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But what happens on February 3rd?

Feb2
A screengrab of a video by the tourism website of the state of Pennsylvania shows the groundhog Punxsutawney Phil being watched for signs of his shadow.

NPR reports on Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction of an early spring.

What’s my favorite holiday? After Thanksgiving, it’s . . . Groundhog Day. And if, like me, you’re a fan of redemption movies—and of Bill Murray—then today you watched Groundhog Day . . . again . . . and again. . . . 

It's always February 2nd - ThisIsAuthentic.com

Click to relive Bill Murray’s day . . . over . . . and over . . . and over. . . .

My favorite part of this perennial movie is near the end, when Phil—Connors, that is—finally gets it. He starts living—and giving—in the ever-present moment. He hasn’t yet escaped the never-explained time warp he has somehow found himself in; but in time (whatever that means), he accepts his fate and eventually lives a perfect day that only close to infinite re-dos could have made possible as he learns life’s most important lesson. And yet . . .

What is a “perfect” day? The message of the film is that this Scrooge-like guy learns about becoming his best self through genuine interest in and compassion for others—all with a comic and romantic twist (not unlike Bill’s other redemption movie, Scrooged).* His reward for a lesson well learned and a life well lived on February 2nd?

February 3rd.

But on the other side of the screen, we don’t get infinite re-dos. We ordinary mortals need to learn as we go through linear time, not when we’re stuck in an endless loop of it. So how do we learn to live a “perfect” day on February 3rd after learning the lessons of our own February 2nd? 

My personal February 2nd, so to speak, was actually on Valentine’s Day 2014. I underwent my last vaginal radiation treatment (brachytherapy) that day following a total hysterectomy for uterine cancer on December 13, 2013. And I was still in the “glow” of having survived a brush with mortality and having learned my lesson that all moments of life are precious and, in their own way, eternal. Or are they? This is a topic for another day, but perhaps all moments of time exist somewhere, in some treasure vault that we can revisit . . . and revisit . . . and revisit—if we learn the combination or find the key. So if the cosmos is filled with all the energy that has ever existed, why not make our contribution positive?

But what if we become disillusioned because we can’t unlock all the secrets of the universe? Such reflections brought me to the realization that, at least in human terms, the most important secret of life is the one Phil learns in the movie. And this thought took me back to the lyrics of the 1967 song by the Youngbloods, “Get Together,” which may hold the deepest human secret:

You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It’s there at your command

In an awesome and happy coincidence, when I wrote an earlier version of this post last year, a quick search for those lyrics took me to the February 3, 2015 page on the Huffington Post blog, “The Third Metric,” where that very song happened to be featured that day: “Daily Meditation: Get Together.” Such coincidences seem to point to a cosmic connection, one that I don’t pretend to understand. Yet these occurrences whisper to me that perhaps we do hold a key that unlocks the secrets to at least our private universe.

In the afterglow of that “Whew! Narrow escape!” feeling post-op and post-radiation, I am still figuring out how to incorporate the lessons of my own February 2nd into my February 3rd. Learning how to do this will require me to be awake, aware, and appreciative during all the coming days until I run out of them. And it’s extremely hard.

Maybe tomorrow, on February 3rd, it will be enough for me to realize that aftermaths and interims are just as important as great events. Or maybe they are the great events. Life is still happening in an amazing way, even when we can’t quite feel the miracle of it after an emergency or a major event has melted into the rest of our experience.

Life transitions often feel shallow, muddy, confusing, unfocused, unimportant. But without the respite from urgency that we experience during exciting or traumatic times, we wouldn’t have the chance to dive deeper into our own being. These times spent in semi-mist may actually be mystical. Change is creative. So transition isn’t really a dark place to be feared or avoided, but a space offering a chance to learn and become your own next great thing. As earth transits around the sun, transition is how we experience time . . . and all the times of our lives.

Alone in my personal space, I will celebrate February 3rd, knowing that the ice crystals on the trees will become leaf buds . . . in time. I hope you will never be stuck on February 2nd and will have quietly wonderful February 3rds to look forward to for many years to come.

*And speaking of redemption stories . . .

