Another Year, Another...

This weekend, the calendar showed another year had passed marking my time on this earth. A tsunami actually happened in Japan last year on my birthday, so this year wasn't quite as earth shattering, but that was OK by me. 

I spent the weekend at the beach with a dear friend, relaxing and laughing. (And, neither of us were decked out for pictures on this casual holiday, so this travelogue is strictly scenic.)

Stormy weather made the fireplace especially welcome.














Nothing fits the beach more than an Adirondack chair, complete with cushions, to complement traditional upholstered furniture.

One sign of the middle years— and beyond— is that creature comforts become more and more appreciated. What's NOT to like about a beach house with a toilet that has the cushiest seat in the house?

Walking the beach loop via our street revealed some historic buildings. This circa 1895 home came complete with a matching porch cat:














I was glad to see that I wasn't showing my age nearly as much as this place:

One of the joys of having a March birthday is that Spring is just around the corner, an unmistakable reminder that renewed life is one of God's promises.










I came home refreshed by time away and blessed by the warmth of friendship.  




And, when I grow up, I want to be able to place text and pictures on a blogspot page as I intend, not as "it" requires them to appear.

Too Many Goodbyes

Last week I said goodbye to my almost 15-year-old Silky Terrier, Sasha. She collapsed trying to get out of her doggy bed near my desk and died in my arms shortly thereafter. At 104 in doggy years, she experienced her share of age-related maladies: deafness, arthritis, cataracts, insomnia. She had mild epilepsy most of her life, controlled by phenobarb the past few years. But, she never lost her zest for life. She still jumped with enthusiasm to get a spoonful of wet dog food to make the pill go down easier. She never stopped jumping with anticipation when I cooked rice, her favorite food. I think there is a life lesson there. 

Sasha helping with her last project... recovering the chair.

Sasha's gift— and menace, at times— was her interest in whatever was going on. That included peeking into the dryer every time I did laundry. No repairmen ever came to my house without getting her charming assistance. Most of them fell in love with her. Of note was the man who put in my Marblecraft shower. He always worked alone, and she broke his isolation for three days.

RIP, Sasha

But, as is His way, God brings grace.  I am thankful that Sasha did not have a lingering or expensive exit from this world, even more thankful that I did not have to put her down. I made the difficult decision to put down Beau, my last Silky Terrier, a month shy of his 15^th birthday. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. God took Sasha a month shy of hers. And, because I was nearby, I did not have to find her after the fact and wonder what happened.

But, wait, there's more.


Last night, we met at John and Betty’s for Life Group for what may turn out to be the last time before Betty goes home to be with God. It is just getting to be too hard for us to be there. Betty remains her cheerful, if mostly bed-ridden & increasingly-confused, self. She wanted each of us to visit with her, one at a time. When I came into her bedroom, she said she had hoped I’d be last, so I could sing for her. I shared my Mango frozen dessert with her and talked a little. Later, I gathered everyone to sing, and she joined in with her alto voice. She requested songs about Heaven— “just one more” at a time until she really did mean this was the last one. Precious!

My very first “up close and personal” memory of Betty was when she accompanied John to the “warm-up” rehearsal just before a funeral. Even though she wasn’t one of our appointed group, she joined right in. If my last memory of Betty is of her lying in bed singing songs about Heaven without missing a beat, it will be a perfect bookend. Or, as she agreed about the memory we had just made, “the best.”
xxx  

On The Hurting Edge

I pick my way through the sleeping shapes in the darkened gymnasium to do an early wake-up call for one of the overnight guests at the Winter Housing Overflow. Forty five of the fifty slots are taken. As it turns out, the ID numbers are wrong, and I first rouse the wrong person, but the woman who is expecting the 6 AM call is already awake. One person, at least, is deep in sleep, snoring loudly across the room.

Tonight, we're told, we have one pinkeye- and one head lice- infected child to deal with, quarantined as best they can be in the opposite corner of the gym. All in all, a group of homeless people generally thankful to be out of the cold of the street and their cars, huddled for the night in a safe, welcoming place.

When we put the lights on for an "easy" wake-up call, the blanketed shapes begin to emerge to reveal sleepy faces. The youngest is an adorable two-month old. He is already busy at his bottle. Two older siblings burrow further into their blankets nearby, reluctant to give up their snugly beds. This is one of the families that will have a hard time getting themselves put together by the 8 AM deadline. We will run late on this shift.

