Give rest, O Christ, to your servants with your saints,
where sorrow and pain are no more,
neither sighing, but life everlasting. BCP
It is a time of life that is unsettling. I have learned that two of my close friends have died in the past two weeks. Jean Dettman of Hingham, MA and Col. Robert E. Brown of Sierra Vista, Arizona. Jean was 89 years old and Bob was 82. They were both remarkable people who both enriched my life and I am very saddened by their deaths.
I first met Bob Brown when he was a Lieutenant in my father's battalion at Fort Sill, OK and I was a student at the University of Oklahoma. He was nice looking and a lot of fun and we dated a few times when I came home on the weekends. Shortly after, I met Chuck Stodter, the man I married, and Bob was a groomsman in our wedding. We were assigned to Jump School in Georgia and after our honeymoon in Colorado, we were on our way. After Jump School we were assigned to Fort Lewis, Washington. Several years later, we did a tour of duty at Ft. Devens, MA and our neighbors were Bob and Judy Brown and their four children! Bob was in Intelligence and had done a tour of duty in Germany where he had been involved with counter intelligence with the Russians. He spoke Russian and could dance like the Russians and was a great hit at parties! He had also been to Korea and his wife cooked Korean food for parties. They were reassigned and we communicated only with Christmas Cards. Bob admired my father greatly and stayed in touch with my parents who had retired in Norman, OK.
Chuck and I divorced. Judy and Bob divorced. They also lost a son in a tragic car accident. Bob called me and took me to dinner when he came to Boston. I don't remember why he was in Boston but I remember being glad to see him and we laughed and talked about the "good old days" in the Army. We eventually began corresponding, and then exchanging email. And he would call occasionally. We had several mutual friends to catch up on. Last year I went to Arizona to visit my daughter Cheryl and my first granddaughter and her family who lived in Benson, AZ. While there we drove to Sierra Vista and visited Bob, whom I hadn't seen in nearly 30 years! We greeted each other with a hug and it was, as it always was, we were friends. Good friends. Friends of many years. He invited my daughter and her family in and took us on a tour of a beautiful home which he shared with his son. He was a collector of art and every wall of the house was covered with paintings. We spent the afternoon engaged in reminiscing and when we said goodbye I promised to come see him again when I came to AZ.
It was with great sadness that I learned of his death. He had not emailed since sending me a picture of an extraordinarily large kidney stone that he had removed. I did not know what hospital he was in and called his home several times until this last week when his son answered and told me that his father had died. Bob had seen me through leukemia. I wish that I could have been there for him.
****************************************************************************************
I met Jean at St. John's Episcopal Church in Lowell, MA. She and her husband Paul had just moved here from Ohio and they were presenting a slide show of India where they had lived
for sixteen years. Paul was a Deacon in the Episcopal Church. Paul was a good looking tall man and Jean was a lovely petite woman. They joined our church and were a wonderful addition. They were a well educated, sophisticated and charming couple. They had six children, three sons and three daughters, who were married and lived in Oregon, California, Vermont, Massachusetts and Ecuador. They were also, all well educated.
Jean and I were both born on the 24th of April and enjoyed celebrating our birthday together. I entertained them with a paella supper before their trip to Spain. Jean loved to entertain and invited me to their home many times. The prayer group met in my home every Friday evening and they always contributed meaningful dialogue. They decided to join another church. Our bishop was not allowing deacons very much participation and Paul became frustrated. We regretted it deeply but understood. Our personal relationship remained the same. Paul and Jean also became very active with the Learning in Retirement Association.
Paul became very ill with cancer and died. His funeral was very large and a lovely tribute to him. Jean was so small and seemed so vulnerable but she was a very strong woman. She continued living in their condo and continued entertaining and continued supporting LIRA. She traveled frequently to see her children. She also traveled with her son Carl and his family every summer. It was on a trip to Italy that she tripped and fell and broke her hip. After convalescing
she moved to Lindon Pond in Hingham near her son and his family. Betty (my 92 year old friend) and I took a days excursion and went to see her twice. She used a walker, was always in good spirits and actively involved in an educational program.
She was a role model for me and I admired her so much. I feel sure that Paul was waiting for her.....
Rest eternal grant to them, O Lord;
And let light perpetual shine upon them.
May their souls, and the souls of all the departed,
through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
BCP
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
My Grandmother "Nanny"
Hazel Bessie Oiler married Joseph Marion Purcell and when he died, she married Henry Beeson Johnson. I discovered an old box of pictures that my parents left me and among them was a photograph taken of my grandmother when she was younger and I felt moved to write what little I know about her. In the photograph she looks to be about forty years old, standing in her apartment, with her arms across her waist and smiling. I wondered what kind of a mother she was. Now that I am 78 and a great-grandmother I am curious about what my heredity is! What genes did I inherit? Was she happy?
I did not know my grandmother well because my father was in the military and we moved a lot. However, I grew up in Blackwell, Oklahoma until WW II started. We lived in a tiny house on Florence Street, only a few blocks from where my grandmother "Nanny" and Doc lived, in an apartment house on McKinley Street.
My grandmother met and married Joseph Marion Purcell in Butler, Kansas, a very handsome young man who came from "moneyed" people. I feel sure that Nanny loved him very much. Although I think his family may have disapproved of the marriage because no mention of them was ever made except that they were "moneyed," an expression that seemed to be used in Nanny's generation. Nanny gave birth to three children: Margaret Aileen, my mother, and Charles Allen and Joseph Marion, Junior. At some point they moved to Oklahoma. Joseph, Sr. worked on oil rigs and was seldom home. My mother described her father showing up unannounced in the middle of the night and bringing ice cream and presents. Until one day when the radio announced his death and were attempting to locate the family. My mother had always been his favorite and he had a picture of my mother in his pocket. He had been standing next to a truck which was loaded with large pipes and one of the pipes was dislodged and struck him on the head. My mother was in High School when he was killed. So Nanny must have been about 36 years old.
She went to work as a nurse. I don't know when she received her training. My mother dropped out of high school and took care of the house and the two sons. My mother rarely talked about that time in her life. She met and married my father at age 19 and had me a year later.
My first memory about Nanny was hearing the story of my birth. She was working for Dr. Risser at Blackwell General Hospital and when it came time for me to be born my father was present throughout the birth! Giving birth has changed a great deal since them and now fathers are welcome in the delivery room but when I was born, it was unheard of! My mother became ill with some complication of childbirth and never had another child.
Nanny married Blackwell's only dentist (it was a very small town), Dr. Henry Beeson Johnson. They lived in a very small apartment which had a living room, a small dining area with a small kitchen, one bedroom and one bath and one closet! Tiny, tiny, tiny! But my grandmother was a meticulous house keeper and nothing was ever out of place. Nanny had the tastes of "moneyed" people and everything she had was very nice. She did not have a lot of furniture but what she did have was very good. She only had one closet and she didn't have a lot of clothes but what she had was in good taste. She always held her head up high!
I remember making telephone calls from Nanny's phone and talking to a real live operator who knew almost everyone in town and knew me! Sometimes I am very nostalgic for real live persons who are available to help us
This woman I am looking at in the picture was probably my greatest influence on going to church on a regular basis. I know because I have Certificates of Attendance from the Baptist Church, and Certificates of Attendance from the Methodist Church. Nanny was very active in Eastern Star and was the Grand Matron one year. I remember her all dressed up in an evening gown. For some reason the Baptist Church disappointed her and she changed churches. It only meant going across the street to the Methodist church. When my grandmother died my mother gave Nanny's bible to me. It is a copy of the New Testament and the Psalms and is well worn from reading. Nanny made several notations on the pages and there are copies of favorite prayers scotch taped in the front. It was published by the Universal Book and Bible House in Philadelphia. The New Testament, of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Authorized or King James Version, Translated out of the original Greek, and with the former Translations diligently Compared and Revised. Below she has written "Matthew - Jew - The King, Mark - Rome The Servant, Luke - Greek the Man and John - Son of God." At the top she wrote "The Holy Spirit in Missions, Go hence and tell Bertha Smith." The next page is almost blank and she has written much. The Bible begins with a short chapter called "Meditations on the Gospels" by Joseph Howard Gray, D.D. Followed by a Calendar for Daily Reading of the Scriptures. There are brief notes throughout the Bible. She signed it Mrs. H.B. Johnson. After the Psalms there is a section called "The Hour of Prayer." The names of the prayers are first listed. Again on the very last blank page, she has written much! I don't know how much Nanny read except for her Bible. There were no books in her apartment.
