Life & Spirit | mulberryshoots

March 22, 2014

basics . . .

I hope this is the last post I write about the side-effects of taking painkiller drugs like Oxycodone and Vicodin. As I have noted earlier, my body has a chemistry that reacts quickly to medication of any sort. I also have a body temp lower than 98.6. Maybe it’s because I’m Chinese and a woman or maybe it’s because it’s just me.

I took Oxycodone for a few days after the initial ankle break and visit to the ER where they manipulated it back in place. I felt groggy and woozy and ill-tempered. So, I switched over to Tylenol. During the one-night stand at the hospital after surgery, they fed me three Oxycodone four hours apart and my blood pressure went down each time they took it in the middle of the night until it was below 100. I willed myself to stay awake. Then, I was switched to Vicodin, Dr. Gregory House’s narcotic of choice on the TV show, “House.” Instead of taking 1-2 tablets every four hours, I took a HALF a tablet each time. For eight days, I took a small dose of Vicodin to alleviate the pain in my injured leg. For the last two nights I took it, I was restless and unable to get to sleep, tossing and turning. Even when I did sleep, it felt like a half-twilight zone with melodramatic dreams playing themselves out–being hostage and trying to free ourselves in a world of strife without end. Like that. Yesterday, I went off the small bits of Vicodin I had been taking and replaced it with Tylenol–one tablet instead of two, four hours apart. Last night, I still had fears, anxiety and restlessness plus insomnia and dreams before I woke up this morning, exhausted from battling the bad guys all night.

When I got up, I typed into my laptop, “Vicodin side-effects” and there they all were: restlessness, anxiety, insomnia to name all of the agitation I had been experiencing on a quarter prescription for one week on this powerful narcotic. What do people do who aren’t paying attention to the side-effects of these painkillers? They said also not to go off Vicodin cold-turkey after prolonged use (like on “House”) but since I’d only been on it a week and am now taking Tylenol, that’s what I’m going to continue to do. Before this, I slept like a baby. And more importantly, I went to sleep almost instantly after a small drop of honey before going to bed. All that’s wrecked up now. But hopefully will return soon.

On another note, I’ve been captivated by the tragic story of L’Wren Scott’s death by her own hand and Mick Jagger’s response to it (so far.) No one knows besides the parties involved what goes on in an intimate relationship: no one. And it’s not anyone else’s business either although the situation is low-hanging fruit for all the tabloids. No matter what the reality was for either of them, it is a very sad story. Just as the drug overdose death of Philip Seymour Hoffman was a tragic and avoidable end for a gifted, intelligent person in his prime. What makes these people who seem to have so many resources and friends they could reach out to end up dying a lonely, premature death? What could be so bad as to end your life on purpose rather than to talk with someone and ask for help? (I hope I sound like I’m wondering rather than judging.) Desperation occurs no matter what you think you have or don’t have, I guess. Everyone is different and so we can’t know what’s happened to account for what appear to be truly tragic situations. Sad.

As I’ve suggested before, a life-altering accident, even one as miniscule as breaking a few bones in one’s ankle and leg like mine, levels the playing field all at once: WHOOMP! People swooped in to take care of me; family members who were distant sent me well-wishes and flowers, ones living close-by helped lift me up and down our three-story home each time I had a medical appointment. My dear husband, G. and I being grateful, holding hands while going to sleep in our bed together every night.

The small stuff that we might sweat everyday pretty much goes away–like sweepings in a dustpan when you tip it into a brown paper bag. With the small stuff gone, so goes pettiness–the “my way or the highway stuff.” I’m laughing out loud at how much of THAT has spontaneously combusted into thin air! What’s left then, is lying quietly for long stretches of the day, sometimes in the morning or afternoon sun when it reaches into the room. Finally, instead of doing things, or thinking of doing things, or running around doing things, I’m actually BE-ING. BE-ING, my dear friends, is very different from DO-ING. One lets go from the ego feedback of feeling good, bad or indifferent about all the things that you spend do-ing and being around others. There is no ego in BE-ING. You just ARE. It’s the Tao of nothingness. Being aware of the air we breathe, drinking water, feeling the warmth of the sun without having to be on a beach somewhere.

