Fall Harvest Moon
A very new and odd one. Saw a motorcycle headed up 285 two days ago. Attached to the jump seat was a mountain bike. It stuck out well over the motorcycle’s rear tire, its own front tire removed and strapped to the side. Sort of made sense, but looked strange.
Fall Harvest Moon
Reminded yet again of the evanescence of our human life span. As I’ve driven 285 down the hill into Englewood and back up again, some days two and three times in the last week (today is a week from Kate’s trip to the E.R.), I’ve become aware of the mountains in a new way. Always I pay attention to them, rocky outcroppings of gneiss and marble, sandstone, carved by small, powerful streams and covered with lodgepole pine, ponderosa, aspen, shrubby oak. The exposed layering, sometimes all aslant, sometimes straight up and down, and in at least one very beautiful, curious instance, curved like wooden planks bent for canoe hulls, lies open like a literal book of the ages.
The new part of my experience is this, motion and upheaval. Mountains are stolid, perhaps they define stolid in a way most earthly features do not. They stay there, the same each day, Black Mountain’s peak still in the same place as it has been since we moved here four years ago. But there is that spot, just before Hwy 470, where 285 slices between the hogbacks*, then the mountains are gone, receding in the mirror as I drive on east at the very end of the Midwest, the last hurrah of the great plains.
It is there, right there. Between 80 and 85 million years ago the Laramide orogeny found tectonic plates crushing against each other in that slowest of slow dances, continental formation and reformation. The result here at the hogbacks and all along the long collection of peaks and valleys we know as the Rocky Mountains shoved formerly settled layers of the earth’s crust into the air, up from the subsurface. The power and violence of the orogeny ripples past me, past all of us on 285, especially at the cut just before it dips under 470.
Apparently immobile now, the hogbacks steeply upthrust layers show the direction of its unearthing, no longer laid down below an ancient ocean’s floor, but blinking slowly like a lithic lizard gazing at the unexpected sun. I have no trouble seeing it slowly emerge, pushed up, up, up as forces way beyond human imagining tore it out of its dark home. 80 million years ago.
And here we are, tiny creatures in small metal containers passing back and forth through it, living our 70 or 80 or 90 years, then disappearing from existence. Let’s say 80 years for ease of calculation. At 80 million years ago that’s 1,000,000 human lifetimes. I would have to live and die 1,000,000 times to know the earth like those hogbacks.
Four years ago I wrote about the consolation of Deer Creek Canyon during my episode of prostate cancer. It was a similar feeling and I’m calling this the Laramide Consolation. Our days are precious, our lives unique, our presence in the universe irreplaceable. Just like the hogbacks. We, all features of cosmic evolution, wink in and out of existence, even the Laramide Orogeny being a mayfly moment compared to the creation of our planet and its creation a blink compared to the creation of the solar system and so on back in infinite regress until that thunderous blaze of first light.
The consolation here, at least for me, is to know that our life and death expresses what the Hindus call Shiva, the ongoing destructive and creative forces that underlie all. Death is not, in other words, a cruel punctuation, but a delicate force that refreshes and renews. Our consciousness of it, of course, colors our experience but in no way changes its necessity and its pervasiveness. There will never, never be anything like true immortality, nor, if we are sane creatures, should we reach for it.
*In geology and geomorphology, a hogback or hog’s back is a long, narrow ridge or a series of hills with a narrow crest and steep slopes of nearly equal inclination on both flanks.
Fall Harvest Moon
Clouds have begun to creep down Black Mountain while sunlight bathes its slopes facing us, lighting up the golden patches of aspen. Another of Black Mountain’s infinite looks. She’s a lady who dresses for the season and often appears mysterious, as she does right now.
Kate had an abdominal x-ray, an ultrasound of her arm, and began to receive nutrition through a mid-line. I’m glad because she’s had no food, except one clear liquid meal, since last Thursday. Her hemoglobin was up yesterday though some bleeding was ongoing. Contradictory (at least to me), so not sure what to make of it.
