The following was written a few days before my recent surgery on 11/4/09. More to come on the events leading up to surgery. I couldn't bring myself to post this until now. Too raw.
The panic wells up inside me like molten lava ready to spew forth from a rumbling, angry volcano. I have to swallow it down by sheer force of will in order to keep my composure.
When I was 20 years old and facing the same surgery, I had the naivete of youth to blind me to all the possible outcomes of the horror that lie ahead of me...cutting open my chest, pulling it apart like so much taffy, only to cross clamp my aorta, stop my heart and as they manipulate it,cut into it and hope to God it starts back again after laying dormant in my chest for 4-5 hours. It never occurred to me then that I could die, that I could stroke out or that I could have emboli fly off into my vessels that would go hurtling towards the smaller vessels of my brain causing long term cognitive deficits. What I wouldn't give now for that cloak of protective armor called youth and ignorance. It allows the young to engage in risk taking behaviors without regard to consequences because they believe nothing bad will happen. It's not within their radar to even consider it. It is youth's greatest strength. It allows for great risks and even greater accomplishments.
When I was a child, I always felt older than my age. As an adult, I never felt as old as I was. And so it is now. I don't feel fifty. I don't feel sick. I don't feel sick enough to warrant risking another surgery. And I don't believe that I will die. But that is my internal drive to persevere talking. My brain knows better; it knows more. I am now unwillingly armed with graphic knowledge of the prevalence, incidence risks and complications. I know all the statistics that we don't like talking about with our patients. Only I am the patient. My doctors treat me with professional courtesy, as a fellow provider. They tell me all the gory statistics with clinical detachment, without cushioning the blow. But, I already knew them. I did my research. But it still feels like a sledge hammer in my chest when I hear it spoken out loud.
Never one to show fear, I push it deeper inside. But I am afraid. I am afraid that my children will never know how much I loved them, how much I wanted them and how incredibly proud I am of them. Afraid I will not see them grow into themselves and discover who they will become. Afraid I will miss out on the best part of my life...that with my beloved partner who it took me 36+ years to find. Afraid for her. Afraid for them. Afraid they will feel abandoned. It is only human to wish we have made some impact on others and I suppose I am no different.
But my life has always been about overcoming the odds. My fear now drives me to prove it wrong. My fear is not reality. Reality is what I perceive it to be. Change my perception and I change my reality. And so I choose to believe that I will come through this as I did when I was twenty...only better. I am more fit now than I was then, healthier and more determined. I have more yet to do in this lifetime and I have more to live for than I did then.
I don't feel fifty. I don't feel sick enough. And I don't believe that I will die. That is my reality.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Diary Entries of an Angst-Ridden 14 Year Old
July 1973
P. and I got a job at the arboretum for the summer. It was strictly volunteer work, so there was no money, but it was a lot of fun. We worked in the “Garden for All Seasons”, an experimental garden to get things to bloom all year long. It wasn’t especially hard work, pulling weeds, raking, hoeing and planting. But it was southern California in the summer which meant it was HOT! It was so hot, that I’d get tired real fast. We started out working at 9:30 in the morning, but because of the heat, Mrs. Ranselle told us to come at eight from then on.
Mostly, we would ride our bikes there and back, but occasionally P’s dad drove us to the arboretum, and then picked us up at 12:30 and brought us back home to P.’s for lunch. Afterward, we would go over to P.’s brother’s house to go swimming. Most days the smog was so bad it made my lungs burn. I could barely breathe riding my bike home. And when I got home, all I could do was go upstairs to my room and fall asleep until dinner.
The backs of my legs were still pretty stiff from getting sunburned at the beach the week before. We had to wear long pants and long sleeve shirts when we worked in the arboretum. Friday, when I got home, the backs of my legs had started to peel and my skin turned yellow from the brown pants I was wearing. That kind of freaked me out, so I told Mom.
“You should have gone to the doctor when I told you to!” she screamed, her face stricken with panic.
“Well can you call the doctor now?” I asked, sure that the dye from my pants was seeping into my bloodstream and would go straight to my brain and make me retarded.