Once my system acclimates to having restful sleep again, I’ll be feeling even better. We have so much to be thankful for. Being safe and sound with those we love and who love us. I’m planning to make a simple cabbage soup today: sweet onion, carrots, shredded fresh cabbage, chicken broth, some stewed tomatoes. Macrobiotic cooking features a daikon, carrot, cabbage soup too. Feels good to eat simple food while getting back to basics. We don’t even know what that word, “basics” means, until we find ourselves living in that space. Right now, it feels pretty good.

Cabbage soup recipe: In a medium sized pot with vegetable oil glazing the bottom, brown half of a vidalia onion, sliced in strips; 3 carrots, cleaned and cut up (I use quarter cut; slice on a diagonal, turn the carrot a quarter, slice again and so on until it’s cut up into odd shaped pieces that are perfect bite-size pieces); turn with a spatula. Slice thinly half of a head of regular cabbage and add to the pot; browning and turning over for vegetable flavors to emerge in the heated pot. Add two cans of College Inn chicken broth (not bouillion cubes) and simmer on low. Add a can of diced stewed tomatoes and keep covered, simmering for another half hour. Turn off heat and taste. Add Maldon salt if needed.

You can also toast a couple of thin halves of Thomas’s Sandwich size English Muffins with some grated gruyere cheese on top, cut into quarters. (I confess that I toast the fat half of these wonderful muffins for breakfast and eat them with unsalted butter and a marmalade that I found at Whole Foods: orange, lime, ginger!) I save the thin halves to toast with cheese and add to soups. They layer onto the cabbage soup well–just as they add some crunch and cheesy flavor to the onion soup recipe above. Simple cooking for a very satisfying soup. Especially when Spring rain is pelting the windows and it’s dry inside. Enjoy!

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March 18, 2014

strong woman . . .

courtesy of: http://dlmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/katniss_everdeen__by_xxhannahsalvatorexx-d4q9msu.jpg

Sometimes, it’s better to be late than never! That’s what I was thinking when the idea came to me to watch the “Hunger Games” movies this weekend while my daughters, M. and C. were visiting for the weekend. As you know, I’m recuperating from a broken ankle that required surgery less than a week ago. Things have calmed down quite a bit since the post-op machinations of narcotic painkillers, fluid in my lungs from surgery and learning to inject myself with blood thinners to prevent clots.

I don’t know where the idea came to me to watch Jennifer Lawrence play the central role of Katniss Everdeen in the “Hunger Games” films. Both movies provided a dramatic, engaging backdrop to the weekend–we played them continuously after watching two foodie movies first: “Les Saveurs de la Palais” and “Mostly Martha.” The French film was about a woman who was recruited to be the personal cook of President Francois Mitterand for two years and was just delightful. The rampant sexism of the men from the “main kitchen” and elsewhere was familiarly shocking. There were flashbacks from a year cooking in Antartica after the Palace stint, earning enough from the two for her to go and look for land to start a truffle farm in New Zealand. Played by the famous French actress, Catherine Frot, it was a feast for the eye (her jewelry and clothing) as well as the palate (truffles sliced on truffle-buttered toast for the President sitting at the table in the dark kitchen,) a time before his diet had to change due to prostate cancer. Even more to the senses than her appearance or the delectable food images was her self-confidence in being placed in the role, carrying it out against the odds of the male chefs casting aspersions, shouting, not letting her use equipment or fridge space; she did it all with aplomb, tenacity and grace. Loved it! If you like food and strong women, you can find the film on Netflix.

“Mostly Martha” featured a central female character who was almost the opposite of the French chef in the first movie. She prevails in the end, though, surmounting her own neurotic habits and tenets about life to rescue her niece, acknowledge how kind Mario, the man who loved her is, and to make huge shifts in her life to follow the path of happiness that Life pushed her to choose, even as she rebelled against it due to her habit of being difficult and unhappy.

Then, we come to Katniss Everdeen, who fiercely volunteers herself to replace Prim, her much younger sister, who is selected as one of the Tributes from District 12. I can’t believe that we didn’t see these earlier but even when my fifteen year granddaughter, A. watched them at the time they came out a few years ago, I was too scared to watch teenagers thrust into “games of death.” The reason I wanted to watch them this weekend was Jennifer Lawrence. I am a movie buff from way back and have seen “Silver Linings Playbook” and “American Hustle.” I’ve also watched her handle herself at the Oscars and Golden Globes. After watching the HG films this weekend, I can’t imagine any other actress embodying the role of Katniss Everdeen, can you?