Learned yesterday that she’ll not be coming straight home from the hospital but will go to a subacute (whatever that means) rehab center, probably one in Littleton. Again, not sure why, though I imagine it’s because she’s been in bed so long and will need some physical therapy.
I’m cautiously optimistic though so far it seems to be forward and backward with her. We’re still not sure why she bled or from where. The nausea, which has been a cruel insult given her past six months or so, seems to be from her bowels not functioning.
The surgeon ordered a sort of lidocaine bath for the surgery site, surrounding the bowels in this non-opiod pain reliever. She’d been getting dilaudid, but any opium derived pain reliever tends to impede bowel function. Complicated and tricky caring for her.
And, yes, I’m pretty weary. Annie, sister-in-law, will be here tomorrow. She will be able to manage the dogs so I’m not feeling I should be home when I’m at the hospital and at the hospital when I’m home. I have been eating well, sleeping as much as I can, trying to create a regular routine so the dogs have a semblance of normal. But, that’s all I’ve been doing. At some point I have to pay bills, exercise, do grocery shopping. I have done some laundry.
One really big plus this time around is that we have a functioning dishwasher. When Kate went in for shoulder surgery in April, our dishwasher had just died and it took almost her entire recovery period to replace it. Having dirty dishes in the sink was a drag on the heart.
That’s the Shadow Mountain report for yesterday, October 3rd.
Fall Harvest Moon
Not sure what’s happening to Kate post-op. Her hemoglobin has dropped some. She may have bled a bit, though whether the bleeding represents old blood or new seems in question. An important distinction.
She’s down. Makes sense. Since Friday morning she’s had 8 units of blood, had her miserable veins explored too often by needles and IV’s and now a mid-line, a CT, a colonoscopy, a nuclear imaging test for bleeding in the her bowels, an attempted embolization of the bleeding site which failed, then on Sunday, the bowel resection. Too much for anyone. Except to keep them alive. Which is, unfortunately, the situation for her.
I created a caringbridge website for her if you want more updates.
I got my first normal night’s sleep since last Wednesday. That feels good.
Jon’s car blew an engine and he’s having a rebuilt one installed. Means he has no vehicle right now, riding his bike to work. I picked him up yesterday and we went over to the hospital to see Kate. He’s worried about her. In order to get home in time for a good night’s sleep (achieved) I bought us take out at Katsu Ramen, then took him over to his house on Florence in Aurora.
Had an experience yesterday that opened my eyes a bit to the world of micro-aggressions. Due to all the driving in and out I ate up the miles to my next oil change, but couldn’t get an appointment at Stevinson Toyota, so I went to a Mobile Express here in Conifer. It’s run by a former Jefferson County Sheriff’s captain. I ponied up keys, said no to synthetic oil, and went over to the chairs along the wall.
The Captain said to a customer who asked how long he’d have to wait, “Sorry. The geriatric crowd is working today. Everybody’s over 50.” Folks laughed. He continued to make slighting comments about his own employees, all in this ageist vein. I wanted to speak up, point out that I was right there, being 71, but exhaustion and a desire not to be seen as a complainer kept my mouth shut. Those of you who know me well know I’m not one to be silenced, yet here I sat, embarrassed by my age, embarrassed that others saw me (us, really) this way. And I stayed quiet.
Fall Harvest Moon
Geez. Since Thursday evening when Kate started bleeding until now, she’s had only one tray of a clear liquid diet. Some sorbet, chicken broth, decaf coffee. It’s now Monday.
Yesterday was another tough day. She called me at 6 am saying she was being prepped for surgery. I fed and positioned the dogs, Gertie in the loft with Rigel and Kep outside, then drove in. She’d misread the situation. I stayed with her until noon or so, during which time she received her 8th unit of blood. And continued to bleed.
The waiting was to see if they could preserve the section of her colon with the bleeds. Though the embolization failed Saturday night, these bleeds do apparently stop on their own, sometimes never to restart. Hers didn’t.