It is possible that she used the library. It was only three blocks from our apartment building.
Nearly all of the men in our family were in WWII. My father and his brother Don Beavers and Nanny's two sons, Charles Purcell and Jack Purcell. They were all part of the 189th Field Artillery. I have a picture of the entire unit, my father and uncle Don on the first row and my uncles Jack and Charles in the back row. My cousin Gary, the son of Dell, my father's youngest brother. They all returned home and my father was the only one wounded.
I am sure that Nanny worried about all of her children as most mother's do.
Jack was the black sheep of the family. He was a good looking man, a Military Policeman in the Army, but he began drinking very early and quickly became an alcoholic. He married a woman and then one day he left her and never came back. I don't think that he ever saw Nanny again. He married a second time and had a child without bothering to divorce his first wife. They came and visited my parents years later after Jack had died.
Charles stayed in the Army. He married a woman from Blackwell but she refused to move with him. They maintained a relationship of sorts and he visited her when he had leave. He had a string of girlfriends. One at a time. But he always had a woman in his life. Charles also drank too much but got sober when my mother took over and weaned him from the bottle.
Nanny nursed Doc until his death. She stayed in her apartment until her health was poor and my mother moved her to a nursing home in Norman, Oklahoma. Charles visited her once in a while. Mother visited her every day. Her health deteriorated and her hands and feet curled up from arthritis. She was 94 when she died.
I came across a meditation that I had written for Forward Day by Day 2007
and I had written "As a child I relished the stories my parents told about their childhood and was especially fascinated by my grandmother's stories."
I am still wondering "Was my grandmother happy?"
I did not know my grandmother well because my father was in the military and we moved a lot. However, I grew up in Blackwell, Oklahoma until WW II started. We lived in a tiny house on Florence Street, only a few blocks from where my grandmother "Nanny" and Doc lived, in an apartment house on McKinley Street.
My grandmother met and married Joseph Marion Purcell in Butler, Kansas, a very handsome young man who came from "moneyed" people. I feel sure that Nanny loved him very much. Although I think his family may have disapproved of the marriage because no mention of them was ever made except that they were "moneyed," an expression that seemed to be used in Nanny's generation. Nanny gave birth to three children: Margaret Aileen, my mother, and Charles Allen and Joseph Marion, Junior. At some point they moved to Oklahoma. Joseph, Sr. worked on oil rigs and was seldom home. My mother described her father showing up unannounced in the middle of the night and bringing ice cream and presents. Until one day when the radio announced his death and were attempting to locate the family. My mother had always been his favorite and he had a picture of my mother in his pocket. He had been standing next to a truck which was loaded with large pipes and one of the pipes was dislodged and struck him on the head. My mother was in High School when he was killed. So Nanny must have been about 36 years old.
She went to work as a nurse. I don't know when she received her training. My mother dropped out of high school and took care of the house and the two sons. My mother rarely talked about that time in her life. She met and married my father at age 19 and had me a year later.
My first memory about Nanny was hearing the story of my birth. She was working for Dr. Risser at Blackwell General Hospital and when it came time for me to be born my father was present throughout the birth! Giving birth has changed a great deal since them and now fathers are welcome in the delivery room but when I was born, it was unheard of! My mother became ill with some complication of childbirth and never had another child.
Nanny married Blackwell's only dentist (it was a very small town), Dr. Henry Beeson Johnson. They lived in a very small apartment which had a living room, a small dining area with a small kitchen, one bedroom and one bath and one closet! Tiny, tiny, tiny! But my grandmother was a meticulous house keeper and nothing was ever out of place. Nanny had the tastes of "moneyed" people and everything she had was very nice. She did not have a lot of furniture but what she did have was very good. She only had one closet and she didn't have a lot of clothes but what she had was in good taste. She always held her head up high!
I remember making telephone calls from Nanny's phone and talking to a real live operator who knew almost everyone in town and knew me! Sometimes I am very nostalgic for real live persons who are available to help us
This woman I am looking at in the picture was probably my greatest influence on going to church on a regular basis. I know because I have Certificates of Attendance from the Baptist Church, and Certificates of Attendance from the Methodist Church. Nanny was very active in Eastern Star and was the Grand Matron one year. I remember her all dressed up in an evening gown. For some reason the Baptist Church disappointed her and she changed churches. It only meant going across the street to the Methodist church. When my grandmother died my mother gave Nanny's bible to me. It is a copy of the New Testament and the Psalms and is well worn from reading. Nanny made several notations on the pages and there are copies of favorite prayers scotch taped in the front. It was published by the Universal Book and Bible House in Philadelphia. The New Testament, of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Authorized or King James Version, Translated out of the original Greek, and with the former Translations diligently Compared and Revised. Below she has written "Matthew - Jew - The King, Mark - Rome The Servant, Luke - Greek the Man and John - Son of God." At the top she wrote "The Holy Spirit in Missions, Go hence and tell Bertha Smith." The next page is almost blank and she has written much. The Bible begins with a short chapter called "Meditations on the Gospels" by Joseph Howard Gray, D.D. Followed by a Calendar for Daily Reading of the Scriptures. There are brief notes throughout the Bible. She signed it Mrs. H.B. Johnson. After the Psalms there is a section called "The Hour of Prayer." The names of the prayers are first listed. Again on the very last blank page, she has written much! I don't know how much Nanny read except for her Bible. There were no books in her apartment.
It is possible that she used the library. It was only three blocks from our apartment building.
Nearly all of the men in our family were in WWII. My father and his brother Don Beavers and Nanny's two sons, Charles Purcell and Jack Purcell. They were all part of the 189th Field Artillery. I have a picture of the entire unit, my father and uncle Don on the first row and my uncles Jack and Charles in the back row. My cousin Gary, the son of Dell, my father's youngest brother. They all returned home and my father was the only one wounded.
I am sure that Nanny worried about all of her children as most mother's do.
Jack was the black sheep of the family. He was a good looking man, a Military Policeman in the Army, but he began drinking very early and quickly became an alcoholic. He married a woman and then one day he left her and never came back. I don't think that he ever saw Nanny again. He married a second time and had a child without bothering to divorce his first wife. They came and visited my parents years later after Jack had died.
Charles stayed in the Army. He married a woman from Blackwell but she refused to move with him. They maintained a relationship of sorts and he visited her when he had leave. He had a string of girlfriends. One at a time. But he always had a woman in his life. Charles also drank too much but got sober when my mother took over and weaned him from the bottle.
Nanny nursed Doc until his death. She stayed in her apartment until her health was poor and my mother moved her to a nursing home in Norman, Oklahoma. Charles visited her once in a while. Mother visited her every day. Her health deteriorated and her hands and feet curled up from arthritis. She was 94 when she died.
I came across a meditation that I had written for Forward Day by Day 2007
and I had written "As a child I relished the stories my parents told about their childhood and was especially fascinated by my grandmother's stories."
I am still wondering "Was my grandmother happy?"
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Cancer and My Mother
My mother had breast cancer at the age of 70. I was 50 years old. She had her left breast and lymph nodes removed by a surgeon in Oklahoma City, who was known as "the best." He undoubtedly was, most of the time, but he wasn't for my mother. She had chosen not to have reconstructive surgery. She was a large breasted woman and chose to forego further surgery. Remember that, at the time, breast surgery was not as advanced as it is today.
I remember the moment when they wheeled her out of the room and my father and I left for the waiting room. I remember giving my mother a kiss and telling her I loved her. I was fearful that she might die and I knew that my father was terribly anxious. I do not remember her returning to her room afterwards. But she did return and the surgery was a mess. She had been mutilated and was in pain even after it had healed. He had left lumps and a jagged scar and had caused damage in the lymph nodes.
