tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51739453834826331472023-11-15T05:09:50.997-08:00MagogoS's Musings:I'm Still ChangingMagogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.comBlogger178125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-80315265320278325492008-10-26T06:29:00.000-07:002008-10-26T06:33:44.205-07:00I'm Still Changing- With a GoodbyeI am still alive and functioning in Gales Ferry. And still quite gobsmacked over the length and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">breadth</span> and depth of the pain and anger around my parents' deaths. We had an Episcopalian <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Memorial</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Service</span> over Columbus Day Weekend in the Poconos. It was a beautiful, only <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">slightly</span> chilly Fall day, and we held it in an outside in an opening in the woods used <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">for Quaker</span> Meeting/Church Services. Both parents would have loved the place, the weather, and the company.<br />I was rather overwhelmed by the company. Present were my father's sister and her husband, and his sister, and my father's brother, and a couple of others all over 80, deaf, and yelling at each other, my brother, sister, myself, and a friend of mine who came along to help with the driving, all dancing around <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">each other</span> working hard at being polite, and three of my five nephews, working on drinking as much beer and wine as possible (two are of age, one isn't quite, yet).<br />I was rather overwhelmed, sipping my one polite drink in the midst of a hard <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">drinking</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">crowd</span>, going outside to smoke just to put some distance <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">between</span> the multitude and myself. The best time was Sunday afternoon, when everybody but immediate family had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">departed</span>, and I could let go enough to have a second drink and enjoy leftovers.<br />Clearly, I managed to survive with my polite smile pasted firmly on, but then came home and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">fell</span> apart again. But I have taken my front garden of 6 years of weeds, dug up over 200 Giant Dutch irises, and if my tears have watered it more than I'd like, there is little to do about it.<br />And now on to the next big loss; J-Land. I have been here for nearly six years, and I am very sad to be leaving. But moving on I am. My new journal can be found at <a href="http://magogossmusingsachanginglife.blogspot.com/">http://magogossmusingsachanginglife.blogspot.com/</a>. I hope my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">readers</span> will follow me over there, for I will miss those who don't.<br />Also, could you all send me your new addresses, even if you have already. I have been a little vague and missed a number of things <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">going</span> on around me!<br />Many Blessings to All, And With Love,<br />MargoMagogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-22494905992288092002008-09-04T15:07:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.517-07:00Somebody, Somebody, Throw me a Rope<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG> </STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG></STRONG></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG> Traveling down some</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> old abandoned road
<DIV><STRONG> <SPAN class=correction id=""> </SPAN> full of potholes and</STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> crooked <SPAN class=correction id="">fenceposts</SPAN>,</STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG></STRONG> </STRONG><STRONG> looking for a sign,</STRONG></DIV></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> a sign that says Hope. </STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> somebody, somebody</STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> throw me a rope! </STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> </STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG> --<SPAN class=correction id="">Namoli</SPAN> <SPAN class=correction id="">Brennet</SPAN></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2> </FONT></DIV>
<DIV></FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG></STRONG></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>Yesterday a neighbor who doesn't know me well told me <SPAN class=correction id="">h</SPAN>ow good I looked, and how well I was doing after my pa<SPAN class=correction id="">r</SPAN>ents' deaths, and it must be nice to feel normal again, now that they'd been dead a couple of months.</STRONG></FONT></DIV></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4>I looked at her for a minute, while I ran her words through my head again. I was wearing an oversized, sweaty tee shirt, with shorts two sizes too big, knew I have deep dark circles under my eyes, and wanted to say, "You <SPAN class=correction id="">GD</SPAN> liar." I also wanted <SPAN class=correction id="">t</SPAN>o say, "How the f*ck do you know how I'm doing." and "I can't even remember what normal is anymore." </FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4>Instead, I said, "Thank you, have a nice walk." </FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4>And walked around the corner o<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> the <SPAN class=correction id="">h</SPAN>ouse, just too tired for the briefest of conversations.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>Some people just don't get it, and there is no point in trying to explain. Mourning does not stop six weeks after death. Mourning goes on as long as it goes on, and my pain and anger have not abated at all yet. I know they will, but in their own time, not mine.</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>Meanwhile I am so discombobulated that I knock into furniture, I drop and break glasses, I struggle with insomnia, I'm not r<SPAN class=correction id="">e</SPAN><SPAN class=correction id="">a</SPAN>ding my newspaper or watching television, I stare off into space a lot, I forget to eat, or eat too much, and I know all this is within normal limits and temporary.</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>And when the pain hits big time, I go out to the back steps and cry <SPAN class=correction id="">a</SPAN><SPAN class=correction id="">n</SPAN>d cry and cry and moan an<SPAN class=correction id="">d</SPAN> even yell. My neighbors are a little shaken by this, but I explained that for 58 years I held many emotions in, because my parents were the stiff upper lip type, and I did my best to be that way, too. Now, somehow I am freer to let go, to wail if I want, to sob and scream and carry on like a madwoman, when I need to.</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>I am doing many o<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> the right things. I see a therapist weekly, I've been to Hospice to talk to a grie<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> counselor, and have signed up for a six week course for adults who have lost a parent, starting September <SPAN class=correction id="">15th</SPAN>. I don't, of course, have friends who I can call when I feel like cutting to let the pain out, or want to just get in my car and drive as far as my credit cards will let me (I do like to travel). </STRONG>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>I am actually glad the summer is over-I didn't do any summer activities, like go to the beach, or swim in a pool. I have spent most o<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> my energy the last couple o<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> weeks by attempting to clear out a garden area that had been abandoned ten years ago-hard labor to tire me out, to fill my time. </STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial color=#0000a0 size=2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>Unfortunately, September brings my birthday, on next Thursday, the <SPAN class=correction id="">11th</SPAN>. Not an particularly auspicious day, and one on which I will miss my mother enormously. She always sent the best cards, and her gifts, usually Native American jewelry, were always carefully picked to tickle my fancy. Even Meg is too broke to give me a gift this year. (They are fixing up their house to sell it and are truly struggling.)</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>On the other hand a friend is taking me out to play Bingo at <SPAN class=correction id="">Foxwoods</SPAN>, something I done only once before. It is a bizarre twilight zone experience<SPAN class=correction id=""> </SPAN>to me, but it will get me out of the house, and only costs ten bucks.</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV></FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>I know you all are out there, but I'm having a hard time even reading journals, let alone <SPAN class=correction id="">IM</SPAN>'ing my pain across the Internet (I hate to <SPAN class=correction id="">IM</SPAN> more than a few sentenc<SPAN class=correction id="">e</SPAN>s), Except, o<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> course in random entries like this one.</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>I really do hope you are all doing well, and please know I am a strong woman and will eventually be all right.</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4><STRONG>PS Does anybody have <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas</SPAN> <SPAN class=correction id="">Ridiman's</SPAN> (o<SPAN class=correction id="">f</SPAN> <SPAN class=correction id="">Hestia's</SPAN> School for Wild Young Women) new address or phone number? I really need to connect with her.</STRONG></FONT></DIV></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" color=#0000a0 size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/><BR/>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Continuing+mourning" target=_blank rel=tag>Continuing mourning</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Trying+to+Cope" target=_blank rel=tag>Trying to Cope</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Namoli+Brennet" target=_blank rel=tag>Namoli Brennet</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-37128673452887093532008-08-07T11:54:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.517-07:00Bad Karma
