keeping informed

Texting with the ex about medical issues and memories, catching up in the mid-afternoon, 25 August:

me: When are you next scheduled with the doc?
the ex: 6 months for the g p, 1 year for the urologist. Endoscopy on the 10th of September. Colonoscopy tbd.
me: Ok. Your slate seems to be filling up. I will make a note of the endoscopy date. Why the urologist?
me: Prostate issues?
the ex: I was noticing a little blood where I shouldn't have been noticing a little blood. Urine sample gave precancerous material. All tests since have been - but the CAT scan showed possible signs of cystic activity in the pancreas. That's why the endoscopy has been ordered. No prostate issues BTW.
me: That's good about the prostate. Bad about the blood. GREAT that you went to the doc.
the ex: * have been negative
me: Still, I would think kidney before pancreas. I will do some research on that.
the ex: Well, I'll be due for a kidney profile soon, since I'm taking meds again.
me: Just the blood pressure?
the ex: 2 now for that, plus a cholesterol one.
me: oh, joy. :-)
the ex: Doctors have learned a good lesson from preachers nowadays. If all you do is talk shit about fire and brimstone, people stop coming to church. The GP counseled me on the effect of extra weight on overall health but didn't go all Hardigan on me and suggest bariatric..
me: Have you spoken to Arlene? She and Michelle expressed how surprised they are to hear more from me than from you. They did confess that they don't call either.
the ex: I just spoke to Auntie the other day. Brian texted me a bit from Metro Airport but I was still at work.
me: That's good on both counts!
the ex: I've texted Stephanie and Christopher a bit from the bar. :-)
me: :-) heard yet about his roles thing?
the ex: Roles?
me: Poker. Stupid word choice thing. grumble grumble.
the ex: He may have changed numbers. I send messages but don't hear back. I hear from Steph.
me: Def possibility. I will check with her later and find out.
the ex: I didn't wanna mention health thing to Auntie or anyone really until I had a little more information.
me: Heard. Just don't do like your mom and not tell anyone about surgery until you are already in the hospital. Okay?
the ex: Did she not tell us until after they had resected her intestine? Well, now that you mention it, I do remember that.
me: I don't think I will ever forget that.
me: She called us, at Arlene's insistence, the day before the surgery.
the ex: All I remember is thinking of her on the couch during that year of chemo. And the argument Auntie and I had afterward about the validity of that decision.
me: Yeah, I know. Hard time.
the ex: F**k. Now I'm upset. That whole f**ked up Christmas trip.
me: My apologies, Jeff.
the ex: Not your fault.
the ex: I was the one arguing with her in the car, not you. Those car keys lodged in the innards of the couch probably because they fell out of my pocket not yours.
me: Still, maybe I shouldn't have said it. I just wanted to make sure you tell us about any med issues you have.
the ex: I will.
me: Thank you for keeping me informed. I do appreciate that.
***** ***** *****

During the endoscopy, he stopped breathing.
Not like "dying on the operating table" stopped breathing, but "just because he was sleeping hard" stopped breathing. Truly alarmed the operating team.
As good fortune would have it, his episode was very early in the procedure, so they woke him back up and informed him he needed to have a sleep test done before anything surgical could proceed.
That's when he was first faced with the words "C-PAP machine".
To which he said "C RAP."
So, time went into limbo mode while that test was being scheduled.
Here he is, at the end of September, shooting me a photo of him lifting a tall glass of dark, frothy, beverage and our conversation resumed, including an inside joke:

the ex: Look at this son of a bitch! I mean the beer, not me. Ha. It's a coconut stout.
me: You are so funny! Hope it was not as sweet as it sounds.
the ex: Well it was somewhat sweet, as you might imagine. Also thick, creamy, with loads of coconut flavor. Served at room temperature. It was tasty but it was oh so hard to drink.
me: Maybe you should have had a cake back with it. :-)
the ex: Cake back!
me: Or maybe a nice slice of pie would have complemented the beverage.
the ex: Just finished with a doctor's appointment. Sleep test in a month or so. On the upside, 140 over 90 b_p.
me: Good! I am a bit surprised the sleep test is not sooner, though.
the ex: Well, the doctor said a month or so. When the clinic calls me may be a different matter.
the ex: People are making jelly out of Mountain Dew! That's just crazy ... enough to try.
me: THAT is def crazy. Silly sweet jam to offset your coffee - may as well be speed.
the ex: Yeah!! Speaking of which, I just read that caffeine has a half life of 5 hours. I'm back to 2 cups a day, and *none* after noon. That may have helped the bp.
me: How large are the cups? ba BOOM! :) But good that you are cutting back.
the ex: Haha. They're the dumbass Keurig servings... 6 oz each.
***** ***** *****