He apologized when confronted and said he would operate again at no further cost. My mother saw several doctors and was evaluated but she chose not to have further surgery. The consensus was that it could be improved aesthetically but the damage to the lymph nodes was probably permanent. She chose not to pursue any legal action even though she had been advised that she a had strong case. She suffered discomfort and pain the rest of her life.
My mother was a beautiful woman who was very talented and accomplished in many ways. She was a wonderful seamstress and made many of my clothes throughout my life, an "Arts & Crafts" aficionado, a formidable housekeeper, a very hospitable hostess, an Army wife extraordinaire! When her wounds healed, she took painting classes and discovered an amazing talent for painting.
At age 50 I could not empathize very well. As I have grown older I have come to understand what I did not understand then. I am sure that my mother was saddened by my failure to truly comfort her. I have learned one of life's great lessons, now that I am 78, that we are unable to fully understand an experience if we have not had the same experience our self! I am deeply sorry now, especially since I was an only child. I was not able to give her the loving support and empathetic understanding that she no doubt wanted and deserved.
Mother did not have another bout with cancer but she battled angry feelings until she died. And I have never resolved the feelings of guilt I had.
Rest eternal grant to her, O Lord;
And let light perpetual shine upon her.
May her soul, and the souls of all the departed,
through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen
Book of Common Prayer
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Emotional States
What makes me sad?
The feeling that I have no meaningful purpose. When people ask, "How are you?" I respond with a lie. I say, "Fine! I'm feeling fine!" because I know that everyone wants me to be "Fine!" Only to my closest friends will I admit that I am not so fine. That I am feeling depressed and sad. The fact that I survived leukemia is a miracle and, if you are considered a miracle, you should be feeling "fine!"
There are after effects from having chemotherapy that are long lasting, some of which, you do not recover from. You suffer the effects for the rest of your life. I am most troubled by my loss of memory--some of which may come back with time. And some, I suspect, will not come back and I will have to cope with forgetting names and dates. I am learning to cope with a giant 15 X 21 inch wall calender to record all appointments, birthdays I want to remember, and all events to which I have committed myself. I have a black notebook in which I am writing all passwords to allow me access to my computer. And I am trying to recall names with every trick in the book! Four years ago I was struggling with the same problems as a result of a mild stroke. I have always loved to read and have been considered as a reasonably intelligent person who pursued knowledge by studying. To lose the ability to do so would be a great loss and I fear losing it.
Everything I do, I do slowly. Not on purpose. It just seems to take a long time to do anything. And I tire easily. Usually requiring an afternoon nap. Cooking for myself is no longer pleasant. It is just a necessity.
Transportation is a problem because I can only drive short distances and never at night. All my children are scattered, living in four states, which adds to the complexity.
I feel that God has granted me with a few extra years of life and that I am expected to do something. I don't know what that something is.
On top of it all, when I mention how I really feel (useless) I am ashamed because, anyway that I state the above, it sounds like whining and I feel ashamed of myself.
After all, I am the recipient of a miracle and those who receive a miracle should be ecstatically happy!
Heavenly Father, watch over your daughter, and grant that she may be restored to that perfect health which it is yours alone to give; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
Book of Common Prayer
The feeling that I have no meaningful purpose. When people ask, "How are you?" I respond with a lie. I say, "Fine! I'm feeling fine!" because I know that everyone wants me to be "Fine!" Only to my closest friends will I admit that I am not so fine. That I am feeling depressed and sad. The fact that I survived leukemia is a miracle and, if you are considered a miracle, you should be feeling "fine!"
There are after effects from having chemotherapy that are long lasting, some of which, you do not recover from. You suffer the effects for the rest of your life. I am most troubled by my loss of memory--some of which may come back with time. And some, I suspect, will not come back and I will have to cope with forgetting names and dates. I am learning to cope with a giant 15 X 21 inch wall calender to record all appointments, birthdays I want to remember, and all events to which I have committed myself. I have a black notebook in which I am writing all passwords to allow me access to my computer. And I am trying to recall names with every trick in the book! Four years ago I was struggling with the same problems as a result of a mild stroke. I have always loved to read and have been considered as a reasonably intelligent person who pursued knowledge by studying. To lose the ability to do so would be a great loss and I fear losing it.
Everything I do, I do slowly. Not on purpose. It just seems to take a long time to do anything. And I tire easily. Usually requiring an afternoon nap. Cooking for myself is no longer pleasant. It is just a necessity.
Transportation is a problem because I can only drive short distances and never at night. All my children are scattered, living in four states, which adds to the complexity.
I feel that God has granted me with a few extra years of life and that I am expected to do something. I don't know what that something is.
On top of it all, when I mention how I really feel (useless) I am ashamed because, anyway that I state the above, it sounds like whining and I feel ashamed of myself.
After all, I am the recipient of a miracle and those who receive a miracle should be ecstatically happy!
Heavenly Father, watch over your daughter, and grant that she may be restored to that perfect health which it is yours alone to give; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
Book of Common Prayer
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Meeting With my PCP
I had an appointment with my primary care physician, Dr. Tushar Patel, this morning. It was the first time since February, when he had called to tell me that in all likelihood I had leukemia and that I was being referred to Tufts Medical Center for treatment. He appeared to be very glad to see me and gave me a big hug which really surprised me! He was accompanied by a man whom he introduced as an intern. And he expressed amazement at how well I am doing. He has received a copy of all my medical records from Tufts. He gave the intern a synopsis of my medical history in which he said that I had come to see him and reported that I was unusually tired. He had ordered blood work and it revealed leukemia. He talked about unusually high "blasts," making it sound like a major battle was being fought! There was...my body fighting for life. Dr. Patel startled me by saying that he did not think I would live. I was expected to die in a few days. I was engaged in a battle where 80% of the enemy were aligned against me. I was over come by the overwhelming feeling of being a "miracle!"
We reviewed my medication and he added two--baby aspirin and oxibutynin--and eliminated pantoprazole which had been prescribed for the heartburn I experienced in the hospital. A side effect of it could be part of my problem with incontinence. He scheduled my next appointment for January 2013.
When I saw Karen on her recent trip back, and asked her about her crying so profusely after driving me to Tufts she simply said "I thought that I would never see you again!"
My friends all think that my recovery is a miracle, as do I! A miracle performed by others. The Staff at Tufts Medical Center, especially the 8th floor personnel who were compassionate and caring, in addition to being highly trained and professional; the members of St. John's Episcopal Church who prayed for me; and my friends who also prayed for me. My children who prayed for me and came to care for me; and a myriad of people I have never met who are members of prayer groups prayed for me! My imagination sees them all storming heaven and not taking no for an answer! In my imagination "those I love but see no longer" my parents, my first child, my grandmother Nanny, Rusty and Bubu who cared for me when my mother went to be with Daddy in WW2, other family members and Mike, a very beloved dog; all standing firm in their prayers of well-being for me.
I inherited a love of dictionaries and language from my father. As a result I own several dictionaries which are kept at my computer desk, all ready to enlighten me. My favorite is a paperback copy of The Oxford English Dictionary (containing 90,000 words, phrases, and definitions).
In it a miracle is defined as a welcome event that is so extraordinary that it is thought to be the work of God or a saint.
My recovery from leukemia is certainly a welcome event! And it was, and is, very extraordinary! So extraordinary that only a higher power could have brought it about. In 2012 an estimated 23,540 men and women will die of leukemia.
Following is a prayer taken from "Soul Weaving--A Gathering of Women's Prayers," edited by Kyn Klug, 1996. The prayer is written by Jo Carr and Imogene Sorley. It expresses so poignantly what I feel. How do I make a difference?
Why me, Lord?
Right in the middle of a strange, mixed-up world.
And with this nagging awareness within me
that you want me
to do something
or say something
or be something
that will make a difference.
It may not change the course of history--
but it may change the course of some life.
And I am obligated to respond to your call.
Why me, Lord?
I don't know why.