Ghost of Christmas Past

Ghost of Christmas Present

Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

A Christmas Carol_1843_30%

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What happens on February 3rd?

Feb3

It's always February 2nd - ThisIsAuthentic.com

If, like me, you are a fan of redemption movies—and of Bill Murray—then yesterday you tuned into AMC and watched Groundhog Day . . . again . . . and again . . . and again.

My favorite part of the movie is near the end, when Phil (also the groundhog’s name) Connors finally gets it and starts living—and giving—in the ever-present moment. He hasn’t yet escaped the time warp he’s found himself in; but he has accepted his fate and lives a perfect day that only infinite re-dos and learning the ultimate lesson could make possible. And yet . . .

What is a “perfect” day? The message of the film is that this Scrooge-like guy learns about becoming his best self through genuine interest in and compassion for others—all with a comic and romantic twist (not unlike Bill’s other redemption movie, Scrooged). His reward for a lesson well learned on February 2nd? February 3rd.

But on the other side of the screen, we don’t get infinite re-dos. We need to learn as we go through time, not when we’re stuck in an endless loop. So how do we learn to live a “perfect” day on February 3rd after learning the lessons of our own February 2nd?

My personal February 2nd, so to speak, was in 2014. At this time last year, I was in the middle of my vaginal radiation treatments (brachytherapy) following a total hysterectomy for uterine cancer on December 13, 2013. And I was still in the “glow” of having survived a brush with fatality and having learned my lesson that all moments of life—even my life, which I have not always valued—are precious, if not eternal.

Or are they? This is a topic for another day, but perhaps all moments of time exist somewhere, in some treasure vault that we can revisit . . . and revisit . . . and revisit—if we learn the combination or find the key. George's Secret Key

But what if we can’t unlock all of the secrets of the universe? (Who knows—maybe it’s only one secret.) These thoughts took me back to part of the lyrics of the 1967 song by the Youngbloods, “Get Together,” which I always thought held the deepest human secret:

You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It’s there at you command

20150203_103012 (2)In an awesome and happy coincidence, a quick search for the lyrics took me to the February 3, 2015, post on the Huffington Post blog, “The Third Metric,” where the song is featured today: “Daily Meditation: Get Together.” Such coincidences seem to point to a cosmic connection, one that I don’t understand. Yet these occurrences whisper to me that perhaps we do hold a key that unlocks the secrets to at least our private universe.

In the afterglow of that “Whew! Narrow escape” feeling post-op and post-radiation last year, I am still figuring out how to incorporate the lessons of my February 2nd into February 3rd—my reward for having survived. Learning how to do this will require me to be awake, aware, and appreciative in all the days that follow until I run out of them.

On this February 3rd, as I see welcome sunlight turning ice into crystals on the bare limbs outside my window, I guess it is enough for me to realize that aftermaths and interims are just as important as great events. Or maybe they are the great events. Life is still happening in an amazing way even when we can’t quite feel the miracle of it after the emergency or major event has melted into the rest of our experience.

Life transitions often feel shallow, muddy, confusing, unfocused, unimportant. But without the respite from urgency that we experience during exciting or traumatic times, we wouldn’t have the chance to dive deeper into our own being. These times spent in semi-mist may actually be mystical. Change is creative. So transition isn’t really a dark place to be feared or avoided, but a space offering a chance to learn and become your own next great thing. As earth transits around the sun, transition is how we experience time . . . and all the times of our lives.

Alone in my personal space, I will celebrate February 3rd, knowing that the ice crystals will become leaf buds . . . in time. I hope you will have a quietly wonderful February 3rd, too.

20150203_112402 

Update: You Can't Unbreak Glass…but the Fragments Can Be Contained

Mar19

Final lessons from a pretty, but fragile, aqua bulb lamp.

Aqua Bulb Lamp_Desk 1 #3

   The Patient Path . . .

Aqua Bulb Lamp_Desk 2 #2

       Yields Illumination

Last weekend, I got the call from Pier 1 that my “new new” lamp was finally in. I had broken the “old new” lamp 10 days before while making the purchase and had felt so bad about it I had to do something with the experience. That something was the March 6, 2014 post. I had waited patiently for the new lamp so I could properly illuminate my office with this second lamp on my second desk.