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4><STRONG>"...somewhere behind all/ the lights and the wheels</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4><STRONG> you secretly hope/ that you might cut a deal</STRONG></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4> and all the bad Karma/will fall off your back</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4> just like Elvis's Mom/in a Cadillac..."</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4> -<SPAN class=correction id="">Namalie</SPAN> Bennett</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I'm still here, struggling, finding myself enraged, filled to the brim with all the anger I politely held back all the days of my life. Somehow Mom's death, and Dad's, have lifted the veil and the old Karma rising-theirs and my own-has smashed me flat. </FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>No deals, just acceptance and expression and holding in and letting go and red and black and crying and screaming and sobbing and silence and ignoring those who want explanations but are afraid to ask. Especially ignoring those who look away embarrassed when I well up and start to cry. Mostly I am overwhelmed.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>And I cry over everything. Memories, things I'd like to tell her, all the times she told me not to be angry (stuff it, stuff it), how nobody dared cry over my Grandmother's death because Mom didn't (I'm sure she had her reasons, too), the fairy house she used to make for Meg in the woods in the <SPAN class=correction id="">Poconos</SPAN>, how her dying took away the glue that held my siblings and I together. I cry on rainy days and hot days and clear days. And how angry I am at her for dying.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I have barely looked at my Dad yet, where there are many fewer good memories and much more anger.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Days are okay-I try to keep busy-nights are horrible.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am taking it as it comes, processing what I can, recognizing I'll be processing it for a long time, and in my own inimical fashion.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4><SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Nomalie+Bennett" target=_blank rel=tag><SPAN class=correction id="">Nomalie</SPAN> Bennett</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Anger" target=_blank rel=tag>Anger</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Bad+Karma" target=_blank rel=tag>Bad Karma</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Struggling+with+Grief" target=_blank rel=tag>Struggling with Grief</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-20433731734708911962008-07-24T16:41:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.518-07:00Alive, and Grieving Onward
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I want to begin with a huge thank you to all who wrote me comments on my last entry. The overwhelming pouring in of support was truly amazing and helped make me feel much less alone. It is hard to express how much I appreciate the recognition that I am part of a caring and supportive community. It means more to me than any of you can know. I especially appreciate the words of my small world of regular readers-the whole experience still makes me cry-in a good way, of course.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I got home late Saturday, and managed to hold it together until I saw my new therapist on Monday. This time frame had been especially difficult because I moved from one therapist-Cathy-to another-Nicole-before I left for Meg's wedding. It seemed the right thing to do at the time, but I had had only one meeting with Nicole, and Cathy knew all the family dynamics, what my Mom's relationship was with me, how alienated I have been from my father all my life, all sorts of stuff about Catherine and Luke, my siblings, and how I have in my life with blow after blow, surgery after surgery.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I have talked to Cathy by phone twice, but have also said my farewells to her and committed to Nicole. I saw her Monday after oon and could finally let go. I've been a wreck since, but in a good, positive, accepting way. Mourning is so individual and I have never had so much to grieve over before, that I am trying to be gentle with myself and go with whatever comes up.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Nicole was very helpful in one way, by telling me it was OK not to talk with my siblings for a while- a really good idea. She was much less helpful when she told me to gather my all my friends around, at home and in person. I rather bitterly reminded her that my "presenting problem" was the lack of friends-my only three friends all work and have crazy busy lives of their own. They care, and call, but are completely unavailable during the long days I must spend alone.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I never realized how much of my life was spent telling my self, I'll have to tell Mom this. or Mom will laugh at that. I miss her terribly.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>On the other hand, I will keep on keeping on, as I always do, because, after all, what other option is there? I'm not cleaning house or organizing my life at the moment, but am forgiving myself, knowing I will eventually.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Again, I must thank everyone who commented, who sent prayers or thoughts or energy, for all of it has helped as I move through this thing called grieving.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings to all of you. Margo</FONT></STRONG></DIV><BR/><BR/><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Thanks+for+the+Support" target=_blank rel=tag>Thanks for the Support</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Grieving+is+Hard+Work" target=_blank rel=tag>Grieving is Hard Work</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Help+from+Therapists" target=_blank rel=tag>Help from Therapists</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-39878026899280884082008-07-17T19:53:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.518-07:00Another Day, Another Death
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>This morning, at 7:15 AM, my father, Allison Francis Page, died of <SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN> Diff, which had lead to a systemic infection that he was too weak to battle. We were told he was in serious <SPAN class=correction id="">condition</SPAN> but holding his own when we <SPAN class=correction id="">left</SPAN> the <SPAN class=correction id="">hospital at</SPAN> 6:00 PM, but at 11:00 PM the doctor <SPAN class=correction id="">called</SPAN> to say he had taken a turn for the worse, and we should come to see him ASAP.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I arrived from one direction, Luke and Mary from another. (Catherine ad returned to <SPAN class=correction id="">Michigan</SPAN> on Tuesday.) Allison was doing a little better with the massive amount of <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN> they were giving him, so we retired to the waiting room with pillows and blankets about 1:00 AM. At 3:00 the nurse woke us: he was doing much worse. We rushed down the hall to find him struggling to breath. I will spare you the next four hours, but I will say my brother was in strong denial, and wanted the treatments continued. It took 3 long hours before the nurse and a doctor convinced him the Allison was not going to tolerate more treatment, and they should be withdrawn so he could die in peace. He finally sad no more massive <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN>, just make him comfortable with lots of morphine.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Luke and Allison had a good father-son relationship, and Luke wept more than I've ever seen him, leaving periodically to sob somewhere else. Mary and I stood by <SPAN class=correction id="">Allison's</SPAN> bed for four hours, until he died, then I stayed with the body for a while, trying to figure out what had just happened. And why? I am sad because we were not close-at times I came close to hating him, other times he surprised me with his admiration and love. And he was my father and I loved him</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am quite shell shocked, as well as sleep deprived.. To lose both parents in four days seems excessive. I will wait until I home to even touch the pain and loss. Staying in their apartment makes me feel as if they <SPAN class=correction id="">might</SPAN> walk in any minute, and it's a way of both denial and holding them close, here in their home, which will soon disappear completely.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Catherine and I will have one last trip out here to divide the household goods, then I never want to set foot in Colorado again. I cannot wait to fly home Saturday, even though I am loath to leave. Confusing, isn't it?</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I realize I am jealous that Luke lured them out here, and his kids got to have then at ball <SPAN class=correction id="">games</SPAN> and graduations. And I feel petty for being jealous. <SPAN class=correction id="">Every time</SPAN> I've been out here for the last 17 years I have spent my time driving mom to market or the hair dressers, or taking her shopping in stores that had nothing that fit me. (Though I must admit I have a couple of pieces of nice <SPAN class=correction id="">jewelry</SPAN> from shopping together.) And lately it has to visit them in that damned hospital, or to help out after a surgery.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>It was only a vacation the two times we went to Taos, NM. And she apologized to me that we never made the last promised trip there the day before she died. I told her I would go for us, knowing quite well that it is beyond my means.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am beyond tired now, and will end this to go to sleep. I feel as if the last forever postings have been more and more depressive, and I thank you for hanging in as I struggle on this next part of my journey.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Many Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV><BR/><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/C-Diff+Kills+Another+Person" target=_blank rel=tag><SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN>-Diff Kills Another Person</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Random+Thouhgts+and+Feelings" target=_blank rel=tag>Random <SPAN class=correction id="">Thoughts</SPAN> and Feelings</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-44339187869560746382008-07-16T20:01:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.519-07:00Back to the Hospital, Yet Again