I only know the unrest,
the divine discontent,
the eagerness on one had to charge off in service for you,
and the agony on the other of not knowing in what direction.
Why me, Lord?
And what, what would you have me do?
I accept the honor of being a miracle and want to thank all those who cared for me, my children and my friends and to all those, known and unknown, who prayed for me.
We reviewed my medication and he added two--baby aspirin and oxibutynin--and eliminated pantoprazole which had been prescribed for the heartburn I experienced in the hospital. A side effect of it could be part of my problem with incontinence. He scheduled my next appointment for January 2013.
When I saw Karen on her recent trip back, and asked her about her crying so profusely after driving me to Tufts she simply said "I thought that I would never see you again!"
My friends all think that my recovery is a miracle, as do I! A miracle performed by others. The Staff at Tufts Medical Center, especially the 8th floor personnel who were compassionate and caring, in addition to being highly trained and professional; the members of St. John's Episcopal Church who prayed for me; and my friends who also prayed for me. My children who prayed for me and came to care for me; and a myriad of people I have never met who are members of prayer groups prayed for me! My imagination sees them all storming heaven and not taking no for an answer! In my imagination "those I love but see no longer" my parents, my first child, my grandmother Nanny, Rusty and Bubu who cared for me when my mother went to be with Daddy in WW2, other family members and Mike, a very beloved dog; all standing firm in their prayers of well-being for me.
I inherited a love of dictionaries and language from my father. As a result I own several dictionaries which are kept at my computer desk, all ready to enlighten me. My favorite is a paperback copy of The Oxford English Dictionary (containing 90,000 words, phrases, and definitions).
In it a miracle is defined as a welcome event that is so extraordinary that it is thought to be the work of God or a saint.
My recovery from leukemia is certainly a welcome event! And it was, and is, very extraordinary! So extraordinary that only a higher power could have brought it about. In 2012 an estimated 23,540 men and women will die of leukemia.
Following is a prayer taken from "Soul Weaving--A Gathering of Women's Prayers," edited by Kyn Klug, 1996. The prayer is written by Jo Carr and Imogene Sorley. It expresses so poignantly what I feel. How do I make a difference?
Why me, Lord?
Right in the middle of a strange, mixed-up world.
And with this nagging awareness within me
that you want me
to do something
or say something
or be something
that will make a difference.
It may not change the course of history--
but it may change the course of some life.
And I am obligated to respond to your call.
Why me, Lord?
I don't know why.
I only know the unrest,
the divine discontent,
the eagerness on one had to charge off in service for you,
and the agony on the other of not knowing in what direction.
Why me, Lord?
And what, what would you have me do?
I accept the honor of being a miracle and want to thank all those who cared for me, my children and my friends and to all those, known and unknown, who prayed for me.
Monday, September 3, 2012
The Color Purple
I have fallen in love with the color purple! Purple has not been a common color. Until recently not very many things were made in the color purple. I was 77 years old and had never bought anything purple. I didn't dislike purple, it never seemed to come to my attention. Now, it is everywhere. At least, in New England, it is "the" most popular color this season.
It has invaded even the men's department. I am watching TV and a man is wearing a beautiful purple tie. Purple and lavender shirts are also very popular. In all department stores purple is available.
Since falling in love with the color I have googled purple.
The Purple Heart is awarded to all military personnel who are wounded in action. The award represents courage. My father was awarded the medal when shrapnel exploded in his helmet in Italy after the Anzio Beachhead.
My granddaughter, Elizabeth Aileen, also received a Purple Heart in Iraq. The truck in which she was riding shotgun, hit an IED and rolled over several times, landing upside down. The woman who was driving the truck was killed. Elizabeth walks with a brace on her leg and a cane and still struggles with PTSD. When the doctors decide that she is old enough for a knee replacement, they will operate and she will be able to walk without discomfort. She is now expecting her first child and as her weight increases, the pain increases.
It has invaded even the men's department. I am watching TV and a man is wearing a beautiful purple tie. Purple and lavender shirts are also very popular. In all department stores purple is available.
Since falling in love with the color I have googled purple.
The Purple Heart is awarded to all military personnel who are wounded in action. The award represents courage. My father was awarded the medal when shrapnel exploded in his helmet in Italy after the Anzio Beachhead.
My granddaughter, Elizabeth Aileen, also received a Purple Heart in Iraq. The truck in which she was riding shotgun, hit an IED and rolled over several times, landing upside down. The woman who was driving the truck was killed. Elizabeth walks with a brace on her leg and a cane and still struggles with PTSD. When the doctors decide that she is old enough for a knee replacement, they will operate and she will be able to walk without discomfort. She is now expecting her first child and as her weight increases, the pain increases.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Survivor's Guilt
Shortly after I was released from Tufts Medical Center I began attending church again at St. John's Episcopal Church. Everyone welcomed me and was very solicitous of my well being.
The daughter of a long time acquaintance of mine was diagnosed with leukemia. Cindy, the mother of two sons, was in her late forties. She had surgery twice. They removed all that they could remove. But she did not recover. She was treated at Massachusetts General Hospital. One of the best in the nation.
Her mother, Shirley, is a life-long member of St. John's Episcopal Church. Her daughter converted at marriage to the Roman Catholic Church where her husband was a member. The wake for Cindy was held at a Tyngsboro funeral home. I went with Betty, a close friend of mine, who is also a member of St. John's. It was the largest wake and funeral either of us had ever seen. At least a thousand people attended the wake. It took an hour of standing in line to reach the receiving party! Receiving were the husband and two sons, the husband's older brother and his wife, my friend Shirley and her husband, and the parents of Cindy's husband. When we reached the head of the receiving line, Beverly, Shirley's sister, stepped forward and escorted us through the line, introducing all the members to us. I was presented as a recent leukemia survivor by Beverly, who has survived breast cancer. It was a very gracious thing to do and relieved my anxiety about making an appropriate comment. Shirley told me afterward that the receiving line was five hours long!
My heart ached for Shirley. The loss of a child is especially poignant. Children are not supposed to predecease us. She had a very close relationship with her daughter and had taken care of her during her illness because Cindy's husband was a policeman in Tyngsboro and needed to be on duty as often as possible. The funeral home was beautifully decorated with photo collages of Cindy's life and flower arrangements given by friends and relatives. Policemen were there in force.
When Betty and I left the funeral home we decided to drive to the church since we were uncertain how to get there and the funeral was scheduled to begin at 9:00 a.m. It's a good thing we did because it is a very circuitous route. The church was lovely, sitting in a wooded area, alone. The next morning we arrived early and chose to sit in a row close to the area reserved for the family. It was an extraordinarily large area. Shirley has three sisters and several brothers and many cousins. The church seated 400 people and every seat was occupied. The service was lovely, very personal, and the crowd was very well managed. The eulogy was given by the husband's older brother and it was very well done. The husband stood to thank him and started crying in the middle of it. The older son had written a poem for his mother and the priest read it. Nearly everyone was weeping at the end.
What was I feeling? Guilt. If I were God and could arrange it, it would make more sense to me, for me to have died and Cindy to recover. I am 78. No one would be shocked at reading my obituary in the paper. It makes no sense. I do not know the plan for the universe. I do not know why a young woman who has cancer does not survive and I do not know why a 78 year old woman does survive. I am extremely grateful to have survived and I hope that my survival will result in some good. But I am very saddened by Cindy's death. And I am very sorry for Shirley's loss.
The daughter of a long time acquaintance of mine was diagnosed with leukemia. Cindy, the mother of two sons, was in her late forties. She had surgery twice. They removed all that they could remove. But she did not recover. She was treated at Massachusetts General Hospital. One of the best in the nation.
