Peggy and Meg think is crazy, and leaving Myla behind? I took a deep breath, and thought, t'hell with them them! I'm taking a Road Trip they'd never make, and I'm more than ready to do it.
The pang over and gone, I came back inside and to pack suitcases and bags, choosing clothes with no second thoughts, happily anticipating the Open Road tomorrow. Never mind that the open road is really Rte 95, overfilled with cars and big rigs and slowdowns and exhaust fumes, I'll still be free from home and family and physical therapy and doctors' appointments and my own small life, and off into the realm of possibilities!
I've rather stalled out at the moment, but will finish packing the car tonight, so I can be at Robin's by 8:30 tomorrow morning, so we can do a smudging ceremony for safety on the road, and joy in the journey.
I'm not going far tomorrow-maybe just a few hours, but I'll be in Atlantic City by Tuesday, and well on my way to adventure! I will have a computer with me, so when I can get the Internet I will report on my travels, so you can follow along, if you wish. Now I am going to sit on my suitcase to close it, and pack the car!
Blessings, Margo
By 10:30 AM I had done laundry, ironed clothes, gone out to breakfast with Peg, found my bathing suit, swept the kitchen floor, and scattered all the clothes that fit me across the living and dining room.
Then I was ready for a nap!
I persevered, however, by reading my e-mail, chatting briefly with a friend (Hi, Lisa!), checked out my GPS device( How did I ever travel without one? It not only shows me a map, offers hotels/motels, food and attraction info-although I am not sure if "Gold's Gym rates up there with state parks and monuments as an attraction-it talks to me in a low, firm, female voice!), found my suitcases, organized my CD's, and began folding my clothes.
By 12:30 I was struggling to stay focused, and still needed that nap.
Then I folded the rest of my clothes, glued a pair of shoes back together, organized my meds, chose what little jewelry I am taking, took my morning vitamins(running a bit late on that, I fear), organized my maps and triptik (I am a belt and suspenders type), called Meg, who was napping-lucky girl!- packed up some food and odds and ends, then -finally- allowed myself a pain pill and a nap.
Twenty minutes later Meg, Adam and Myla were at my door, to say goodbye. I staggered up and sat on the porch with them until Myla got fussy, and I had to let them go. I had a momentary pang.
What on earth am I doing, I asked myself, taking off on a trip Peggy and Meg think is crazy, and leaving Myla behind? I took a deep breath, and thought, t'hell with them them! I'm taking a Road Trip they'd never make, and I'm more than ready to do it.
The pang over and gone, I came back inside and to pack suitcases and bags, choosing clothes with no second thoughts, happily anticipating the Open Road tomorrow. Never mind that the open road is really Rte 95, overfilled with cars and big rigs and slowdowns and exhaust fumes, I'll still be free from home and family and physical therapy and doctors' appointments and my own small life, and off into the realm of possibilities!
I've rather stalled out at the moment, but will finish packing the car tonight, so I can be at Robin's by 8:30 tomorrow morning, so we can do a smudging ceremony for safety on the road, and joy in the journey.
I'm not going far tomorrow-maybe just a few hours, but I'll be in Atlantic City by Tuesday, and well on my way to adventure! I will have a computer with me, so when I can get the Internet I will report on my travels, so you can follow along, if you wish. Now I am going to sit on my suitcase to close it, and pack the car!
Blessings, Margo
Monday, September 17, 2007
Bad News? Good News? Confusion!
I leave on my trip one week from today. This week I'm going to be as busy as a one-armed paperhanger. (I can say this because I once helped my one-armed mother hang wallpaper, so I know the reality of the metaphor.) Naturally enough, I am procrastinating already! Today I am supposed to clean house, take the dog to have her nails clipped, go to the bank to fix finances for when I'm away, and take a nap, since I woke up at 3 AM with my daily lists running through my head and never really slept again. Excited? No, not much!
Friday, I had an appointment with my Orthopedist, and got some not so good, but not as bad as possible news. My left shoulder now needs (minor) surgery because of overuse due to the pain in my right arm. This was not the news I had been looking for, or expecting, needless to say.
On the other hand, in July Worker's Comp made me go for an IME (Independent Medical Exam) at their pet medical group an hour and a half away from here. I went, rather reluctantly, having made several phone calls to my doctor's, my lawyer's, and their doctor's offices to make sure they got that he was to examine my LEFT, not right arm.
I have been there three or four times for other IME's on my right arm in the past, and I've learned enough over the last four years to anticipate screw-ups. Got to the appointment, and was told he would look at my right arm, and once again had to throw a small, but polite hissyfit to set them straight on the which arm was in question now.
The doc was nice, though, and I left thinking it was all a huge waste of time. These doctors always (surprise!) side with Worker's Comp, so I expected a copy of his report saying the increasing pain in my left shoulder was absolutely not related to my fall, or any of its aftermath. I never got a copy, though, and now I suspect I know why. The Worker's Comp's doctor, obviously an honest man, said that he believes the problem with my left shoulder is, indeed, related to my problems on the right, and should be considered a consequence of the original fall!
Both my surgeon and I were blown away-this sort of thing practically never happens, according to my doc. The new surgery will be laproscopic, much less in scope than my last shoulder surgery, and Worker's Comp will have to pay for it. I am well aware that we all pay for it in the long run, but feel strongly that my insurance company should not have to pay for a work related injury.