Then, at last, an update with some meat on it, on the Ides of October:

the ex: They tell me I need a CPAP machine.
me: I am so sorry to hear that. On the plus side, you will get better sleep.
the ex: My school was a lot lower than, but still outside of the range of not needing it. Grrr.
the ex: * score
me: Got it. I have lab now, so must go. Will talk tomorrow?
the ex: Early. Call with Bob at 7

Well, we didn't actually talk - I mean talk, too, not texting - until that Sunday night, talking for over an hour. That gave us a chance to really catch up, you know?
As I keep trying to tell the bfe, talking beats texting EVERY TIME.
EVERY time.
***** ***** *****

So, we were waiting on a second sleep test to be scheduled, to confirm the first results.
Here's the conversation on the 30th of October:

the ex: Getting my CPAP machine Monday.
me: You already had the second sleep test?i>
the ex: Day before yesterday. They said it would be 7 to 10 days before a company called me. Well, they called me thirty minutes ago.
me: Wow. It must be pretty serious then, Jeff.
the ex: Ok, the guy's not looking for a serious. He just acted like they were a really good company that was on their toes! To sleep text said it would be good if I had this thing retested/ recalibrated every 2 years or so, or if I ganined/ lost significant weight.
me: Will someone be there to make sure you use it properly? Will you be retested periodically?
the ex: Oh yeah, he is going to take 40 minutes to make sure I know how to use this thing, clean this thing, et cetera.
me: So, a preemptive strike. Kind of. Gotta go. Film Festival. :-)
the ex: Oh cool.

And tonight will be his first time with the machine at his bedside.
I'll have to give him a call tomorrow, see how it went.

bountiful mothers, hallelujah, girls!

Friday, as I mentioned before, started with me in the company of an important mother in my life. (Her loving husband was also there, but this is not about him.) My eldest niece may not have borne children yet, but she has been providing a loving home, loving words, and loving arms to others' children, as a foster mom senza eguali.
Yes, Mama has been on my mind lately. How could she not be, with the constant barrage of commercials berating all to spend money on their mothers? This is my fourteenth Mother's Day without her, so the pleas on the airwaves don't crush me as they once did. Mostly, I don't listen to the radio at this time and I don't watch those ads.

Well, I found that afternoon that I was on Mama's mind, too.
After catching up with my grocery shopping, as I was walking through the parking lot, a coppery coin caught my eye.
A penny!
The bagboy didn't know quite what to make of my stopping to pick it up, nor did he understand about pennies from loved ones in heaven. That's okay, I know the importance of the message, my dear Mother!
(Trust me, I will discuss that another time. I had truly thought I already had... but a search revealed I have not.)
So, I was just chilling out after buying a ridiculous amount of groceries. I was watching "Psych" and leafing through the entertainment newspaper to see what was going on, what time things would be starting.
Suddenly, I realized the choice had been made for me. Dinner needed to be eaten before I went anywhere and, as time was already nearing 7 PM, that meant "The Trip To Bountiful" would be my evening's fare. Cool beans! I would plan on attending "The Hallelujah Girls", down on Tybee, on Sunday afternoon. What a lovely way to bookend my Mother's Day weekend!
And so it has been.

"The Trip To Bountiful" placed me in the midst of mothers of all ages. Some women of my age, or thereabouts, were there with their moms. Women of several ages were sitting with their daughters and sons, The play itself was about the relationship of an aged mother and her not-so-young son and his wife. They had moved to town two decades earlier, in search of work, and were living on top of each other in a tiny apartment. The mother wanted to return to her home of long ago, in a tiny town called Bountiful which had been settled by her grandparents. Just to breathe that air, one more time, would bring her some peace!

We hear of several of her botched attempts to flee the nagging wife of her henpecked son.
This time, though, is going to be different!
And it is.
She finds the bus doesn't go to that tiny town anymore, because no businesses are there. She is told by the stationmaster that her best friend, the last resident of the town, has just been buried that very day. She ends up with a sympathetic sheriff who gives her a ride to the old homestead... or, rather, to what is left of it. Still, with the "kiss of the sun for pardon and the song of the birds for mirth", her heart no longer felt so heavy and stifled. Peace of mind was attained at last.
(The quote there is from an embroidery sampler that my mother had done and I had grown up seeing on the wall in the hall. I wish I knew where that piece of her art is.)
It was opening night, so there was champagne and tiny pastry shells of chicken salad and slices of roast beef curled up on thin crusty bread with horseradish sauce! There were tiny desserts, too, on silver trays that wove in and out of the crowd. I lingered and visited with some of the mothers, including one who had finally returned from Greece. nice!
This morning, my first niece came by with the little boy she is fostering. They were going to the Mighty Eighth Museum and wondered would I like to go?