You may be wondering why I’m bothering to write this post while I’m concentrating on healing my injured leg. It’s because having possession of oneself, being strong in strange settings beyond one’s control, and overcoming overwhelming obstacles is the most positive energy I can surround myself with. Besides, it’s a lot of fun.

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March 15, 2014

“post-op”. . .

My multiple fracture ankle surgery took place on Wednesday with a knee nerve block anesthesia as well as being knocked out. The surgeon noted afterwards to G. that instead of two incisions, only one was needed; and while two plates were inserted, the two pins he thought might be needed were not. So it sounded like the surgery went well with less impact than might have been anticipated.

What I have learned since the surgery is that the fallout from having the procedure itself are all the side effects and potential complications one experiences: a sore throat from intubation; fluid in the lungs from the anesthesia which can develop into pneumonia; avoidance of post-operative infection (two rounds of IV antiobiotics,) avoidance of clots forming into aneurysms or causing a stroke, to mention the major ones. Just this little list describes the potentially dangerous shoals that recovery navigates back to health. Not to mention over-administration of strong narcotic drugs as painkillers that create nausea, anxiety and grogginess. In the middle of the night when I noticed that my blood pressure was dropping below 100, it was hard to sleep even though the nurses made little notice of it.

My constitution is highly insensitive to pain, it seems (I have a high pain threshhold) but also quickly reacts to any kind of medication. When I am prescribed two tablets, four times a day; a HALF tablet each time takes the edge off the pain. Thus, over some periods of four hours overnight in the hospital, I was given SIX TIMES the amount of dosage I had adjusted to at home. When I mentioned this later to the anesthesiologists who dropped by, they said that the proper dosage would have been to correlate my pain score to the dosage. Instead, the nurse gave me the maximum each time (and for me over the maximum dosage) that they could have. Don’t people sometimes O.D. on narcotic painkillers? I also had had no food for over twenty four hours and the painkillers were taken on an empty stomach. I was glad to be discharged in the afternoon that day and avoided staying another night unable to sleep when they wake you up every hour to take your vital signs.

Once home on the next day, the private nursing group sent over a nurse to intake my information, show me how to self-inject the blood thinner and also helped me to understand how to clear the fluid out of my lungs. Later in the afternoon, a physical therapist, who had been doing PT since 1978 visited and watched me maneuver around using my wheelchair and observing how I got onto the couch and into bed at night. He gave me some arm strengthening exercises so that when I graduate to using a walker and arm crutches, my arms will be a little stronger. I knew we would get along when the first question he asked me was about the pianos in the house.

G. noticed that a pair of cardinals has been singing everyday and flutters around the house. I’m buoyed up by that–and our little singing canary is doing fine also. On another note, I just started reading a book that I’m enjoying a lot. It’s called “Love and War” jointly written by Mary Matalin and James Carville. It describes the twenty years of their marriage and leaving Washington for Louisiana five years ago. On the day Carville arrived and they drove to a local grocery store, he received a phone call that his very good friend, Tim Russert, had died. It was a deep blow as the families were close, Luke Russert was described as being like the son they didn’t have along with the two daughters they did have. The Mary and James excerpts in the book are almost seamless, a literary writing and editing feat given that the content of their writing was so diverse emanating from their ideological differences. I am reminded of an engraving on a gold ring I have that says, “amor vincit omnia” or, “love conquers all.” Fascinating reading. Also witty, warm, sincere and candid. The best kind of writing to have on hand while one is dealing with inconvenience and pain.

It has also occurred to me that I survived the surgery, as nightmare an experience as the post-operative night in the hospital was; and that I will keep on living. My daughters are coming for a visit tonight and will stay a day or two. We will have homestyle Chinese cooking and snack while we watch movies together. One of them will be “Bed of Roses” with Christian Slater and Mary Stuart Masterson because one of my orthopedic residents who helped put my leg back together again in the ER originally looks a lot like Christian Slater.

So that’s it for now. It’s always what you don’t know about that surprises you in the end: sort of like childbirth. And come to think of it, had they told me about all of the side-effects, it wouldn’t have helped either to know ahead of time that I would have these post-op contingencies to deal with. The human carelessness of giving me so much Oxycodone on an empty stomach was avoidable though. Maybe I’ll be in a better mood the next post I write. Hope so.

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March 6, 2014

viewpoints . . .