“I’ll call later; I’m going to take a nap”. Apparently, having a brain-dyed retarded child was less important than napping at that moment. Sometimes, panic was a fleeting emotion, at best in my mother. Other times, it could go on for days. This was apparently not one of those times.
Two days later, when my legs were looking really scary, with brown and yellow and red pieces of skin hanging off the back of them, I asked Mom again if she could call the doctor.
“I don’t want to anymore” she said without even glancing at me. And before I could turn around, she was walking out the door, suitcase in hand.
“I’m going to Palm Springs with Fred” she called over her shoulder as she shut the door. Fred was the most recent boyfriend in a long line of men coming and going from her bedroom.
Fortunately, the dye never did make me retarded (at least I don't think!). But I read the dictionary and did crossword puzzles all week just to make sure.
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Cindy and I had the two bedrooms upstairs and shared the bathroom between our bedrooms. She would spend hours in the bathroom doing God only knows what with both doors locked. I would pound on the door to be let in so I could go to the bathroom, and she would just scream at me to go downstairs. Of course I could do that, but it was much more dramatic to pound on the door with both of us screaming at the top of our lungs.
One day I locked my self in my room accidentally. I was trying to fix the lock on my door so I could lock everyone else out, but instead the lock got stuck and I locked myself in. Of course, the bathroom door was locked, so I pounded on the door, yelling “Let me in”.
“I’m busy!” she screeched, as I heard her turn on the bath water.
I knew there was no way in hell she was going to open that door, no matter whether she was in the tub yet or not. So I climbed out my window onto the roof, and walked over to Cindy’s bedroom and climbed back in through her window. I walked out of her bedroom, to my bedroom, and lo and behold my door opened. Some locksmith I’d make!
On a wild hair, I walked back through Cindy’s bedroom to her bathroom door and as softly as I could I tried the handle. It was unlocked! As nonchalantly as I could I opened the door wide, glanced at her in the tub as I said hello in my most cheerful voice, went to my bathroom door, opened it as wide as I could, and promptly ran downstairs leaving both doors open. I could still hear her screaming as I tore down the block. If she caught me, I was a goner.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
It was July 4th and Greg and I were going to the Rose Bowl that night to watch the fireworks. Mom was still in Palm Springs with Fred. Jim called early in the morning to tell me he was thinking of buying a 3.5 acre estate with a two story Spanish house, trees all around, 4 stables for horses with trails all over for riding or walking. It sounded fantastic, and I immediately started imagining myself living there with him. I wondered if that could actually happen. Was that weird to wish I’d go live with my uncle? But I found myself wishing it all the time.
We asked Greg’s mom to come with us to watch the fireworks, and she did. We had to drop Carmen, our housekeeper, off at her girlfriend’s house, but couldn’t find the address, so we brought her back home and I called her a cab. As they shot off the fireworks, they showed a flaming Smokey the Bear on the field. As the crowd clapped, I was pretty sure the irony of Smokey the Bear going up in flames was lost on most. P. would have loved it. It was too late to call P. when I got home, and I had this really strange feeling all night. Perhaps it was because P. didn’t wish me “pleasant nightmares” like she usually does.
------------------------------------------------
P. called me today and wanted to ask my advice on something. I almost fainted. I never, ever remember her asking me for advice, only dispensing it. I always got the impression that P. thought I was just some lost waif that needed a guiding hand to be able to get through life. Looking back, I realized that I looked at P. as my salvation. I suppose it’s hard not to develop somewhat of a God complex under those circumstances.
When I heard what it was that she was asking however, I realized of course, that it wasn’t my advice she was wanting, but it was my reaction. Dave had called her and asked her to go out with him, for a drive in the mountains, or better yet, to his church and then back to his house. Dave was our handyman in school. Dave says P. is a temptation to him, yet he wants to take her out? She was asking what I thought and whether she should go or not. I couldn’t tell if she was pulling my leg, or this really happened. P. was, after all, the queen of hyperbole (a word my uncle made me learn when I was eight).
It freaked me out. I didn’t know what I would do if P. went out with Dave. He was 25, and she was only 14. He was a man for God sakes! And here I thought she was just starting to get over him. Of course, she could still be making this all up. Sometimes, I think I inherited the worrying gene from Nana.
