Category Archives: Family

Family, Fourth Phase, Health, Politics

The Toad Prince

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Mary. Cleaning. Culling. Making breakfast, a snack basket.  Helping with Shadow. Helping me with workouts. Kind. Good to have family here. Links to the past and the future.

She expressed surprise when I told her mom wanted me to read only Tarzan comic books. “But mom was so open minded.” Not when I was seven, eight.

While we’re approaching the Summer Solstice, Melbourne is well into fall. Headed toward the Winter Solstice. Down under.

Liz, occupational therapist, came yesterday. Bubbly, easy to talk to. Both she and Carol, p.t., had to do assessments. Then submit those to United health, see how many sessions they will allow. Work with both of them starts next week.

With Mary alongside I’m walking unaided on the driveway. A little further each day. Feels good. Challenging. Small workouts start today. Legs.

I can feel the progress, slow though it may be.

 

Meanwhile the Toad Prince dreams of a Trump promenade. Talks of leaving the UFC platform on the Whitehouse lawn. Like the French did with the Eiffel Tower. What a strange man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Family, Health, Politics, Shadow Mountain

Mary. Dopy.

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Shadow has had her breakfast. Mary’s awake. Shadow Mountain coming into the morning.

Mary got a lift with a car service. Arrived around 5:30, looking fancy. She came bearing a delicious meal with prosciutto, cheese, and crackers. We ate as we discussed her trip so far. She has an open ticket, can stay as long she wants. She’s come to help in any way she can.

Carol, my physical therapist from Mt. Evans, talked me into trying a cervical collar. It will provide support, help me with the strain on my back from the head drop. Not sure about it, but the soft collar was not working.

Weather continues cool and rainy. Good sleeping last night.

I think eating regular meals has begun to help. I can walk a bit further, don’t feel as tired. Stopping the abiraterone and the prednisone helped, too. Feeling confident.

Meanwhile in Dopyland. The war. Iran. Over so fast. Not. Cease fire? Not so much. Dopy hits them. They hit back. Federal Housing Finance Director makes next logical career move to acting director of National Intelligence. More pics of Trump vanity project, the Triumphal Arch. Oh, boy.

Best headline about Trump. Ever. Goes to Brett Stephens for: President Ozymandias.

 

Family, Friends, Politics

Friends. Family. Dopy.

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Luke came up, his faithful dog Leo with him. Leo is a large dog and is 13 years old. He lowers himself to the ground in stages, doesn’t play as much. Still the sweet boy he’s always been.

Laundry day for Luke. He spent almost five hours washing, drying, and folding. His apartment’s laundry puts lint on to the clothing.

We talk, Luke and I. Of Judaism, the synagogue, his ongoing work combining Hebrew, Chemistry, and Kabbalah. Of why didn’t the community college rehire him? Of his new focus on high school chemistry positions. Of family, his and mine. Friends.

Gabe meant to come up yesterday. However. He and Levi tried to reach the summit at Hell’s Hole outside of Idaho Springs. Gabe overdid it. Was too late by the time they slowly finished their hike.

Sister Mary arrives today. All the way from down under, mate. Good on’er. Well not really. She made a trip to Minneapolis and Eau Claire first. A two hour flight from Minneapolis. Will be so good to see her.

Today I start trying to get in good enough shape to receive my second infusion, stay in the trial. I know how to work out, just not how to do it from this depleted state. 10 am.

Dopy Don must feel the quicksand rising. Iran lobs a missile at U.S. forces in Kuwait. Threatens to pull out of peace talks. Dopy’s reaction? Couldn’t care less. The negotiations are very boring. The sort of stance I look for in the leader of a country at war. Can’t be bothered.

 

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain

Profound Weariness

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Ruth in Vegas. A friend of hers got tickets to K-Pop sensation BTS. Took Ruth along. Nice. Got a text from Ruth last night, Good night from Vegas!

Shadow’s winter coat blew out a month ago. But in this peculiar May it’s 31 degrees this morning. She doesn’t stay outside long until the day heats up.

Friend Scott says he and his wife, Yin, protest every Friday afternoon in Minneapolis. He joins a group of drummers. Yin, he says, “smiles down” each passing car. Yin’s in her eighties.