I noticed yesterday in the NYTimes that the author of “How We Die”, Sherwin Nuland, died at the age of 83. In his book, I gather that he decries aging in general, the frustration of our bodies not being what they were when we were, well, younger. This has never made much sense to me: it’s like railing at the weather when it snows a lot in a winter (like this one,) or the temperatures dropping, or drought even. I mean, what can we actually do about it? Unless I’m missing something, it seems that our role is to figure out how we’re going to deal with it, or make provisions for getting through it.

So, we will all get to an age if we’re lucky (so many people dying young,) when we have to make adjustments in how we get around. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of it until I stepped off the stairs before I was on the ground level. That feeling of exasperation to me was as sharp as the sound of bones cracking when I landed.

But back to the topic at hand, what’s the use of spending time and energy being unhappy about aging? Especially if we take ourselves in hand and are mindful about what we eat, and mostly about what we don’t eat or try not to eat too much of. . . Stay off the crutches of medication, over the counter or otherwise. . . Maintain one’s health (I have taken Pure Synergy, a green algae powder in tomato juice for years) with natural supplements. Drink plenty of water and be regular. Get enough sleep.

I can also describe the conclusion I have drawn about “things.” That’s right, all those things that when acquired, you’d think, “oh, so and so will love this later on.” Well, guess what? people have different tastes. They have small houses. They have enough stuff. They like different things. Whatever the reason, all the fuss and hoopla that is made about being specific about bequests is nonsense to me. When one is dead, you can’t keep people from misunderstanding, re-inventing or in any other way not doing what you had intended for them to do. Just stop and think about all of the time, energy and money spent by people going the Courts to get what they think they deserve from the estate of the dead. It is so meaningless, as far as I’m concerned. In the end, trust and integrity are the only things that matter. If it’s there, fine. If it’s not, there’s nothing you can do about it anyhow because you won’t be around to see what happens. So, why worry about it?

So, that’s conclusion number two: things don’t matter. The first one is that none of us can stop time nor our bodies aging. Number three is that it’s up to us individually how good or positive each day is going to be after you wake up. It’s truly remarkable how being immobilized as I am now levels the playing field down to just about nothing, except perhaps taking care of myself to get dressed and clean, preparing a few meals, straightening things up a little. The rest of the time, I am lying in the sun and basking in its warmth from the skylights; appreciating the help that is extended from many people who come in and out to lay down a sheet of plywood so the wheelchair moves more easily; install a handle at just the right angle for it to be most useful in the john, propping the cushions high enough with knee support so my foot is higher than my heart. Yesterday, I felt for the first time that there was a space between the cast and my enclosed leg–which I take to mean that elevating the leg has resulted in a reduction of swelling. A very different feeling. I’m buoyed up by that new space.

Even though I’ve looked over the abyss about what will happen (or may) after I’m gone, I actually think that I’m going to be around for awhile. Still have trouble learning lessons that I had thought I learned awhile back. So, I’m human too. I’m grateful for my family, who puts up with me when I am crabby and impatient.

Oh, and while It is flattering when the nurses and residents compliment me that I look so much younger than my age. I have to admit it makes me feel good. But, what is age anyhow? What’s the correlation between the way your body is and your age? More importantly, what’s the correlation between your age and your attitude? And finally, isn’t your spirit what matters most anyhow? I happen to think so. What do you think?

March 5, 2014

to do list . . .

Some might consider this hiatus of waiting for surgery and then recuperating from surgery to be a time of waiting. Not so, I say to myself after returning from my pre-surgery exam yesterday.

Last night, for some reason, I found it hard to fall asleep and so my mind wandered around and about to take stock and to reflect about what I want or need to do with my time. First of all, I’ve gone through the exercise of putting my affairs in (better) order, talking with my daughters and husband about how they may help each other after I’m gone and going through what I would like each of them to have and also feel free to swap at will. Who knows, I might last a long time after this, but that very intimate task is done, at least a template is in place and can be tweaked every so often. That’s a big load off my mind.

So last night and today, I’m thinking about what I would like to take note of during this chunk of the year while I’m getting back on my feet. Here’s a to-do list that I’m thinking about right now:

1. Be sure to hydrate (drink lots of water) and cut down on bread, butter, potatoes and sweets so that I maintain the weight I’ve lost so far and don’t hapzardly gain a few pounds. Eat more fresh salads with the yummy dressing that I make up ahead of time (garlic slices, olive oil, Marukan seasoned rice vinegar, fresh lemon juice, a little sugar). Handful of mesclun and baby arugula, sliced large fresh mushrooms, ripe pears, marcona almonds, goat cheese. . . like that. It’s so easy to fall back into eating heartier (and higher calorie food) just because it’s tempting to do during this fallow period.