Just as I walked out of her room, Kathy, her nurse, waved me back in, phone to her ear. The surgeons and the New West Physicians’ hospitalist had made a decision. A bowel resection. (From the Latin resectus, from resecare, meaning to trim, prune, cut back.) Dr. Streeter told me the surgery would start at 3:00 pm and last at least an hour and a half.
I had to get home to feed the dogs, let them all outside, lie down a bit. Did that. Back in. Up the third floor and the surgical waiting room where I’ve spent several hours over the past three days. The surgeon came out and explained to me that they had removed a section of her right colon and reattached the two ends. This is big because it means no colostomy.
However. He said, “When we do surgery on the bowel, we see it only from the outside. I don’t know if we got all the diverticuli.” WTF? Medicine is much more imprecise than we’d like to think. The nuclear imaging she had on Saturday found the bleeds in the right segment of colon, but it’s very general. That’s why, when the surgeon went in though a groin artery to emoblize the bleeding sites, he was able to find the right colon easily, but could see no bleeds. They had either stopped or they weren’t in the right place.
It’s possible, then, that the surgery didn’t cut out all the bleeding sites. Only time and Kate’s recovery will let us know. Not what I wanted to here.
BJ, Kate’s sister with the house in Idaho where we saw the eclipse last August, and her s.o., Shecky, flew in on Saturday for a long planned visit to see our house, see Kate and me. Instead they saw Kate in the hospital and took me out for sushi while Kate was in recovery after her surgery. It was really good to see them again and to have some family present.
The surgeon said Kate could be in the hospital another three to fourteen days. The bowel has to restart and her hemoglobin has to stabilize. After that, six weeks or so of recovery at home.
Three difficult, very difficult, days and more to come. I’m a little fried right now, but the CBE folks will help in any way they can. I’m not used to organizing folks to help with domestic life, something I’m going to have to figure out. Though. Since Kate’s shoulder surgery, I have picked up more and more of the household work and have routines that should make this transition less of a jolt.
Fall Harvest Moon
Quick note. Bleeding continues. Failed attempt last night to stop the bleeding with an embolization procedure. So. Surgery this morning, a bowel resection. I’m heading in right now. 6:30 a.m. Went in last night, got back about 11:00.
This is what Kate wants. She does not want a repeat of Thursday night/Friday morning with the blood loss. She’s had 5 units of blood as of last night, so they do have to stop the bleeding.
Fall Harvest Moon
So. A source of the bleed, diverticulitis. Probably multiple episodes over the years. Good news.
To come home she still has to get her hemoglobin up and may have a surgical procedure related to the diverticuli and maybe the gall bladder. Not home tonight or tomorrow night, if surgery, then longer yet. We both feel cautiously optimistic about resolving the nausea and very happy about locating the source of the bleed. We also know, thanks to the multiple scopings of her GI tract, that she has no cancer anywhere from mouth to, well, the other end.
I’m home, taking care of the dogs now. Unless she calls, I’ll go back in tomorrow. She’ll see the GI doc that did the colonoscopy and a GI surgeon. Finally, a bit of progress.
A beautiful, red flag day in the neighborhood. High temps, wind and low humidity. A perfect combination if you’re a forest fire.
Fall Harvest Moon
Yesterday was tough. Kate’s still losing blood. She spent most of the day yesterday, from about 6:30 am to 2:30, in the E.R. They’re short of beds and wanted to see which department was the best for her. No word yet on the cause of the bleeding. G.I. doc ordered a colonoscopy for this morning at 10 am. She’s not able to eat though she did have a clear liquid meal while I was there in the afternoon. Delicious, she said. And, apparently meant it.
She’s remained in reasonably good spirits since she’s in an environment that she understands with people and procedures she also understands. That relieves a lot of hospitalization’s stress. Which is not to say that she’s happy or comfortable. She’s not. She’s been in and out of procedures for the last six months, the most recent one only this last Monday. No results from it yet. Too much poking, scoping. Except. No definitive explanation for her weight loss, nausea, and now the blood loss.
We both hope that this hospitalization will put enough focus on her to finally discover what’s been making her life miserable.