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am sitting here in my mother's bedroom, sipping some Gray Goose,</FONT></STRONG><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4> thinking, "<SPAN class=correction id="">Sh't</SPAN>, some years it's not getting out of bed on New Year's Morning, even if I did go to bed at 9:00 PM the night before."</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>The Wednesday before Mom died, I went to the rehab center to visit Dad, who is there because he had spent several weeks in the hospital and nursing homes, and needed to get his strength and stamina back before he could return to his apartment in this retirement community. He was glad to see me, and bragged about walking 100 yards with minimal help that morning, when three days before he could barely stand up.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Friday he felt very tired, but still did physical therapy. Saturday he spiked a temp and began having diarrhea more than usual. Sunday, when Luke and Mary went over to tell him Mom had died, he seemed quite sad (appropriate after 60 years of marriage!) and a bit weaker than the day before. Monday he declined to go to Mom's Memorial Service, and when we all went in, he looked both depressed and sicker. Tuesday he was back up doing physical therapy in the morning when I saw him, but was sick again when Luke and Mary dropped by later.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Tuesday night Luke got a call saying he was sicker still, but refusing to go to the hospital. Luke, Mary and I arrived back at the nursing home, to find him really sick, having frequent diarrhea, and in pain, still adamantly refusing to go to the hospital. We stayed until midnight, then left, planning to go in early this morning.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Hey, none of us blamed him for refusing to return to the hospital. He was there in May with a blood infection and back for most of June with <SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN> Diff, an intestinal bug usually picked up in hospitals. It is highly contagious, extremely insidious, inflaming the colon, and most likely to affect the elderly and those with compromised immune systems. He falls into both categories. I will refrain from describing too much about <SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN> Diff, because if you are interested you can <SPAN class=correction id="">Google</SPAN> it. ( And if you have an elderly and/or immune compromised relative in a nursing home or hospital, I recommend that you do.</FONT></STRONG><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>)</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>And yesterday, he was diagnosed as having <SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN> Diff again. It is insidious because it can come return and return and return, each time worse than before, causing more pain, worse symptoms, and can lead to death.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>This morning at 8:<SPAN class=correction id="">00AM</SPAN> Luke called to say he had just hear from Life Care of <SPAN class=correction id="">Littleton</SPAN> that Allison (yes, my father's name <U>is</U> Allison, and we often call him by his first name) had had such a bad night that he had requested to go to the hospital. Now, this is the same hospital that Catherine and I left three days before rejoicing that we would not have to return to, maybe forever. The same one at which he and Mother had just celebrated their <SPAN class=correction id="">60th</SPAN> Anniversary, since they were there at the same time, the same one they had said good-bye to each other one week ago.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>We found him in the ER looking awful. I will not go into long detail, but eventually he was sent to ICU, where he is in isolation with terrible colitis, in a lot of pain, finally getting <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN>. Not, however pain <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN>, because his blood pressure was so low. When I left he was getting a <SPAN class=correction id="">pic</SPAN> line put in, so they could deliver meds and draw blood easier.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I don't think he is going to die at this point, but it is becoming clearer that he may never fully recover, especially since the <SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN> Diff returned so quickly and virulently in such a short time. He is determined to fight it, completely plans to rehab and come home, but one of the doctors we talked to today said this was very unlikely, and we had to begin to face reality and start thinking about long term care. Of course, she does not know how stubborn he is-stubborn to the extreme all his life-but who knows where reality will lie?</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am feeling triple <SPAN class=correction id="">whammied</SPAN>, and more. After spending the winter and spring inside, healing from surgery, I was barely able to make it to Meg's wedding, a joyous event, but physically difficult for me. I was home two full days before I had to drop everything and fly to Denver for Mother's death, and now Allison is critically ill.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am still flying home Saturday, unless Allison suddenly takes a turn for the worse. This is unlikely, but it is possible that he will never return to this beautiful apartment in the retirement community that they moved into last October, and that just breaks my heart.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am beginning to wonder when thing will finally start getting better. Not just for Allison and my brother Luke who lives out her, but for me as well. No, of course I am not giving up. I'll go home and back into my own rehab (I have now been in physical therapy for the better part of six years!) and occasional walks with Meg and <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN>, and whatever else I can scrape up to keep moving forward. I will probably have left shoulder surgery in the late fall or winter, then figure out what to do to keep me busy for the rest of my retirement. </FONT></STRONG><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>And I will stay away from hospitals as much as possible!</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Today has been another hard one, but tomorrow I will get up and go over to the hospital (I have the early shift) and put a smile on my face while I gird my loins to be an active advocate for my father, because I believe everyone should have one full time when they are hospitalized. Friday I will do the same, and Saturday I will fly home to collapse for a while.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I truly, truly hope that you all are having good summers, and that sometime in the not too distant future I can catch up with you all.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></STRONG></DIV><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/C-Diff" target=_blank rel=tag><SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN>-Diff</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Dad%27s+Second+Bout" target=_blank rel=tag>Dad's Second Bout</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/My+Own+Exhaustion" target=_blank rel=tag>My Own Exhaustion</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-53395115521580691102008-07-14T19:28:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.519-07:00Sad News, but a Peaceful Passing
