Category Archives: Aging

Second Day at Abbott-Northwestern

Fall                                             New (Dark) Moon

Kate called.  “Hi, I called to say I’m miserable.”  In Kate talk this means something made her nauseous.  She tried to get out of bed around 8:30 this morning and nausea struck.  This sends her in a downward spiral much more quickly than pain.  The second day after surgery is the pits.  No matter the results or reasons on the second day things hurt and the immediate hurt out flashes whatever rationale the surgery had in the first place.  This will pass, but it’s no fun while it lasts.

After I feed the dogs, eat lunch and nap I’m going into see her.  She feels yucky so I think some iris are in order.

Fortunately this week is pretty light expectation wise, so I can focus on the homefront and Kate’s needs.  Right now I’m cleaning, decluttering, making things cozy for her return home.  We’ll get her healed up and functional.

Oh, I got approved by Allianz as a preferred client for long term care health insurance.   This means they predict, based on my health records, that I won’t need their money.  On that basis they’ll sell me some insurance.   Geez.

Kate’s Progress (and mine)

Fall                                       New (Dark) Moon

I went back to the hospital last night to see Kate.  She was loopy with her finger on the PCA, patient controlled anesthetic.  It adds a hit of morphine when she decides she needs it.  She has a dilemma:  the pain is intense (to be expected with work on bone) but she does not like the way the morphine makes her feel.

Current plan has her in the hospital through Wednesday with Thursday a possibility if the pain has not subsided.  Pain management and the danger of infection are the primary reasons for her stay.

When I got to the hospital around 7:20, she had just arrived her in room.   It was a long recovery.  She was happy to have the procedure finished and the healing process underway.  Around 8, when the visiting hours are over, I left a very quiet hospital.  Kate had her fingers on the TV remote.

To continue for just a moment in the vein of pathology my vertigo hangs on, not too bad, but present.  It seems to return at some level after I lie down for a bit.  What’s left now is a woozy feeling on the periphery and the sense that I might pass into nausea.  In other words the symptoms, or their ghosts, hang on though the initial insult has waned.  No fun, but it’s not back surgery either.

Kate’s Big Day

Fall                                                 New (Dark) Moon

Speaking too soon.  Vertigo returned last night, stronger than at any point during this last spell.  Damn.  An annoying experience.  This morning, so far, I feel uneasy, but ok.  Hope that continues since we have a lot going on today.

Kate’s big day.  We go in around 11:00 for her 1 p.m. procedure.  Once she’s out of her surgery and in recovery, that is, after I know for sure things have gone ok, I have to come home to feed the dogs and take a nap.  She’ll be at Abbott-Northwestern in Minneapolis for the duration, estimated at 2 days.

Groveland

Fall                                    New (Dark) Moon

As we approach Samhain, Summer’s End, on October 31st, we begin the new phase of the Dark Moon.  It finds my body healed from the bout of vertigo and relieved that the second round was milder than the first.  May it be so until it disappears.

At Groveland this morning, we had a lively and honest interchange over Groveland’s future.  I’m not sure what direction they’ll take though I have my guess.  It felt good to be in the O.D. role again.  Organizational Development is a skill I have that I use only occasionally.

The day is spectacular, sunny and warmish, a perfect mid-fall moment.

Tomorrow is Kate’s surgery.  It promises to relieve a good deal of her pain. May this, too, be so.

Not to mention that the Viking’s are working over the Ravens right now.

More Fence.

Fall                      Waning Blood Moon

Dan the fence guy came out again.  This time we’re fencing in the vegetable garden, a five foot high fence and a taut wire to run along the top of the orchard fence.  Rigel is an expensive dog.  Really expensive.  A sweetheart, yes, but a major league nuisance, too.  The electric fence, I’m proud to say, has done its job.  No more escapes since it went up.

Kate and I reupholstered the couch this afternoon, the seat cushion.  In the process I thought back over growing up and could not remember a single thing Dad ever fixed.  I’m sure he must have fixed something, but I don’t recall what it was.  Anyhow, fixing stuff ratchets up my annoyed level to unpleasant proportions because I always struggle.  The outcome does not match the effort for me.  Kate, when able, has a different ratio of effort to outcome and has a much better time.