Her mother, Shirley, is a life-long member of St. John's Episcopal Church. Her daughter converted at marriage to the Roman Catholic Church where her husband was a member. The wake for Cindy was held at a Tyngsboro funeral home. I went with Betty, a close friend of mine, who is also a member of St. John's. It was the largest wake and funeral either of us had ever seen. At least a thousand people attended the wake. It took an hour of standing in line to reach the receiving party! Receiving were the husband and two sons, the husband's older brother and his wife, my friend Shirley and her husband, and the parents of Cindy's husband. When we reached the head of the receiving line, Beverly, Shirley's sister, stepped forward and escorted us through the line, introducing all the members to us. I was presented as a recent leukemia survivor by Beverly, who has survived breast cancer. It was a very gracious thing to do and relieved my anxiety about making an appropriate comment. Shirley told me afterward that the receiving line was five hours long!
My heart ached for Shirley. The loss of a child is especially poignant. Children are not supposed to predecease us. She had a very close relationship with her daughter and had taken care of her during her illness because Cindy's husband was a policeman in Tyngsboro and needed to be on duty as often as possible. The funeral home was beautifully decorated with photo collages of Cindy's life and flower arrangements given by friends and relatives. Policemen were there in force.
When Betty and I left the funeral home we decided to drive to the church since we were uncertain how to get there and the funeral was scheduled to begin at 9:00 a.m. It's a good thing we did because it is a very circuitous route. The church was lovely, sitting in a wooded area, alone. The next morning we arrived early and chose to sit in a row close to the area reserved for the family. It was an extraordinarily large area. Shirley has three sisters and several brothers and many cousins. The church seated 400 people and every seat was occupied. The service was lovely, very personal, and the crowd was very well managed. The eulogy was given by the husband's older brother and it was very well done. The husband stood to thank him and started crying in the middle of it. The older son had written a poem for his mother and the priest read it. Nearly everyone was weeping at the end.
What was I feeling? Guilt. If I were God and could arrange it, it would make more sense to me, for me to have died and Cindy to recover. I am 78. No one would be shocked at reading my obituary in the paper. It makes no sense. I do not know the plan for the universe. I do not know why a young woman who has cancer does not survive and I do not know why a 78 year old woman does survive. I am extremely grateful to have survived and I hope that my survival will result in some good. But I am very saddened by Cindy's death. And I am very sorry for Shirley's loss.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
The Study Group
My course of treatment has been set. The computer has randomly selected my name as part of the control group. I will be monitored every month for a year. Twelve more visits to Tufts. I am relieved but not entirely. There will be more bone marrow biopsies! I have had four and do not look forward to
having any more. Cheryl, my daughter, was with me during the last one and thought I had seen the needle. I hadn't. Not knowing that, she was so shocked she spontaneously exclaimed, "That's a wicked, evil-looking needle!" It is not the needle, no matter how it looks, that is the problem.
having any more. Cheryl, my daughter, was with me during the last one and thought I had seen the needle. I hadn't. Not knowing that, she was so shocked she spontaneously exclaimed, "That's a wicked, evil-looking needle!" It is not the needle, no matter how it looks, that is the problem.
First Day in the Study Group
Tomorrow I am making my first visit to Tufts Medical Center for my first visit as a part of the computer random selection which chose my name as a member of the control group. The other group will continue with three days of chemotherapy which will require them to make three visits to Tufts every month.
It is also my first visit without one of my children accompanying me. Driving me wherever I wanted to go. I have begun driving locally, short distances to the grocery store, my bank, a small shopping mall, the only gas station in town that pumps gas. They are all a short distance from my home and can be accessed by lightly traveled back roads.
I must drive carefully and with intention, paying close attention to the possibility of an accident or taking a wrong turn and losing my way, or forgetting the way! The greatest challenge being to choose the right road that will take me where I want to go. There are three main highways that intersect in Lowell. Route 3, Route 93 and Route 495. All three are routes that I have traveled many times. Going north on route 3 goes to New Hampshire and the shopping area in Nashua, NH, Route 93 goes north to New Hampshire and the airport in Manchester, and Route 495 goes to Salisbury Beach in MA, Hampton Beach in NH and continues along the coast to the bridge that crosses into Kittery, ME. The first half of the bridge is in Massachusetts and the second half is in Maine! It spans an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean! I have driven to Kittery many times to enjoy shopping at the outlet stores and to enjoy a seafood dinner at the Weathervane.
Dean, Dawn, Kady and I decided to go there, looking forward to a seafood dinner and visiting our favorite stores for bargains. Dean was driving and, after some initial confusion about which way to go, asked if we should follow River Road to Route 93. I said, "Yes!" We passed several known sites to me, including the turn off to the airport, and I had a nagging feeling that we weren't on the right road. Dawn checked us out on her cell phone and announced that we were headed for Canada and needed to turn right in order to reach Kittery. I felt that it was my mistake (it was!) and apologized. But my apology didn't soothe the agitation that I felt about choosing the wrong highway and not recognizing my mistake. And driving back late that afternoon
I felt hurt and angry because no one paid attention to my directions which was totally irrational. I kept thinking that I have lived in this area for thirty years and have made this drive numerous times. How could I have made such an egregious mistake?
I have had several experiences of forgetting directions on how I should go. I have learned that I have to think the route through to the end. If I feel confused or in a hurry, I am very unlikely to remember the way to go.
Since Tufts is in Boston, getting there is the problem. The Lowell area does not have any drivers who volunteer their services to cancer patients. Most people that I know are employed full-time and not free to offer their services.
I am 78 and my friends, who are close in age to me, no longer drive in to Boston. I planned to take the risk of driving myself but my son thought it was very risky, a hazard to me and a hazard to other drivers on the road. I decided to take the train which ends at North Station in Boston and take a taxi to Tufts.
As the time grew near I became more and more anxious about going on the train. I had made the trip only once with Cheryl. By Sunday, my appointment was on Monday, I was overwhelmed by anxiety and called a limousine service.
It was the most expensive way to go but I was certain of arriving (barring an accident).
I arrived for my appointment on time to have an EKG and have the Lab Work done. Then I saw the new intern and finally, Dr. Sprague. I discussed the memory problems I am having and she assured me that they were common and will get better with time. She talked about the possibility of relapse and said that if everything continued to go well that relapse is highly unlikely after 5 years. In five years I will be 83! By that age my mother was in a nursing home! But perhaps I will be blessed with a few more years.
It is also my first visit without one of my children accompanying me. Driving me wherever I wanted to go. I have begun driving locally, short distances to the grocery store, my bank, a small shopping mall, the only gas station in town that pumps gas. They are all a short distance from my home and can be accessed by lightly traveled back roads.
I must drive carefully and with intention, paying close attention to the possibility of an accident or taking a wrong turn and losing my way, or forgetting the way! The greatest challenge being to choose the right road that will take me where I want to go. There are three main highways that intersect in Lowell. Route 3, Route 93 and Route 495. All three are routes that I have traveled many times. Going north on route 3 goes to New Hampshire and the shopping area in Nashua, NH, Route 93 goes north to New Hampshire and the airport in Manchester, and Route 495 goes to Salisbury Beach in MA, Hampton Beach in NH and continues along the coast to the bridge that crosses into Kittery, ME. The first half of the bridge is in Massachusetts and the second half is in Maine! It spans an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean! I have driven to Kittery many times to enjoy shopping at the outlet stores and to enjoy a seafood dinner at the Weathervane.
Dean, Dawn, Kady and I decided to go there, looking forward to a seafood dinner and visiting our favorite stores for bargains. Dean was driving and, after some initial confusion about which way to go, asked if we should follow River Road to Route 93. I said, "Yes!" We passed several known sites to me, including the turn off to the airport, and I had a nagging feeling that we weren't on the right road. Dawn checked us out on her cell phone and announced that we were headed for Canada and needed to turn right in order to reach Kittery. I felt that it was my mistake (it was!) and apologized. But my apology didn't soothe the agitation that I felt about choosing the wrong highway and not recognizing my mistake. And driving back late that afternoon
I felt hurt and angry because no one paid attention to my directions which was totally irrational. I kept thinking that I have lived in this area for thirty years and have made this drive numerous times. How could I have made such an egregious mistake?
I have had several experiences of forgetting directions on how I should go. I have learned that I have to think the route through to the end. If I feel confused or in a hurry, I am very unlikely to remember the way to go.
