TRIVIALITIES

I've never felt at quite such a loss of what to write about. The last six months have produced stories, to be sure, but not of the sort that beg to be told. Bits will come out here and there, I suppose, as I become accustomed to blogging again. It seems to me that for the most part, I just lay abed sleeping and during my waking moments I had no inclination to think deep thoughts or to ponder weighty matters. It seems a shame to have wasted all that time. 

I never saw the famed white light, but for days on end I was very aware that it was taking some effort to stay on this side of the veil. Breathe in, breathe out,.......my mouth was so dry. Mr. Bob was too ill to visit very often, but the kids took turns sitting all night by my bedside, while the other tended Mr. Bob. Chris' blog piece entitled 5:55 A.M. is such a treasure. If you missed it, please go back a few entries. If you read it, it wouldn't hurt to visit it again. It's short, it's heartfelt and sums up our experience as well as anything and Susan's entries are beautifully done, too.

The lady in this photo, wearing dark glasses, was brought  to the room across the hall last night, fresh from the hospital. She's a bright lady, retired from a career with Channel 7. Independent is her middle name; she's experiencing what is known as post polio syndrome and didn't much like it when she had to move from Independent Living to Assisted Living, mostly because it meant retraining nurses to her way of coping within her living quarters. She is completely blind, but had organized her space brilliantly.

As one goes down the hall where my room is located, it's lined with residents. Susan refers to them as "hall people" and prefers that I not be parked in that position. Some have dozed off. I saw a man yesterday with his electric razor pressed to his chin in one spot. He was enjoying a nap. I try to greet each person by name and with a smile as I go past. Most of them respond. A few don't. I was struck the other day by how in old age some of us have bodies that are twisted and not at all what they used to be.....in my case, the right knee cap faces the left leg.

Next time perhaps I'll share some of my hallucinations with you.

IMPRESSIONS

Impressions on Tuesday, February 7, 2012

5:30 am

Feet flying out from under me in the shower

My death hold on two grab bars , one behind me 1 on the side

Landing in a posed position like an amply endowed, aged artist's model, Rubenesque, breast, flank, belly exposed, genitalia obscured because I was sitting on it

Sitting in that cramped position forever awaiting paramedics-and longer while it was determined how to remove the shower doors and then the bathroom door

7 people in that tiny room trying to remove me from the shower enclosure

The delicious  rush of fresh cold air on my cold, sweaty head and shoulders when we exited the Manor in the dark morning

The profoundly deep unrelenting ache in my right shoulder

The sound of sirens and the flashing red lights in the darkness, all because of  me

Arriving at the hospital to a sea of greeting faces, one of whom announced, "I'm Ruth"

A man saying"Could you scoot over on to that table?" my answer,
"Could you pull your lower lip up over your head?"
 And only Ruth laughed.

A procession of people asking one-answer questions after I'd bothered to learn their names

The x-ray guys one of whom was named Allen, spelled the right way, the way our family does it

The nice and gentle ER woman doctor  on duty

At last after hours of unrelenting pain, Morphine for repositioning my shoulder in its socket.




11:50 p.m. February 9, 2012
Deja vu.........I awakened, stretched luxuriously, popped my shoulder out of position again and repeated the five hours I went through last Tuesday

I've been in the respite room since Tuesday, with no access to internet. 


Did you miss me? I've missed all of you.

WHEW!

LET'S JUST SAY it wasn't a whole lot of fun, this past phantasmagorical experience of mine. But you all played a large part in helping me get through it and so did our three remarkable offspring. Susan has a huge amount of past nursing experience because Justin has had so many surgeries; Chris, even with his finely tuned sense of humor, is the most serious of the group and his logic is to be listened to. Tim has been close-by and understands the lay of the land and arrived at my bedside the first day with a slender vase holding 2 gerbera flowers and a little box of truffles (which might not have been endorsed, but what a healing thought!)  All of them make me laugh........the best medicine, after all.




Susan was appropriately attired in her "Fight like a girl" shirt complete with the pink ribbon logo. In the past we've not been in the habit of being a highly demonstrative family, but kisses and hugs abounded the past few days, a highly moving experience for a mama.


We kept Mr. Bob away from the hospital and possible germs. While I was in the hospital, he was busy receiving his final chemotherapy treatments. 

Irene, who asked for my
blog address.