A good run with no trips into the city.  That makes getting things done here much easier.

Kate’s in the calm before the storm, but it isn’t very calm, at least from a pain stand point.  This kind of pain, constant and intense, exacts a psychological toll as well as a physical one.  The pain requires, demands attention.  That is, after all, the point of pain.  Hey.  You.  Pay.  Attention. Now.  That attention adds a level of stress to all daily activities.  Also, at 65 any infirmity at all raises questions of mortality, of fitness for life as we’ve known it.

This is the right decision at the right time after two + years of exhausting less drastic and nominally invasive procedures.

Understanding the Anxious Mind

Fall                                     Waning Blood Moon

Finally, a city criteria list worth paying attention to:  The Daily Beast has ranked America’s Smartest Cities.  The Twin Cities come in 4th after, in order, Raleigh-Durham, San Francisco and Boston.  Denver is 5th.  Las Vegas and Fresno, California bring up the rear at 54th and 55th.  It’s an interesting read.

Kate’s surgery happens on October 19th and the surgeon requires that she stop taking her nsaid.  That means she has less pain control on board so her pain level has begun to ramp up.  This is only the first day without it.  Ouch.  We’ve also begun to reconnoiter what changes we’ll have to make in the house for her recovery period.  Move a comfy chair in front of the TV in place of the couch.  Things like that.thedress625

Kate’s sewing a lot.  She’s finished a butterfly costume complete with antennas and wings as well as a purple jumper for granddaughter Ruth.  She wants to get all this stuff done before she’s post-op.

If you have an anxious bone in your body, well, better, if you have an anxiety prone amygdala, then reading this article might interest you:  The Anxious Mind.  It recounts the work of Jerome Kagan who established the genetic imprint on reactivity.  His work undergirded the notion of a fixed temperament.

As a high reactive myself, I found the notion of a genetic imprint for anxiety strangely liberating.  It made me feel that my state was not a character flaw, but part of the package.  The article makes all the nuancing you might want related to nurture, triggers and coping skills, but the clear fact remains that people like me are the way we are because we have a hypervigilant amygdala.

When I finish sermons a week ahead of time,  investigate the costs of medicare drug and health care plans now, a year or two early, and plan my tours at least a week in advance, I display a learned strategy for managing my anxiety.  That’s why I’m not good in a crisis or under a crushing deadline.  I need time to prepare, to think things through.  I bring sufficient pressure to bear on myself.  I don’t need external stimuli.

After I got done reading this article and realizing that I was on one end of the bell curve–again, I began to wonder–again–what it must be like to have a normal, stable reaction to the work, a calm feeling in the pit of your stomach instead of a roiling mess.

It also became clear to me that I had a trigger that moved my anxiety from genetic inheritance to personality dilemma.  When my mother died, I was 17 years old.  My brain had not finished maturing.  It took years for me to integrate the confusion and insecurity that her sudden death created.

Even though previous analysis has surfaced some of this before, this particular slant, a genetic proclivity, is new to me.  It helps.

Curiosity

Fall                                   New Blood Moon

“Curiosity is one of the most permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous intellect.” – Samuel Johnson

That may be, but I can tell you from experience that it can also lead one astray.  Since I was old enough to trek off to the library on my own, I’ve followed so many different paths, walked so many ancientrails.  The problem is this.  Each one leads to another one, or, somewhere in the midst of searching for material on liberalism I might find a remark about Greek ideas about justice.  That leads me in thought back to the Greeks, but instead of pursuing Plato I may wander off to the Iliad or perhaps to the  idea of the classics in general which might push me over to Ovid or, aware of the vast chasm between our Western knowledge of the Greek classics and any knowledge of the Asian equivalents I might get shunted off to, say, Confucius or Lao-Tse.  By that time I may recall a tour of Asian art I have on October 16th, feel a slight twinge and decide to  prepare for that.  And, where did all this start again?