2. Read about recipes and preparations for ramen noodle broth; fixings and condiments; same for soba noodles. Read my Japanese Farmhouse Cookbook, Momofuku and Ivan Ramen Noodles to introduce new dishes into my cookery menus; cold salads and condiments on the side. I love to cook and while I’m slightly limited now, I can still reframe and renew the ideas I’m used to cooking and slowly introduce them into the mix of what we eat.

3. Read lots of books that I enjoy, not what I think I should read. I still have “War and Peace,” “The Tale of Genji” and “Remembrance of Things Past” in the bookshelves, the bindings still tight. I mean, I know I should read “Anna Karenina” but her plight is somewhat dated and I’m not interested in swimming in such deep literary waters. I’d rather dip my reading toes into more enjoyable fare: perhaps Mona Simpson’s new novel that is due out in mid-April. I am still catching up with Lorrie Moore’s “Birds of America” anthology of short stories before I venture towards her new book, “Bark,” which, in the NY Times Book Review sounded like an extraordinary effort towards using puns around the word “bark”–which, if you must know, don’t interest me that much. Lydia Davis, who won the Booker prize for her short stories last year is a writer from Northampton nearby and fun to read every once in awhile.

I used to love to read mysteries and may embark upon re-reading some of the Georges Simenon mysteries which I heard were being re-printed; fun to read about Inspector Maigret and his wife while he solves crime all over Belgium and France. I also enjoyed the Dorothy Sayers series of Lord Peter Whimsey mystery novels. Maybe when I try them out again, they will seem dated, but we’ll see.

4. High on my list is to play the piano with my wheelchair drawn up to my Steinway piano named “Victor.” There’s tons of Bach that can be read without the use of pedal ( my right ankle is gonzo right now.) One of the oscar-winning documentaries was a half-hour film called “The Lady in Room 6” which is about the oldest living Holocaust survivor, Alice Herz Sommer, who died at the age of 110 two weeks ago. In it, she can be seen joyfully playing Bach Inventions on her Steinway upright piano. She has enormous hands and plays with a calm and sprightly musical aspect. While she was incarcerated in the camps, she took it upon herself to learn the complete Chopin Etudes, very difficult pieces for a pianist. I figured if she could do that, the least I can do now is to learn some new repertoire myself while I’m recuperating. So that’s an inspiration. Take a look at the film if you want some perspective on how nothing matters except love and music.

My own piano to-do list includes sightreading pieces and excerpts from Bach Well-Tempered Clavier Books I & II, Inventions, Italian Concerto, Fantasie, French Suites, English Suites, Partitas; Chopin concerti; Brahms concerti; Beethoven sonatas, Rachmaninoff Preludes; Scriabin Prelude, Op. 11, number 11. It might be good exercise for me to play everyday at intervals and use my back, arms and hands.

5. I have four big balls of Noro yarn left over from three vests that I made for a family up in Minneapolis. I think I’ll use a new criss cross pattern to make a piece of some sort for myself to commemorate this happening in my life–something nice to look at and also to keep warm in while reminding myself how lucky I will be to survive this Spring of 2014. It will be fun to figure out how to do it out of the remaining yarn that I have to work with. I gave the spectacular multi-colored vest with patchwork pockets to one of my daughters last weekend. She looks terrific in it and although in my mind’s eye, I thought I would make it for myself, it’s too colorful for my little brown wren personality so it will be perfect for her to wear when she’s teaching her French classes. When she returns next week for a visit, we’ll take a photo and post it.

That’s as far as I have gotten today. Little by little enjoyable things to do. That’s one of the lessons I am learning too: to be more patient, to take care of myself as only I can, and to enjoy something each day.

February 26, 2014

so far, so good . . .

more well-wishing flowers. . .

It’s almost a week (tomorrow) since I took that fateful step off the stairs, thinking that I was nearer terra firma than I actually was. Instead, I fell on my right ankle which dislocated the tibia and broke a bunch of bones (what they call a compound fracture.)

