Photo by Donna Ferrato
Sorry.
I’ve been in an opiate haze of nausea and pain for the last
three weeks and haven’t been able to respond to the many wonderful get-well and happy birthday cards (yes, Linda Gomez, I talkin' to you!),
happy birthdays, worried update-needing friends who have sent gifts,
text messages and made many a phone call I haven’t answered. I think I've heard from everyone I've ever known. It’s like
attending your own funeral before you’re dead.
Also thanks to the steady stream of visitors who amused, massaged, doctored, cooked, shopped, entertained, encouraged
self-torture and just plain encouraged. I’m sorry, but some of my only memories of people and occasions are only recorded on my camera, and not in my brain.
I don’t even remember all of my visitors! (Paula? I think you were here!) BTW, I don't recollect writing the previous blog entry, which I guess proves that I can write in my sleep.I am now one week detoxed and resuming function. The kitchen table office is open. I hope to get back to you
all individually as it wears on, but meanwhile have a great time over the
holidays. Happy solstice! Happy full moon! Don’t forget to love everybody. And love from me to all of y’all. I felt it so much.
Herewith a recap in mostly bad pictures
(mine) and some good ones (others’), starting with Thanksgiving.
My wonderful daughter Hannah (almost 40!) stayed after Thanksgiving here and took me to the Hospital for Special Surgery, and waited with me in the waiting room and then the antechamber of the OR, where she became the Designated Relative for patients who had none there. Oddly, another patient by the name of Chris Dowling was there too, but they did not get us confused.
Hannah brought me home and got my meds and fed my meds and ran the leg-icing machine, all the while dealing with her Christmas rush at Wear Your Music. My sister Erin took over from her, kindly taking the train down from Rhode Island after just being here for Thanksgiving. But I remember very little of that sororal visit, alas. I do know she learned how to operate and maintain the ice machine, which had to be done many times a day.
Donna took over the ice machine from Erin and cooked Italian food and other things that I can't remember, and asked me if I was doing my physical therapy (um) and, of course, took pictures. She also brought a watermelon.
She entertained writer/editor Allison Adato and writer/photographer David Van Biema, who were kind enough to pay a call. I hope they can come back when I'm more with the program.
Then came a party for Ed, which I provided the venue for but you could hardly say hosted. Karen Emmons, another former LIFEer, from Thailand, brought the caviar and food, as did writer/editor Hope Hamashige and I guess others. Tommy V, also LIFE, brought the music and the mozzerella. Ed's son brought Ed, which was all anyone really cared about, fortunately. I was descending into La-La Land and took to my bed, missing the party almost entirely.
I was virtually nonfunctional by the time Katie and Mike arrived on the train from the Berkshires for my birthday, filling the house with flowers and song and hootenanies and a 71st birthday cupcake. There was almost nothing they could do for me as I wallowed in misery. They tried everything, though!
As they left, I went off the opiates, which left Changping to deal with Claudia in detox and terminal nausea. As she arrived bearing giant bags filled with my favorite foods—edamame, boiled peanuts with star anise, tofu, congee, mushrooms and Chinese cabbage, this was an enormous disappointment to her. But she concealed it well and sat by my bedside and gave me massages and talked with her friends in Taiwan. She was delighted to serve me Chinese food and herself eat a Zabar's pastrami sandwich.
My neighbors did errands and brought food. Debby made me chopped liver and picked up my drugs (which BTW I have stopped taking entirely—I prefer pain). Toby bought me the apples which seem to form the bulk of my diet at this point). I had my first out of house (if not out of body) experience today, going to physical therapy, where I am meant to learn to walk without a limp for the first time in 15 years. I also bought milk at a store. The world seems very scary at first. I will never again try to use a cane, which seems to be more of a danger than an aid to me.
And finally (TMI?), is this what it's like to be old?
But who brought the canteloupe, I have no idea.