This all feels like good news, bad news, or perhaps bad news, good news, but I won't have the surgery till after Christmas, because I have to go to spend Christmas in Denver. My mother started to cry when she asked if I could come. If she wants me that badly, I'll do whatever is necessary to be there, of course.
A couple more comments on my trip. For my birthday, Meg, the EMT, made and gave me a first aid kit from which I could practically do surgery! It has everything except a scalpel, including little tootsie rolls, in case my blood sugar should fall.
Then she insisted that I go to our local fire/police supply store and buy a window punch/seatbelt slicer in case I go over some precipice in my car and end up in the water. I didn't have the heart to tell her I fully expect I'd be too panicked to use it, and dutifully went out and bought one.
I'm not sure what wilds she expects me to be facing on the mostly highway route I am taking from here to NJ to DC to VA to KY to PA and home, but I will certainly be prepared so she can worry less!
I finally got my itinerary together, for my parents and Meg. If anyone is remotely interested, let me know and I'll send you one. Right now, however, I have to take my dog to the groomer and start my day!
Blessings, Margo
Friday, I had an appointment with my Orthopedist, and got some not so good, but not as bad as possible news. My left shoulder now needs (minor) surgery because of overuse due to the pain in my right arm. This was not the news I had been looking for, or expecting, needless to say.
On the other hand, in July Worker's Comp made me go for an IME (Independent Medical Exam) at their pet medical group an hour and a half away from here. I went, rather reluctantly, having made several phone calls to my doctor's, my lawyer's, and their doctor's offices to make sure they got that he was to examine my LEFT, not right arm.
I have been there three or four times for other IME's on my right arm in the past, and I've learned enough over the last four years to anticipate screw-ups. Got to the appointment, and was told he would look at my right arm, and once again had to throw a small, but polite hissyfit to set them straight on the which arm was in question now.
The doc was nice, though, and I left thinking it was all a huge waste of time. These doctors always (surprise!) side with Worker's Comp, so I expected a copy of his report saying the increasing pain in my left shoulder was absolutely not related to my fall, or any of its aftermath. I never got a copy, though, and now I suspect I know why. The Worker's Comp's doctor, obviously an honest man, said that he believes the problem with my left shoulder is, indeed, related to my problems on the right, and should be considered a consequence of the original fall!
Both my surgeon and I were blown away-this sort of thing practically never happens, according to my doc. The new surgery will be laproscopic, much less in scope than my last shoulder surgery, and Worker's Comp will have to pay for it. I am well aware that we all pay for it in the long run, but feel strongly that my insurance company should not have to pay for a work related injury.
This all feels like good news, bad news, or perhaps bad news, good news, but I won't have the surgery till after Christmas, because I have to go to spend Christmas in Denver. My mother started to cry when she asked if I could come. If she wants me that badly, I'll do whatever is necessary to be there, of course.
A couple more comments on my trip. For my birthday, Meg, the EMT, made and gave me a first aid kit from which I could practically do surgery! It has everything except a scalpel, including little tootsie rolls, in case my blood sugar should fall.
Then she insisted that I go to our local fire/police supply store and buy a window punch/seatbelt slicer in case I go over some precipice in my car and end up in the water. I didn't have the heart to tell her I fully expect I'd be too panicked to use it, and dutifully went out and bought one.
I'm not sure what wilds she expects me to be facing on the mostly highway route I am taking from here to NJ to DC to VA to KY to PA and home, but I will certainly be prepared so she can worry less!
I finally got my itinerary together, for my parents and Meg. If anyone is remotely interested, let me know and I'll send you one. Right now, however, I have to take my dog to the groomer and start my day!
Blessings, Margo
Monday, September 10, 2007
A Questionable Trip?
A brief entry to respond to several questions I got from my last entry, and from friends here, about my Road Trip.
How far am I going? Well, almost 2000 miles
Won't I feel lonely driving so far alone? Yes, there will be lonely times, especially since Rene was the outgoing partner in all our travels. But I live alone, feel alone a lot, so the trip will be lonely, too, at times. I'll live through it, and maybe learn to connect with strangers a little more.
Is your car okay to drive that far? Well, I certainly hope so! Even though it's old (a '97) it is a Honda, and I'm having it checked over, bumper to bumper. If something goes wrong on the road, I'll cope.
Are the people you are visiting safe? This only comes from my mother. People whose journals I have been reading for years feel like family to me. I wish I could visit more of them!
Who are you going to see? Mort, Judi and Virginia, Kas and her family, who are supposedly already referring to me as "Aunt Margo," Martha, Meg's fiance's mother, Ian, my God(dess) son, and Becky(I hope).
Will you stay with all of them? I'll stay at motels some of the time, and with people others. It depends on their housing situations.
Are you going to spend any time on your own? Yes, I am going to Charlottesville, Virginia for three days. I was born there when my father was in law school at UVA, and I have always wanted to really see Monticello (Thomas Jefferson's home). So I'm going to have my own private mini vacation inside the Road Trip!
What are you going to do about pain when driving and walking any distance? I am taking my walker and cane, and will use one or the other, depending on the terrain. I am able to walk a couple of miles, even if I do sway a bit along the way. (Okay, sometimes I fall down. I'll just get up and keep going like I do at home.)
As for pain, I'll drive as far as I can, and when it gets too bad I'll stop for the night, then take a pain med. I won't drive after that. I've built in extra time driving because of this.
When are you leaving? The last week in September, and I'll be back when I get back. Friends and neighbors will take care of the house and watch Roxy.