Today, surrounded by beautiful flowers from well-wishers, I am biding my time until the surgeon operates on my foot next week (week by week it seems to go.) After lunch, I managed to use a walker to stand at the kitchen sink and wash my hair. It’s getting long, I keep telling myself as I comb it out and twist it securely on top of my head to dry in the sun while I sit and rest my leg.

Here’s a story that has been in the front of my mind: thirty years ago, a neighbor family who lived up the hill from us in Lexington were friends with my family. They had three girls and so did we. The girls were all classmates with one another. Their father taught at MIT and the mother was a well-known and well-liked activist in the education system in our town. First, we heard she was in the local hospital (Symmes Hospital in Arlington which is no longer there) for knee surgery. Then she went home. Then, she had a clot. And suddenly, she died, leaving the family on its own. We were so shocked that a seemingly innocuous operation could lead so quickly to such a sad end. Just so you know, though, the father raised the three girls by himself. Two of them studied at MIT, including graduate school. A. started a lab there which invented easy-to-use tools that helped people in Third World countries to purify water. I heard that she was awarded a MacArthur Fellowship (“genius grant”) a couple of years later. What an amazing story of an amazing family who made its way in the absence of their vibrant mother all those years. Their father was well known at MIT for fifty years, during which time he taught electrical engineering, and then afterwards served as MIT’s head of undergraduate education and student affairs from 1990-1995.

You know where this is going, right? I described that sudden death from knee surgery situation to the orthopedic surgeon we met with on Monday. I said there seemed to be situations, rare perhaps but even so, times when someone may go in for a tonsillectomy, lapse into a coma and then die. Since my personality is proactive and organized, I reflected about what I wanted to have happen in my absence (if I died unexpectedly.) It’s taken a couple of days to learn there’s nothing like transparency to help align people you love.

Now, it’s time to plan what to make for dinner: roasted sweet potatoes and thin-sliced pork chops in a mustard-apple cider vinegar glaze, fresh spinach on the side. There’s even a half of a peach cobbler to warm up and eat with Haagen Daz vanilla bean ice cream after dinner. Yum!

Postscript: The week-by-week paradigm has kicked in: when the ER cast was opened up on Friday, there were skin blisters, a condition that required antiseptic applied to them and then a new cast closing the ankle up for another ten days. To avoid post-operative infection, the blisters should heal first. The next peek is scheduled for the week of March 10th.

In the meantime, my daughter C. helped me position pillows while resting on the couch, so that the cast is elevated higher than my heart–thereby promoting a less congested ankle area, helping it to heal sufficient to have surgery. One week at a time. . .

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February 24, 2014

an accident . . .

“get well” flowers from my daughters and granddaughters . . .

Well, my horoscope indicated that 2014 would/should be a quiet year for me even though it’s the Year of the Horse and that’s my sign. Both Western and Eastern signs I read about in January indicated that I should “take a back seat” kind of approach for the year. At first, I was kind of nonplussed and mystified. Now, I am beginning to understand what might have been behind those predictions.

On Thursday evening, as I prepared to drive down to a meeting at City Hall for a Citizens Advisory Committee of which I’m on the board, I mistook where I was on the stairs going down, thinking the next step was the floor. It was not. I was up higher and I fell, landing on my right ankle with a loud cracking sound. I was afraid to look at my ankle because I thought maybe the break in the bone might be visible on the outside. It was not, but the swelling became elephantine.

G. took me to the Emergency Room, where they took one look at the ankle and hustled me through the various processors who have to look at you before someone orders an X-Ray. Then, the shaking of heads by all the nurses who said, “hm, lots of breaks.” Not a good sign. They moved me to the larger emergency room pod and got me into a room where two orthopedic residents set about realigning the tibia which had dislocated from my ankle socket. They were kind, gentle and amazingly competent. They kept asking me if I was in pain, and one of them said I was the most stoical patient he’s ever had.

Wearing lead aprons, they used a portable X-ray machine that showed them my ankle while they put it back together using the x-ray photos as a guide. Under lidocaine anesthetic injected into my ankle area and an IV painkiller, they worked on it awhile, looked at it, then decided they needed to cut the cast they had just put on to realign it better. After that, they sent me to radiology to have X-Rays taken again. On the computer back in the room, I was shown the X-Rays of the injury “before” and “after.” An amazing difference! One of the orthopedic residents was the spitting image of Christian Slater, I thought, although he said nobody had ever told him that before. I chatted on about how “Bed of Roses” with Christian Slater and Mary Stuart Masterson was one of my favorite movies –which he hadn’t seen. It also turned out when he told me his last name, that his father was the cardiologist that my mother-in-law goes to (she’s ninety-five and the sweetest words he says to her at her checkups is “see you in six months!”)