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>My mother, Margaret Barbara Brettun Lucas Page, universally known as Peggy, died Sunday, July 13th, at 7:30 AM. It was a good death and my sister Catherine and I were there with her, laying our hands on her to commend her Spirit to the next world as she quietly took her last breath.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>She was a strong and lucky woman. She decided Tuesday morning that she did not want a feeding tube or a machine breathing for her, and all around her could see that she was lucid, understanding exactly whet the consequences of her decision would be, and ready to move from this life to the next. Hospice was called, and all their paperwork filled out, and Goddess Bless them for their help. During the next five days she was able to visit once with my Dad, who is in a rehab center, and a lot with her three children, three of her five grandchildren and her great grandchild (Meg's daughter, Myla, now two). We all got chances to visit with her alone, to say how much we loved her, to say our good-byes.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>She was actually really happy- no more blood draws or intrusive medical procedures, just family hanging out, laughing with her, listening to her stories, with plenty of morphine to take away the pain, <U>and</U> she could eat anything she wanted, including chocolate milkshakes, corn candy, and custard. She even got to have one last Bloody Mary. Though she only took a few sips of it, she was pleased as Punch. Each day she ate less and less, still feeling joyfully rebellious because she had been a diabetic for so long.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>By Sunday she was completely ready to have her life end. She was slowly lowered from 100% oxygen to about 10%, and slipped into unconsciousness. Her morphine was raised to some astronomical amount, and she began getting regular large doses of Atavan. Her breathing became labored for a while, then settled into the kind of loud snoring I have heard from her a hundred times, not labored or odd sounding at all.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>My sister Catherine and I spent the night in her room, waking in time to lay our hands on her as she quietly took one last breath, quietly breathing it out, then became still. Each of us sent her on her way silently, Catherine to a Christian heaven, and I to the arms of the Great Mother, where she can feel unconditional love for the first time. We stood together holding her hand and Shorty (her stump, she only had one arm) for a long time, crying quietly. I suggested we say the 23rd Psalm, and we did, then we called the nurse, and out brother Luke, who could not stay the night, or even in her room for more than a few minutes as she was weaned off oxygen.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Nurses and chaplains and PA's turned up in short order to confirm her death, and Luke and his wonderful wife Mary arrived 30 minutes later (I cannot imagine how many speeding violations the committed to arrive so quickly.) Luke was able to stay in the room with her cooling body about 15 minutes before he had to leave to become busy with the inevitable paperwork-his way of coping is to be as busy as possible. Catherine and I hung out with Mom for another two hours, holding her and each other, knowing that she had passed on to the Great Unknown, her next adventure. Each of us knew that when we left the room she would be much more concretely gone.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Finally we gathered together her stuff, and our own, and left the room, telling the nurses that they could clean her body up for transport. She has donated her body to the local Medical School, for dissection, her last gift to this world.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>We gathered for pizza that evening at Luke and Mary's, a real trial for me, for we are a disconnected family which has been held together by Mom, who loved each of us so dearly. I felt especially disconnected because Luke has Mary, Catherine has Bob, and I will go through the mourning period essentially alone.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>This afternoon we had a Memorial Service at Dad's Rehab Center (he had been in the hospital for a month, and will need several weeks of physical therapy before he returns home to their apartment, where I am staying). He was optimistic and pleased with working hard when I saw him on Wednesday, then he spiked a fever, and fell into depression. He has been sleeping a lot, and declined to come to the Service.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Led by a wonderful Pastor named Jordana from the hospital, the Service was wonderfully non-denominational, with time for people to share reminisces, laughter and stories about Mom. Catherine read a Psalm, then I was blessed to give a prayer I had written to the Great Mother, praying (among other things) that as we revisit and reabsorb our relationship with Mother, we may work through our pain and loss to find a thoughtful, healthy healing, as a way of honoring her life and Spirit.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Then we said The Lord's Prayer, and it was over. We had lemonade and cookies as a kind of ending reception, visited Dad very briefly, then split into go our separate ways, Luke and Mary back to Lakewood, Catherine and Bob back to Michigan, her sons back to their summer jobs in Michigan and Connecticut. I will probably return home over the weekend, knowing that leaving their apartment will be one more step in letting go. We all know that the glue that held the family together is gone.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Family relations have been extremely difficult, each of us returning to our childish selves, even as we struggled to be polite and fair and sustain the illusion of family unity, but that is for another post, and will take me a long time to work through.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Thank you all for your prayers and thoughts. They mean a great deal to me, making me feel less alone in my life.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Many Blessings, Margo</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/><BR/><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Mother%27s+Good+and+Peaceful+Death" target=_blank rel=tag>Mother's Good and Peaceful Death</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/her+Last+Breath" target=_blank rel=tag>her Last Breath</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Praying+her+Spirit+on+Its+Way" target=_blank rel=tag>Praying her Spirit on Its Way</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-61903767642128637542008-07-08T12:12:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.520-07:00Good News, Sad News
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">waisted</SPAN>, 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! </FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4><SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN> 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.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Adam looked handsome-and slightly awkward-in his tux, until Meg appeared, walking down the "aisle of trees" with her father and <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN>, then he looked dazed and proud. He had absolutely never seen her looking so "girly" before and was dazzled.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>There were 10 guests (counting <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN>) 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.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN> 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.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Poconos</SPAN>.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">60th</SPAN> 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. </FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">incommucado</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">J</SPAN>-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.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><U><FONT color=#0000ff></FONT></U><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Meg%27s+Wedding" target=_blank rel=tag>Meg's Wedding</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Mom%27s+Impending+Death" target=_blank rel=tag>Mom's Impending Death</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Family+Gathering+in+Denver" target=_blank rel=tag>Family Gathering in Denver</A></FONT></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-58605752593497178552008-06-21T17:06:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.520-07:00Still Here, Despite It All
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Yes, I am still alive. I have made it through a winter of suffering, both physically and emotionally. I simply have not had the energy to read many journals or write at all. Now that Summer Solstice is here, I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I just hope it's not another freight train hurtling down the track at me.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>The surgical wound from my second surgery this winter/spring has almost-almost, mind you- healed up. I'm down to one small spot that can be covered by folded gauze and one piece of tape, I have been driving locally for three weeks, and the Visiting Nurses discharged me this last Monday. I was house bound from February till early June, and now I am moving into a summer of physical rehab.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>It is difficult to believe that I have been in <SPAN class=correction id="">p.t.</SPAN> almost continually for five years now. I am more than a bit surprised at my own tenacity. I have been admired by those who know the whole medical saga-like my former therapist Cathy and some of you- for my courage, and I'll claim every bit of that courage. But, honestly, what else can I do but keep on staggering forwards into life as it is given to me? </FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Giving up turns out not to be an option. At one point I was at Yale New haven hospital, late at night, bleeding very heavily from two place in my side-something my doctor's residents did not seem to believe. The nurses were horrified, and kept taking the doctor's light bandages off to replace them with compression bandages, which I was bleeding through at a slower rate. The floor was crazy; that night one patient died, four were in critical condition, I was bleeding out, and the floor was short staffed (as usual).</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I finally realized that I was going to have to be a squeaky wheel to survive the night, demanding more compression bandages every 2 hours. I actually considered going to sleep and just see if I would wake up in the morning, but <SPAN class=correction id="">nooo</SPAN>, my mind wouldn't let me sleep, so I kept ringing and getting blood transfusions (two that night, two more the next day, then a couple more the day after). That was when I realized that apparently I was damned to live through anything. And somewhat determined, too</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Before summer really hits, I am going to Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada for Meg and Adam's wedding, which is on June <SPAN class=correction id="">30th</SPAN>. I am flying up this Thursday, spending three nights at a local college( for $45 per night!), then moving to the <SPAN class=correction id="">Oceanstone</SPAN> Inn and Resort, where they will get married, for three days (at very expensive a night), then going back to the college for three more nights. I'll fly home July 5th. If I don't end up flying from there to Denver-more about that later.