Aren't you scared to go on such a long trip? No.
Not even a little anxious? Yes, a little from time to time, but it's all about organizing and getting off and onto the road. Not about the trip itself.
That seems to cover the questions that have come in lately. If anyone has any others, let me know and I'll answer them, too.
Tomorrow is my 58th birthday, and I am sincerely hoping that this year will be better than the last four. A psychic told me that I would be getting more energy come fall, and I am living in expectation of more energy, whenever it arrives!
Blessings, Margo
How far am I going? Well, almost 2000 miles
Won't I feel lonely driving so far alone? Yes, there will be lonely times, especially since Rene was the outgoing partner in all our travels. But I live alone, feel alone a lot, so the trip will be lonely, too, at times. I'll live through it, and maybe learn to connect with strangers a little more.
Is your car okay to drive that far? Well, I certainly hope so! Even though it's old (a '97) it is a Honda, and I'm having it checked over, bumper to bumper. If something goes wrong on the road, I'll cope.
Are the people you are visiting safe? This only comes from my mother. People whose journals I have been reading for years feel like family to me. I wish I could visit more of them!
Who are you going to see? Mort, Judi and Virginia, Kas and her family, who are supposedly already referring to me as "Aunt Margo," Martha, Meg's fiance's mother, Ian, my God(dess) son, and Becky(I hope).
Will you stay with all of them? I'll stay at motels some of the time, and with people others. It depends on their housing situations.
Are you going to spend any time on your own? Yes, I am going to Charlottesville, Virginia for three days. I was born there when my father was in law school at UVA, and I have always wanted to really see Monticello (Thomas Jefferson's home). So I'm going to have my own private mini vacation inside the Road Trip!
What are you going to do about pain when driving and walking any distance? I am taking my walker and cane, and will use one or the other, depending on the terrain. I am able to walk a couple of miles, even if I do sway a bit along the way. (Okay, sometimes I fall down. I'll just get up and keep going like I do at home.)
As for pain, I'll drive as far as I can, and when it gets too bad I'll stop for the night, then take a pain med. I won't drive after that. I've built in extra time driving because of this.
When are you leaving? The last week in September, and I'll be back when I get back. Friends and neighbors will take care of the house and watch Roxy.
Aren't you scared to go on such a long trip? No.
Not even a little anxious? Yes, a little from time to time, but it's all about organizing and getting off and onto the road. Not about the trip itself.
That seems to cover the questions that have come in lately. If anyone has any others, let me know and I'll answer them, too.
Tomorrow is my 58th birthday, and I am sincerely hoping that this year will be better than the last four. A psychic told me that I would be getting more energy come fall, and I am living in expectation of more energy, whenever it arrives!
Blessings, Margo
Friday, September 07, 2007
Not Dead Yet- Aphrodite Rising
Usually when I disappear from the Internet for weeks or months it is because I have fallen into the pit of depression and am sitting in the mud at the bottom, looking up at a circle of sky so far above it seems the size of a Ping-Pong ball. This is, thank Goddess, not true this time. Aphrodite-the Goddess of Love-has moved into my life. After a bit of confusion (believe me thee is no sign of a love interest showing on the horizon) I recognized she was suggesting I work on loving myself. Duh. Sometimes I'm a little dense, especially since it seems I've been working on this forever!
So these past few weeks, I have been working hard at trying to enlarge my life, millimeter by millimeter, without tiring myself out beyond all enduring. And I am actually doing better at it than I thought I would, though I have been up and down a lot.
It is not that my life is full of exciting new events. It is the same round of physical therapy, "chair" yoga (that is, yoga made easier, not that we sit the whole time), a weekly hour with my trainer Glenn, assorted doctor's appointments, my two hours a week respite with the Gentle Tough/Guided Imagery Program at the hospital, and weekly walks and visits with Meg and Myla.
The Gentle Touch/Guided Imagery Program is a Complementary Medical program my friend Robin started at the local hospital three years ago. I was wildly excited, but unable to take part then. This winter I was able to take the training, finally! What we in the program do is go to various floors, to rooms of patients who have requested us, or who the nurses think need our service, or even walk in cold. Each of us have our own perspective, but similar ways of explaining.
I try to keep it simple, saying it is a free program that helps with relaxation, and includes a foot, hand or head rub. Then I plug in a CD player with quiet music playing, take off the footboard of the bed, wash my hands, then start reading a scripted guided imagery asking them to relax, to put themselves in a safe special place, and eventually spend 10 minutes or so giving a gentle foot or hand rub. I doesn't sound like much, but people zone out, and when I finish they talk about how much their pain has lessened, how much less depressed they feel, how much more relaxed. Some go to sleep and stay there, even as I put their socks back on, unplug my music, put the footboard back. It is quite amazing.
This has led me back to the same floor I had my two week nightmare experience four years ago, when I first fractured my arm. During that time nobody touched me except to hurt me-to draw blood, to move me, to take my BP. Now, finally, there is a hospital sanctioned program that helps makes that less likely. I love doing it, although I am limited to only two hours a week because of my pain level. The neat thing is that the patient is getting a Complimentary Medicine experience right under the oh-so-scientific doctor's noses. Of course some docs and nurses have welcomed the program, while some still think its hogwash, but more and more, I find nurses and aides grabbing me to ask if I will do so-and-so, who is in a lot of pain-a triumph in my book!
