Heartfelt

When I awoke on Friday morning at 5 to write my blog it was with that extreme urgency to make it to the bathroom (which I didn't) accompanied by the burning so typical of a urinary tract infection. By 8 am when my doctor's office opened I was in agony and on my third load of laundry (underpants, sweatpants and bathrobes). Damn. But a test confirmed my Bonnie diagnosis and soon a powerful antibiotic began doing its magic. My doc said I'd be fine for my ablation surgery Monday. My precious niece Cheari arrives tonight from Arlington Washington to see me through this lap of the heart surgery. Whew. With luck and the skill of the electrophysiologist those parts of my electrical system that are firing off too fast will hit the dust. I'm not quite sure how this is accomplished, or even if I ever want to know.  I just know I'll sure be glad when it is over.
Going into heart surgery is not the best time to be reading a book where the narrator is death, as it is in the Book Thief, but it so happens thats what my eyes are tracking right now. It occurs in pre WW2, when Hitler is rising in Germany.  The mother of the child who is the book thief is a suspected communist and her children, starving, are taken from her. Its beautiful writing, though often morbid. In the case of both Philomena (where the Catholic church took away her child) and The Book Thief, I saw the film before reading the book, (which I also did with Grapes of Wrath in the fall), not my usual style. Maybe I am turning over a different leaf in my 80's?  I've felt all three books so deeply.
Perhaps seeing the film first helps me to appreciate the beautiful writing.
At this morning's Sunday symposium I learned about how musical scores are made for films and we saw clips of King Kong, where they music really carried the script.  I was so mesmerized by the music in Book Thief. Alas, I learned that today's film music composers often lock themselves in a condo in Malibu for two weeks where they sit with a computer and keyboard, composing the musical score. They keyboard creates the orchestra, voilla!
Yesterday, curiously, I got a letter from my cousin Vi in Vancouver who knew me as a child and who also grew up in Moosejaw, Sask., like my mother. She asks lots of family questions, like were my parents ever married (I don't know, but I doubt it) and when and why did my mother abandon me (about age 12, though she was frequently absent before that, and who knows why except that she was miserable).
So this theme of child abandonment swarms around me, as it did for many of my psychotherapy clients when I was in practice. It has been my special privilege to try to be the good mother for many of them and maybe, after tomorrow, I'll also have a steady heart. Cross your fingers.

On Getting A Pacemaker

The wide arc of yellow-white cast by the street light out my study window holds no interest. I contemplate the new year. 

I savor this dark time, before dawn, for sleep has never been my quest. In the quiet I focus on my old body.  I am aware of a tinkling in my chest. Funny, it makes no sound but it feels like a sound. It’s such a little quiver.  It almost tickles, like the whiskers of a kitten. 

For a while I think it is my heart beating softly, in and out, and then the awareness comes that it is not me but my new pacemaker, the Cadillac of pacemakers the techie said when he tested it after my out patient surgery three and a half weeks ago. I wonder what color it is? In my imagination it is a yucky brown, but that is just me assigning feelings to it. It could in fact be shining silver and turquoise. 

I learn that almost three million people in the world have pacemakers; about 600,000 are added annually. Why do I think I’m unique? 

It’s disconcerting to realize I am not the one in charge of my own heart. I have always liked being the boss, my own boss, especially. As much as I try to surrender control in my head, I loose the battle.  “Give me back ME, I implore.” My personal warriors are not as strong as the mechanical ones. Alas. My right hand cups gently around the bulge under my left collar bone, a bulge that feels foreign and comes with no passport or visa. The incision is not quite healed and shreds of the dissolving dressing cling to it looking soiled and unclean even though I shower daily.  I have been cautioned not to pull them off, an activity hard to resist.  In the mirror they are an insult. Will I ever be able to scrub this awkward place?  A pacemaker is supposed to be the size of a man’s wrist watch. Mine must have been intended for the offspring of Paul Bunyon.  When I can swim again will the water slide past it smoothly or will it pucker up like a rock in a stream which impedes the steady flow? Will I ever come to embrace this foreigner in me?  

Most pacemakers are implanted for too slow hearts. To be contrary mine is the opposite. My beat can’t wait to get there, wherever there is, and sometimes it skips or trips on the way. In a couple of weeks I will have a second procedure called an ablation which will attempt to short circuit those parts of my heart that make it fire too fast, and then, with good fortune, the pace maker will take over from inefficient me. I speculate: will my personality change? Will I become more or less patient, judgmental, caring, short tempered, insightful? I’m curious, but as yet far from accepting. 

Happy New Year, dear ones. I hope 2014 brings us all closer, healthier, kinder, wiser, and in synch with the natural wonder of the world, battery assist or not.  