Since Tufts is in Boston, getting there is the problem. The Lowell area does not have any drivers who volunteer their services to cancer patients. Most people that I know are employed full-time and not free to offer their services.
I am 78 and my friends, who are close in age to me, no longer drive in to Boston. I planned to take the risk of driving myself but my son thought it was very risky, a hazard to me and a hazard to other drivers on the road. I decided to take the train which ends at North Station in Boston and take a taxi to Tufts.
As the time grew near I became more and more anxious about going on the train. I had made the trip only once with Cheryl. By Sunday, my appointment was on Monday, I was overwhelmed by anxiety and called a limousine service.
It was the most expensive way to go but I was certain of arriving (barring an accident).
I arrived for my appointment on time to have an EKG and have the Lab Work done. Then I saw the new intern and finally, Dr. Sprague. I discussed the memory problems I am having and she assured me that they were common and will get better with time. She talked about the possibility of relapse and said that if everything continued to go well that relapse is highly unlikely after 5 years. In five years I will be 83! By that age my mother was in a nursing home! But perhaps I will be blessed with a few more years.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
A Blood Transfusion
I had my third appointment with Dr. Sprague and Dr. Chakra yesterday since having the second consolidation. I was anemic and required a transfusion. I was very surprised to learn that it was not my first transfusion. I had two during my first hospitalization. I do not recall too much of what happened during my initial hospitalization--it remains a blur! I was relieved that Dr. Sprague wanted to see me only once the following week. They are hoping to do the bone marrow biopsy and pop my name in the computer for random selection.
Cheryl went to find some lunch for us and I went to wait in the infusion waiting room, hoping that it wouldn't be a long wait. It was less than an hour when I was called in. The woman who hooked me up to the platelets on Thursday, hooked me up to the blood and explained that it would take at least one hour.
I would not describe myself as a squeamish person, but I was "freaked out" by the blood! And I kept wondering whose blood it was that was now slowly dripping into my veins. Was it a man's? Or a woman's? What were they like? All the vampire movies I have seen (not many!) were haunting me! I was very relieved when I was able to leave.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Barnett and Betsy
In the military you develop friendships in an unusual way. When we were assigned to a new post there were new people to meet. A commanding officer with a staff assigned as he saw fit. There were no women on duty then. We were invited to all social functions and became well acquainted with our fellow officers and their wives.
We did not always like all the members of our group but we were acculturated to always maintain a civil attitude and we always found those couples with whom we had a lot in common and genuinely liked!
We were stationed in Bamberg, Germany in 1970. My husband was a battalion commander and a Col. Barnett DeRamus was post commander. He was married to a charming woman named Betsy and they had four children. We had so many good times with them. They were both from the South and Barnett was the epitome of a Southern gentleman. He was very tall with white hair and was very good looking. His favorite person to quote was the Duc Francois de La Rochefoucauld who wrote short pithy sayings. Betsy was very lively and a fun companion. They both spoke Italian having learned the language during an assignment there. They entertained often.
During a training exercise in Grafenwohr when both husbands were gone, Betsy decided to go to Lake La Garda in Italy. She invited me to go along and I was delighted. We rented a small pension near the lake. We drove to La Garda but I don't remember how we got there with all eight children! I do remember the bright green bikini I bought--my first!--for the trip! We spent our days on the beach, feasted on wonderful Italian food, and experienced "la dolce vita."
There was a very famous opera in Verona and they were presenting Aida by Verde. We went for the day and enjoyed the sights, especially reveling in the attention we received from everyone because of our eight children! The "Arena di Verona" was a magnificent coliseum and we settled ourselves on the steps. It was a breath-taking performance and one of my favorite memories. The children were good and fell asleep on the steps!
We returned to Germany with unforgettable memories. They have dimmed with time but they still give me pleasure to remember them. With the pleasure there is pain. Shortly thereafter Chuck was reassigned to Kelly Barracks in Stuttgart, Germany. Which meant, making new friends. Which we did. We exchanged Christmas cards with the DeRamus's and caught up with the news at least once a year.
Several years later (at least twenty), after I had moved into my condo, I received a lovely long letter from Barnett. It was full of news of the children and Betsy and that he was dying of cancer. He ended by hoping for news from us and he made a final request that I might write to him. I am ashamed to say that I never did. I intended to but my words went without saying. Betsy wrote a letter when he died. Now that I have leukemia and have contemplated my own death, I am saddened by my lack of response and wish I could say I'm sorry. How often have I ignored my good intentions?
Rest eternal grant to him, O Lord;
And let light perpetual shine upon him.
May his soul, and the souls of all the departed,
through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen
Book of Common Prayer
We did not always like all the members of our group but we were acculturated to always maintain a civil attitude and we always found those couples with whom we had a lot in common and genuinely liked!
We were stationed in Bamberg, Germany in 1970. My husband was a battalion commander and a Col. Barnett DeRamus was post commander. He was married to a charming woman named Betsy and they had four children. We had so many good times with them. They were both from the South and Barnett was the epitome of a Southern gentleman. He was very tall with white hair and was very good looking. His favorite person to quote was the Duc Francois de La Rochefoucauld who wrote short pithy sayings. Betsy was very lively and a fun companion. They both spoke Italian having learned the language during an assignment there. They entertained often.
During a training exercise in Grafenwohr when both husbands were gone, Betsy decided to go to Lake La Garda in Italy. She invited me to go along and I was delighted. We rented a small pension near the lake. We drove to La Garda but I don't remember how we got there with all eight children! I do remember the bright green bikini I bought--my first!--for the trip! We spent our days on the beach, feasted on wonderful Italian food, and experienced "la dolce vita."
There was a very famous opera in Verona and they were presenting Aida by Verde. We went for the day and enjoyed the sights, especially reveling in the attention we received from everyone because of our eight children! The "Arena di Verona" was a magnificent coliseum and we settled ourselves on the steps. It was a breath-taking performance and one of my favorite memories. The children were good and fell asleep on the steps!
We returned to Germany with unforgettable memories. They have dimmed with time but they still give me pleasure to remember them. With the pleasure there is pain. Shortly thereafter Chuck was reassigned to Kelly Barracks in Stuttgart, Germany. Which meant, making new friends. Which we did. We exchanged Christmas cards with the DeRamus's and caught up with the news at least once a year.
Several years later (at least twenty), after I had moved into my condo, I received a lovely long letter from Barnett. It was full of news of the children and Betsy and that he was dying of cancer. He ended by hoping for news from us and he made a final request that I might write to him. I am ashamed to say that I never did. I intended to but my words went without saying. Betsy wrote a letter when he died. Now that I have leukemia and have contemplated my own death, I am saddened by my lack of response and wish I could say I'm sorry. How often have I ignored my good intentions?
Rest eternal grant to him, O Lord;
And let light perpetual shine upon him.
May his soul, and the souls of all the departed,
through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen
Book of Common Prayer
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Infusion
The car had a flat on Sunday just as we pulled out to go to church. So on Monday we had to go into Tufts using commuter rail. The train leaves every hour at 15 minutes past the hour. It takes you into North Station in Boston. We caught the 9:15 train. As you exit the train station, to your right a few feet is the entrance to the "T", Boston's subway system. The Orange Line takes you to a stop that is directly underneath Tufts Medical Center!
We did all of the above and arrived at the Lab at 10:45 a.m. Three people were in front of me, and ordinarily it didn't take too long. But this particular morning it was taking an extraordinarily long time. I went to check on my status and was told that they had had several emergencies. They would see me as soon as possible. I thanked them and tried to hide my frustration. You don't want to irritate the nurse who is shortly going to stick a needle in your chest!
My name was called next and my blood was sent to a doctor to determine if I needed an infusion. I needed an infusion of platelets. Mine were very low. Dr. Chakra (the assistant to my doctor, Dr. Sprague) came around to reassure me that I would be out of there by 2 o'clock.
I sent Cheryl to get some lunch for us and I went to the infusion lounge to wait. There were no chairs available for new patients. At 2 pm I was called in
but had to wait again for a nurse to be available. I was feeling very tired and slept through most of the infusion. I was released and we headed for North Station around 3:30 pm and got home around 5:30 pm, quite a bit worse for the wear!