Sometimes you’re luck just changes for no particular reason. Yesterday, Carmen found five dollars in my pants while doing laundry, Nana sent me five dollars to do with what I liked, and tonight Jim slipped me two bucks under the table at the restaurant. I’m rich!
-------------------------------------------------
I woke up with a terrible cold and my head feeling like it was split open with a hatchet (I may have read one too many horror stories lately). I was supposed to go with Jim to see the estate, but I was out bowling when he called, so he said he’d take me someday next week. I loved bowling enough, that not even the hatchet in my head would deter me.
I woke up the next morning feeling a little better. I’m sure the bowling had something to do with it. Greg called and invited me to go to the swap meet with him. We spent the whole day together, and it was almost like old times. I knew it was never going to be the same between us, and I was okay with that. We had both changed so much, and it could never be like it used to be between us. But for this day, it was good.
P. is acting really weird lately. She asked me what I would do if she was pregnant. Hell, how am I supposed to know what I would do. I’d probably have that long-awaited heart attack right there on the spot. I felt kind of like I was being set up, but I didn’t know for what. Anyway, she said she was almost over Dave, but I doubted it.
Mom went back to Palm Springs tonight with Fred.
After working at the arboretum, I came home and Greg came over to hang out. After that K. came over and we hung out and listened to John Denver. When I go over to her house, she makes me listen to Joni Mitchell (K. loved Joni Mitchell, and I hated her!), so I made her listen to John Denver whenever I could. I figured it was only fair.
P. is really starting to worry me. She had let up on talking about Dave for a while there, but now she called him up again. She called me later and asked me to call Dave. I refused. I told her that under no circumstances would I call him; it absolutely would not happen in this lifetime. Of course, I ended up doing it anyway. I finally got hold of him at 11:00pm (where was he and what was he doing before that?). We talked for 2 hours. Mostly about religion, or rather he talked mostly about religion and I mostly listened. He was very religious, he said, and he was “fighting the good fight against temptation” every day. His philosophy was to deny the human “carnal” desires, because that life led you straight to hell. He was spiritually on a higher plane being the celibate person he was. I thought it was all a load of crap. I figured that if we could just get through the summer, once P. gets into high school, maybe she’d forget all about Dave (I hope, I hope, I hope).
P. called me at 8:00am this morning to find out what Dave said last night. I told her everything.
“You talked to him for 2 hours? I hate you!” she blurted out. I had no curfew or anyone monitoring my phone calls. She had much tighter restrictions on her comings and goings, and I had none.
But sometimes, I really didn’t understand her all. Seconds after telling me she hates me, she says, “As long as I have you as my friend during the four years in high school, I just may stop thinking I’m going to die at the age of nineteen!” she said. I decided right then and there that it was my job to keep her alive, at least until she was twenty! No pressure there.
Later in the day, P. and K. and I went bowling, then went back to my house to play password. Mom was still in Palm Springs with Fred so it was safe to have people over. P. and K. never really liked each other much. But P. was my best friend, and K. was my second best friend. And I think that they didn’t trust one another to be with me, without the other one present. So occasionally, we would all do things together. I always thought that I was lucky to have any friends, since I didn’t think I had good looks or a sparkling personality going for me. It never really occurred to me that it had anything to do with me, just that it was a competition between them.
P. and I got a job at the arboretum for the summer. It was strictly volunteer work, so there was no money, but it was a lot of fun. We worked in the “Garden for All Seasons”, an experimental garden to get things to bloom all year long. It wasn’t especially hard work, pulling weeds, raking, hoeing and planting. But it was southern California in the summer which meant it was HOT! It was so hot, that I’d get tired real fast. We started out working at 9:30 in the morning, but because of the heat, Mrs. Ranselle told us to come at eight from then on.
Mostly, we would ride our bikes there and back, but occasionally P’s dad drove us to the arboretum, and then picked us up at 12:30 and brought us back home to P.’s for lunch. Afterward, we would go over to P.’s brother’s house to go swimming. Most days the smog was so bad it made my lungs burn. I could barely breathe riding my bike home. And when I got home, all I could do was go upstairs to my room and fall asleep until dinner.