Her sister B.J. and her significant other Shecky are, by happenstance, coming into town today. Schecky has family in Aurora. B.J. will probably come to the hospital today.
Since I woke up at 3 am yesterday worried about Kate, then took her into the e.r. at 6, drove home, took care of the dogs, rested but didn’t sleep, and went back in at 2:30, returning here around 7 pm, I’m exhausted. Did get a very good 9 hours of sleep last night.
This is a marathon and requires pacing and attention to self care. I’m following, for now, the internal policy of not worrying about what I can’t control and about things I don’t know. So far that’s working well. I’m able to stay focused on what needs to happen. May that continue.
Fall seems to have settled in, at least for the moment, but we’re still without precipitation. The fire danger remains high to very high. Stage 1 fire ban went back into effect yesterday.
Fall Harvest Moon
Took Kate into the E.R. this morning. Unexplained blood loss, enough to make her woozy. May have exceeded the speed limit occasionally. When she got there, a good team took care of her and her color brightened. Nobody seems especially worried. Something to deal with. She’ll be in the hospital at least one night. Getting a blood transfusion right now.
This is getting old, she said. Yeah. More than that even. My hope is that this will result in enough investigation to finally nail down what’s been causing her nausea. She’s very thin and has little stamina.
On the upside we did our mussar session on rachamim. It was a glorious blue Colorado day so we were in the sukkah. Lots of examples of compassion, a lot of tears. It was a heartfelt time together. Some us really needed it.
Kate and I had our usual Vienna beef sandwiches from the Chicago joint in downtown Evergreen. This is a Thursday after mussar dinner for us. Something she can eat; something I really like.
Back home now. Fed the dogs, will wait until I get word from Kate as to where she’ll be. When I find out more, I’ll post it here. Right now, we know very little.
Fall Harvest Moon
The waning gibbous harvest moon hangs over Black Mountain this morning. A blue, blue sky contrasted by green and gold at the mountain’s peak. Night time temperatures have fallen below 40 so there’s a distinct chill in the air. Still little precipitation, signs pointing to high fire danger, very high on one nearby.
Stack of pallets in the back beckons before the snow begins to fly. Mike, who delivered them for us, threw in one he had lying around home. As I said before, Mike built our fence, a good one. He also carried my TV up to the loft. It was heavy and bulky. Strong guy. And a good one.
Third religious school class last night. Exhausting so far. Tara made table tents with the kid’s Hebrew names on them. Each child born into a Jewish home gets a Hebrew name at birth. Kate got one when she converted, Rachel. The kids sign in with their Hebrew name, too. All this to reinforce learning Hebrew, but it also gives a distinctive Jewish feel to the class right away. Religious school provides a place where these kids, usually in schools where there are few other Jews, can feel a bond with Jewish culture and each other.
Yesterday’s class was sweet. We asked them to bring in three objects that represented who they were and three that represented who they wanted to become. There was an atlas that represented a family’s adventuresome spirit, a Ferrari model removed from its box with a surgical glove covering a potentially sweaty hand, a picture of a Nike swoosh on an expensive athletic shoe, a ballet shoe, a homemade game constructed from cardboard boxes, a video game, Battlefront. Many more. That was who they are now.
A picture of an airplane wing told of a girl’s ambition to be an adventurer, to not lead a boring life filled with taxes and bills. A first place medal in a state gymnastics competition revealed an ambition to be an Olympic gymnast. A small scale model of the Eiffel Tower suggested a desire to learn all the human languages. And, with the same girl, a collage of Hollywood signaled her career ambition, “I’m going to be a music producer.” Very emphatic.
One boy took objects from a bag and said they were in 1,2,3 order. A logo for Le Mans, the 24 endurance race said, “I want to win Le Mans.” A second object was a small model fighter plane. “I want to fly fighters in the Israeli Air Force.” The third, a book on WW II, meant, “I want to be a historian of World War II.”
I guess, on reflection, that this was a pretty successful class. Even though it felt chaotic to me. I think I expect them to act like adults. My problem. Next up. Holiday calendars.