Out of the Attic…
The days bleed
together as I find my thoughts preoccupied with Bubba. He came out yesterday. I found him curled up in the bathroom
sink. It was
Despite his sad
condition, my heart leaped for joy!
He remained in the
sink while I lovingly pinched bugs and scratched nits from his sweet face.
After while I
rubbed some spray on him. He did not
resist.
After a long drink
of water, he finally jumped down from the sink.
He headed back to the attic door and was unhappy to find it firmly
closed. He made caterwauling sounds, but
I did not give in. He started to enter
the other room, but kept backtracking to the hallway, as if he was afraid to
enter. He crouched sadly in the hallway,
making a mournful sound that simply puzzled me.
Finally I advised
him I was going back to bed and (despite my distaste for fleas) he could join
me if he liked. A few moments after I
turned out the light he sprang up on the bed and remained there for quite
awhile.
Later, after
sunrise, I visited the downstairs bathroom and found my big orange friend
huddled in the bathtub. I spoke to him,
but did not bother him.
Later in the day
he made a surprise appearance. While I
was on the phone he came bounding into the center of the room like a demon was
chasing him.
Later in the day,
I put his collar on him and a leash. I
gave him some catnip and then took him out on the patio where he sniffed around
and rolled on the concrete.
In the evening I
found him in the kitchen sink, eyes again looking panicked and with fleas on his
face. I combed the fleas out, dropping
them into a jar full of soapy water and spoke softly to Mr. B. When I was done, he made no move to get up so
I headed off to bed and left him resting in the kitchen sink.
Today we plan to
take him to the veterinarian, but I have not seen hide nor hair of him and it
is mid-afternoon.
Still no Bubba…
My flea-ridden
friend is still in hiding.
It appears he may
have eaten some cat chow and Marty says she heard him skulking about in the
night. I scour the house looking for the
illusive places only cats can discover.
I find nothing.
The attic door
remains open since he may have taken up residence there. Today the temperatures are milder, but it
still is a death trap for any creature to survive.
Cat’s in the attic…
During the night I
awoke to a clatter, but when I investigated things I could find nothing
amiss. I got back into bed and spent a
couple hours engrossed in reading “Accordion Crimes,” by E. Annie Proulx. I drifted off to dream about the time the
rooster decided to crow.
When I got up, I
found the door to the attic open. Heat
poured out like a brick oven at a pizza parlor on a Saturday night. I suspect the cat pried it open during the
night since the latch is not too efficient.
The door generally stays put because of the carpeting in the adjacent
hallway, but a highly motivated cat can conquer a challenge as easy as
that.
I am uncomfortable
with the idea of Bubba loitering in the attic.
It is an unfinished room with insulation lining walls and between the
beams that make p the floor of the room.
I easily imagine him falling between the beams and being caught in
fiberglass where he could stay until he wastes away and dies.
I cannot see or
hear him. I place a bowl of water
outside the door and prop it open so he can escape the inferno. Leaving the door ajar will make the air
conditioner work overtime and the upstairs will still remain impossibly
hot. What are my choices?
The day drags on
and the cat does not appear.
I go to bed early,
hoping my once friendly pet will join me on the bed. He does not.
Cat wranglin’ scars, backwoods culinary
adventures, & bathing pigeons
At first dreams seem
impossible, then improbable, then inevitable.
- Christopher Reeve
It is about
Sometime during the night it rained and it is gloomy today - I rolled over when
I woke up, thinking it wasn't really daylight yet, and maybe that s what Pat
and Marty did too. Pat is just now heading out to feed the animals.
Marty is on her way to her farm to care for the stock there and to work on
trimming the hooves of one of her larger horses. There is always
something needing attention here.
I have not seen
Marty slow down except for those few hours last night when we sat and
visited. She flies around at warp speed most of the day and is always a
bit behind on her personal checklist.
I like this quote (see above). It is inevitable I will be returning to
Ukraine and I am counting the days (figuratively actually...I prefer to think
in terms of weeks - it seems less intimidating...about ten more Sundays and I
will be there or at least on my way there!).
This week flew by
and I must admit I have yet to open my Russian books/CDs. I think this
week ahead things will be a bit more structured.
We bug bombed yesterday, but due to the horse sale and dinner plans, the Bubba
bath got dropped down a notch on Marty's priority list and I am not yet up to
handling the task on my own.