The backs of my legs were still pretty stiff from getting sunburned at the beach the week before. We had to wear long pants and long sleeve shirts when we worked in the arboretum. Friday, when I got home, the backs of my legs had started to peel and my skin turned yellow from the brown pants I was wearing. That kind of freaked me out, so I told Mom.
“You should have gone to the doctor when I told you to!” she screamed, her face stricken with panic.
“Well can you call the doctor now?” I asked, sure that the dye from my pants was seeping into my bloodstream and would go straight to my brain and make me retarded.
“I’ll call later; I’m going to take a nap”. Apparently, having a brain-dyed retarded child was less important than napping at that moment. Sometimes, panic was a fleeting emotion, at best in my mother. Other times, it could go on for days. This was apparently not one of those times.
Two days later, when my legs were looking really scary, with brown and yellow and red pieces of skin hanging off the back of them, I asked Mom again if she could call the doctor.
“I don’t want to anymore” she said without even glancing at me. And before I could turn around, she was walking out the door, suitcase in hand.
“I’m going to Palm Springs with Fred” she called over her shoulder as she shut the door. Fred was the most recent boyfriend in a long line of men coming and going from her bedroom.
Fortunately, the dye never did make me retarded (at least I don't think!). But I read the dictionary and did crossword puzzles all week just to make sure.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cindy and I had the two bedrooms upstairs and shared the bathroom between our bedrooms. She would spend hours in the bathroom doing God only knows what with both doors locked. I would pound on the door to be let in so I could go to the bathroom, and she would just scream at me to go downstairs. Of course I could do that, but it was much more dramatic to pound on the door with both of us screaming at the top of our lungs.
One day I locked my self in my room accidentally. I was trying to fix the lock on my door so I could lock everyone else out, but instead the lock got stuck and I locked myself in. Of course, the bathroom door was locked, so I pounded on the door, yelling “Let me in”.
“I’m busy!” she screeched, as I heard her turn on the bath water.
I knew there was no way in hell she was going to open that door, no matter whether she was in the tub yet or not. So I climbed out my window onto the roof, and walked over to Cindy’s bedroom and climbed back in through her window. I walked out of her bedroom, to my bedroom, and lo and behold my door opened. Some locksmith I’d make!
On a wild hair, I walked back through Cindy’s bedroom to her bathroom door and as softly as I could I tried the handle. It was unlocked! As nonchalantly as I could I opened the door wide, glanced at her in the tub as I said hello in my most cheerful voice, went to my bathroom door, opened it as wide as I could, and promptly ran downstairs leaving both doors open. I could still hear her screaming as I tore down the block. If she caught me, I was a goner.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
It was July 4th and Greg and I were going to the Rose Bowl that night to watch the fireworks. Mom was still in Palm Springs with Fred. Jim called early in the morning to tell me he was thinking of buying a 3.5 acre estate with a two story Spanish house, trees all around, 4 stables for horses with trails all over for riding or walking. It sounded fantastic, and I immediately started imagining myself living there with him. I wondered if that could actually happen. Was that weird to wish I’d go live with my uncle? But I found myself wishing it all the time.
We asked Greg’s mom to come with us to watch the fireworks, and she did. We had to drop Carmen, our housekeeper, off at her girlfriend’s house, but couldn’t find the address, so we brought her back home and I called her a cab. As they shot off the fireworks, they showed a flaming Smokey the Bear on the field. As the crowd clapped, I was pretty sure the irony of Smokey the Bear going up in flames was lost on most. P. would have loved it. It was too late to call P. when I got home, and I had this really strange feeling all night. Perhaps it was because P. didn’t wish me “pleasant nightmares” like she usually does.
------------------------------------------------
P. called me today and wanted to ask my advice on something. I almost fainted. I never, ever remember her asking me for advice, only dispensing it. I always got the impression that P. thought I was just some lost waif that needed a guiding hand to be able to get through life. Looking back, I realized that I looked at P. as my salvation. I suppose it’s hard not to develop somewhat of a God complex under those circumstances.