I went to pick up the lamp and was helped by a different store clerk than the one who’d helped me previously. Thankfully, this lamp, unlike the other one, was in a box and not just bubble-wrapped. Then I looked at the top of the box, which, strangely, was printed with a different model name on it. The clerk called the manager over, a different one and not the one who had helped me during the initial purchase. The manager offered to unpack the lamp so I could make sure it was the correct one. On second glance, the correct model name was printed on the sides of the box. Odd. We opened it, and “my” lamp was inside despite the identity confusion on the outside. I quietly took my new lamp home, eager to set it up on my second desk.

While putting it together, I saw that the threaded top where the finial is screwed on to secure the lamp shade had been soldered on crooked, which meant the lampshade pitched forward. Hmmm.

Bent Lamp Harp_30%

So, I called the 800 customer service number, and the representative said I could swap out the lamp for a new one. I couldn’t bear to do this again, and she offered to call the Flemington store on my behalf to see what they could do. She did, and the store had another lamp in stock (in case I should need it?). I called the store and spoke with the manager, who had already dealt with me once that day, but she was agreeable and she said I could swap out either the harp or the entire lamp. I took the bent harp and went back to the store.

While the manager was unpacking the stock lamp, the first young woman who had sold me the one I’d broken 10 days before appeared. She didn’t recognize me, but I “confessed,” and the manager said with mock anger, “Oh, she‘s the one.” They were good natured, but I was uncomfortable and wanted to turn the experience around. So I thanked them for being so nice about the situation and told them about the story on the blog. The young woman looked it up on her smart phone and seemed eager to read it, especially after I said I’d complimented her and the store for their handling of my bungling. I swapped out the harps and left the store, feeling that all had ended well.

When I got home, I finished setting up the second lamp and stood back to admire how softly pretty and glowing my office looked. Then I took the box to the garage and thought about the two different model names on it, unsure of how such a thing could happen. But I decided to take it as a final message about the entire lamp experience. Whereas the first lesson was about the paradox between sturdiness and fragility, and then how vulnerability can become strength once again in the human heart, this lesson seemed to be about patience. But more than that.

This final lesson was also about identity. Just as sturdiness can mask vulnerability, external labels can create confusion about what’s inside. In this case, the true thing–my lamp–was inside a box with two names. Currently, I am working on a story about identity for my writing group, so the occurrence of labeling ambiguity has symbolic meaning that I will be exploring more deeply as I continue to write.

In the meantime, though, I am thankful that the “wrong” name was on the top of the box. Because that name was Sophia–Greek for “wisdom.”

________________

MARCH 6, 2014 POST

Aqua Glass Desk Lamp - 2_50%

Lessons from a pretty, but fragile, aqua bulb lamp.

Radiation-Related Posts:

My Current Story, Update: Uterine (Endometrial) Cancer–You Can't Unbreak Glass…but the Fragments Can Be Contained

Mar6

Aqua Glass Desk Lamp - 2_50%

Lessons from a pretty, but fragile, aqua bulb lamp.

This story was updated on March 19, 2014.

Shattered Glass & Fragmented Spirits

Part of my personal treatment plan is to sort through all of my possessions–mounds of them, many of them paper records and memorabilia–and consolidate and clear out as much as possible. This is excruciatingly difficult. I am a collector of personal and business organization books and have poked my nose in most of them, but practical advice disintegrates in the face of emotional attachment to the things that give silent witness to your life. Coming face to face with the reality that our time here is finite has had the effect of making me yearn to locate, categorize, and memorialize “lost” mementos from a past that is quickly slipping away while simultaneously making me want to travel lighter and more open into my future. Most of my efforts thus far have been on the order of redistributing, rather than discarding, these things. But I feel the need to know what I have, and where I have it, before I can take bolder steps–I’m not quite ready for big leaps just yet.