This morning I
checked on the big orange guy (BOG) and he is looking pretty lethargic. He
has not come back to sleep on my bed since the night he startled me so much and
I tried to spray him with the flea spray.
He is not a happy
cat and my heart just hurts when I look at him...sigh. Before Marty
left this morning we discussed taking him to the vet tomorrow afternoon - he
hasn't used his litter (or left any surprise packages) and I don't think he has
eaten and taken any water in a day or so...
We "dined" at a funny local establishment Friday night - it is a bait
store/convenience shop with a café/restaurant hidden in the back room.
There is no sign indicating the restaurant is there and you certainly would not
expect to find one in such an unlikely place.
On the wall is an award for “best steak of the year” but despite that
encouragement, it definitely not for the squeamish! Without a local
“guide” I would probably not have ventured in.
I felt a little
like I was in an old movie or a foreign country - they obviously do not follow
the rules about lots of stuff here in the back woods of
This morning I did
some cat-wrangling and managed to get a few scratches on several parts of my
body. It started with Bubba. I gave
BOG a sponge bath of sorts in the sink, but despite a cats natural dislike of
bathing, he did not give me much of a struggle. There are fleas hopping all
over his sweet moon shaped face! Fleas
do not like soapy water so some of them fled and some of them drowned!
After I bathed
him, Bubba remained in my arms and lapped up lots of water from a cup in the
sink. I think his lethargy is from being
a bit dehydrated. He didn’t put up much
of a fight when I scrubbed him and sprayed him but I did get one long scratch
from an errant back paw when he lunged out of my arms.
So one belly
scratch from the big guy, but it was the tiny kittens that really left their
marks! The two baby cats were exiled to
the barn last night since company was in and out. I went out to bring them back into their
comfortable digs in the sun room, but when I attempted to scoop them up they
squealed and rebelled. They are two
little fireballs with lots of energy. By
the time I released them on the porch they had tattooed my arms and hands
pretty well. They know how to use their
weapons!
Outside my window
is a funny sight. The resident homing
pigeons are getting a Sunday bath in the puddle of laundry water spilling from
the washing machine hose (it vents outside). They are cooing and taking turns splashing in
the water. They fluff up their blue and
grey feathers and look huge as they strut around in the sun. Miss Zoë is at the end of her leash watching
them very intently.
So goes life on
the farm where I am biding my time and growing stronger everyday.
The future is not
some place we are going,
but one we are
creating.
The paths are not to
be found, but made.
And the activity of
making them changes
both the maker and their destination.
- John Schaar
It is
true. We build our lives, one minute,
one choice, one word or action at a time, just as brick-by-brick one builds a
castle, a fortress, a wall or a cozy home.
People
often speak of finding a path or discovering who they are. I think John Schaar is correct – we make the
changes that become the path.
It is
always about the process isn’t it?
Turn your face to the sun, and the shadows fall behind you.
- Maori proverb
Random acts of cleaning…
I fell asleep quickly
upstairs in the small, cool room under the eaves. The window air conditioner and small fan
remove the humidity and heat from the air and transport me to another place and
time. I dream quiet dreams and wake
rested.
I stretch and roll
over on my side. This is still a chore,
but I remind myself it is easier today than it was last week. I can still feel the places where the two
drains invaded my body. They are healing
nicely, but still feel very tender.
As I descend the
stairs to the kitchen on Friday morning, I feel the
Miss Zoë is
stretched out on the concrete and barely lifts her head when I open the screen
door. Her stumpy tail wags, her eyes
flash and she bats at her nose with her front paw in a special doggie greeting,
but she does not waste energy by doing her usual morning doggie dance to
welcome me to the new day.
In a few minutes,
I wander back into the kitchen by the magnetic pull of the coffee. The smell fills the room as I fill my cup and
enjoy those first delightful, comforting swallows. The day officially begins when the coffee is
poured.
One of the glories
of houseguest status is there are no real routines to abide by. In my own home, there are rhythms that take
me away from myself and move me forward through the day. As an interloper in someone else’s home, I
can break that inertia and explore new roles.