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I figure this will be my last time in the Canadian Maritimes, and I better grab what vacation I can. I am not very strong-I've spent the last three months in my chair, working hard on healing, but I still aim to stagger around Halifax with my walker, trying hard to take in as much as I can.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>The Wedding itself will be typically Meg, with a bit of Adam thrown in. There should be twelve of us, counting the bride and groom and <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN> (who just turned two, and is wonderful!). They plan to wed outside in the afternoon by the ocean, with all of us in a semicircle around them, then disappear with the extremely expensive photographer, for pictures by lighthouses and other picturesque sites around Peggy's Cove, while we go out in a small boat for a tour.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face"><FONT size=4>We will return for a fancy dinner in the apparently incredible restaurant, and there will be no wedding cake-they have chosen raspberry flan for dessert. Then we will retire down to the fire pit for a bit more time together, but must be quiet by 10:30P.M. as it is a family resort. I am sure I'll be <SPAN class=correction id="">dead of</SPAN> exhaustion by then, but, damn it, I only have one child and do not want to miss any of the day! </FONT></FONT></STRONG><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Oh, and did I mention the bride will be six months pregnant with another couple's baby? She is in the middle of a gestational surrogacy, and is not letting that slow her down!</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>The sad thing is that the wedding party may be cut by two. My brother Luke and his wife Mary are in the <SPAN class=correction id="">Poconos</SPAN> (of PA) to open our cabin there for renters, and were planning to drive to Canada for the wedding. Meg and I were both excited to spend some time with them, but now it looks as if them may drive straight back to Denver from PA, because my parents are failing fast. Right now, both of them are hospitalized.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Mom had back surgery in February and has been bouncing back and forth between hospital and rehab since then. She finally went home late last week, and Allison (my dad) was hospitalized two days later. She lasted 5 days at home without him-quite happily-then had to return to the hospital because her magnesium was too low. It bounces between too low and two high and lands her back there each time. Allison has a stomach problem and emphysema, which is worsening.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Poor Luke and Mary are the family in Denver, and used to being on the spot and in the know. It is driving Luke crazy not to be there, and he suddenly had an "ah ha!" moment about how Catherine and I feel stuck in Michigan and CT respectively. They have not yet decided on what to do-head back to Denver or on to Canada, but my suspicion is the will head home soon.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>I am not taking a computer to Canada, so I will be <SPAN class=correction id="">incommunicado</SPAN> for a while, but I miss reading all of your journals regularly, and knowing what is <SPAN class='correctionid=""'>going</SPAN> on in all of your lives. I drop in now and then, though, and think of you all often.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></STRONG></DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><STRONG><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Survival" target=_blank rel=tag>Survival</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Healing" target=_blank rel=tag>Healing</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Meg%27s+Wedding" target=_blank rel=tag>Meg's Wedding</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Maritime+Vacation" target=_blank rel=tag>Maritime Vacation</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Parents+Failing" target=_blank rel=tag>Parents Failing</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-19857144469024196342008-04-13T16:42:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.521-07:00Complications Where You Come From, Complications Where You're Bound<FONT face=Arial size=2> </FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4> </FONT>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings, Margo</FONT></DIV>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/More+Complications" target=_blank rel=tag>More Complications</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/More+Surgery" target=_blank rel=tag>More Surgery</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Wound+Vac" target=_blank rel=tag>Wound Vac</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Stuck+at+Home" target=_blank rel=tag>Stuck at Home</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-82572175378580890672008-03-26T06:30:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.521-07:00Complications, Complicatios All Around
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">28th</SPAN>.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>(Now if you are really squeamish about blood and gore, either skip or skim the rest of this.)</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Roxy</SPAN> as they wheeled me away.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN>. Bless her, her name was Melissa, and I am deeply grateful to her.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">returned</SPAN> 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 </FONT><FONT size=4>the mouth that had been assuring me (lying to me) about "variations of normal" for 15 hours!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Littleton</SPAN>, CO, due to "confusion caused by her <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN>" 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Q</SPAN>-tip <SPAN class=correction id="">thingy</SPAN> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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. (<SPAN class=correction id="">Duh</SPAN>, I could have told him that.)</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <FONT style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffff00">to</FONT> 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!)</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">J</SPAN>-Land again. I'll be around a bit more, and am looking forward to reading journals again.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Post+Surgical+complications" target=_blank rel=tag>Post Surgical complications</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/bood+and+gore" target=_blank rel=tag><SPAN class=correction id="">blood</SPAN> and gore</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/misery+and+recovery" target=_blank rel=tag>misery and recovery</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-25699726903777611932008-03-02T18:16:00.000-08:002008-10-26T05:31:54.522-07:00Post Surgery, Briefly
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">C</SPAN>-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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings to all,</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4><SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT> </DIV><BR/><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Abdominoplasty" target=_blank rel=tag><SPAN class=correction id="">Abdominoplasty</SPAN></A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/post+surgery" target=_blank rel=tag>post surgery</A>,</DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-16381607297028851082008-02-27T12:26:00.000-08:002008-10-26T05:31:54.523-07:00Bring out the Blankets of Love
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>This afternoon I FINALLY heard from Yale-New Have Hospital, about the time to arrive for my <SPAN class=correction id="">abdominoplasty</SPAN>. 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 -<SPAN class=correction id="">euww</SPAN>-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 <SPAN class=correction id="">pics</SPAN> of me in bra and panties!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>And I get to see <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN> again, too, O Happy Day!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings to all of you, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Surgery+time" target=_blank rel=tag>Surgery time</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Sky-Blue+Blanket+of+Love" target=_blank rel=tag>Sky-Blue Blanket of Love</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-11354102169425525082008-02-23T11:38:00.000-08:002008-10-26T05:31:54.523-07:00Banishinhg Anxieties