I was exhausted!
Cheryl went to get the car while I waited one last time. The waiting room was cool but not enough to trigger what happened to me next. I took a chill and started shaking. No one else seemed to be bothered but I was freezing! I continued to shake uncontrollably until we arrived at home and after and Cheryl covered me with a blanket. I ate half a sandwich and went to bed. I don't think I moved all night! Nor did I wake up!
We did all of the above and arrived at the Lab at 10:45 a.m. Three people were in front of me, and ordinarily it didn't take too long. But this particular morning it was taking an extraordinarily long time. I went to check on my status and was told that they had had several emergencies. They would see me as soon as possible. I thanked them and tried to hide my frustration. You don't want to irritate the nurse who is shortly going to stick a needle in your chest!
My name was called next and my blood was sent to a doctor to determine if I needed an infusion. I needed an infusion of platelets. Mine were very low. Dr. Chakra (the assistant to my doctor, Dr. Sprague) came around to reassure me that I would be out of there by 2 o'clock.
I sent Cheryl to get some lunch for us and I went to the infusion lounge to wait. There were no chairs available for new patients. At 2 pm I was called in
but had to wait again for a nurse to be available. I was feeling very tired and slept through most of the infusion. I was released and we headed for North Station around 3:30 pm and got home around 5:30 pm, quite a bit worse for the wear!
I was exhausted!
Cheryl went to get the car while I waited one last time. The waiting room was cool but not enough to trigger what happened to me next. I took a chill and started shaking. No one else seemed to be bothered but I was freezing! I continued to shake uncontrollably until we arrived at home and after and Cheryl covered me with a blanket. I ate half a sandwich and went to bed. I don't think I moved all night! Nor did I wake up!
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Lethargy
I have been very lethargic today. I am waking with the birds literally and spent some time rearranging my closet. I was not tired since I went to bed at 8:00 pm. And I enjoyed a good night's sleep. My mind racing seems to have abated and I am able to relax.
My friend Julie came for a visit at 10:30 a.m. Julie and Bella! Bella is a MinPin, a "Miniature Pincher" that she rescued from the pound. He is devoted to Julie and Julie to him. Julie has been a friend for almost forty years. We met when we were in college and had a class together. It was the first of several classes that we shared. We both lived at Fort Devens where our husbands were serving in the military. Her husband was a dentist. My husband was an artillery man. We stayed in college and earned master's degrees. Then we braved the real world and got jobs. She was a social worker and I was an addiction's counselor. We remained friends. She had four children and I had four children. We have supported each other through a life cycle of events! And are still good friends.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow. A day free of commitments. I am tempted to stay home on Sunday too. It is Father's Day--more of a Hallmark Holiday than a religious observance. I am tired of having to keep appointments and not being in control of my life. And I am ashamed of complaining. Shirley French's daughter has been very ill with a cancer that has not responded to treatment. Her prognosis is very poor. Her daughter has two children, ages 20 and 18, and is actively sick. Shirley is so solicitous of my well being. I am 78 and have had a good life. I have nothing to complain of--even being out of control of my life.
My friend Julie came for a visit at 10:30 a.m. Julie and Bella! Bella is a MinPin, a "Miniature Pincher" that she rescued from the pound. He is devoted to Julie and Julie to him. Julie has been a friend for almost forty years. We met when we were in college and had a class together. It was the first of several classes that we shared. We both lived at Fort Devens where our husbands were serving in the military. Her husband was a dentist. My husband was an artillery man. We stayed in college and earned master's degrees. Then we braved the real world and got jobs. She was a social worker and I was an addiction's counselor. We remained friends. She had four children and I had four children. We have supported each other through a life cycle of events! And are still good friends.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow. A day free of commitments. I am tempted to stay home on Sunday too. It is Father's Day--more of a Hallmark Holiday than a religious observance. I am tired of having to keep appointments and not being in control of my life. And I am ashamed of complaining. Shirley French's daughter has been very ill with a cancer that has not responded to treatment. Her prognosis is very poor. Her daughter has two children, ages 20 and 18, and is actively sick. Shirley is so solicitous of my well being. I am 78 and have had a good life. I have nothing to complain of--even being out of control of my life.
Friday, June 15, 2012
In the Heart of Chinatown
In downtown Boston, in the heart of Chinatown and the Theater District, stands the oldest hospital in the United States. Founded in 1796, and called the Boston Dispensary, the people of Boston funded tickets that enabled the poor to receive services. One of the original tickets was signed by Paul Revere and is on display at the Massachusetts Historical Society!
Tufts Medical Center faces the "Floating Children's Hospital." A hospital designed after an actual ship that was used for the children from 1894 to 1927. On July 25th, 1894 a boat became an innovative hospital for poor children. Little was known about treatment but many believed that the cool winds of sea air promoted good health. Reverend Rufus B. Tobey advocated taking sick babies for the therapeutic effects of a day on Boston Harbor. The Boston Herald promoted the idea and donations poured in. The Boston Floating Hospital was born. For 33 years the babies and their mothers received care! in 1906 a 170 foot ship was buiilt in Boston and in the 1920's they established a facility for research. In 1931 the Jackson Memorial Building opened.
The streets are alive with the hustle and bustle of people all going in different directions, hurrying to their destination. The Chinese people who live there are fascinating to someone who has never known a great deal about the Chinese. They are small and delicate although some of the younger members have grown tall. The young women are lovely, slender as reeds and hurry by with young men. The children are adorable with alert looking eyes. I sit, perched on the foundation of the building, waiting for my ride and I happily watch the surrounding scene. The traffic is heavy and pedestrians scurry along the street and to cross the street. There are double buses that run and three lanes of traffic--all in a hurry.
It has been a good day. I did not have to have an infusion to boost my white blood count and my fainting episode was simply checked out and documented.
I was free to go!
The older Chinese women are the most interesting. They are very attractive and those who appear to be married, are married to men as short as they are. They are well dressed. Neat and tidy and for the most part in American dress.
From the confusion of the street rise two buildings, one a children's medical facility and across from it, rising 8 floors, is Tuft's Medical Center where I am a patient. It is becoming a sort of home away from home. I am acquainted with some of the staff, including my doctors. It is a lot like the street. A lot of people are coming and going
I feel proud of being a patient at Tuft's. I am pleased to be part of a teaching hospital. I consider myself to be very fortunate to have been referred here!
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
First Consolidation
I was hospitalized for my first consolidation after the trip to Carlisle for Dean's retirement. Cheryl returned from a trip to Arizona on the 3rd of May and drove me to Tufts. "Consolidation" is a six day period of chemotherapy that is less intense than the first time. Cheryl awoke on the 4th running a fever and couldn't come see me. She went to the emergency room and was diagnosed as having a sinus infection. The rooms on the oncology ward are kept as sterile as possible. All visitors and staff wear robes and plastic gloves to protect the patient from infection.
Cheryl did not recover until the end of the week and returned to pick me up. You are released from the hospital as soon as your last chemotherapy is given. There is a higher incidence of infection occurring in a hospital than in your own home.
Since I had no visitors that week it became retreat time and I had brought a book to read. "The Good Book" by the Reverend Professor Peter J. Gomes. He was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1942 and graduated from Harvard Divinity School. He studied at Tuskegee Institute and in 1970 he came to Harvard as assistant minister in The Memorial Church. In 1974 he was appointed Plummer Professor of Christian Morals and Pusey Minister in The Memorial Church, Harvard University. A good friend of mine had given me his book of Sermons several years ago and I had not yet read them. I had heard of Reverend Gomes and that he was really good but I have a lot of books to read. I don't know why I bought another book by him without reading the first but I did. I thought that "The Good Book" was the last book he had written before his death but it wasn't.
I began reading and became mesmerized by what I read. It is about reading the Bible. He covered many topics such as "Women and the Bible," "The Bible and Science," "The Bible and Homosexuality," which made it easy to jump around and not necessarily read straight through. As I read more and more I knew that I hadn't adequately prepared myself. I didn't have a highlighter pen or any other means to mark the passages that were most relevant to me.