When I heard what it was that she was asking however, I realized of course, that it wasn’t my advice she was wanting, but it was my reaction. Dave had called her and asked her to go out with him, for a drive in the mountains, or better yet, to his church and then back to his house. Dave was our handyman in school. Dave says P. is a temptation to him, yet he wants to take her out? She was asking what I thought and whether she should go or not. I couldn’t tell if she was pulling my leg, or this really happened. P. was, after all, the queen of hyperbole (a word my uncle made me learn when I was eight).
It freaked me out. I didn’t know what I would do if P. went out with Dave. He was 25, and she was only 14. He was a man for God sakes! And here I thought she was just starting to get over him. Of course, she could still be making this all up. Sometimes, I think I inherited the worrying gene from Nana.
Sometimes you’re luck just changes for no particular reason. Yesterday, Carmen found five dollars in my pants while doing laundry, Nana sent me five dollars to do with what I liked, and tonight Jim slipped me two bucks under the table at the restaurant. I’m rich!
-------------------------------------------------
I woke up with a terrible cold and my head feeling like it was split open with a hatchet (I may have read one too many horror stories lately). I was supposed to go with Jim to see the estate, but I was out bowling when he called, so he said he’d take me someday next week. I loved bowling enough, that not even the hatchet in my head would deter me.
I woke up the next morning feeling a little better. I’m sure the bowling had something to do with it. Greg called and invited me to go to the swap meet with him. We spent the whole day together, and it was almost like old times. I knew it was never going to be the same between us, and I was okay with that. We had both changed so much, and it could never be like it used to be between us. But for this day, it was good.
P. is acting really weird lately. She asked me what I would do if she was pregnant. Hell, how am I supposed to know what I would do. I’d probably have that long-awaited heart attack right there on the spot. I felt kind of like I was being set up, but I didn’t know for what. Anyway, she said she was almost over Dave, but I doubted it.
Mom went back to Palm Springs tonight with Fred.
After working at the arboretum, I came home and Greg came over to hang out. After that K. came over and we hung out and listened to John Denver. When I go over to her house, she makes me listen to Joni Mitchell (K. loved Joni Mitchell, and I hated her!), so I made her listen to John Denver whenever I could. I figured it was only fair.
P. is really starting to worry me. She had let up on talking about Dave for a while there, but now she called him up again. She called me later and asked me to call Dave. I refused. I told her that under no circumstances would I call him; it absolutely would not happen in this lifetime. Of course, I ended up doing it anyway. I finally got hold of him at 11:00pm (where was he and what was he doing before that?). We talked for 2 hours. Mostly about religion, or rather he talked mostly about religion and I mostly listened. He was very religious, he said, and he was “fighting the good fight against temptation” every day. His philosophy was to deny the human “carnal” desires, because that life led you straight to hell. He was spiritually on a higher plane being the celibate person he was. I thought it was all a load of crap. I figured that if we could just get through the summer, once P. gets into high school, maybe she’d forget all about Dave (I hope, I hope, I hope).
P. called me at 8:00am this morning to find out what Dave said last night. I told her everything.
“You talked to him for 2 hours? I hate you!” she blurted out. I had no curfew or anyone monitoring my phone calls. She had much tighter restrictions on her comings and goings, and I had none.
But sometimes, I really didn’t understand her all. Seconds after telling me she hates me, she says, “As long as I have you as my friend during the four years in high school, I just may stop thinking I’m going to die at the age of nineteen!” she said. I decided right then and there that it was my job to keep her alive, at least until she was twenty! No pressure there.
Later in the day, P. and K. and I went bowling, then went back to my house to play password. Mom was still in Palm Springs with Fred so it was safe to have people over. P. and K. never really liked each other much. But P. was my best friend, and K. was my second best friend. And I think that they didn’t trust one another to be with me, without the other one present. So occasionally, we would all do things together. I always thought that I was lucky to have any friends, since I didn’t think I had good looks or a sparkling personality going for me. It never really occurred to me that it had anything to do with me, just that it was a competition between them.
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