Some routines
stick wherever I am. I make the bed; I
wash my face and comb my hair, etc. Most
mornings as I pull the sheet taut, I remember my mother saying “I would rather
be found drunk in the gutter than to have someone find the bed unmade.” Strong words and often repeated, but words
that make me smile as I remember her aversion for “slovenly” living.
Here in someone
else’s home I am somewhat free from the tasks that make the house run. My hosts are long gone when I arise so I pick
and choose what I will do.
I commit random acts
of cleaning. I take pleasure when I wash
morning dishes in a sink filled with hot soapy water. Cleaning the sink is one of the chores that
is somehow satisfying – I like to make it shine and spend time on this simple
task. I spend some time making clean a
few neglected spaces that usually get a lick and a promise in my own home.
Of course my own
kitchen can always use attention, but somehow when the chores are not your own,
they seem less onerous.
I think about the
Brownies that steal into homes at night and clean. My sister Rosemary taught me about them. In the big yellow house on
My cat has fleas…
The week has flown
by, but times I feel as if I have been on this farm forever. I am happy
to just wake up here in this quiet place with no defined responsibilities
except to heal. Part of that involves sorting through my feelings.
This is a good place for sipping coffee and taking my time.
This morning I took my coffee and yogurt out to Miss Zoë’s spot on
the patio. I am happy to hear NPR playing from the porch radio that Pat
never turns off (a happy coincidence - I love NPR and always have it on in my
own home). I sit in the lawn chair and when my yogurt is almost gone, I
let Zoë lick the last few bites of yogurt off the spoon. She is, after all, a snow princess, and
deserves to be spoiled a bit!
Wherever I am, there is something about the morning light that intrigues me. I indulged myself with a walk through the wet
grass and while I walked, took some snap shots of the farm which I will share
later. One of the farm cats trailed behind me, rolling over on her back
and making pretty cat-sounds whenever I stopped to look around.
"Pet me,
scratch my belly," she purrs. I
nudge her with my wet foot.
Bending down to
pet the cat is still too difficult for me.
So are several other fairly simple tasks – I could not even take the
lasagna out of the oven last night and rolling over in bed is still a
challenge.
I
haven't taken a pain pill for 40 hours - the last one was because Mr. Bubba,
the big orange guy, charged into my room in the middle of the night and did a
cat dance on my chest - I sat bolt upright and of course that was really
painful. It also freaked out my usually reclusive cat and he took off
leaving a few puncture marks on my legs and a few of his many flea buddies to
annoy me.
I leaped up (another mistake) and grabbed the flea spray and gave him a quick squirt
of chemicals as he blazed through the door and under the bed in the next room.
I felt pretty bad, for my scaredy-cat and I also ached myself. I took a percoset, tried to get comfortable
and eventually went to sleep, itching and scratching all night
long....sigh...
My cat has
fleas…sigh.
I like this Garth Brooks "poem"... there is music and photo at the
site (use link below).
You know a dream is like a river,
ever changing as it flows
And the dreamer's just a vessel that must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
Never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores
Too many times we stand beside
Let the water slip away
Till what we put off till tomorrow
has now become today
so don't you sit upon the shoreline
and say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
Dare to dance the tide
~ Garth Brooks ~
(from The River -- enlightenment is where you find it....)
Web version: www.panhala.net/Archive/The_River.html
…there doesn’t seem to be
enough time
to do the things you want to
do
once you find them…
-
Jim Croce
The bright summer
day shimmers ahead of me offering so many possibilities. I agree with Jim Croce – there just does not
seem to be enough time to do all the wonderful things I want to do.
Right now I find
myself caught up in my e-mail. I enjoy
interacting through e-mail with friends and family and individual notes and
conversations are a delight. The past
many months I have not had that pleasure often.
I have resorted to less personal notes, the generic kind, just to keep
people updated and let them know I am thinking of them.
While in
I do have a cell
phone now. The magic of the cell phone
will allow me to hear Mark’s voice someday soon. I love to hear his voice. When I know he will call, I make myself crazy
with anticipation.
The trouble with
phone calls is they begin and then they end.
There is nothing there but a memory.
With e-mail, there is a note to re-read, to cherish and ponder.
Letter writers
often complain about e-mail because it really leaves no trail. E-mail is so casual, so immediate. It captures personality on a way that differs
from a phone call or from a real letter.
When my mother
wrote a letter, she often actually composed it.