My heart breaks for the little ones. A little boy, barely school age, bravely brings mat after mat into the storage area for us to stack. When he is done, he takes a package of instant oatmeal and a paper bowl to his mom. "No time," she says. "You should have gotten up at 7 when I first asked you." He accepts her verdict without complaint. I intercept him as he brings his breakfast choice back and ask if I can help him fix his cereal. He says there isn't time. "Well, let's just fix this and you eat as much as you have time for. If you don't have time to eat it all, that's OK." He gratefully follows me, and I prepare his oatmeal and give him a breakfast bar "to go." No longer bugging his mom as she tries to get ready, he is able to finish his warm breakfast.

I volunteer here once a year. It is a sobering reminder to me that "there for the grace of God go I." Over the last few years, the makeup of this group has changed: many, many more children; younger families; fewer victims of addictive lifestyle choices; more victims of the economic downturn. Cell phones charge overnight. Wheeled luggage holds pared down possessions. Infant carriers and strollers sit next to floor mats. 

There for the grace of God... I hope their lives were touched by God's grace through our interaction this morning. Mine was.

Endings and Beginnings

Can't believe the year is almost gone. The sun is shining, a few leaves are clinging tenaciously to branches, and it is pleasant enough to take a walk.  But the calendar confirms that there are only 8 days until Christmas, two weeks until New Year's Eve.

This year saw the beginning of collecting social security... and then a new job... for me.  It saw the end... or nearly so... of Sasha climbing up on beds and couches and the beginning of curling up and sleeping on the floor in her snuggy bed.

This year began with saying good-bye to four friends in the space of 30 days, exactly, and the beginning of eternal life for them. I also saw friends make the same journey with a close and beloved friend of theirs. 2011 has taken its toll on our Life Group as numbers continue to dwindle and life-changing milestones come. Last year at this time we watched Larry fight the last vestiges of his cancer battle with Ethel by his side.  This year we are watching Betty and John bear witness to a life-long love and the evidence of things not seen, the substance of things hoped for... one blessed day at a time.

I'm nine weeks out from neck surgery, a saga that began suddenly over three months ago... an experience that changed more than the configuration and appearance of my vertebrae. Much of my perspective has changed, a milestone of my own marking.

The most blessed beginning for our family was the arrival of my great nephew Benjamin in February. And next weekend we will get to see him enjoy his first Christmas. Maybe some day he will grow corn like Papa English.  Whaddaya think? (Yes, corny.)

Time is precious and fleeting, filled with beginnings and endings... all blessed by the sustaining presence of God, the privilege of knowing Him through His Son, and the promise of spending all of time with Him. As you celebrate Christmas with whatever traditions mark your holiday, I hope you'll remember the beginning of Emanuel's journey "with us" so that all of our endings would be blessed with His promise of forever.

Changing Seasons

In this time of changing seasons, much of my life is in transition.

I am surprised daily by how little energy I have during my recovery from surgery. Even though I am on a restricted work schedule, I can’t get used to how little on my to-do list gets checked off at the end of the day. I fall asleep as soon as I get comfortable in my lounge chair and can sleep 14 hours overnight. It is easy to over-do in the course of the day, but I am learning how important it is to truly recuperate.

I began a new full-time job as office manager/case manager with Northwest Marriage Institute under their three-year Pathways to Responsible Fatherhood grant. Working with this group of people will be a cut above most job experiences. We Christians aren’t perfect, but we share a faith-based perspective that frames our relationships and work ethic. Family counseling is uncharted territory for me and, except for the administrative commonality, will be a learning experience. Taxpayer funding of this non-profit has provided eye-opening exposure to the wasteful and plodding workings of government. No for-profit business could survive if it operated like a government bureaucracy.

This week I moved into my new office. It was fun to dig out my pictures and other office things that make the space mine. I love the huge window, but I look forward to changing the nondescript green walls to more livable brown tones.

My most recent renter violated the terms of occupancy in a damaging way, and I had to evict her. But my new boss needs an unfurnished space, and this fits the bill. So, yesterday I donated Mom’s furniture to the church in preparation for my new renter. I was surprised at how much it tugged at my heart strings to dissemble this place after 23½ years— 15 years after Mom’s passing.

At an age when many begin retirement, I am embarking on a new three-year working experience. That, and the prospect of an equally-long rental arrangement, opens the window to personal growth and financial stability.

 “For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Posting Post-op

I'm two weeks out from surgery. Time to play catch-up on the blog.