Evy, on the
night shift

In my two days there, I had a sort of slideshow of impressions of things that transpired. The staff changed with regularity, rarely with any one member working two days running. Lots of names to learn.

Out of the blue, a customer from long ago appeared with her dog who visits hospital patients. She used to be a guide dog trainer and one summer her son and a dog came to do storytime weekly at our bookshop. So much for "no visitors".

One night I was persuaded to don my robe and shuffle down the hall to a little balcony for a breath of fresh air. I'm swallowing a fair amount of pride to post this picture but it's not nearly as bad as this one:

I hope that lump on my backside is the drain. Doc Martin and I share the condition of hemophobia and catching sight of the drain or the tubing is more than I can tolerate. Hopefully it can be removed (help!) next Monday.

Upon arriving home yesterday, Chris captured an unflattering  shot of his sister and she was brave enough to sanction my posting it. We whisked our way through the halls and up in the elevator, seeing barely a soul........entered the apartment and the first thing I caught sight of was a bunch of tulips.........

tulips from our never-seen friend in Pennsylvania........... thank you, Val!

"We could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world."      

                                        Helen Keller

HALLOWE'EN FUN

WHILE WE'RE STRONGLY in favor of tradition, it's kind of fun for each celebration to have a personality of its own. I've not kept a record, so I can't say 1984 was the year we did such-and-such. It would be interesting if we could. 

Am I going to be reading this year on October 31? I doubt it.

Will we be going out to choose pumpkins at our favorite produce stand? No.

Will we be shopping for costumes and decorations? Probably not.

 




Will we
be getting ready to go trick or treating? Not this year.

How about carving a jack-o'-lantern? Possibly. Possibly not.

Might we be horsing around with Hallowe'en tricks? Not likely.

Will we don costumes to greet neighborhood children? No.

Instead of the above,

we'll be doing

what you see below.

Surgery is scheduled

for 7:30 a.m. on

the morning

of 

Hallowe'en.

I've birthed three babies, always in a hospital; had two cataracts removed as an out-patient and the picture above was taken when I had a digestive system malfunction a few years ago. Now it's time to go to the hospital again, for a mastectomy. Not my idea of fun, but a sure way of remembering Hallowe'en, 2011. 

On Hallowe'en the thing you must do

Is pretend that nothing can  frighten you

And if somethin' scares you and you want to run

Just let on like it's Hallowe'en fun.                                                    ~Author Unknown

ONGOING SAGA

It's dark at 5:30 a.m. Add to that a bank of fog and a reluctance to get out of a warm bed to go to the hospital for a dreaded test and you won't find  a very willing player. But Tim had agreed to come get me and Bob wanted to ride along so I had to be a good sport.


I was sent to Huntington Hospital in nearby Pasadena because their equipment for breast diseases is the most advanced in the area. After they registered me, we sat in the waiting area longer than anyone expected because the officiating nurse was detained by the fog.

Tim has a new iPhone and we played with that as we waited to proceed. It does things by voice command, sometimes giving amusing answers. It helped to pass the time. 

When my turn came, I told all the medical people that if there was ever a time to bring forth their very best bedside manner, this was it. They complied nicely. The nurses and the doctor who was to do the MRI and biopsy were attentive, informative and gentle. Because we have some male readers I'm going to spare you some of the details, saying only that the position was uncomfortable and the MRI, itself, completely different than the previous one I had. This time I was squeezed so flat (lying face down, arms extended above my head) that I was pressed above and below firmly enough that I couldn't manage a deep breath. Once in the tube and abandoned by all living beings, panic threatened, but I managed not to call out, tempting as it was.

At long, long last I could hear voices as they came back to pull me out of the tube in the manner of taking a pizza from a brick oven and then the biopsy began. I kept saying to myself, "Don't look, don't even let yourself think, halt the imagination". It was a lot like saying "Don't think of a pink elephant". Nearly impossible.


Then back into the tight tube and everyone scattered out of the room to escape the deadly radiation and left me there. Several minutes later back they came saying it was over, but the worst lay ahead. As the bed was lowered from the MRI tube the most excruciating pain caused me to say, "Stop! Stop!" My fingers were being crushed between the two pieces of equipment. Looking back on it, it's kind of interesting to think that a doctor could be made to shout, "OMG! " and other adrenalized  noises, including, "That's like shutting her fingers in a car door" and "We'll need to take x-rays". "Oh, my gosh, they're smashed".