She used to write a draft and then transcribe it onto proper
stationary. People seldom do that
anymore do they?
Of course, people
seldom write letters anymore either.
Mother wrote to me
often during those many years I lived so far from her home. I would receive her lovely letters several
times each week. Often she would enclose
a clipping from the local newspaper or from the Christian Science Sentinel or
the Monitor.
In later years we
resorted to phone calls each week. It
was not the same.
The next few weeks
and months will be an almost magical time for me. I can sit and read without interruption. I can play at painting and writing. I can simply think. I love the opportunity to be alone with my
thoughts. Sometime people cannot
understand that I am happy in my own company.
Sometimes people take it personally.
I am grateful for friends and family that simply understand my
needs.
I am here to
recover from surgery, but this unique opportunity to retreat from the world is
also very practical. It is an opportunity
to recharge my battery. I believe we
often fail to do that. We let things
divert us from the very things we need to make us stronger.
There is a full
moon tonight…
Summer Solstice…
The fine summer
day stretches out ahead of me. It is, in
fact, the very first day of summer, the longest day of the year. Each day from now until the Winter Solstice
in December, days will become shorter and shorter.
That means nights
become longer.
With Mark n
Of course there
are advantages to being alone at night.
I can read far into the night without disturbing anyone with my bright
light and my page turning. I can leave
the radio on and allow the National Public Radio programs to keep me informed
and edified even while I drift in and out of sleep. These are small pleasures, especially when
measured against the simple satisfaction of curling up in the arms of my
husband and simply closing my eyes, safe and secure, at home there.
Last night I had
no trouble sleeping. We stayed up late
and by the time I headed upstairs to the little room under the eves, I was
ready for bed. Pat and Marty arrived home
from her farm quite late. We talked
about the events of the day till after
The horse sale was
a rather unexpected bounty. Marty has
been blessed with lots of young horses and is eager to find homes for
them. She and Pat work at other jobs
each day to support their individual farms so all this brushing and grooming
and loading up takes place after regular duty hours. I wonder how many people (in the
Now it is a
brilliant, crisp morning and the first day of summer. As I look out the window at the clean, neat
farm buildings, the bright white fences, the contented animals and the lush
green grass under a picture-perfect blue sky, I am content. I feel as though I am flipping the pages in a
children’s reading text. The details
outside the window are as delightful as any graphic artist could conjure up on
paper.
I close my eyes
for a moment. A rooster crows, I hear
the mother cat mewing at her two young kits, and there are turtle doves cooing
near by and a few song birds warble to one another out in the pasture. I hear horses snorting and donkeys
braying. Leaves rustle as the wind
passes over them.
I open my eyes
again and my eyes delight again in the bright red barn, green, green grass,
stark white fence and azure skies.
A soul can create only when
alone…
- Abraham Joshua Heschel
The glory of being
alone! I am happy to have the house (and
farm) to myself today. My days have been
so filled with people and appointments.
I need time to myself to remember who I am and to think, heal, grow,
plan, dream, create.
I set up a
personal space in a bright corner room with windows of three sides. I look up and see Miss Zoë stretched out
dreaming doggy dreams and I turn my head to watch the miniature donkeys rolling
in the dirt. I hear the horses greeting
each other, braying and pawing at the dirt.
In the doorway of the red barn are several cats busily grooming
themselves and no doubt sharing cat-gossip as they enjoy the warm morning
sunshine. A few tiny chickens have
escaped the coop and are venturing out into the green grass near the house.
I sip coffee from
a mug Mark bought at the bazaar in our Peace Corps training village. It is a pleasant reminder of him. The bright orange day lilies on the cup are
right at home here in
The radio on the
porch is tuned into National Public Radio.
I hear bits and pieces of interesting news.
This day will
unfold slowly and I have time to take pleasure in all the small, happy
details. I set the pace and I choose the
activities. I am happy and I am healing.
Meeting the past – touring the area
Outside the car
window I see images that make me feel as if I have stepped back in time. Beside me, Pat expounds on what life was like
when he spent his boyhood days here. In
the back seat, Marty stretches out and takes a rare opportunity to relax. She has had the tour several times and would
be happier snoozing on her bed I think.
We drive down red
dirt roads and Pat points out the sites to me.