Surgery 

This was my fourth surgery experience. This one in yet another facility. My brother Lynn came down to be with me for this procedure and drove me to Legacy Salmon Creek Hospital around 6 AM on the 10th. But not before praying with me for a successful outcome.

LSC Day Surgery is conveniently located on the same floor as the sky bridge from the parking garage. Checking in went smoothly because all the pre-op paperwork had been done earlier. Lynn was given a number and a name tag so he could be updated when the surgeon was finished. Then we waited to be taken to my room. We tried three different chairs before we found anything we would call comfortable, but it wasn’t long before I was called. By then Avis had joined us.

Small cubicles lined the corridor, each with a complete glass front that included a sliding door. The first order of business was getting changed into a heavy, double-thickness paper gown complete with air duct attachment for hoses from a heating/cooling outlet. Then came taking the medical history that had not yet been done (meds/supplements), along with vital signs and starting an IV. Word came that the surgeon wanted to start half an hour early, so I was double-teamed, answering questions from one nurse while the IV was inserted by another. That nurse believed me when I told him that my veins were so good he could hit them from across the room, and he started the IV without using a tourniquet. Good man. He was also appropriately entertained by the banter between Lynn and me.

Chaplain Bill Hunter from my church came by to offer good will and pray with us. Much appreciated. The anesthesiologist stopped by, a fresh eager young man on his first day at this hospital. As he began to list the possible side effects, I assured him both that I was in the medical field and that God was in control. The last part made his face fall. He did not recover until Avis told him as he left my cubicle that “we are counting you, Doctor, to do a good job.”

When Dr. Musleh stopped by, carrying his surgical scope in a well-worn case, he asked me to lean forward and marked a spot on my lower back. I asked him if he was teasing me. The male surgical nurse who accompanied him reminded him that I was having neck surgery. Embarassed, but also pushed out of his routine by the assembled number of staff in the room, he stepped back and marked the correct area on my neck. I teased him and told him I hoped he had an alcohol prep, because I wasn’t going into surgery until that mark on my back was erased.

Saying good bye to my two supporters, I was wheeled on my gurney to a surgical suite just before 8 AM. I remembered the coolness that hit my face just as the nurse told me not to worry about the temperature, since I would be heated up by my high-tech gown. Scooted onto the table, I saw my anesthesiologist above my head and was repositioned until I was “just right.” My memories of the breathing mask are short.

I woke up at 11:20 AM in Recovery. I immediately noticed two things: the pain was gone and I was remarkably alert (based on my past experiences with anesthesia). My nurse was amazing. Not only was she solicitous toward me, she was helping at least two other nurses with their patients and fielding questions which she readily—and happily—answered.

Back in my cubicle (#222), I was monitored by a new nurse, who was the best yet. Lynn and Avis came back. Melanie and Shannon dropped by. My blood pressure finally dropped enough that I was sent home. But not before Lynn was sent to the pharmacy to get my Rx.

Home

I was home by 4 PM, settled into my La-Z-boy while Lynn fielded phone calls from those checking up on us and my progress. I was feeling pretty good until I began to get nauseous a couple of hours after my narcotic pain killer and half an hour after my muscle relaxer. I threw up more than was in my stomach while Lynn was in the LR having a BFF conversation over the phone with his oldest grandson. For the first time, I questioned coming home today.

Getting in touch with the doctor proved quite frustrating. I think this clinic invented the run-around, intentionally or not. I finally called Day Surgery to see if they could help. I was transferred to my post-op nurse, and she was incredible. She not only confirmed my impression, but she also sent a message to my doc and his PA, both still in surgery. No wonder he had wanted to start early. By the time I got a call back, he was working on a 12+-hour day. I asked the PA if I could go back on the Vicodin I had left, and Lynn made another trip to another pharmacy for anti-nausea meds.

I didn’t trust myself to self-medicate during the night, so Lynn was up every 2 hours with my pain meds. Toward the morning hours, he had to wake me, so that was a good sign. We both napped throughout the next day, but we also walked a loop around the park… a half mile or so.

Lynn stayed and helped for a couple of days, going home late Wednesday evening after a long wait to get a refill on the Vicodin. I discovered that half a mile was too much exertion, but we did manage a couple of hands of cards along with a grocery run.

In the ensuing days, I learned that too much activity led to a day of feeling lousy, but days of activity were welcome, especially lunch out, cards, and a movie with the girls a week after surgery. And well worth the cost.