I had just managed to clean up my home office to the point that I wanted to prettify it a bit and get it ready for whatever is next. The story of my career is difficult and painful and will wait for another time. At present, my work–my most important job–is to continue to heal and take care of myself while better managing my immediate environment–not only my physical home, but my personal world. So, despite not having an income, I decided to make a few small investments around the house to raise the level of order, calm, and attractiveness a little. Clearing out one small space or adding one fresh touch has powerful cleansing and lightening effects, and the more I do the better I feel. (That is, until I unearth yet more boxes of stuff–my things from my past and my grown son’s things from his past that he swears he doesn’t want–but I don’t quite believe him.)

A week or so ago, I wandered into Pier 1 and found the desk lamp pictured above, which has a white shade lined with the same aqua color as the pretty glass bulbs. I might not have chosen this lamp in isolation, but I knew it would look good in my existing office, which is painted in calming aquamarine colors. It looked so good in the office that I was then inspired to replace a utilitarian black pole lamp with one that matched the desk lamp. Then I looked at the “light naked” second desk in the office and thought I’d better buy a matching desk lamp while it was still available. So I ordered the second aqua desk lamp online and went to Pier 1 yesterday to pick it up, happy with my decision (a rarity).

Well, maybe because it was Ash Wednesday (although I’m not Catholic or a practicing Protestant), or maybe because I was overwhelmingly fatigued (although I’d slept OK), or maybe because I have a lifetime of careless habits (no “althoughs” here), I came home empty handed. I had expected the lamp to be boxed up, as the others were. But it was bubble-wrapped. The saleswoman gave me an explanation I didn’t quite follow, but assured me it wouldn’t have been wrapped if it weren’t in good condition. Nevertheless, she offered to unwrap it and let me inspect it (they don’t offer discounts for floor models). Everything looked good, and the sales clerk rewrapped it and handed it to me over the counter. I put it on the floor as she came around the counter carrying the shade, asking me whether I needed help getting the lamp to the car. As I was rapidly trying to figure out how to manage the lamp, the shade, and my purse, I turned toward the clerk, and the purse hanging from my left arm knocked the bubble-wrapped glass lamp to the floor, shattering those pretty aqua bulbs.

The clerk called her manager over, and they were very nice about it and ordered me a new lamp, returning this one to inventory as “damaged.” This could have gone another way, but I was grateful that these ladies were so gracious and professional about the situation. I apologized and told them I felt terrible, not because I was leaving empty-handed, but because I had “laid to waste” such a pretty lamp. It had felt so heavy and looked so sturdy with its solid metal square base; but in the end, it was quite fragile.

While thinking with sincere regret about being so impulsive and careless, I reflected on the paradox of sturdiness and fragility–this solid-based lamp had survived the handling of manufacture, transport, and store display for who knows how long and had remained upright and intact until circumstances (me) caused it to come crashing down, shattering its delicate heart. It was painful seeing those aqua shards inside the bubble wrap; but as the sales clerk said, at least the fragments were contained.

This seemed like a good analogy to human circumstances, but with a twist: as strong as life may have made us, and as sturdy as we may be on our own feet, some quirk of fate can knock us down at any time. The difference between a shattered lifeless object and a fractured living soul is what we do about it. The lamp had fallen and couldn’t get back up; it couldn’t be repaired–but I could order a new one. I, too, had fallen, but could get back up; I couldn’t order new body parts–but I could repair my spirit.

Maybe we all have a sort of spiritual bubble wrap around our own fragile parts–we may fall, we may crack; but the fragments can be contained, and our essential selves can remain intact. Our attitudes can shift. Our hearts can heal. Our spirits can revive.

Notes of Gratitude 

As I sort through my past, I feel keenly what I have lost. My physical losses are internal and invisible. My nonphysical losses are ephemeral and unseen. But I am thankful that all of these things have been a part of my life. Contentment may not be mine, but as spring approaches and I continue to mend, I realize that although I can’t restore what I once had, I can refresh my life. This is a solitary and mostly lonely process. The flood of support and attention I received at the beginning of my health crisis has become somewhat less as the situation has become the new normal and has been absorbed into my changed life–and other people’s perception of it. But as with the bereaved after a funeral, we are all left alone to cope with grief, loss, and an altered life after everyone goes home, back to their own lives and their own challenges.