Meanwhile, here on Shadow Mountain, the aftermath of my five sick weeks continues. Now my O2 sats run consistently in the low eighties without oxygen. Means I’ll need to dig out Kate’s Inogen, a portable O2 concentrator, for trips outside the house.

Picture me with my neck brace and the Inogen slung over my shoulder, nasal canula in. Such a fine sight to see. I mean, geez.

My big challenge lies in my weakened muscles. Still no joy on the p.t. or o.t. I need to get working. Diane, my cousin, says I gotta move. She’s right. Too easy to sit it out. And, too damaging.

Deep funk, which I experienced starting in week 2 of my illness, has passed. A good thing. In it I found each new symptom a prelude to my death. I didn’t care. Just let it go, let it have its way.

Mostly came from a profound weariness with being a patient, a man of disease and pills. All ends. We know that. Why not now?

Because friends. Family. Shadow. Reading. Writing. The Mountains. CBE. Because life is already short enough.

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Judaism, Shadow Mountain

Enough

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls: The Ancient Brothers. Safety. May. Spring. The beauty of the Lodgepoles. The Aspens leafing out. BJ and Pammy.

Rene Good and Alex Pretti. Say their names,

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Mac and cheese

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push. Good for another week. Still at risk.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: I pull out mac and cheese. Plate it and warm it. Perhaps a frittata instead. No? A drumstick, blueberries and strawberries. Maybe. Having a refrigerator stocked with ready to eat food. Melissa, my visiting angel.

 

Visiting Angels. A palliative care nurse. A social worker. Melissa. Maddie. Used to be Rachel. My home team. They care about me and I appreciate it.

My friends at CBE. Visiting me. Giving me rides. Ruth coming up to cook for me. Tom and Paul’s visits. I’m a lucky guy. Family coming. Mary. Mark. Joe and Seoah. Ginny and Janice, chosen family.

Alone, but not lonely.

It may be, probably is, that these relationships are my purpose now. Staying in touch. Visits. Zoom calls. Enlivening and being enlivened. Seeing and being seen.

Perhaps this has always been true. I-Thou over the I-Its of career, striving.

Yes. If I-Thou extends to the wild realms, to dogs and cats, to the wonder of the light-eaters, then I say yes. More than skill. More than income. More than knowledge. More than status or power.

The simple, everyday magic of loving and being loved. A hug. A gift of a smile, a kind glance. The warmth of another’s hand. Bedrock for all of life.

 

 

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Health

A New Normal

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Sunday gratefuls: BJ and Pammy, Ahi tuna salad. Torah study. Ginny. Luke. Steve. Jamie. Frittatas. Actinium. My sweet Shadow.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Artemis

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push. Good for another week. Still at risk.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Here’s how it goes. I get up, let Shadow out. I start to write. She comes back in and gets two dried minnows. Plays with her tire, her nyla bone, her lobster. I write until 6 am rolls around. Prozac in a pill pouch. A cup plus of dogfood. I sit, write. She eats, drinks. Outside again, then back in. Minnows.

 

Shadow and I have our routines. When I nap, she naps. At night I say the shema, turn on my oxygen concentrator, and Shadow scoots in, waits until I’m in bed, then jumps up and positions herself. A day.

Her arrival day is February 4th. When Ginny and Janice and I drove up to Granby, just beyond Winter Park. The Granby shelter had this small fluff ball. Who came home with me. The past year and a quarter have had their ups and downs. Which make our routines precious. We have both struggled to stay together.

BJ and Pammy got here around 3 pm. First time I’ve seen Pammy since her transition. She has a full female figure now. “I’m living my best life,” she said.

They’re looking at houses. May move here if they find something they like. Idaho has passed restrictive laws for transgender persons. Even so they’d prefer to stay in Driggs. A conflicted time for them.

I continue to improve. Keep forgetting the head drop. I imagine I can get up and do things like I used to. Nope. I tire quickly. Upstairs to the fridge requires a sit down.

Not my preferred way of living but as a friend of mine’s sister said: This is my new normal.