Anyhow, I got home around 1:30 in the morning and after awkwardly pulling myself up three flights of stairs to where we live, we were ready for bed. The cast weighed a lot and I hadn’t gotten around to getting the painkiller medication partly because I don’t have prescription insurance (no one could believe that I didn’t take ANY medications and that I wasn’t twenty years younger–very flattering and did wonders for me while my adrenalin was pumping along overtime in the ER. The prescription turned out not to cost $80 as I had imagined, but actually cost just over $11.00. That was a good sign, I thought.

My daughter, M. flew down from Minneapolis the next night and spent the weekend with us. She helped us find a medical supply place and came home with arm cuff crutches and other supplies that helped a lot. For our dinner, she made lasagna with zucchini and fresh spinach, layered with brown rice, whole wheat lasagna noodles, sauce, ricotta and parmesan cheese. We had it again for supper last night. My granddaughter, A. and I were going to have lunch together on Saturday prior to my accident and she drove down instead and we had a nice lunch visit together with M. (I had made homemade wontons with pork and shrimp in a napa cabbage and spinach soup broth.)

On Sunday, G. and I went to have a CAT scan of my ankle so that the orthopedic surgeon would be able to look at it before my visit with him for a consultation this morning: whether I will need to have surgery or not (probably yes) and what the recovery process and prognosis might be.

All in all, I feel that it could have been a lot worse for me: I could have broken my hip, injured my spine or neck, fallen on my head with greater injury and more dire consequences. Our cup is still more than half full and we will get through this by streamlining our needs and being patient with each other during this highly impactive timeframe. My daughter, C., sent me a link for free grocery delivery from our local Stop and Shop which we might try out. And after we learn what’s in front of us today, we’ll know better what to expect. More later . . .

Later: G. and I had a good visit with the orthopedic surgeon. He agreed with me that the two orthopedic residents had done a “fabulous job” putting my bones back together in the ER Thursday night, so that my foot could heal sufficiently before having surgery. He’ll take off my cast this Friday to examine how the bones are holding together (or not!) and right now, he said surgery might take place next Wednesday. After the surgery, a weekly checkup, then removing the sutures, then recovery casts for a period of about six weeks. This sounded a lot easier than what I had read about online (12 weeks or up to a year!) so I’m really encouraged about possibly having a shorter recovery time required after surgery. And it’s also good to know that the surgery will take place next week.

Back home again, G. and I managed to get me up the 29-30 stairs that bring me up to the third floor where we live. The stairs are original to our Queen Ann Victorian house, built in 1899 and are made of curly cherry wood; there are four landings that separate the rows of stairs. Each time we navigate them, we get better at it.

After a lunch of bologna sandwiches (Boar’s Head!), potato chips and drinks later, I’m now resting on the leather couch in front of the TV, my cast leg slightly cramping from the exertion of getting up the stairs.

So, that’s it for now. This break (in my ankle and in our lives) has taught us how much we mean to each other, how fortunate we are to be together and that really. . . truly. . . honestly . . . , it’s not worth sweating the small stuff. . . and in the context of things, almost everything is small.

Except family, love. . . and yes, gorgeous flowers!

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February 23, 2014

three years old . . .

I can hardly believe that this blog is three years old today! I wrote about how we turned two last year and thought it might be interesting to see where we are today, still a toddler in writing years. . .

When people sometimes ask me what my blog is about, I hesitate, not knowing how to describe it. It’s about my adventure in life, I guess, according to Mary Oliver’s poem in the place of honor on my blog page:

“tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Well, what are we doing with our wild and precious lives? For me since I now have the luxury of time to read, reflect, listen to music, play the piano, knit, cook and take care of my family and my home, that’s what I’m doing with my own “only one trip!” as Iris Apfel is wont to say. The days of stirring the pot during my thirty year project management career with biotech start-ups are thankfully over.

2013 posts were an interesting year where I’ve backed away from the intensity of wanting to understand everything in my life, to “take care of business” and to wonder about what I will do for the rest of it. That answer came just a few days ago in my post, “a revelation” and from a Woody Allen movie quotation no less: “that life is to be enjoyed, not understood.”