He tells me family tales and I conjure up images of the people who lived
and worked there. We visit the grist
mill by the river, the fishing sites, the old church and school and finally the
cemetery.
There are no trees
in the cemetery. The sun beats down on
us and bugs bite at my bare ankles. We
walk among the gravestones and I hear stories about Miss So-and-So and Mr. Guy…it
is pleasant to hear the reminiscences.
The people who have been long gone still influence us today.
I take a photo of
a decorated gravesite with a faded bundle of plastic flowers and a weathered
sign that says: “Happy Fall, Y’all!”
I have wandered in
cemeteries in so many parts of the world – I wonder as I walk and listen and
observe, how many people have had the opportunity to visit so many
cemeteries…is a tour of the cemetery typical?
We continue the
windshield tour. Many of the buildings Pat
remembers are long gone. The world has
changed so the industries that brought people to this rural
It is amazing how
quickly nature reclaims land that once served as cotton, tobacco or corn
fields. Old home places that housed
large families are gone – totally obscured by vegetation. Vines and jack pines cover everything.
It is hard for an
I feel as though I
have been looking at old B&W photos from the 40’s. The people and homes that remain have a
quality that makes them belong to another era.
They are like images from an old scratchy home movie.
We stop at a
convenience store just at closing time and watch as the local’s line up to buy
lottery tickets before the doors close on this Father’s Day Sunday
afternoon. I listen to the talk and hear
the lowcountry language (Gitchee or Gullah) and accents are thick. People here are not all influenced by
television and movies. Their speech patterns remind me that I am from far, far
away.
When closing time
rolls around, we sit behind the counter with the proprietors, Pat’s brother and
sister-in-law, and visit. I watch their
6 year old granddaughter play and sip a cold drink.
I think of the
life I was leading in
Mark’s last day here…
Today is Mark’s
last day here. At
These separations
do not come easier with repetition as one might think. In fact, I am inclined to rebel. I do not want him to go and leave me
behind. The truth is that leaving is the
right thing and other choices would lead us to regrets. He will go ahead and break trail for me. I can look forward to a happy reunion when
the time is right.
We spend the day
accomplishing mundane, yet urgent tasks.
Somehow this false sense of normalcy helps us make it through the
day. Mark chooses a cell phone for me so
we can communicate more easily while he is in
At
I woke up with Mr.
Bubba snuggled close to my ribcage. The
big orange guy (BOG) crawled under the covers last night and stayed there by my
side till I finally decided to rise and shine for the day.
What a simple
pleasure.
Seeing Miss Zoë…
The very best part
of the day was seeing my good friend Miss Zoë!
I have missed her
so much.
Before we left for
Peace Corps, my blue-eyed Miss Zoë was my daily companion. She nurtured me through some rocky roads as I
maneuvered through the grief work following the death of our son a few years
ago. She literally walked me back to
joy.
The most
challenging part of the decision to join the Peace Corps was leaving behind my
beautiful Siberian snow princess. She
and our big orange cat, Bubba, are my joy in life. They are both staying at the farm here in
When we first pulled
into the lane at the farm today, I saw Miss Zoë stand up and sniff the
air. She had not seen me since mid-February. She sniffed the air and then when she heard
my voice she leaped in the air, dancing as only a Siberian Husky can
dance.
My heart took
flight.
Those big
steely-blue eyes looked up at me and her tongue licked at the air as she
wiggled and waited for me to stroke her head and shoulders. It is so hard for a husky to hold still. She is made of energy, but she seemed to know
I cannot handle her usual physical enthusiasm.
She sat on command and wiggled and licked and leaned on me as we shared
a happy homecoming together. I am
grateful to have her here for me to enjoy as I mend.
These past few
months seem brief, but so many things have happened…life moves us forward. Coming here is a small vacation in the past –
a chance to spend quiet time with my dog and my cat as I gain back my strength.
I will miss Mark
during the coming days and weeks, but my animals will be strong medicine for my
spirit.
Two weeks since surgery…
I am impatient to
feel good again. I still take pain
killers at night and often need Tylenol during the day. I stay pleasant and cheerful, because that is
my nature, but I withdraw from conversations and cannot focus my attention on
things very well.
I cannot believe
people routinely have plastic surgery…I do not care for this discomfort and the
prospects of 4-6 more weeks of this disturbs me.