 

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain

Seeing Past Illness

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Shadow. Paul, Sarah, Kate. Snow. Cool nights. Dr. Josy. Melissa. Sleep. Food. This nation. Our lives in it.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Fruit

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: As sleep has improved, as my diet has gotten more varied, I can feel definite progress. My body feels better. Yet this journey has taken a lot out of me and full recovery will, I imagine, take months. Rehab, movement. More of each. Staying with sleep and diet.

 

I’ve been house bound for a while. Medical appointments the only exception. I can see how being a shut-in (not quite me, yet for the last few weeks…) might cripple a life. Unless friends and family visit, there’s no frisson, no healthy friction between my life and the lives of others.

Why get dressed? Shower? Follow a routine of rising and sitting down, sitting down and rising. Bed to chair to fridge to chair. Of course I have my zoom calls, friends and grandkids visiting. Melissa twice a week. I’m not all the way down that rabbit hole, but its existence looms closer now.

I pride myself on resilience. Take the hits. Timex. Keep on ticking. When my body kept signaling distress, when sleep seemed faraway, I found myself shrinking, diminished to a janky physical platform and an I can’t see beyond this mess version of my self.

With sleep and good food, as my body has quieted, I’ve begun to see past my illness induced narcissism. I can be grateful, very grateful, for the kindness and love I’ve experienced. Tara and Eleanor. Ginny, Janice, Annie, Luna. Melissa. Ruth. An old man, especially when ill, needs folks who see where he is. Ruth comes at least once a month, cooks for me, tells me, “You’re not old, you’re wise.” Bless her pea-pickin’ heart.

Time for breakfast. Melissa made frittatas.

Family, Fourth Phase, Health

Local Family

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls: Little  Luna. Annie. Ginny. Janice. Potato Soup. Family. Weakness. Vulnerability. Takes a community.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Deep Ties-Ginny and Janice

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push.

One brief shining: Ancient Brothers on good news. Found some. Shadow. Melissa. Ruth. Still at it. Slowly. But, hey. Melissa’s meals. Better, not yet good, sleep. Friends like Rich, Rebecca, Tara. Mountains.

 

Ginny and Janice came over. Little Luna and Annie, too. Annie and Shadow: Roughly = weight, age, activity level. Happy times racing through the back.

Ginny and Janice I caught up. Their long planned expansion, begun last fall, is not finished. If we’d realized how long this would take, how much it would cost, and the stress it would cause. Too late. Close, yet not done. At the same time Janice’s niece Heather, her three year old Ashley, and Heather’s partner moved to Kittredge to open a hot tub business–not too far from Ginny and Janice’s place.

Ginny works as an on-call nurse. Janice agreed to be the general contractor for their project. She said she will not do that again. Janice retired as a professor of costume design and construction. A long while ago.

“I missed you guys!” I know, Ginny said, you’re top of our list…but. Yeah, the never ending construction project. They both nodded.

Ginny, later, by email. Let’s do a weekly visit with Annie. We’d both like that, Shadow and I.

Feel a titch better. Still flame out even walking upstairs: brain fog or sleep debt or profound fatigue? Can’t tell. Plugging away.

Longest sick time I can recall.

 

Family, Health

Kate

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Sunday gratefuls: Slavic, dishwasher repair guy. Kate, her life and times. Sleep. Shadow, my sweet girl. Artemis II. All safe.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Kate of blessed memory

 

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Five years ago on a cold dark night Kate slipped away. Her breathing troubles, Reynaud’s, rheumatoid arthritis–all solved. I was shocked, so deep in mourning I couldn’t see the benefit to her. Not then.

 

From today’s perspective, she found herself in a difficult and vulnerable place. And stepped away. The path in this life no longer viable. A brave woman. Honest. Unflinching.

Every weekday morning until 2011 Kate got up, loved the dogs, and got in her Tundra to drive to Allina. At work she wrestled eighteen-month old babies. Talked to elementary school kids.

She chafed against corporate medicine. Now they’re only giving us fifteen minutes for a patient encounter. A speed up. We’re also supposed to upcode. Find the most remunerative code that fits the visit. No matter how it affects patients.