Sure enough the pain in my hand made me totally forget any discomfort in my other regions and they did take 3 x-rays and the tears rolled silently down my face and they said I was brave and patted me a lot and gave me a drink of juice.


I think it might have crossed my mind briefly that it was good blogging material. 


There's more to come in this ordeal. I'm used to getting through something like today's experience and being able to say, "There! I did it. That's done", but in this venture it's just one thing after another after another.

"At my age, the radiation will probably do me good".
                                                                        Norman Wisdom

AARP TALK

I'M SO NON-INCLINED toward things medical that I never even watched "Dr. Kildare", a TV series back in the 60's. I'm not tempted by any of the current doctor series, although I've been known to sneak a peek at "Doc Watson". I totally understand his fear of the sight of blood.

 Even as a 3 year old, I had no aspirations to be a nurse when I grew up. I came close to convincing my last family doctor that I was a Christian Scientist, and he pretty well gave me my head about what tests I wanted to have (zero. nada, no way)

Now I'm paying for it.

That's our hospital. Yesterday I went to the medical building in front (can't be seen in this photo which was taken from the medical building in back)

I'd decided not to go into the details of yesterday's appointment and then I read the latest comments on yesterday's blog. Joanne's uttered appreciation for the medical reports came close to changing my mind and then I read that even worldly-wise Ted in Minnesota had his fingers crossed and I couldn't just leave him that way......it might interfere with his taking the daily picture of Lake George, so here I be with an update.

When I say my prayers, what I ask for is courage. And I came through the hour yesterday with the equivalent of a stiff upper lip. The growth is large......nearly the size of a tennis ball......the next step is to see if it's metastasized (I couldn't manage that one without the dictionary). I need to go to a hospital in Pasadena to have an MRI of the breast (excuse me, gentlemen, but modesty is at a minimum here). "Will I have to go into a tube?" I asked, for I think claustrophobia may be present in my latter years. "No, you'll lie on your stomach wearing something much like what Madonna wore", was the answer. I can hardly wait.

And a chest x-ray. And blood work. And surgery. And then a recommendation of how to go forward......radiation, chemotherapy or a combination of the two. And then the drum roll as I make my decision.

One thing he stressed was not to ignore it and then three months down the road changing my mind when the condition starts to get ugly.

When I had my clothes back on and buttoned, Tim was called in and it was all explained again. Even the second time around, it was more than the mind could absorb.

Once out of the medical building, we eased ourselves into the van and Tim drove us to a restaurant where we gorged ourselves on BLT pasta and key lime pie.

Should this medical saga be continued?

"My mother didn't really cook.  But she did 

make key lime pie, until the day the top of 

the evaporated milk container accidentally 

ended up in the pie and she decided cooking 

took too much concentration."  William Norwich
                                              

THE IRONY OF IT ALL

WHILE MR. BOB was in surgery, having a port (for the administration of chemotherapy) implanted in his chest,
Susan and I sat in the waiting room, doing just that..........waiting............ and in the process, discovered that the local paper of that very same day featured the Windsor ad showing us dancing away our cares.

Hardly the case, given the circumstances of the day, but amusing in a way.

“A taste for irony has kept more hearts from breaking than a sense of humor for it takes irony to appreciate the joke which is on oneself”

Jessamyn West

BACK HOME AGAIN

YESTERDAY Mr. Bob returned home by medical transport. The hospital stay was 14 days and the final hours were interminable. But at last the time and the paramedics arrived and we were on our way.

I was stunned to learn on the previous day that instead of coming home to our apartment, or even to a Respite Room, it was decided by the powers-that-be at the Manor, to put him into Skilled Nursing. In my mind, that's where people go who are on their way out. But it was explained that there he could have Physical Therapy and 24 hour care. Since he's on oxygen they can keep an eye on his count and truth to tell, I'm grateful for someone     else to do it. We can go visit 'round the clock and he's in a nice, private room and is regarded as special because as a team, we put together that Staff Directory, so all the nurses remember us and seem to be giving him extra special attention, a bonus we hadn't anticipated while compiling the book.