And so now I lay me down the never-ending struggle of wanting to understand things before I can let them go. Because, honestly, they’re disproportionately unfathomable, aren’t they? Or maybe I’ll finally unroll them all into a book that I’ve wanted to write for a long time rather than wishing it were written already.

I watched, fascinated, as the blog views turned the 20,000 mark around the holidays, then to 21,546 views over 353 posts, which is what it is today. Viewing takes place from the most amazing places too: 124 countries at last count. During that time, I have met friends from far-away places who visit the blog, like cardinals who come and feed, their bright colors and good spirits permeating my life at the most unexpected times. They harken from as far away as Australia, Singapore, California, Texas, Mississippi and Alaska. The internet provides a global umbrella for making friends, sharing life stories and recipes. And they express their own thoughts with such sweet sincerity. I am touched by them all.

Click on this link if you’d like to see dozens of cardinals feeding alongside a very calm squirrel on Valentine’s Day! :

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_C4MMuF-LVk

I wanted to include in this post a highlight of 2013 called “mums” in case you haven’t seen it. It’s of an extraordinary exhibition of Japanese chrysanthemums at the New York Botanical Gardens that I visited by myself one fine October day.

I am lucky to have a loving family and to be able to provide photos of them, our environs, both physical and spiritual on the blog. The Helpers of the Universe seem to be unusually active in positive ways as my letting go widens with each new day.

G. at the piano. . .

threesome of me with daughters, C. & M.

Thank you for reading and following this little blog. I appreciate your presence and interest, taking the time to read my posts about life.

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February 16, 2014

buddha weighs in . . .

M., my daughter, sent me this message today as a follow-on to the revelation post yesterday: “life is to be enjoyed, not understood.”

February 15, 2014

a revelation . . .

I just realized that I grew up in a household in which science and truth were important. My father was a research scientist in geology that led him to discover minerals from asteroid impact on the earth at a time when astronauts gathered specimens from the moon. That seems like so long ago.

Being the eldest, I think the search for truth that permeated our household was something I absorbed under my skin, and which has both helped and haunted me all my life. Being rational and wanting to be the smartest brain in the room has both helped me in a late-blooming biotech career to, well, being avoided in order for me not to pronounce some direct “truth” that people may have preferred not hearing.

Be that as it may, I realized today that my bias, if you could call it that, was to reflect and ponder things in order to understand in my own way, what’s happened in my life. Little did I know that sometimes I’m right and often, I’m not and furthermore, that some things are just unfathomable: like why family dynamics were what they were without the benefit of being able to ask and having the departed weigh in from the grave.

Today, by chance, while surfing channels to see what was playing live from the Olympics, I came across Woody Allen’s movie, “Hannah and Her Sisters.” I’m not a Woody Allen fan as I tire of listening to his nostalgic jazz soundtracks and even more, dislike hearing about his personality quirks and life history that seem to have to be included in every one of his movies ad nauseum.

The reason I’m talking about him, though, is a scene in which Allen accidently shoots a mirror while contemplating killing himself in a low moment and in which he then realizes that “life is to be enjoyed, not to be understood.”

EUREKA!

Okay, so you mean I don’t have to understand things in order to move on? I no longer have to ferret out what accounted for something happening and why people behaved the way that they have in order to live? This may sound like an exaggeration but honestly, it never occurred to me that I didn’t have to understand things in order to process them in my life. That’s a lot of hours, days, weeks, months and years spent pondering things when I could have been doing something else!

Now, because of a dumb Woody Allen phrase, I can give myself permission to enjoy life rather than understand it? Who knew?

I didn’t. And today I’m glad to begin experimenting with an alternative reality. Better late than never!

P.S. There’s nothing like puttering around in the kitchen on a snowy day. Here’s a photo of the peach crostata that I just took out of the oven for tonight’s dessert. Threw together some thawed peaches I had in the freezer for smoothies with a little flour, sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg, dotted with butter–combined with a Pillsbury pie crust, unrolled and patted into a small springform pan sprayed with Pam. Fold crust over peaches, sprinkle with coarse sugar and cinnamon. Bake at 400 degrees until golden brown, about 35 minutes. Leave in heated oven and serve warm pie with vanilla ice cream.

hijiki & carrots; teriyaki tofu and cucumber salad for dinner. . .

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Category: Life & Spirit