Post-op

Ten days out I went back for my post-op appointment. An x-ray confirmed that my head was on straight [:)] and revealed the cadaver bone spacer, titanium plate and screws that now fuse my C6-7 vertebrae in the front. When the PA asked if I wanted to look at my scar in the mirror after she removed the steri-strips, I said, “Sure, but I’m certain that I have enough wrinkles to hide it somewhere.”  She laughed, but I was right. I will have a small 2-inch scar on the left side, tucked in the wrinkle encircling the base of my neck. I’m told I will feel like I have the flu for another few weeks, weak and achy. I was cleared for easy, half-days of work, but not much head movement, computer work, or lifting. They are pleased with my progress even though I still have several grades of weakness in my L arm, wrist, hand, and fingers. 

Tingly fingers in my left hand since surgery have given rise to hope that more function will return. Saturday I was able to feel the raised marker on the "F" key of the computer keyboard for the first time in quite awhile.

Sitting without support for my head for long alerts me to how big my head is (something you all may have suspected long since), and I find that I cannot sit long at the computer. I’m still not driving. The blind spot looms frighteningly large with my limited head rotation.

The brightest spot in my recovery are the massages from Melody. Her magic fingers have all but eliminated the mirroring right-side pain ensuing from twisting when I was dressing to leave the hospital, giving me confidence that it is temporary. Not to mention my over-the-fence neighbor, Wendy, who constantly thinks up things to do for me.

What would I do without friends and family? My big bro is the best caregiver, my English “outlaws” are wonderful, my Life Group remains in a class by themselves, and my friend Karel is truly that and more. I am also thankful for my church and Demarle families, so many of whom have called, visited, sent cards, offered help, and most importantly, prayed for my healing.

Cutting Edge

One modern imaging test and a consult with the appropriate expert, and the verdict is in.  My September pain will be relieved by surgery to my neck sometime in the next couple of weeks.

The nerve root of T7, for those of you with a techno bent, is being pinched by a foramin stenosis at C6-7. In misery index terms, I have had unrelenting pain originating behind my left shoulder blade and pulsing down the outside of my left arm for almost three weeks now. First numbness in my ring and little finger, followed by worsening numbness in my other fingers. My best friend and worst enemy is Vicodin, 1/2 tab welcomed every 4 hours, begrudged more often. My MO is to reluctantly take Vicodin for a couple of days following some painful medical crisis, and then toss the prescription a couple of years later when I clean out the medicine cabinet. I don't do well on pain meds, so I take them sparingly and infrequently.

I am no stranger to this malady or its treatment. Ten years ago, I could trace the origin and insertion of the nerve that was being pinched at C5-6 from my right shoulder blade to my right hand. That surgical intervention followed weeks of "aggressive conservative" treatment of physical therapy and anti-inflammatory drugs. Surgery stopped the pain, but did not occur soon enough to prevent loss of function. I lose my grip without warning, especially when I'm tired. (Yes, I know, there's a pun hiding in there.) My dogs, who are constantly underfoot in the kitchen hoping for a dropped or proffered morsel, are conspicuously absent when I load the dishwasher at night. The doc makes no guarantees about relieving symptoms or improving hand function this time, only that the pain from the pinched nerve will stop.

The last time I had neck surgery, it was a "day surgery" but they didn't get me out the door until very late in the day because every time I put my legs over the side of the bed, my BP shot through the roof.  The next morning when I woke up, all I could think of was that some Indian had snuck up behind me and sunk a tomahawk in the back of my neck.(I know, so politically incorrect, but I am so NOT PC most of the time anyway.) 

This time, they will schedule me as an inpatient. The surgeon will need to go in thru the front, and because he will have to cut away bone to reach the back portion, he will put a bone shim in between the vertebrae and a titanium plate to fuse them afterwards.  I'm told it won't be as painful as when they cut from the back through all of that muscle tissue, but I won't be driving anywhere the first week because of pain meds.

The surgery will cause trauma to the nerve to my voice box, causing hoarseness at best or Julie Andrews syndrome at worst. I'm still mulling over the voice box issue.  He said they could go in from the left and avoid the nerve, but it would be harder to do than going in on the right side and having the angle to work with. My call in the end.

That's about all that I know at the moment. I'm not supposed to lift anything, so most of my busy projects are nixed for now. 

I'm thankful that we are supposed to have sunny days all week.