Susan goes home tomorrow afternoon. I couldn't have gotten through this ordeal without the help of our offspring. She/they advocated when Mr. Bob wasn't getting what we all considered proper care, although it may have been Mr. B who kept turning down the opportunity to receive sponge baths and a change of bed linen. He never wants to bother anyone. 

This morning he called from his room, suggesting going to the dining room for breakfast together. It came close to resembling an old fashioned date. He managed without oxygen, although dinner was a different matter because he was unhooked for a longer period. He really needs a small, portable tank to carry with him. Honestly, he's being treated almost like a rock star, as residents and staff members gather around to welcome him home. We're not at all used to such veneration.

“There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.”

Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

NEXT

WHAT A ROLLERCOASTER of emotions the last couple of days have been and I am not a fan of carnival rides. One minute I'm "up" and feeling positive and in no time I can find myself in a puddle of tears. The caring and support here at the Manor is a wonderful thing to experience, but at the same time it's a bit overwhelming to deal with so much interest all at once.

Mr. Bob almost seems perfectly well, except for needing oxygen. A team of five doctors has been put together and it's been determined that it's a stage 3 case with which they're dealing. The implantation of a port was scheduled for tonight, but the doses of Vitamin K he'd been given to counteract the Coumadin he takes had not quite gotten his blood to coagulate as quickly as was wanted, so the procedure was rescheduled for tomorrow morning at 7.

In the middle, the friend who volunteers
at the hospital and who was responsible
for bringing the doctor to meet me.

Having family with us has been such a gift. In fact, without their presence and support, I couldn't have functioned the past two weeks. Once Tim and Susan talked to Patient Services about the lack of sponge baths and bed changes, things changed and
without their concern, I'd not have had the presence of mind to insist on those services. I
think it's a generational thing (except that the family next door was constantly making demands with results).

We've laughed, we've wept and we've exchanged more hugs than we've shared in forever. 

What a strange and wondrous thing that a situation such as the one we're going through, brings out those precious times.

Poor precious; I've noticed more than once Mr. Bob's hospital issued socks get turned around so that the portion which makes them non-slip has worked its way around to the top of his feet. It's love that makes us adjust them so that we won't lose him to a fall. 

At noon dinnertime, when Susan and I came home for a break, so many people asked about Mr. Bob's condition that I finally shortened my answer to "He went into the hospital two weeks ago with congestive heart failure and he'll be back home tomorrow with lung cancer." Blunt, but concise. And as Edith Ann used to say, "And that's the truth".

“One's family is the most important thing in life. I look at it this way: One of these days I'll be over in a hospital somewhere with four walls around me. And the only people who'll be with me will be my family.”

Robert C. Byrd

THE NITTY-GRITTY

 SOME DIVERSIONS were more than welcome the past few days. Chris, Frances and Owen enjoyed the Star Wars concert at the Hollywood Bowl and it worked out for Susan to use the ticket originally intended for Mr. Bob.


From Alaska, Susan brought a lightsabre for Owen and some Princess Leia hair buns for Frances to wear. I love how you can see the lighted weapons in the photo Chris took that evening.

The next day Owen was moved to report his impressions of the concert in full detail. I suspect he'll remember it the rest of his life.

Before the Northern California family headed back home, we had quite a fest of picture taking. Owen's learning the craft of photography early in his life.

We've been more than a little concerned about the lack of nursing care in the hospital. What happened to the idea of a daily bath? It's no longer routine, at least at this hospital and my bone of contention is that a patient and family should be advised to ask when such attention is desired. Susan's desire to be a patient advocate was put to the test the last couple of days. She's had lots of experience over the years with her younger son's special medical needs.

All right. Here's the latest.........It seems that malignancy was detected in the tests administered last Thursday, so it's time to stiffen our upper lips so our faces don't crumple in fright and sadness. Eleven days of staying in bed has threatened to turn Mr. Bob into an invalid, so it was good to see him taking a few steps out of his room today, with the help of a technician in charge of oxygen. He'd been told, in no uncertain terms, not to get out of bed to use the bathroom. He's a man of his own mind and taking his oxygen with him, he's disobeyed the instructions with every call of Nature. Chris snapped this picture, entitling it "Bathroom Break".  We'll continue to look for these little amusing moments and bring them to the web log, all the while hoping you'll continue to give us the interested support you've expressed so far, as we embark on this next journey. You've no idea how precious your involvement is to us.........it lifts us up. Thank you for that.