The other joy of my life is Myla, my granddaughter. Meg has been calling to meet for a walk once or twice a week, and Myla's little face lights up when she sees me! Myla toddles around on the grass in my yard handing me toys and favorite rocks and eating the ground up ice from my cup, while Meg tells me about her two play groups. One is quite preppy, uptight stay-at-home mothers with husbands who have good jobs, who think Meg is crazy to cloth diaper Myla, and the other "crunchy granola," the cloth diaper crew, the long term nursers-some are like Kas, nursing their 6 year olds. They wear "hippier" type clothes and struggle to make ends meet so they can stay home and raise their kids. Meg falls somewhere closer to the Crunchies, but enjoys both groups. She keeps me laughing with stories of both groups, while Myla tries to push her stroller across the yard. It is wonderful!
And I am getting ready for my Road Trip-1900 miles on my own as I drive down the East Coast to Virginia, then out to KY to visit Kas, then home via Pittsburgh. It is a crazy trip for me to make, with my are and shoulder still hurting a lot, and my inability to walk very far, which will curtail sightseeing somewhat-But I leave in a bit more than two weeks and am crazy excited about it. I just wish I could stop and visit every one of you! More on the trip next post.
Many Blessings, Margo
So these past few weeks, I have been working hard at trying to enlarge my life, millimeter by millimeter, without tiring myself out beyond all enduring. And I am actually doing better at it than I thought I would, though I have been up and down a lot.
It is not that my life is full of exciting new events. It is the same round of physical therapy, "chair" yoga (that is, yoga made easier, not that we sit the whole time), a weekly hour with my trainer Glenn, assorted doctor's appointments, my two hours a week respite with the Gentle Tough/Guided Imagery Program at the hospital, and weekly walks and visits with Meg and Myla.
The Gentle Touch/Guided Imagery Program is a Complementary Medical program my friend Robin started at the local hospital three years ago. I was wildly excited, but unable to take part then. This winter I was able to take the training, finally! What we in the program do is go to various floors, to rooms of patients who have requested us, or who the nurses think need our service, or even walk in cold. Each of us have our own perspective, but similar ways of explaining.
I try to keep it simple, saying it is a free program that helps with relaxation, and includes a foot, hand or head rub. Then I plug in a CD player with quiet music playing, take off the footboard of the bed, wash my hands, then start reading a scripted guided imagery asking them to relax, to put themselves in a safe special place, and eventually spend 10 minutes or so giving a gentle foot or hand rub. I doesn't sound like much, but people zone out, and when I finish they talk about how much their pain has lessened, how much less depressed they feel, how much more relaxed. Some go to sleep and stay there, even as I put their socks back on, unplug my music, put the footboard back. It is quite amazing.
This has led me back to the same floor I had my two week nightmare experience four years ago, when I first fractured my arm. During that time nobody touched me except to hurt me-to draw blood, to move me, to take my BP. Now, finally, there is a hospital sanctioned program that helps makes that less likely. I love doing it, although I am limited to only two hours a week because of my pain level. The neat thing is that the patient is getting a Complimentary Medicine experience right under the oh-so-scientific doctor's noses. Of course some docs and nurses have welcomed the program, while some still think its hogwash, but more and more, I find nurses and aides grabbing me to ask if I will do so-and-so, who is in a lot of pain-a triumph in my book!
The other joy of my life is Myla, my granddaughter. Meg has been calling to meet for a walk once or twice a week, and Myla's little face lights up when she sees me! Myla toddles around on the grass in my yard handing me toys and favorite rocks and eating the ground up ice from my cup, while Meg tells me about her two play groups. One is quite preppy, uptight stay-at-home mothers with husbands who have good jobs, who think Meg is crazy to cloth diaper Myla, and the other "crunchy granola," the cloth diaper crew, the long term nursers-some are like Kas, nursing their 6 year olds. They wear "hippier" type clothes and struggle to make ends meet so they can stay home and raise their kids. Meg falls somewhere closer to the Crunchies, but enjoys both groups. She keeps me laughing with stories of both groups, while Myla tries to push her stroller across the yard. It is wonderful!
And I am getting ready for my Road Trip-1900 miles on my own as I drive down the East Coast to Virginia, then out to KY to visit Kas, then home via Pittsburgh. It is a crazy trip for me to make, with my are and shoulder still hurting a lot, and my inability to walk very far, which will curtail sightseeing somewhat-But I leave in a bit more than two weeks and am crazy excited about it. I just wish I could stop and visit every one of you! More on the trip next post.
Many Blessings, Margo
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Kali's Indifference, and the Struggle Continues
Kali reigns supreme over all destruction. Though I cannot dump my anger on her, nor receive anger from her, I still like her image. She is blind destruction. She presents no reasons, offers no "silver lining," and has no ulterior motives like knock this one down, she'll grow and change and have a better life. She just destroys because that is her nature, and in the scheme of things I am a very, very tiny piece of her universe, no more important than the tree knocked down in the whirlwind. Or the ant stepped on by the elephant.
For some strange reason. this is a positive image for me. There is nothing I could have done to stop her from smashing my life to bits along with my arm, it is all a random act. And I simply cannot believe I fell for my own good. Good may well come out of it, it's possible, but it was still not a good event, nor one I am thankful for. What I am grateful for is that I am still alive and trying. Of course, if I hadn't fallen, I'd still be alive and trying. It is my very nature.