Of course each day
I feel a bit better and for longer too.
It is much like
starting the day with a pack. When you first put it on, it seems light and easy
to manage, but by day’s end, it seems so cumbersome and heavy and it has chafed
you physically and worn away at you so you do not cope well or over-react.
I think I am
generally a good patient, but it is a challenge. I always say, even under the best circumstances,
it takes real character to remain pleasant and cheerful. Anyone can be a jerk!
When I awoke, Mark
had already lined up my clothes boxes outside the bedroom door. After several months away, it was gratifying
to pull out my favorite old jeans and pull them on.
Today was a lazy
day. We relaxed, watched movies, cooked
and ate.
We made
arrangements to meet friends in Edgefield for lunch on Thursday.
Arriving in Sunny
Through the
windshield of our rental car I take in the view: our front garden is a colorful
jungle. Day lilies blossom next to tall Shasta
daisies and a spring breeze causes the black-eyed Susan’s to dance in the
sunlight. The butterfly bushes we
planted last year are tall, full and laden with purple blossoms. Some annuals have broken the rules and have
returned a second season to add their brilliant shades to the palette.
Our garden has
never been a tidy one and after a few months of being on its own it still manages
to be filled with abundant color and vitality even if it is not neat, orderly
or disciplined. There are healthy weeds
growing alongside the flowers, but they add diversity and texture to the wild
bouquet that the yard has become.
It is good to be
welcomed home with all this color and exuberance.
I have missed
having flowers to enjoy. It is not the
gardening that I really take pleasure in; it is the opportunity to observe the
blossoms and color and to choose among the daily surprises that greet me. In the past I would gather odd assortments of
flowers and greenery and fill small vases throughout the house with these
offerings from nature. I have missed
that privilege these past few months during my Peace Corps training and my
Medivac status. How good it is to arrive
at our house when the garden is so full of color.
Friend (and
house-sitter) Jim meets us at he back door as we make our way into the air
conditioned comfort inside. The weather
is beautiful. Yes it is Jim says, after
weeks of unrelenting rainfall.
We talk as I
wander through our house seeing the odd mixture of my furniture and things with
Jim’s possessions and personal items.
It does not take
me long to wend my way to one of my favorite spots: the front porch. I drop my bruised and swollen recovering body
into a comfortable wicker chair and once again look out at the front lawn.
Jim apologizes for
how the yard looks and reiterates that he does not have a green thumb. He makes me laugh (as usual) with his tales
of pulling up daisies, thinking they are weeds, only to have the neighbor lady
clue him in on his mistake.
We light candles,
sip wine and nibble on manchego cheese and our dough bread as we relax and
watch the afternoon wind down to evening.
Later we grill food out back and watch the fireflies rise up in the
moonlight.
The mall…
Sunday we are off
to a leisurely start again.
We end up stopping
at a large mall near
It is late in the
day so we spend the night at a motel just down the road a bit.
On the road again…Slow and steady
I love yard
sales. I peruse the morning paper and
find a few listed in
The yard sale is a
delightful neighborhood event in a delightful beautiful area near a perk. We stroll up and down the street admiring
many unique items and talking with the sellers.
Mark gifts me with a pair of lovely silver bangle bracelets and a
scarf. I find a few treasures and he
also finds a couple things he cannot pass up.
As the morning
heats up and we climb into the air conditioned comfort of the car and begin the
trip south.
I love road trips
and enjoy the time alone with Mark. We
listen to the radio, I read aloud to him, we talk; we listen to a Russian
vocabulary program and practice our skills.
Time flies.
Despite some
discomfort, I enjoy the day.
Packing again…
The plan is to
rent a car and drive south. I will begin my summer of recuperation at a
friend’s farm in
The entire time in
DC has been tiring and stressful, though friends and family and almost everyone
have done their best to make it less difficult than it could have been. For that I am grateful. A lazy road trip with my husband will be a
pleasure.
I try to imagine
actually having to fly. I do not know if
I could have managed getting through the ordeal of security and all the waiting
and lifting and everything else associated with the airport experience. Even remaining in an airline seat would be a
challenge. My body is healing quickly,
but after only a week, it is not up to that kind of challenge.