Not this time, my dears!
"The Hallelujah Girls" were singing their siren song and luring me to the beach!
As soon as I saw that Bill Cooper was in the play, I knew it would be a good one! Also, the Tybee Performing Arts Center does quite nicely, thank you so very much, at presenting a slate of comedies, rather than the more serious works chosen by other troupes.
Thank God!
This comedy was divine, too!
The story revolved around the death of a beloved friend, one who had always put off doing something she really wanted to do... and now it was too late for her, but not for her four girlfriends.
Nosirreebob!
Only one of the women seemed to be a mother and she had a son who was grown but preferred mooching off her - then he moved in his girlfriend, too! Yeah, another one of those guys.
The friendship of these women was fabulous to behold! Though men came and went (one had married three times, with her husbands dying due to stupidity each time), they were there to lend a hand, mothering each other. And these were all older women, too! Very nice!
The theatre was pretty full of older women, too. You know, over-thirty. I am sure several of them are mothers, too. Some of them have already lost their mothers to death's embrace, as I have, and seeing older women in positive, strong roles was of great comfort.
Especially on this day of celebration of mothers.

right shoe forward

Wanted: the missing partner of this fun lover! Dancing is a must, singing would be a plus. Able to go from a stroll on the beach under a Super Moon to a fancy dinner under chandeliers without missing a beat!
Then again, maybe it's time to venture forth in a new direction, striding along toward adventure in my own shoes, not someone else's. I'd like to think that Mother Pat would have given me the sandals if she had known I would have enjoyed them so much. Then again, perhaps she would have bought me my very own pair, so she and I would have something more in common besides her son and a love of travel and dancing.
I don't recall ever seeing her wear the sandals.
Not once.
But as soon as I saw them, I knew they would be mine.
For more than six years, I have delighted in wearing them. As soon as the weather allowed, the sandals bedecked with tiny seashells were on my feet! I wore them everywhere and almost all the time, except at school for lab days. I wore them to overly chilled cinemas and hot sandy beaches. I wore them on days that turned cool and wished I had them on days that became hot too quickly.
Walking, driving, dancing, there they were, on my feet.
Sometimes my toenails would be painted a silver rose red, attempting to blend in with the wild lantana planted all over the yard by the mockingbirds. Sometimes, just a clear, shiny gloss distinguished my toes from the aging leather of the sandals.
Now, the time has come to step out in new shoes, forging new paths, dancing new steps.
Loss adjustment is always hard, especially when the loss of a loved one is involved. I choose to believe that I'm getting better with that adjustment. I may have lapses from time to time, but, after more than a decade, those moments of insanity are lessening in intensity and in frequency.
It has certainly taken a long time to be able to say that.
Now, to get my own sandals!

it's not unusual

‘Doc, I can’t stop singing ‘The Green, Green Grass of Home.’ ‘That sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome.’ ‘Is it common?’ 'Well, ‘It’s Not Unusual.’ =)

The above joke was posted on a friend's facebook page and made me smile. As I replied to her, "OMG, Tom Jones is soooo fabulous!! When I saw him in Las Vegas in 2007, he sang "Sex Bomb" to ME! Yes, he did! (swoon!)"
Seriously, he DID! I had bought the tickets in December of 2006 and snagged front-row tickets for my husband and my mother-in-law for his show. Incredible! Even more so, the concert was on Mother Pat's 66th birthday and I knew she was going to love the show at least as much as I would. THAT was very important to me. You see, the trip to Las Vegas was a last hurrah with her, as she had Stage 4 colon cancer and was doing very poorly. We had no idea just how poor her health was until we saw her. She had become considerably weaker since the Christmas visit and would actually die a month after the trip.
The trip to Las Vegas was one she had been trying to get us to take with her for years. She had retired early and had nothing but time, whereas we both worked and were lucky to get two weeks of paid vacation a year. To go to Las Vegas would take at least most of a week, leaving us little time for anything else. So, going to gamble with Mother Pat kept getting pushed to the bottom of the list. A real shame, in hindsight. She truly enjoyed the place, as do I, and she knew how to get around and where to find the best, and cheapest, entertainment.
I think the next time I go there, I'll have to find a place where her name can become part of the city.