Today was my two year check up with my gastric bypass surgeon. I am doing fine, on the surface, though we'll know more when my bloodwork comes in. I weighed in at 159 pounds, so have lost 225 pounds. It is a good thing, because my doc told me that of those at my former weight and health level, 10% have died in the last two years. By 10 years it will
approach 100%.
But I do not believe this has anything to do with my fall. Three days before I fell, I had made an appointment with a gastroenterologist for a pre-gastric bypass consultation, so I would have done it anyway, probably two years earlier, without the fall. I am glad I had it done, but I did not expect it to "fix" my life, and it has not. It has give me a longer life, but not a wildly happier life, because it is just a tool to be use to lose weight fast. Afterwards you are on your own to maintain (in my case literally on my own. Thanks, Rene).
Kali seems as good a "reason" as any for the fall which has left me with intractable pain in my shoulder and neuropathy in my right hand. Two different kinds of pain which join to make daily life exhausting and complicated, and I am just beginning to rage and mourn over the recognition that my last surgery has hurt me as much as it has helped. The rod, which felt foreign from day one, is gone, and the rotator cuff fixed. But the pain remains the same, needing narcotics, and the neuropathy is worse. I cannot see any silver lining from all this.
I am obviously terribly angry, and still have some days when all I can do is cry, mourning all the losses, as well as whining and wailing about the pain. This is not to say I am sunk in the pit of depression. I am actively moving forward, with the pain, physical and emotional, despite Kali's indifference. In the long run she creates a new. But her long runs are thought of in eons, and I haven't got that long.
The issues for now-yesterday, today, this week, maybe this year-are twofold. How to live with the continuing pain, which flat out exhausts me, and how to scrape up enough creative energy to build a new and different life. As yet I have no image, no inkling of what that will be. But it will be more than PT and yoga and the gym, and doctors and therapist appointments and pain and narcotics and guided imagery pain tapes and self hypnosis, and two good (but ultimately painful) hours of volunteer work a week at the hospital.
I need more than this, and cannot seem to turn my vision towards a creative, helpful future which allows for my disabilities and pain, but still has meaning. My therapist talks about shifting inner vision, which for me means finding a symbol, a myth out of which I can find new meaning, new energy and new creativity. My next life will have to be very different from my last one. Less stressful, certainly, and perhaps less interesting and helpful, but perhaps still fulfilling. I have to believe this to get out of bed in the morning.
To change the subject, my mother meeds your energy, thoughts and prayers again. Last weekend, I flew to Grand Rapids, MI, rented a car, met my parents, and drove to Saugatuck for my sister Catherine's wedding. Meg flew out, too, with Myla, and Catherine's two sons (ages 21 and 18) and the whole famdamily stayed together at a retreat house next to the church. Friday, a couple of hours before the rehearsal, my mother fell up a small, shallow set of steps, banging her face and knees on the concrete. She bled like all get out, but absolutely refused to get medical help.
She stayed home from the rehearsal, propped up on a couch, putting ice o her face. Several of us stayed with her, but she insisted we all go to the rehearsal dinner (for which she was paying, poor thing). She had soup for supper, and was helped upstairs by one and all, and put to bed when we got back. She made it to the wedding and reception lunch, which she could not really eat.
When they got back to the Poconos, she did finally go to a doctor. Her jaw is fractured in three places, and she had surgery (yet again)! this time to wire her jaw shut. My father waited 48 hours before calling to let me know. Poor woman, I do not know how she manages to keep going. Or why.
The wedding itself was beautiful, but weird. Catherine, at 48, is ten years younger than I. Bob, the groom, is 79. So you won't have to count on your fingers (like I do) that's 31 years difference. He is neither rich nor organized, and Catherine is even less organized. I hope it truly is a love match. Her sons dislike her to the point of hatred (they have been poisoned by their father), but Catherine does stupid things, like not including then in the "family wedding photos." The eldest voiced his bitterness, the youngest just shrugged. I wanted to cry for them. Bob tries to stay out of it.
I am glad I went; I wanted to support Catherine, see the wedding and I hope I helped her by taking care of my parents, buying food, and generally keeping the retreat house situation as grounded as possible. But I came home and was very sad. None of my parents' offshoots have had good lives, and neither have our own offshoots. We all need more therapy than is available, and sometime I think my own years on and off in therapy have just allowed me to see all this clearer than most.
Still, Catherine walked down the aisle on my father's arm, dressed in a vintage turquoise beaded cocktail dress, looking radiant, and Bob got quite choked up as he said his vows. I really wish them happiness and enjoyment of each other.
Thank you for keeping my mother in your prayers, and I'll let you know haw she is when my father lets me know. I'll probably not talk to her for at least a couple of weeks.
Blessings, Margo
For some strange reason. this is a positive image for me. There is nothing I could have done to stop her from smashing my life to bits along with my arm, it is all a random act. And I simply cannot believe I fell for my own good. Good may well come out of it, it's possible, but it was still not a good event, nor one I am thankful for. What I am grateful for is that I am still alive and trying. Of course, if I hadn't fallen, I'd still be alive and trying. It is my very nature.
Today was my two year check up with my gastric bypass surgeon. I am doing fine, on the surface, though we'll know more when my bloodwork comes in. I weighed in at 159 pounds, so have lost 225 pounds. It is a good thing, because my doc told me that of those at my former weight and health level, 10% have died in the last two years. By 10 years it will
approach 100%.