Yet support still comes, now in an occasional gentle wave. Any act of kindness or caring is balm to the spirit. My hope for us all is that we can journey through life knowing we have our fellow travelers’ hearts in our hands . . . and that they can be shattered like glass lamp bulbs when knocked off of their (apparently) sturdy base.

Pictured here are two symbols of gratitude:

In an eerie portent of things to come, for my 60th birthday in 2012, my sister, Vicki Sue, gave me a “Kohl’s Cares” package of coordinated pink-ribbon birthday gifts–Kohl’s donates 100% of the net profit to support breast cancer. By doing something caring for me, she was doing a kindness for unknown others. The strange thing was that this scarf wasn’t so “pink,” but more a peachy salmon, the ribbon color for uterine (endometrial) cancer–with which I was diagnosed a year later:

Peach Ribbon 1_50%

And last week, friend Kathryn and I had a lovely lunch in a local teashop, a very special place, at which she presented me with my first and only official uterine cancer ribbon pin:

Peach Ribbon 2

Finally, a special thanks to the ladies at Pier 1 for ordering me a new aqua glass  lamp. I promise to treat it with care.

A Bit More about “The New York Way”

In my February 20, 2014 post, I described “The New York Way” of delivering radiation treatment post-hysterectomy for uterine (endometrial) cancer and also discussed some side effects of vaginal brachytherapy. My short-term side effects are now subsiding, but about a day after the last post and a week after my third and final brachytherapy treatment on Valentine’s Day, I developed full-blown cystitis (constant irritation and burning on urination) and increased bowel changes (gas, frequent BMs, and some leakage). Apparently, these effects were right on schedule according to some of the online patient information I’ve come across. (I’ll update the technical information in a future post.)

Back around the winter holidays, starting a week after my hysterectomy, I had a bout of lymphorrhea, as discussed in the January 10, 2014 post. To make sure I didn’t have a fistula between the bladder and vagina, my surgeon had prescribed a “dye test” using phenazopyridine (Pyridium), pills that turn urine orange–and are also used to soothe the urinary tract for patients with an infection. (I passed the test–no orange showed at the top of the test tampons, and the lymphatic leakage stopped soon after.) I don’t know why, but he had given me several refills of the pills, so (without calling anyone) I went to the pharmacy and got more Pyridium to treat my cystitis. Note that these pills do NOT kill the microorganisms that cause UTIs, but I didn’t have an infection–just burning from the radiation. I took the pills for a week, and they did indeed help. I no longer have burning. The bowel issues have also improved.

What hasn’t improved much is the fatigue, which is worse some days than others. Often, it is related to exertion as I become a bit more active, but not necessarily. I am also waiting for the longer-term side effects to set in and believe I am just starting to notice some of those effects now. But I will discuss these in detail after my first post-radiation checkup, which has been pushed back from March 17 to March 25, when I will also have my first three-month surgical checkup. At that time I’ll know more about radiation effects and how to manage them and will also discuss more of “The New York Way” with my doctors as I continue to read and learn more about different treatment models.

But what’s on my mind now are effects that aren’t physical and healing that isn’t allopathic.*

*A system of medical practice that aims to combat disease by use of remedies (as drugs or surgery).

Other Radiation-Related Posts:

My Story – High Cholesterol: A Family History of Cardiovascular Disease

Nov27

White and Blue Daisies_10% One more–and one less–thing to worry about: heart disease. Maybe.

We all need to be aware of our family history as we embark on our personal travels through the world of healthcare and health and well-being.

As discussed in the “My Mother’s Story” posts (see this morning’s update), my mother, Marie Bond, had a heart attack in March 2013 followed by cardiac bypass surgery. She didn’t even know she had heart disease, even though she had known peripheral artery disease (PAD), and her 91-year-old sister, Cecilia Braddock, has a defibrillator-pacemaker. Even more alarming, their mother, also Cecilia, died at age 42 of chronic endocarditis (inflammation of the inside lining of the heart chambers and heart valves) and acute dilatation (enlargement) of the heart. My aunt remembers my biological grandmother, but my mother does not. They had a wonderful stepmother, and Madeline Braddock is the nana I grew up with. I’ll be talking more about my mother’s medical history at a later date.