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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</FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>. All I know is that I could wring her neck, as we are in the middle of a typical storm.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. Finally, 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?</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Now that I have written this down, perhaps I can work onchanging my thinking. After all, I do know the only thing I have control over is myself, what I choose to do and think. </FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.) </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>So <SPAN class=correction id="">yesterday</SPAN>, I let it all go, using one of Peggy <SPAN class=correction id="">Huddleston's</SPAN> suggestions (She is the <SPAN class=correction id="">developer</SPAN> of the <U>Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better</U> that I am using.) Her <SPAN class=correction id="">suggestion</SPAN> 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. I go to a hammock by the <SPAN class=correction id="">Tobyhanna</SPAN> River in the <SPAN class=correction id="">Poconos</SPAN>. 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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Winter+Storm" target=_blank rel=tag>Winter Storm</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Anxieties" target=_blank rel=tag>Anxieties</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Peggy+Huddleston%27s+tools" target=_blank rel=tag>Peggy Huddleston's tools</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-8211997548674559652008-02-13T00:39:00.000-08:002008-10-26T05:31:54.524-07:00Asking for Help<FONT size=4>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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." </FONT><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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!"</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>And, of course, there is the surgery itself. I have chosen-and fought the system-to have an <SPAN class=correction id="">abdominoplasty</SPAN>. 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Babar</SPAN> series-I am wrinkled from my breasts to below my knees! </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">abdominoplasty</SPAN>. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>(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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Now you would think after all the surgery I've had-one <SPAN class=correction id="">biggy</SPAN> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>So this time I am using Peggy <SPAN class=correction id="">Huddleston's</SPAN> "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)</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/></FONT>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Asking+for+Help" target=_blank rel=tag>Asking for Help</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Peggy+Huddleston%27s%22Prepare+for+Surgery+and+Heal+better" target=_blank rel=tag>Peggy Huddleston's "Prepare for Surgery and Heal Better</A>"</DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-44313962471909681592008-01-28T14:50:00.000-08:002008-10-26T05:31:54.524-07:00Still Here and Living my Life!
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>"Where the Hell are you?" asks my friend Anne.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Hecate</SPAN> in the depths of the earth. I have simply kept getting up each day and continued moving, sad or not.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>And, after some struggle, I decided to have an <SPAN class=correction id="">abdomialplasty</SPAN> yet another major surgery. The idea of yet another operation does not thrill me-I have had four <SPAN class=correction id="">biggies</SPAN> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>How on earth did I get there? <SPAN class=correction id="">Ahh</SPAN>-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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4>Blessings to all, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face="Baskerville Old Face" size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Thoughts+on+Road+Trip" target=_blank rel=tag>Thoughts on Road Trip</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/This+Is+my+Life" target=_blank rel=tag>This Is my Life</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/New+Surgery" target=_blank rel=tag>New Surgery</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Parents+Situalion" target=_blank rel=tag>Parental <SPAN class=correction id="">Situalion</SPAN></A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-78790224251557979012007-11-09T11:46:00.000-08:002008-10-26T05:31:54.525-07:00Strange Eulogy for Aunt Louise
<DIV><FONT size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>But I now have a 2004 <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">pearlized</SPAN></SPAN> 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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 -<SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Priscilla</SPAN></SPAN> who lived there on a good deal of money. They wrote letters back and forth, and visited once a year.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Poconos</SPAN></SPAN> with surgery, <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">chemo</SPAN></SPAN> and radiation) never acknowledged mom's illness, just went on endlessly about her own health.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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</FONT><FONT size=4> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Gray</SPAN>.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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, sotto 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Good bye, Aunt Louise, I will miss the forbidden thimbleful of sherry at tea with you.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/New+Hobda+Accord" target=_blank rel=tag>New <SPAN class=correction id="">Honda</SPAN> Accord</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Good+Bye" target=_blank rel=tag>Good Bye</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Aunt+Louise" target=_blank rel=tag>Aunt Louise</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-62054166377648052422007-10-26T20:02:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.525-07:00Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jog
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">narrowboat</SPAN> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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! </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">24th</SPAN> day, on Rte 115 near <SPAN class=correction id="">Brodheadsville</SPAN>, PA, when I smashed into someone who had stopped while I glanced off into the woods, and totaled my car. Yeah, Bummer.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">baaaad</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN>, on my part) I arrived safely and have since recovered.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>I believe I left off recounting my trip 'way back in early October when I was visiting <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi's</SPAN> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>I will write more about the rest of the trip, my time with them, in Charlottesville with Mr. Jefferson, with <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas</SPAN> 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(<SPAN class=correction id="">dess</SPAN>) 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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.)</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Many Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/><BR/><BR/>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Magical+Road+Trip+End" target=_blank rel=tag>Magical Road Trip End</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Smashing+Ending" target=_blank rel=tag>Smashing Ending</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Judi%27s+Mural" target=_blank rel=tag>Judi's Mural</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Promises+of+More+Stories" target=_blank rel=tag>Promises of More Stories</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-13108713151971152422007-10-15T07:56:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.526-07:00Road Trip, Entry Four<P><FONT face=Arial>Today I am in <SPAN class=correction id="">Pittsburgh</SPAN>, PA, visiting Martha, Adam's mother. (Adam is Meg's fiance). I arrived yesterday, and, after supper tonight with my </FONT><FONT face=Arial>God(<SPAN class=correction id="">dess</SPAN>)son, Ian, I start the journey homeward. Alas.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial>I spent last week with <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas's</SPAN> family (<SPAN class=correction id="">Hestia's</SPAN> <SPAN class=correction id="">Homeschool</SPAN> for Wild Young Women)and what a week it was. <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas</SPAN>, her <SPAN class=correction id="">husband</SPAN> David, and the three girls, Mandy, <SPAN class=correction id="">Tabitha</SPAN> and Shelby, are every bit as wild as her <SPAN class=correction id="">blog</SPAN> would suggest, and perhaps even more so! I had a really wonderful time there, though I did struggle with a bit of exhaustion. <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas</SPAN> is as busy as her <SPAN class=correction id="">blog</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">busyness</SPAN>, sleeping by day and working by night! </FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial>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.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN>, Meg, Adam and <SPAN class=correction id="">Roxy</SPAN> again, but not half as glad as <SPAN class=correction id="">Roxy</SPAN> will be glad to see me!</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial>I am 600+ e-mails behind, so I expect it'll take me a bit of time to re-join the world <SPAN class=correction id="">again</SPAN>, but wanted everyone to know I am alive and well, and still <SPAN class=correction id="">traveling</SPAN> happily onwards.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial>Blessings to All-I miss what's going on in everyone's lives, and look forward to catching up!</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial>Margo</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial><SPAN id=sp-7 title=" Margot, Mar go, Marge, Argon, Argot, Argos, Imago" style="BACKGROUND: url(undefinedimages/bg_spellingErr.gif) yellow repeat-x left bottom; PADDING-BOTTOM: 2px; COLOR: #000"></SPAN></FONT> </P>