This sort of meandering (I have seen the Meander River which gave rise to the Greek symbol so often seen in decorative arts.) does accrete knowledge.  It’s a slow process and the linkages may not become apparent for years, but I find now that associations, not obvious ones, come more easily.  Perhaps all those ancientrails had secret or frequent intersections that were not apparent the first or even the second or third times I used them.  I’m not sure, but there is a richness to thinking now that I don’t believe I had access to when I was younger.

Any of you have a similar experience?

Gettin Old

Fall                                Waxing Blood Moon

Garlic planting today.  Turnip harvest.  Gazpacho making.  Garden work appropriate to the season.

Have had a little trouble getting to it.  Just finished a call from Allianz Insurance on my application for long-term care insurance.   A pleasant young woman took down my information.  She said, “Ohhh”  every once in a while, the sort of sound made when empathizing with a small child or a fragile senior.  Empathy is a funny thing, done well as this young woman did  it soothes and calms.  Done poorly it can raise my hackles because it trespasses into the realm of independence, mine, and may cross the tense border between empathy and sympathy.

This time, unlike with the John Hancock interview, there were no rows of numbers to remember, no questions about the day, month, year, season.  This experience was superior to the John Hancock nurse, who seemed a bit distracted and hard bitten.

Later on sheepshead.

Now, to the outside.

Picking Grapes With Hilo

Fall                                       Waxing Blood Moon

As the sun went down this evening, I picked grapes.  Picking grapes reaches back in time, especially wild grapes, as these are.  It reaches back to our hunter-gatherer past, a past much longer than our post neo-lithic, agricultural and urban  world.  This vine grows here because it can.  Maybe someone planted grapes long ago here, but these small grapes, almost like miniatures, offer themselves in the eons old rhythm of plant reproduction.

To get at the clusters, all smaller than the palm of my hand, I found it easier if I first removed a covering of vines and leaves that obscured the grapes.  Do these leaves shade the grapes, keep them from desiccating too soon?  Is there some part of the grape’s maturation that requires a cooler, shadier environment?  I don’t know, but the layering of leaves, then grapes up near the main vine, where it crawled across the top of the six foot fence we have toward the road, appears intentional, at least intentional in the way that evolution works through its blind selection of more adaptive characteristics.

Hilo, our smallest whippet, accompanies me when I work outside.  She hangs around and watches me, wanders off and finds something smelly to rub on her shoulder, watches other animals go by on the road.  Her companionship also reaches back into the  paleolithic when humans and shy wolves began to keep company, fellow predators brought together by the similarity in the game they hunted and the also similar method of hunting in packs.

This time of year, the early fall, would have been good then too.  The food grows on vines and on trees, on shrubs and certain flowering plants.  Game eats the same food and becomes fat, a rich source of nutrient.  My guess is that there was a certain amount of anxiety, at least in these temperate latitudes, for the older ones in clan would know that winter comes after this time of plenty and that somehow food had to be preserved.

Kate takes the grapes and turns then into jelly and apple-grape butter.  The act of preservation, though now more sophisticated technologically, was essential back in the days prior to horticulture and agriculture.

The resonance among these fall related acts and our distant past adds a poignancy mixed with hope to them.  We have done it, we do it, others will do it in the future.  As the wheel turns.

Bio-Char and the After-Life

Lughnasa                             Waxing Blood Moon

The Woolly’s met at the old Cenacle in a new retreat center.  We’ve met there three or four times this year.

The focus was views on the afterlife.  The conversation revealed a surprisingly conservative undertone with several Woollys hedging their metaphysical bets.  Immanuel Swedenborg got a mention as did reincarnation as a proven reality.

Some, like me, took a more existential stance.  “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.”  I believe that was Carl Sagan.  The questions death raises have confounded humanity since at least the time of the Neanderthals.  There is something about a void after death, an extinctionist perspective I saw it called recently, that unsettles many people.

It is, as much as anything else, I imagine, such a stark contrast with the vitality and hereness of life.  That this magical adventure, this ancient trail might end in nothingness seems like a cheat.  But by whose perspective?

To me the wonder is this life, this one chance we have to experience whatever we can, to do what we can.  To be who we are.

On another note Mark Odegard had two words for today’s graduates:  bio-char.  New to you?  Me, too.  It’s worth a look though and here’s a website that will help you get up to speed.