But I do not believe this has anything to do with my fall. Three days before I fell, I had made an appointment with a gastroenterologist for a pre-gastric bypass consultation, so I would have done it anyway, probably two years earlier, without the fall. I am glad I had it done, but I did not expect it to "fix" my life, and it has not. It has give me a longer life, but not a wildly happier life, because it is just a tool to be use to lose weight fast. Afterwards you are on your own to maintain (in my case literally on my own. Thanks, Rene).
Kali seems as good a "reason" as any for the fall which has left me with intractable pain in my shoulder and neuropathy in my right hand. Two different kinds of pain which join to make daily life exhausting and complicated, and I am just beginning to rage and mourn over the recognition that my last surgery has hurt me as much as it has helped. The rod, which felt foreign from day one, is gone, and the rotator cuff fixed. But the pain remains the same, needing narcotics, and the neuropathy is worse. I cannot see any silver lining from all this.
I am obviously terribly angry, and still have some days when all I can do is cry, mourning all the losses, as well as whining and wailing about the pain. This is not to say I am sunk in the pit of depression. I am actively moving forward, with the pain, physical and emotional, despite Kali's indifference. In the long run she creates a new. But her long runs are thought of in eons, and I haven't got that long.
The issues for now-yesterday, today, this week, maybe this year-are twofold. How to live with the continuing pain, which flat out exhausts me, and how to scrape up enough creative energy to build a new and different life. As yet I have no image, no inkling of what that will be. But it will be more than PT and yoga and the gym, and doctors and therapist appointments and pain and narcotics and guided imagery pain tapes and self hypnosis, and two good (but ultimately painful) hours of volunteer work a week at the hospital.
I need more than this, and cannot seem to turn my vision towards a creative, helpful future which allows for my disabilities and pain, but still has meaning. My therapist talks about shifting inner vision, which for me means finding a symbol, a myth out of which I can find new meaning, new energy and new creativity. My next life will have to be very different from my last one. Less stressful, certainly, and perhaps less interesting and helpful, but perhaps still fulfilling. I have to believe this to get out of bed in the morning.
To change the subject, my mother meeds your energy, thoughts and prayers again. Last weekend, I flew to Grand Rapids, MI, rented a car, met my parents, and drove to Saugatuck for my sister Catherine's wedding. Meg flew out, too, with Myla, and Catherine's two sons (ages 21 and 18) and the whole famdamily stayed together at a retreat house next to the church. Friday, a couple of hours before the rehearsal, my mother fell up a small, shallow set of steps, banging her face and knees on the concrete. She bled like all get out, but absolutely refused to get medical help.
She stayed home from the rehearsal, propped up on a couch, putting ice o her face. Several of us stayed with her, but she insisted we all go to the rehearsal dinner (for which she was paying, poor thing). She had soup for supper, and was helped upstairs by one and all, and put to bed when we got back. She made it to the wedding and reception lunch, which she could not really eat.
When they got back to the Poconos, she did finally go to a doctor. Her jaw is fractured in three places, and she had surgery (yet again)! this time to wire her jaw shut. My father waited 48 hours before calling to let me know. Poor woman, I do not know how she manages to keep going. Or why.
The wedding itself was beautiful, but weird. Catherine, at 48, is ten years younger than I. Bob, the groom, is 79. So you won't have to count on your fingers (like I do) that's 31 years difference. He is neither rich nor organized, and Catherine is even less organized. I hope it truly is a love match. Her sons dislike her to the point of hatred (they have been poisoned by their father), but Catherine does stupid things, like not including then in the "family wedding photos." The eldest voiced his bitterness, the youngest just shrugged. I wanted to cry for them. Bob tries to stay out of it.
I am glad I went; I wanted to support Catherine, see the wedding and I hope I helped her by taking care of my parents, buying food, and generally keeping the retreat house situation as grounded as possible. But I came home and was very sad. None of my parents' offshoots have had good lives, and neither have our own offshoots. We all need more therapy than is available, and sometime I think my own years on and off in therapy have just allowed me to see all this clearer than most.
Still, Catherine walked down the aisle on my father's arm, dressed in a vintage turquoise beaded cocktail dress, looking radiant, and Bob got quite choked up as he said his vows. I really wish them happiness and enjoyment of each other.
Thank you for keeping my mother in your prayers, and I'll let you know haw she is when my father lets me know. I'll probably not talk to her for at least a couple of weeks.
Blessings, Margo
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Anger Rising, Meditations on Kali
Saturday night I sat in circle with my sisters to mark the full moon. We have been meeting, in various forms and varying numbers for over twenty years, carving out sacred space to share sacred time. Together, we mark out the cycles of our lives by the cycle of the moon, waxing to fullness, waning to darkness, waxing to fullness again.
We have met inside women's' houses, outside, most memorably in a small hallow in the woods behind someone's house where we had to ford a stream (glare ice in winter) balance our way down an old stone wall, then slog through a bog to get to a numinous spot where we sat cross-legged on the ground by the fire to drum and sing. These days, when we meet outside, it is in accessible places, where we sit in lawn chairs, and, when it's too cold, we meet indoors.
And there is less drumming and singing and more silence and sharing, but we are mostly all older now, more arthritic and wiser than in the beginning. None of this matters; for thousands of years, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, before artificial and electric lights, the moon really did mark the cycle of a woman's life, their periods flowing together, moon-marked, and they did met in circles, in huts or outside, around fires to mark their moon-times.