<P> </P>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Still+traveling" target=_blank rel=tag>Still traveling</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Great+Visit+with+Kas%27s+family" target=_blank rel=tag>Great Visit with Kas's family</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Another+Week+or+so+To+Go" target=_blank rel=tag>Another Week or so To Go</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-71526498077347120952007-10-05T10:02:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.526-07:00Road Trip #3; Another Library<P><FONT face=Arial>Anoth<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> Library, anoth<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> entry! I am on <SPAN class=correction id="">Rt</SPAN> 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. <SPAN class=correction id="">Last</SPAN> 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. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial>I realized this when I walked across the parking lot to the Lounge for dinn<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>. 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. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>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 be<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>, but I <SPAN class=correction id="">cheerfully</SPAN> declined. Marc is right, I am now dating my GPS system exclusively, despite h<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> no-nonsense voice and h<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> frustration at my unwillingness to stay on major highways. (See <SPAN class=correction id="">MakeMarc's</SPAN> comment to last entry).</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>I don't know why the print changed, eith<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>, 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!</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>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 earli<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> entries when I stumbled upon them. When they picked me up at the Hotel Friday night I had thesame reaction I did with Mortim<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>, within ten minutes we w<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>e talking, and really never stopped till the dropped me off Sunday afternoon.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>It's nice to be with a couple who takes care of each oth<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>, but don't seem too joined at the hip. <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi</SPAN> worried about Virginia getting enough to eat (she's a vegetarian who does not like vegetables), and Virginia worried about the Art Cent<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> taking advantage of <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi's</SPAN> willingness to be helpful, but neither in a neurotic way.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>Saturday morning we went to the Zoo-my one request-and aft<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> checking out the tigers and lions, headed right for the I<SPAN class=correction id="">nvertebrate</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">vicinity</SPAN>. It was fascinating, and I learned a lot. I had no idea <SPAN class=correction id="">invertebrates</SPAN> make up most of the creatures on earth! Though I live near Mystic Aquarium, and some of their <SPAN class=correction id="">specimens</SPAN> actually came from Mystic, I had never heard most of what they patiently explained.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>Then we went behind the scenes and hung out, meeting a couple of the scientists who are the exhibit keepers, hearing bits of zoo <SPAN class=correction id="">gossip</SPAN>..<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>..news and then, as a total highlight of the Zoo visit, it was time for <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi</SPAN> to feed the octopus. What a creature, a <SPAN class=correction id="">specimen</SPAN> in his (h<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>? I can't rememb<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>!) prime! I had watched him being fed earli<SPAN class=correction id="">er from out front</SPAN>, watched as he rose to the top of the tank, spreading his <SPAN class=correction id="">tentacles</SPAN> wide, perfect suction cups down to the very end of each arm, opening his mouth-a beak in the center of his <SPAN class=correction id="">tentacles</SPAN>-to <SPAN class=correction id="">engulf</SPAN> the shrimp offered to him. I found him to beamazing.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>Then Judi invited me up the steps to the top of the <SPAN class=correction id="">t</SPAN>ank, 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi</SPAN> 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.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>Slowly he pulled his head out of the wat<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">grayish</SPAN> to <SPAN class=correction id="">orangey</SPAN> to reddish, as he balanced on the tree limb and looked at us. I began to cry. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>Jud<SPAN class=correction id="">i</SPAN> gently let the toy down into the wat<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>, 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">crowd</SPAN> 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.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>More about my visit with them, and Charlottesville eventually, but tomorrow I get to meet <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas</SPAN> and h<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN> family and I am so excited! I will try to keep in touch.</FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4>Many Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></P>
<P><FONT face=Arial size=4></FONT> </P>
<DIV id=tagsLocation class="tags"><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Road+Trip+%233" target=_blank rel=tag>Road Trip #3</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Trucker%27s+Motel" target=_blank rel=tag>Truck<SPAN class=correction id="">er</SPAN>'s Motel</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Judi+and+Virginia+and+the+Octopus" target=_blank rel=tag>Jud<SPAN class=correction id="">i</SPAN> and Virginia and the Octopus</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-69381328247030690122007-10-04T09:53:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.527-07:00Road Trip, Still Alive and Having Fun<P>I am alive and well and still <SPAN class=correction id="">traveling</SPAN>, now in West Virginia, on my way to <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas's</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Internet</SPAN> cafe! I am now in the library of White <SPAN class=correction id="">Sulfur</SPAN> Springs, WV, taking time off the road to let you all know I'm doing fine.</P>
<P>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.</P>
<P>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">great</SPAN>. 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.</P>
<P>Then I went on to the Washington area to meet Judith <SPAN class=correction id="">Heartsong</SPAN>, 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">vegetarian</SPAN> restaurant, went to the Zoo and Great Fall State Park (the water was very low) on Saturday, then to the Official Opening of <SPAN class=correction id="">VisArts</SPAN>, the art center <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi</SPAN> has volunteered and worked for, and where she and her present boss will have an office. Then we wandered <SPAN class=correction id="">around</SPAN> the area for a while, ate lunch/dinner and they dropped me off at my hotel.</P>
<P>That is a brief <SPAN class=correction id="">outline</SPAN> 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.</P>
<P>On Monday, Oct 1, I drove down Skyline Drive to Charlottesville. I promise to write more <SPAN class=correction id="">about</SPAN> that experience, too, eventually, and my visits to <SPAN class=correction id="">Monticello</SPAN>, <SPAN class=correction id="">Mitchie</SPAN> Tavern, <SPAN class=correction id="">Ashlawn</SPAN> and the University of VA, which Jefferson founded, and from which my father graduated from Law School not long after I was born (1949).</P>
<P>Today, Thursday, I am making a slow journey <SPAN class=correction id="">towards</SPAN> 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. </P>
<P>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, <SPAN class=correction id="">wherever</SPAN> 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! </P>
<P>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!</P>
<P>Will write again eventually.</P>
<P>Many Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></P>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Road+Trip+Entry+%232" target=_blank rel=tag>Road Trip Entry #2</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Atlantic+City" target=_blank rel=tag>Atlantic City</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/DC" target=_blank rel=tag>DC</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Charlottesviolle" target=_blank rel=tag>Charlottesviolle</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/VA" target=_blank rel=tag>VA</A>, T<A href="http://technorati.com/tag/and+thoughts+on+the+Road" target=_blank rel=tag>houghts on the Road</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-89695600272890646642007-09-27T09:29:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.527-07:00Road Trip, Part One<font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><font size="4">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!<br/>
<br/>
I am trying to pick out one piece of joy for each day. Monday it was
crossing the <span class="correction" id="">Tappen</span> 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.<br/>
<br/>
Yesterday, Wednesday's joy was meeting <span class="correction" id="">Mort</span>. 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 <span class="correction" id="">Forest</span> 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 <span class="correction" id="">9 AM</span> that
morning, slept a few hours, then took me back there 12 hour later, on
his night off because I asked. A nice guy.<br/>
<br/>
Today, eventually, we will get together, and he'll show me more!