During my 45 days
here I have accumulated many things. I arrived with only a small rucksack of
clothing and Russian study materials and my laptop. Now I have the interim clothes I purchased,
clothes Mark brought to me from
Drains removed & stitches snipped…
A week ago I was
still in the hospital waiting for the powerful anesthesia to wear off and, a
week later, here I am tramping all over Washington DC to accomplish all my
close of service requirements. I will be
ready to sleep tonight.
I spend time
filling out paperwork at the headquarters offices and then I visit the plastic
surgeon. She snips out most of my
stitches and removes the horrible drains I have been tolerating all week. We discuss continuity of care and possible complications
then say good bye. Mark gives her some
chocolates and a tiny bottle of soap bubbles in a champagne bottle shape…we are
celebrating this day. She smiles and we
talk about the magic of soap bubbles.
After a bit of
lunch we visit the surgeon who removed the cancer. She and I have gone through three surgeries
together. I like her very much and
though this is a professional visit I am glad to see her. Mark also shares chocolates and soap bubbles
with her and she laughs and spends some time visiting with us. She is a warm individual who loves what she
does. I feel a special bond with her.
We trek back to
the headquarters for more paperwork and to collect more money. We sit through briefings on filing for
disability – I laugh…I guess I will never be a stripper or a topless waitress
now will I? 8-)
At 4 we ride the
shuttle bus back to the hotel and I crawl into bed for a nap.
45th Day Party – Close of
Service
Today is my magic
45th day here in Medivac status.
My mastectomy and reconstructive surgery took place one week ago and I
am well on the road to recovery, but they say I am not yet ready to return to
my Peace Corps post.
In keeping with
the nature of any good bureaucracy there is an action associated with this new
phase of my life; it is time for my very premature close of service (COS). The rule states that those who cannot return
to duty after 45 days must be separated.
I have reached that day.
Since I am now the
veteran of current volunteers in Medivac, I decide to celebrate my change a
status with a small open house. I hand
scribe invitations to all the hotel-dwelling PCVs who are living here in the
hotel. Mark slips the invitations under
their doors.
My spouse does the
shopping for me, toting home bottles of white whine and rich, delicious
cheesecakes. I arrange flowers and make
the table looks festive. Mark uses the
computer to lay music. We light candles
and invite our guests in for our little celebration.
I am sore and
uncomfortable and dressed funny too, but I enjoy playing hostess as our guests
arrive and relax in our temporary home.
The drains (they resemble two plastic hand grenades and are suspended
from long tubes hanging from two holes in the area under my arm near my
ribcage) make it hard for me to relax. I
have tried to hide them, but they poke out and my side aches from the constant
pressure, the friction. My whole left
side is stiff, swollen and sore. I feel
like I have a bad sunburn and have been wrapped tightly in ductape. My back feels as though a steel rod is
holding me up. Still, I am glad to be
among people and to hear them telling stories and laughing.
There is nothing
like the stories Peace Corps people share with one another. Like any other sub-group or collection of
people who share a similar interest, there is a kind of shorthand in their
speech. They have similar experiences so
they do not linger over some things. The
volunteers are pretty frank about their experiences and opinions and manage to
have funny stories to tell, stories that were probably not too funny when they
were actually happening.
I relax, sip wine,
eat too much cheesecake and am grateful Mark encouraged me to do this.
Tomorrow I will
sign the papers and end my short adventure as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
Who knows exactly
what is ahead for us, but I know Mark will return to
For now, I am
sorry to say, this is the end of my Peace Corps adventure.
Iwa Jima…Commandant’s Own Concert &
Silent Drill Team…
My first real
adventure outside the hotel room since my surgery involved a walk across the
street to the
Mark hovered over
me as I gingerly made my way across the grass to find a place to watch the
performance. Once the marching band
executed its performance, a battalion formed up and an actual military parade
followed, complete with a 21-gun salute.
The Marine Corps Silent Drill Team also performed a precision drill and
amazed the audience with their moves.
My good friend gives me the shirt off his
back…
I have nothing to
wear, or at least nothing that will hide my hideous drains.
The drains that foil
my fashion sense, irritate my side and make getting comfortable so difficult
are hard to hide. They resemble plastic
hand grenades and are too large to put under my shirt so they hang on their
chords down my side and bounce along on my thigh.