Occasionally when we meet today, I can see these circles in my mind, from the many women who meet in circles now, stretching back, circles beyond circles beyond circles, back to the beginning of mankind, women gathering on the full moon, or at the dark of the moon, or at the equinoxes and solstices to sing and share and laugh and mourn together.
All this came to mind as we sat in silence Saturday night and I thought about how my own life has been lived in cycles, too. Cycles of security and insecurity, of moving out and moving within, of happiness and sorrow, of hope and hopelessness, of pain and joy. Everyday cycles, lived by most women, consciously and unconsciously or a curious mixture of both. I have been curiously aware of these cycles of late, as they move through my life, some quickly, some with agonizing slowness.
This August, August 7th, to be exact, will be the fourth anniversary of my Big Fall at work. Moving too fast, with the phone cord wrapped around my feet, I went down like a felled redwood, all 368 pounds of me, landing on my right side with a crash that echoed through the cinder block building with a wallop that brought people running from all directions. And though I did not know it at the time, Kali the Destroyer, was there, ending my life as I knew it, as I'd planned it, as I'd been quietly living it with confidence and the real gift of ability. I could not see it for years, but that day ended the cycle of my working life as surely as if Kali had killed me.
Kali is the Indian Goddess, blue in color, standing by the Holy River Ganges, with the string of skulls around her neck, and four arm (or sometimes six), each hand holding a bleeding head, a sword or scythe, some weapon of destruction. She has a terrible visage with her blood covered tongue sticking out of her voracious mouth, while she tramples on a figure below her. Her name originates from the word for "time" and she is a terrifying Goddess, who is the very epitome destruction, pillaging and killing, shaking the universe into nothingness seemingly for her own entertainment.
And yet (like all of us) she also carries the opposite. She destroys one cycle of existence in order to clear the way for the creation of the next. Here she is the loving Kali Ma, who emerges from the Holy Ganges, young, beautiful, ready to create all the beauty of the world once again, so the eventually she may turn dark and destroy it all again. She is a Goddess of cycles.
My next cycle seems to have been that of loss, rehab and unending pain. Friends faded back into their own lives, Rene took over organizing our lives, and a lot more work, and I struggled (often futilely) to get through each week stronger and more able than the week before. Nerve damage and chronic pain morphed into chronic depression and hopelessness. I forced myself to do physical therapy exercises nearly daily to stay out of complete helplessness (my right hand was so damaged, I could not move it at all for nearly a year).
And eventually Rene left, too, unable to live through the terrible ups and downs (mostly downs) and changes after my gastric bypass, though we both had issues long before my fall, which just sped things along.
And I am still cycling, shorter cycles than those of Kali, whose cycles may last eons. Mine just feel like eons, and I do have good(ish) times between each unexpected roller coaster back down, usually caused by the next necessary surgery (four in four years). Each surgery emphasizes that I am alone, a loner in a world filled with couples and groups, reemphasizing my inability to take care of my house, my life, even myself, leaving me feeling newly destroyed and meditating on Kali and her cycles.
Lately, anger has risen from deep inside of me. Really. Serious. Anger. I have not had the energy or courage to feel this rage before, because my energy went towards getting through life. Early on, I didn't know how radically my life had changed, would change. And when Rene left, it was much easier to slide past anger into sorrow, so I cried and cried and cried. And still have crying to do about my altered life. But rage has risen and broken through, finally. I'd like to be angry at god or goddess, but I don't really believe in deities, and certainly not ones who scratch his or er chin and decide, today I'll fuck Margo up for fun, and see how she copes (or not).
And I do not believe this terrible set of changes were "a gift" as a pious Christian recently told me. Tragedy is never an automatic gift. What we do with our burdens may eventually (in retrospect only) be seen as haaving been worked into gifts, but lots of people are given burdens, both light and terrible, and never recover. No, I have found that recovering life when one has lost the last one is hard, emotional work, full of sorrow and rage and hopelessness and bits of courage which may, in the end, coalesce into a new and different kind of life. But I still mourn and rage over the one I lost.
Human nature, I think. And it is my nature to want to find a Goddess to put a face on what I am feeling. Kali, in her blue form, holds all the rage I could ever need, and more. (The trouble with archetypes is that one never wants to embody one, for then one ends up living out the archetype, and as Kali, I could destroy my own small world quite easily with over-blown self-righteousness and rage.) So I meditate on her, and honor her, and know that despite my very human desire to blame someone or something for the ending of useful working life, there is nobody to blame, not even myself. Impersonal forces, perhaps like Kali, ended my doing what I believe I was born to do and was really good at (HIV counseling and testing women inmates) leaving me alone to build a somehow lesser kind of life. The only answer to "Why me?" is "Why not me?"
What I have been doing lately is feeling the anger behind the sorrow, and treading water as hard as I can to keep from drowning in the churning waters of the unconscious. I have crawled out for now, and am limping along as if there might be a better life ahead of me if I just keep going. And, after four years, of creeping forward, at least I'm staggering upright. And will continue to do so, for I seem to have no choise to do otherwise.
Blessings, Margo
We have met inside women's' houses, outside, most memorably in a small hallow in the woods behind someone's house where we had to ford a stream (glare ice in winter) balance our way down an old stone wall, then slog through a bog to get to a numinous spot where we sat cross-legged on the ground by the fire to drum and sing. These days, when we meet outside, it is in accessible places, where we sit in lawn chairs, and, when it's too cold, we meet indoors.