Glory Be

In this past week I have witnessed the  physical rebirth of my personal angel and adopted daughter, Catherine.
Accompanying her on one week of the journey was my Christmas celebration.  For the last six months chemotherapy has been the steady menu, as the oncology specialists employed the most powerful drug cocktails to wipe out her blood cells carrying mantle cell lymphoma. At this stage of the journey of course the danger is infections.
 On December 16 at Stanford she received back her stem cells for transplant.  And in the last week when I stood at her bedside (or more often sat at the sidelines, as she was usually surrounded by nurses and doctors) her white blood count rose from .02 to 1.6 and continues to shoot up. This means the harvest has worked and she is now reproducing her own cells. Cross your fingers she will be discharged to daily outpatient care today. She will be required to wear an impressive mask whenever she is out of doors or in the public. And she will no doubt be wearing one of many chemo caps friends have provided.
Having been hospitalized a few times in my life I have some ability to judge nursing care. What I want to add about the team in the transplant unit at Stanford is that they are all saints. Not only that, the team for daily rounds was led by a woman nurse practitioner! Yeah yeah yeah.

Gratitudes

Especially this last week as I recover from pacemaker surgery I have been dwelling on my gratitudes, especially the loving kindness of friends new and old, who keep bringing me cookies and books and soup and holiday cheer.  My new neighbors across the street have a shimmering tree in their front window which I see clearly from my study.
At Cathy Lane Lee and I would often just cut boughs from the monterey pines in the driveway and arrange them on the mantel making the whole house smell delish. It comforts me that the new owners love the place as much as we did, and I know they are enjoying the December sunsets.
It looks like Northern California is moving into a drought, alas. Some of us went out two weeks ago to photograph the Laguna de Santa Rosa, where there is supposed to be a lot of water and avian habitat. As you can see, there is practically no water. Still, it was a lovely outing.

Residents tell me after a rain one can kayak in these waterways, and its only half an hour from my house. I can hardly wait. I look forward to many more discoveries as I settle into mostly peaceful and very beautiful Sonoma County and the Valley of the Moon.

A Week To Remember

After giving the offeratory at Glide in San Francisco last Sunday Catherine (above), laden with fresh crab  and salad makings, drove up to celebrate the season with me. Here she is modeling her new purple boots. Doesn't she look smashing. As I write this she is struggling with the latest dose of cytoxine in her room at Stanford Hospital, where she has been since Tuesday, preparing for her new birthday on Monday. when she will receive a stem cell transplant (her own cells).

We stuffed ourselves with the sweetest crab ever and said our goodbyes until Dec. 22 when I will be staying in the Palo Alto area for several days to be near her.
Meanwhile, Thursday I became the lucky recipient of a pacemaker to treat my atrial fib. The surgery went very well and I'm getting feistier every day now. Nothing will really change for my heart until this surgery is followed in January by another, called an ablation. (It takes a while for the pacemaker to seat itself in place). At that time the pacemaker will regulate the beat instead of ME and my heart rhythm will be more normal.

Watch Catherine and I; we're going to remold the world, one purple kick at a time.

If you know me well you know I've never had much hair, mostly baby fine wisps, whereas Catherine has always had thick naturally curly locks. So for once, I can boast I have more on top than she has.
But it won't be long before she overtakes me again.  Oh well, enjoy the moment.

Bounties in Different Colors

Hot topic at Current Events yesterday was the cold snap we are having (19 on my deck) and the plight of the homeless in Santa Rosa. I jumped into the discussion to remind folks how many of the homeless are there because of mental illness and emotionally unable to access the limited resources available. Like so many problems in society, lets look under the top layer. We wound up with donating funds to the Redwood Food Bank, etc. and sharing stories about the life and good deeds of Mandela.
If I thought I'd never see a persimmon again after leaving Cathy Lane I'm delighted to enjoy the bounty of Oakmont residents. Persimmons seem to thrive here as well.  (see below).
On a personal note, my fatigue has increased from my long standing atriall fibrillation so I've decided to have a pace-maker. Same day surgery is scheduled for next Thursday.  I hope to be back at this post Friday.
Cheers to my former East Bay painters group, Watercolor Connection, who are once more enhancing the lobby of the Hayward City hall lobby gallery with a spectrum of color.
Hope all of you find time for quiet reflection and counting your warm blessings---brilliant orange, or other.

Growing Old and Growing Young

Back in the Valley of the Moon after a busy visit to the East Bay to find the landscapers had almost finished replanting my front yard. The tiny blue flower above (?) is about the only thing of color right now, though by spring there is supposed to be a mass of flowers for me to learn, admire, and paint.  I can't wait. On my Thanksgiving trek I saw many, many old friends, some of fifty years standing. Now one has to be old to say that! Still, I was not quite the oldest at the Thanksgiving table. Stace's dad, 90, sat at the head of the table and led us all in conversation and calories. I toted along my new iPad and scored lessons from Andrea and Jan Hagan. I can tell its going to be a slow learning curve, but isn't that what keeps us all young? Below are photos of the yard as I was driving up. 

I think it shows great promise for color and growth. I hope the old lady living inside does as well.