My mother was put on Plavix (clopidogrel) and baby aspirin (both are anticoagulants, or blood thinners) after her heart attack and also on a statin drug, Lipitor (atorvastatin) 20 mg, as a precaution because her total cholesterol level was a little high at 200 mg/dL (it should be 199 or less). The drug and a low-fat diet brought it down to 137, which is very good. My father was on a statin drug for high cholesterol some years ago. He had a diet rich in fat, which my mother does not–but he refused to change his habits. Also, I recall his saying that he stopped taking the statin because of acute muscle pain, which is a known side effect in some people. (My father died in 2008, but not of heart disease. He also had colon cancer at a younger age, which was cured with surgery alone. It was COPD–chronic obstructive pulmonary disease that caused his death.)

When I went for my pre-D&C blood work in October, my total cholesterol level was 263–dangerously high–and my LDL (low-density lipoprotein, “bad” cholesterol) level was 161–also dangerously high (it should be 99 or less). The only good news was that my HDL (high-density lipoprotein, “good” cholesterol) level was 78, which is high and good (it should be 39 or more in men and 49 or more in women according to the American Heart Association). My doctor warned me that I was at high risk for heart disease and advised me to go on a statin, which I didn’t want to do. She had tried putting me on the non-statin cholesterol drug Zetia (ezetimibe) some months ago, but I had gastrointestinal side effects and lightheadedness and stopped taking it. I told her I’d been on a statin in 2007 and had associated muscle pain, but she said this wasn’t in my records (!). Fortunately, I keep my own records; but by the time I’d looked them up and found that I had been on Zocor (simvastatin) six years ago, which I believed caused my muscle pain, she had already ordered Lipitor 10 mg. So I decided to try it because she said Lipitor is a more effective and safer drug than Zocor. So I started taking it on October 29, 2013.

Earlier this week when I had my pre-hysterectomy blood work done, my doctor also tested my lipids. This was two weeks earlier than she had intended, but I was fasting (needlessly, as it turns out, for the pre-op tests), so she decided to save me a trip (I’ll be otherwise occupied in two weeks anyway). When she called with the results, we were both very surprised—and pleased—to learn that my total cholesterol had dropped from 263 to 178, and my LDL had dropped from 161 to 90; my HDL is still good. And this happened in just under four weeks of therapy and on a very low dose.

Fortunately, I have not experienced muscle pain with Lipitor. My only reaction has been some relatively minor gastrointestinal changes, although I’m under a lot of stress because of the upcoming surgery—a significant contributing factor. My gastroenterologist also said that uterine cancer can cause GI symptoms. (We’ll know whether I have any new GI problems after my colonoscopy and esophagogastroduodenoscopy [EGD] on December 11–two days before my hysterectomy.) My family doctor had advised me to take the supplement CoQ10 (coenzyme Q10), a natural substance similar to a vitamin, to reduce the risk of muscle pain, and I have been taking it.

So although I’ll need to stay on Lipitor indefinitely–I’ll have my cholesterol checked again in three months and then at six-month intervals after that–at least something about me is “normal.” Although I had resisted taking cholesterol medicine, at the moment I’d say it’s very much worth it.

Oh—and I am modifying my diet. But not tomorrow. Thanksgiving is, after all, my favorite holiday.

My Current Story, Update: Medical Monday for Me–and Also for Mom

Nov25

White and Blue Daisies_10%

My Current Story, Continued – da Vinci Hysterectomy Scheduled for Friday, December 13

As I mentioned in the November 22, 2013 post, which really wasn’t much about me and was mainly about healthcare delivery and reform (it has important links–take a look), I need to go for my medical clearance visit with my family doctor today to prepare for the hysterectomy in 18 days (see the “My Current Story” posts and updates). Last week, I received three phone calls from her office about today’s visit after getting conflicting instructions about whether I had to fast for the blood work–I was given alternating yes and no answers, depending on whom I spoke with. I decided not to take chances and started fasting after breakfast this morning–you need to stop eating and drinking everything but water for 8 hours to be considered fasting, so I should be OK for the 4:00 PM appointment.