And there is less drumming and singing and more silence and sharing, but we are mostly all older now, more arthritic and wiser than in the beginning. None of this matters; for thousands of years, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, before artificial and electric lights, the moon really did mark the cycle of a woman's life, their periods flowing together, moon-marked, and they did met in circles, in huts or outside, around fires to mark their moon-times.
Occasionally when we meet today, I can see these circles in my mind, from the many women who meet in circles now, stretching back, circles beyond circles beyond circles, back to the beginning of mankind, women gathering on the full moon, or at the dark of the moon, or at the equinoxes and solstices to sing and share and laugh and mourn together.
All this came to mind as we sat in silence Saturday night and I thought about how my own life has been lived in cycles, too. Cycles of security and insecurity, of moving out and moving within, of happiness and sorrow, of hope and hopelessness, of pain and joy. Everyday cycles, lived by most women, consciously and unconsciously or a curious mixture of both. I have been curiously aware of these cycles of late, as they move through my life, some quickly, some with agonizing slowness.
This August, August 7th, to be exact, will be the fourth anniversary of my Big Fall at work. Moving too fast, with the phone cord wrapped around my feet, I went down like a felled redwood, all 368 pounds of me, landing on my right side with a crash that echoed through the cinder block building with a wallop that brought people running from all directions. And though I did not know it at the time, Kali the Destroyer, was there, ending my life as I knew it, as I'd planned it, as I'd been quietly living it with confidence and the real gift of ability. I could not see it for years, but that day ended the cycle of my working life as surely as if Kali had killed me.
Kali is the Indian Goddess, blue in color, standing by the Holy River Ganges, with the string of skulls around her neck, and four arm (or sometimes six), each hand holding a bleeding head, a sword or scythe, some weapon of destruction. She has a terrible visage with her blood covered tongue sticking out of her voracious mouth, while she tramples on a figure below her. Her name originates from the word for "time" and she is a terrifying Goddess, who is the very epitome destruction, pillaging and killing, shaking the universe into nothingness seemingly for her own entertainment.
And yet (like all of us) she also carries the opposite. She destroys one cycle of existence in order to clear the way for the creation of the next. Here she is the loving Kali Ma, who emerges from the Holy Ganges, young, beautiful, ready to create all the beauty of the world once again, so the eventually she may turn dark and destroy it all again. She is a Goddess of cycles.
My next cycle seems to have been that of loss, rehab and unending pain. Friends faded back into their own lives, Rene took over organizing our lives, and a lot more work, and I struggled (often futilely) to get through each week stronger and more able than the week before. Nerve damage and chronic pain morphed into chronic depression and hopelessness. I forced myself to do physical therapy exercises nearly daily to stay out of complete helplessness (my right hand was so damaged, I could not move it at all for nearly a year).
And eventually Rene left, too, unable to live through the terrible ups and downs (mostly downs) and changes after my gastric bypass, though we both had issues long before my fall, which just sped things along.
And I am still cycling, shorter cycles than those of Kali, whose cycles may last eons. Mine just feel like eons, and I do have good(ish) times between each unexpected roller coaster back down, usually caused by the next necessary surgery (four in four years). Each surgery emphasizes that I am alone, a loner in a world filled with couples and groups, reemphasizing my inability to take care of my house, my life, even myself, leaving me feeling newly destroyed and meditating on Kali and her cycles.
Lately, anger has risen from deep inside of me. Really. Serious. Anger. I have not had the energy or courage to feel this rage before, because my energy went towards getting through life. Early on, I didn't know how radically my life had changed, would change. And when Rene left, it was much easier to slide past anger into sorrow, so I cried and cried and cried. And still have crying to do about my altered life. But rage has risen and broken through, finally. I'd like to be angry at god or goddess, but I don't really believe in deities, and certainly not ones who scratch his or er chin and decide, today I'll fuck Margo up for fun, and see how she copes (or not).
And I do not believe this terrible set of changes were "a gift" as a pious Christian recently told me. Tragedy is never an automatic gift. What we do with our burdens may eventually (in retrospect only) be seen as haaving been worked into gifts, but lots of people are given burdens, both light and terrible, and never recover. No, I have found that recovering life when one has lost the last one is hard, emotional work, full of sorrow and rage and hopelessness and bits of courage which may, in the end, coalesce into a new and different kind of life. But I still mourn and rage over the one I lost.
Human nature, I think. And it is my nature to want to find a Goddess to put a face on what I am feeling. Kali, in her blue form, holds all the rage I could ever need, and more. (The trouble with archetypes is that one never wants to embody one, for then one ends up living out the archetype, and as Kali, I could destroy my own small world quite easily with over-blown self-righteousness and rage.) So I meditate on her, and honor her, and know that despite my very human desire to blame someone or something for the ending of useful working life, there is nobody to blame, not even myself. Impersonal forces, perhaps like Kali, ended my doing what I believe I was born to do and was really good at (HIV counseling and testing women inmates) leaving me alone to build a somehow lesser kind of life. The only answer to "Why me?" is "Why not me?"
What I have been doing lately is feeling the anger behind the sorrow, and treading water as hard as I can to keep from drowning in the churning waters of the unconscious. I have crawled out for now, and am limping along as if there might be a better life ahead of me if I just keep going. And, after four years, of creeping forward, at least I'm staggering upright. And will continue to do so, for I seem to have no choise to do otherwise.
Blessings, Margo
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