Tomorrow I head for the DC area to meet up with <span class="correction" id="">Judi</span> and Virginia. Am
really looking forward to it.<br/>
<br/>
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. <br/>
<br/>
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 <span class="correction" id="">fine</span>
for him, but frustrating for me!<br/>
<br/>
Blessings to all, Margo</font></font><div class="tags" id="tagsLocation"><br/>Tags: <a rel="tag" target="_blank" href="http://technorati.com/tag/Atlantic+City">Atlantic City</a>, <a rel="tag" target="_blank" href="http://technorati.com/tag/Mortimer">Mortimer</a>, <a rel="tag" target="_blank" href="http://technorati.com/tag/Road+Prip">Road <span class="correction" id="">Trip</span></a></div>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-68935927023610786312007-09-23T15:47:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.528-07:00Nearing Departure!<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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? </FONT><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Then I was ready for a nap! </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>By 12:30 I was struggling to stay focused, and still needed that nap.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Then I folded the rest of my clothes, glued a pair of shoes back together, organized my <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">meds</SPAN></SPAN>, chose what little jewelry I am taking, took my morning vitamins(running a bit late on that, I fear), organized my maps and <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">triptik</SPAN></SPAN> (I am a belt and suspenders type), <SPAN class=correction id="">called</SPAN> Meg, who was napping-lucky girl!- packed up some food and odds and ends, then -finally- allowed myself a pain pill and a nap.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Twenty minutes later Meg, Adam and <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN></SPAN> were at my door, to say goodbye. I staggered up and sat on the porch with them until <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN></SPAN> got fussy, and I had to let them go. I had a momentary pang. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>What on earth am I doing, I asked myself, taking off on a trip Peggy and Meg think is crazy, and leaving <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Myla</SPAN></SPAN> behind? I took adeep breath, and thought, <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">t'hell</SPAN></SPAN> with them them! I'm taking a Road Trip they'd never make, and I'm more than ready to do it. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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 I'll be off into the realm of possibilities!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id=""><SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></SPAN></FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Road+Trip%3A+Nearing+Departure." target=_blank rel=tag>Road Trip: Nearing Departure.</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-1173872601680049152007-09-17T07:43:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.528-07:00Bad News? Good News? Confusion!<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>Friday, I had an appointment with my <SPAN class=correction id="">Orthopedist</SPAN>, 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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>On the other hand, in July Worker's Comp made me go for an <SPAN class=correction id="">IME</SPAN> (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. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>I have been there three or four times for other <SPAN class=correction id="">IME's</SPAN> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">hissyfit</SPAN> to set them straight on the which arm was in question now. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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, andshould be considered a consequence ofthe <SPAN class=correction id="">original</SPAN> fall!</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>Both my surgeon and I were blown away-this sort of thing practically never happens, according to my doc. The new surgery will be <SPAN class=correction id="">laproscopic</SPAN>, 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.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>This all feels like good news, bad news, or perhaps bad news, good news, but I won't have the surgery <SPAN class=correction id="">till</SPAN> 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.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>A couple more comments on my trip. For my birthday, Meg, the <SPAN class=correction id="">EMT</SPAN>, 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.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>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!</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>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 <SPAN class=correction id="">groomer</SPAN> and start my day!</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></DIV>
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<DIV class=tags id=tagsLocation><BR/>Tags: <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Honest+Worker%27s+Comp+Doctor" target=_blank rel=tag>Honest Worker's Comp Doctor</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/More+Shoulder+surgery" target=_blank rel=tag>More Shoulder Surgery</A>, <A href="http://technorati.com/tag/Road+Trip+notes" target=_blank rel=tag>Road Trip Notes</A></DIV>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173945383482633147.post-66728957711540271602007-09-10T18:37:00.000-07:002008-10-26T05:31:54.529-07:00A Questionable Trip?
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<DIV><STRONG><FONT size=4>A brief entry to respond to several questions I got from my last entry, and from friends here, about my Road Trip.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
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<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>How far am I going?</STRONG> Well, almost 2000 miles</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Won't I feel lonely driving so far alone?</STRONG> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Is your car okay to drive that far?</STRONG> 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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Are the people you are visiting safe?</STRONG> 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!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Who are you going to see? </STRONG><SPAN class=correction id="">Mort</SPAN>, <SPAN class=correction id="">Judi</SPAN> and Virginia, <SPAN class=correction id="">Kas</SPAN> and her family, who are supposedly already referring to me as "Aunt <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN>," Martha, Meg's fiance's mother, Ian, my God(<SPAN class=correction id="">dess</SPAN>) son, and Becky(I hope). </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Will you stay with all of them? </STRONG>I'll stay at motels some of the time, and with people others. It depends on their housing situations.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Are you going to spend any time on your own?</STRONG> Yes, I am going to Charlottesville, Virginia for three days. I was born there when my father was in law school at <SPAN class=correction id="">UVA</SPAN>, and I have always wanted to really see <SPAN class=correction id="">Monticello</SPAN> (Thomas Jefferson's home). So I'm going to have my own private mini vacation inside the Road Trip!</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>What are you going to do about pain when driving and walking any distance?</STRONG> 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.)</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>When are you leaving?</STRONG> 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 <SPAN class=correction id="">Roxy</SPAN>.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Aren't you scared to go on such a long trip? </STRONG>No.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4><STRONG>Not even a little anxious? </STRONG>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.</FONT></DIV>
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<DIV><STRONG><FONT size=4>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.</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
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<DIV><STRONG><FONT size=4>Tomorrow is my <SPAN class=correction id="">58th</SPAN> 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!</FONT></STRONG></DIV>
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<DIV><STRONG><FONT size=4>Blessings, <SPAN class=correction id="">Margo</SPAN></FONT></STRONG> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=4></FONT> </DIV><BR/>Magogo's Musings, toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09282188854825790599noreply@blogger.com11