Corporate medicine, she would tell you with some heat, is all about revenue–not healing. Not relationships with patients. Made me wonder about all the coding decisions made in her ten last days.

Her last days. Surrounded by family. Visiting friends. Rabbi Jamie. Fitful communication. She would push away the thick plastic triangle covering her nose.

When I came in the room, Kate would look up and sign, I love you. I responded with the same. Each day, sometimes each hour a respiratory therapist would check her O2 saturation. Blood draws. Her arms so thin it was hard to imagine finding a vein.

She lay there in the hospital gown, yellow with red accents, each arm, each leg visible evidence of the strain her body had known since early September of 2018. She often seemed too small, a child sat up so she can see her visitors.

Jon sat in a chair on the left side of her bed. His face a full definition of bereft. Shoulders dropped. Head slumping. Kate reached out, hugged him with her thin left arm. Jon’s relief made me smile. Their relationship, often fractious, melted into mother and son. Each year when we celebrate Jon’s birthday that scene comes to mind.

Five years. A long time. No partner. No Kate. The days collected themselves into months and the months extended into years. Would I find a new partner? Move to Hawai’i? Travel? No to the first. I’ve never met anyone. No to the second. Couldn’t leave Ruth and Gabe. Yes to the third. Minneapolis once. Hawai’i twice. Korea once.

It is not life without her. When I look at the Phoenix in the Mardi Gras poster, I see Kate and me at the Cafe Du Monde, water sweating the sides of our glasses, fresh beignets and chicory coffee.

The chair I use we bought for her. The Hawi’ian painting of sea turtles.  Quilts. Blown glass. Kate in her essence.

She’s with me from the time I wake up until I go back to bed.

She rests.

I imagine.

But, maybe not.

Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health

Charlie’s Big Day

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Wednesday gratefuls: Diane. Shadow’s duvet nest. Relief. My phone returns. Tara’s big help. Fiber and protein. Groceries.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Cease Fire

Kavannah: Wonder. Malchut.  Shadow

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Some days. Yesterday. Tara picked up my phone from the Synagogue. Once again I am in thrall. She also picked up my grocery order and my meds. The Miralax chose yesterday to kick in. I couldn’t have walked to the pharmacy and back to the car without a problem.

 

Not often two week defining events get resolved on the same day. Constipation ended though stomach soreness has not. I can sleep. Get up from a chair without concern. A festival moment for the Moon of Liberation.

My body got relief from a pestering problem.

Also starts sending out messages. Buy the high fiber oatmeal. The seven grain bread. Move more. Sensible. Stuff I know. I order a clamshell of Kiwi fruit.

Yesterday afternoon I had to get my groceries. Couldn’t. Asked Tara. She agreed. Got my meds. My pick up order. When she got back, she put the groceries away. A good friend.

Using the creepily easy find my phone feature in Google, I saw a small, red upside down tear light up in Lakewood. Lakewood? Only took a moment. Luke’s apartment. Made sense since we had lunch together on Sunday and Luke drove.

Sure enough. When Luke looked in the Subaru, my phone was on the passenger’s side. Yay! He took it to Bagel Table, but had to leave it there. Indisposed as mentioned above, I couldn’t get it. Tara had a tutoring student at CBE on Tuesday. Worked well.

When she came with the phone, she also brought Eleanor. Shadow and Eleanor played hard while Tara left for Safeway. I stayed home, preserving my dignity.

The two burs in my side since Sunday a week a go. Got plucked. It was 8-10 days of silence. Once I got over my 21st century existential crisis–someone might need to talk to me!–I found my phone’s absence a relief.

Except when I thought, oh, I need to text Ruth. Look up characters in a movie. Calendar. Emails. You know. That stuff we do with these powerful small computers.

I’m lucky to have a friend like Tara. She says yes whenever possible and shows such joy when helping. That makes it easier to ask her. I’m learning how to navigate this weaker me.

Happy that between my friends and Miralax I could have a celebratory Tuesday.

An epidemic of loneliness.

I live alone, largely relying on myself day-to-day. When trouble comes, I count on an inner-circle of friends and family.

Alone.
Yet surrounded.
By love.