Friend Jim
fulfills an old saying and actually takes the shirt off his back and hands it
to me to wear. The large, soft chambray
work shirt is just the thing to conceal my equipment.
The shirt is also
like a comfort food for me – it is a comfortable reminder of those days in my
youth when I routinely donned Mark’s similar work shirt.
I am still tired
and sore and not ready to face the world.
The guys take care of me – feeding me, making me smile…
Moriah’s birthday…
This day marks the
anniversary of a day and a person who changed my life. My daughter Moriah joined our happy home many
years ago on this date.
I allow myself to
slip back into a reverie about the hours before I went to the hospital to
deliver her…such pleasant memories. I
can hardly imagine life without her.
Back then I could not even imagine how my baby daughter would grow up
and fill my life with so much joy.
She is a veteran
mother now herself. I wonder how her
husband and children will help her celebrate her special day.
I sleep a
lot…recuperating is hard work.
Jim arrives, again…
Our housesitter is
abandoning the house again and making yet another marathon trip to DC! What a friend we have in Jim!
Jim should have
been a nurse – he is so nurturing and eager to help. This is the third time he
has been here and every time he comes he is warm and gracious and finds
remarkable ways to make me feel better.
This visit will be easier for him because Mark is here too. The guys can reminisce and maybe even escape together
and have a little fun. I can use some
private time and they will enjoy time without me too.
This whole
surgical/medical madness could have been a very agonizing, melancholy time, but
I have been blessed with good and faithful friends and family. I am so grateful for all the support and
frankly, I am humbled by it too. Life is
so good.
I am discharged…Rain, rain, rain…
Outside the
hospital a dark cold rain falls. A
technician wheels me to the lobby and helps me take a seat on the wide window
ledge. My flowers and small bag are at
my side.
I watch through
the window as Mark hails a cab. It seems
to take a long time.
Getting into the
vehicle proves to be a challenge and the seat belts are like instruments of
torture on my tender shoulders. I am
like the Princess and the Pea – I feel every bump in the road. Each time the car turns, I grimace. Mark looks forlorn.
I watch the rain
falling outside and remember what our Ukrainian friends say about it – when
there is rain at the start of your journey, it is a blessing because it means
the sky is weeping because you are going away.
I find a smile in
my heart and send it to my lips…Mark smiles back at me.
I am on the road
to recovery.
Recovery…
It has been said
before – a hospital is no place to be if you need rest.
This first night,
I sleep intermittently, or maybe I am still drugged. People wander in and out at will. Some turn on lights and chat with me. Some whisper and work in the dark and make me
think they are demons or angels.
Throughout the
night nurses and technicians and physicians and interns wander in to take care
of their own special tasks, changing dressings, emptying bags, taking vital
signs and other routine chores.
As the grey sky
brightens, the crowds get heavier. The
dietician drops by and day shift arrives so new Nurses and crew drop in. The doctor’s make their rounds. They travel in packs and crowd around the end
of my bed. Then the surgeons come
by. The book lady knocks on the
door.
Once breakfast is
delivered, it grows quieter.
I think the trick
is to sleep all morning rather than at night.
I am groggy from
being wakened often and from the ordeal of surgery yesterday. This surgery was more intrusive and lasted
for 6-7 hours. Coming out of the
anesthesia was not as easy as the two previous surgeries and left me
exhausted. It was frightening and
disorienting and something I do not care to relive in writing or in
reality. I was so very cold, shivering
so intensely and my body was in pain.
That was last
night.
In the daylight,
and finally alone, I actually ring for the nurse. He arrives and helps me wobble over to a
chair by the window. He turns on the TV
and brings me a phone. He is competent
and caring and smiles often.
We talk a
bit. We share stories about
He comes by
throughout the day and cares for me in a gentle way that nurtures my
spirit. Others here may be competent and
efficient, but that is not what I need just now. Now I need to be treated as a human.
Surgery…mastectomy and reconstruction…
Today is the day.
This is my third
surgery this month…does that make it easier?
No, not really.
Sine I have been
through the routines at the hospital, I am probably less anxious, but for Mark,
this is all new. I can diffuse my
nervousness by focusing on him.
I have always felt
that things are more difficult for the individual who stays at home or the
individual that simply observes or waits.
I will sleep through surgeries and be almost oblivious to what is going
on. Mark will be awake and worried or
concerned.