Medical clearance by a family doctor includes a brief physical examination; blood work (which is good for 30 days), including a complete blood count (CBC) and a complete metabolic profile (CMP–this is why I have to fast); urinalysis (UA); EKG (which I had done in October before the D&C and is good for six months, so that’s one less thing needed today); and a chest X-ray (which will be good for one year should I–heaven forbid–need another procedure). During the visit I also need to discuss when to stop taking prescription medications before the surgery.

I wish doctors would take a few minutes to educate their staffs about such simple matters as office-visit preparation, but maybe it just doesn’t occur to them (?). I’ll mention it, gently, when I see my doctor today.

Now, I have another story to tell–or at least to begin. This one is about my mother.

P.S. During my visit with the doctor this afternoon, I mentioned the confusion about fasting. She said you never have to fast for pre-op blood work and that a nurse probably told the receptionist I had to fast because glucose level is part of the testing. But the fasting was not in vain because she was also able to test my lipids (for cholesterol) so I don’t have to go back for that in two weeks, when I will be otherwise occupied. Also, I called the radiology center at 1:15 to try to get a walk-in appointment for my chest x-ray at 3:00 and did. So the appointments today went very smoothly for me. And I was grateful for that and for my family doctor, who is new to me (and young!)–she showed the right combination of professionalism and concern.

But things didn’t go quite as smoothly for my mother, as I will describe in tomorrow’s post.

My Mother’s Long Story, Ongoing – Procedure for Arterial Disease Scheduled for Today

Last March, my mother, Marie Bond, had a heart attack, for which she had cardiac bypass surgery. I will discuss heart disease and treatment in a future post–a very important topic.

But this was just the beginning of a very tough year for her. She had a major complication following surgery–not with her heart, which did fine, but with a MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus) infection in her feet that she had picked up in one of the medical facilities. This went undiagnosed for a few weeks. I will also be discussing this insidious problem in a future post.

Fast forward to June, after the MRSA had finally been identified and was being treated–but wasn’t healing, and my mother needed an urgent appointment with a vascular surgeon for poor circulation in her right leg. He found no pulses, which is why the MRSA infection wasn’t healing in that foot, and he also said she was in danger of losing her leg. She had known peripheral artery disease (PAD) that had gotten worse. I will also discuss this serious problem later.

The surgeon performed an urgent right femoral-popliteal bypass graft using a vein from the same leg and also a femoral endarterectomy to remove the plaque buildup in the artery to restore the blood flow in her legs and feet, which was successful. (Apparently, she obtained some benefit to her left leg from the surgery on her right leg.) Over the following months, she slowly got stronger. But she needed repeated visits to the Wound Care Center for an open, unhealed area in her groin and for the MRSA that was slowly disappearing from her feet.

Recently, she had an ultrasound to determine how good the blood flow to her leg was. It wasn’t. She saw the surgeon again last week, and today he is scheduled to do a right femoral angiogram, angioplasty, and insertion of a stent by way of her left brachial artery–a long way around from the left arm to the right leg, but he can’t take a chance on reopening the groin wound. The procedure should take about 1 1/2 hours. If all goes well, she will be in the hospital just overnight. Her left arm will be sore from putting the stent through it, but she should be OK to go out to Thanksgiving dinner with us on Thursday.

Thanksgiving 2013

This will be an interesting Thanksgiving. I usually have dinner here, but this year I’m giving myself a break. Next year, all the fancy linen and dishes will come out, and we’ll have a house full of people to celebrate with. And I won’t mind wrestling with the turkey at all (as long as there’s wine–I can wrestle with almost anything if there’s wine).

In the meantime, we do have things to be grateful for–including the medical interventions that are saving our lives. And my son, Matt, will be coming from Boston to join my husband, Farok, and me, along with my mother and her 91-year-old sister, Cecilia Braddock–who also has heart disease, but is doing well. It is worth noting that their mother, my maternal biological grandmother, died of heart diseas eat the age of only 42. My mother was still a baby at the time.

Look for an update on my mother soon, as well as more information about her various medical challenges–these problems affect so many people