The staff of nurses and technicians were in and out taking vital signs and checking on me, of course, and I enjoyed it very much. Several stayed and talked for a while and some commented that they liked coming to my room. I reveled in the attention and met several people that had we been connected in another way would probably have become friends because we shared interests. Everyone asked about the book I was reading and they gave me paper for notes and found a highlighter for me!
I was most impressed by Reverend Gomes inclusiveness. He excluded no one from the love of God. He was also a wonderful writer and at times I felt the need for a dictionary! I read and re-read. The book excited me and touched me in ways not usually experienced. I finished the book while in the hospital and read parts of the book a second time. I was enjoying a "high" all week long! I recommended the book to everyone.
A woman who was with social services came to see me and said she would like for the chaplain to meet me. I agreed that it would be nice. The chaplain was a woman and she came up to see me that afternoon. I enjoyed meeting her but probably talked too much!
I was so disappointed that I had not known about Reverend Gomes when he was at Harvard. I could have driven to the chapel and attended services and heard him in person. A lost opportunity that I regret.
I intend to review "The Good Book" again. Especially the chapters of special interest. And I am now reading "The Gospel of Jesus Christ" and enjoying a sermon before sleeping at night! Though he is no longer living and I never met him, he has had a profound influence on my spiritual life and I am grateful to have met him.
A meaningful quote from his chapter on Women and the Bible:
"When the congregation is asked to sing 'Rise Up, O Men of God,' are the women to remain seated, or are they to think of themselves as Elizabeth I did, as a man trapped in the puny body of a woman?"
The Reverend Peter J. Gomes, Preacher to Harvard University
"The Good Book, Reading the Bible with Mind and Heart"
Cheryl did not recover until the end of the week and returned to pick me up. You are released from the hospital as soon as your last chemotherapy is given. There is a higher incidence of infection occurring in a hospital than in your own home.
Since I had no visitors that week it became retreat time and I had brought a book to read. "The Good Book" by the Reverend Professor Peter J. Gomes. He was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1942 and graduated from Harvard Divinity School. He studied at Tuskegee Institute and in 1970 he came to Harvard as assistant minister in The Memorial Church. In 1974 he was appointed Plummer Professor of Christian Morals and Pusey Minister in The Memorial Church, Harvard University. A good friend of mine had given me his book of Sermons several years ago and I had not yet read them. I had heard of Reverend Gomes and that he was really good but I have a lot of books to read. I don't know why I bought another book by him without reading the first but I did. I thought that "The Good Book" was the last book he had written before his death but it wasn't.
I began reading and became mesmerized by what I read. It is about reading the Bible. He covered many topics such as "Women and the Bible," "The Bible and Science," "The Bible and Homosexuality," which made it easy to jump around and not necessarily read straight through. As I read more and more I knew that I hadn't adequately prepared myself. I didn't have a highlighter pen or any other means to mark the passages that were most relevant to me.
The staff of nurses and technicians were in and out taking vital signs and checking on me, of course, and I enjoyed it very much. Several stayed and talked for a while and some commented that they liked coming to my room. I reveled in the attention and met several people that had we been connected in another way would probably have become friends because we shared interests. Everyone asked about the book I was reading and they gave me paper for notes and found a highlighter for me!
I was most impressed by Reverend Gomes inclusiveness. He excluded no one from the love of God. He was also a wonderful writer and at times I felt the need for a dictionary! I read and re-read. The book excited me and touched me in ways not usually experienced. I finished the book while in the hospital and read parts of the book a second time. I was enjoying a "high" all week long! I recommended the book to everyone.
A woman who was with social services came to see me and said she would like for the chaplain to meet me. I agreed that it would be nice. The chaplain was a woman and she came up to see me that afternoon. I enjoyed meeting her but probably talked too much!
I was so disappointed that I had not known about Reverend Gomes when he was at Harvard. I could have driven to the chapel and attended services and heard him in person. A lost opportunity that I regret.
I intend to review "The Good Book" again. Especially the chapters of special interest. And I am now reading "The Gospel of Jesus Christ" and enjoying a sermon before sleeping at night! Though he is no longer living and I never met him, he has had a profound influence on my spiritual life and I am grateful to have met him.
A meaningful quote from his chapter on Women and the Bible:
"When the congregation is asked to sing 'Rise Up, O Men of God,' are the women to remain seated, or are they to think of themselves as Elizabeth I did, as a man trapped in the puny body of a woman?"
The Reverend Peter J. Gomes, Preacher to Harvard University
"The Good Book, Reading the Bible with Mind and Heart"
Palm Sunday Miracle!
I received so many cards and notes in the hospital wishing me well and I wanted to make a scrapbook of my mementos to be reminded of the love that surrounded me. So I put them all in a box as soon as I got home and when I was strong enough I went shopping!
I loved the cards. They were all beautiful and reassuring of the sender's affection and the prayers that were said but there was one special card I received that was very dear to me. My youngest daughter had made me a frog card on her circuit machine and it was adorable! You are aware that I am extremely fond of frogs! I planned to put it on the first page of the scrapbook.
I bought a scrapbook and some paper and came home with grand intentions. I got as far as placing my beautiful frog on the first page. As I thought about the scrapbook it dawned on me that a top loading scrapbook wasn't going to work because the cards could not be opened. I needed a scrapbook that would allow me to open and read the cards. We looked several places and no such thing seemed to exist any more! We went on line and finally located a company that made scrapbooks but they were VERY expensive. I was discouraged and set the scrapbook idea aside for awhile, returning to Walmart the top loading model we had bought and the extra paper.
One day I went to look at my cards and the FROG WAS MISSING!!! I searched and searched and was very distraught. Everything was there that should have been there but NOT THE FROG! My older daughter knew how much it meant to me and how upset I was and she methodically went through the living room but to no avail. Finally she suggested returning to Walmart's and inquiring if it
been found among the return. Having worked at Walmart's in the past she knew the procedure for returned goods. She went to the scrapbook department and went through every scrapbook on the shelves. NO FROG. I resigned myself to the disappointment I felt.
Several weeks later--the frog had been delivered in early February and now it was Palm Sunday--Cheryl and I stopped by Walmart's after church because I needed a larger wrench than I had to adjust the kitchen sink. She went to the tools department and I strolled down to the yarn department. When Cheryl joined me, she noticed that there was a huge display of scrapbooks behind us.
While I continued to look at the yarn, she picked up a scrapbook, opened it
and THERE WAS MY FROG!!!!! We were incredulous and I was so stunned and happy that I wanted to cry! It was a coincidence, the nature of which was so unlikely, that it cannot be logically explained.
I am now in possession of my FROG again and I have found a scrapbook that allows you to open the pages for viewing.
I loved the cards. They were all beautiful and reassuring of the sender's affection and the prayers that were said but there was one special card I received that was very dear to me. My youngest daughter had made me a frog card on her circuit machine and it was adorable! You are aware that I am extremely fond of frogs! I planned to put it on the first page of the scrapbook.
I bought a scrapbook and some paper and came home with grand intentions. I got as far as placing my beautiful frog on the first page. As I thought about the scrapbook it dawned on me that a top loading scrapbook wasn't going to work because the cards could not be opened. I needed a scrapbook that would allow me to open and read the cards. We looked several places and no such thing seemed to exist any more! We went on line and finally located a company that made scrapbooks but they were VERY expensive. I was discouraged and set the scrapbook idea aside for awhile, returning to Walmart the top loading model we had bought and the extra paper.
One day I went to look at my cards and the FROG WAS MISSING!!! I searched and searched and was very distraught. Everything was there that should have been there but NOT THE FROG! My older daughter knew how much it meant to me and how upset I was and she methodically went through the living room but to no avail. Finally she suggested returning to Walmart's and inquiring if it
been found among the return. Having worked at Walmart's in the past she knew the procedure for returned goods. She went to the scrapbook department and went through every scrapbook on the shelves. NO FROG. I resigned myself to the disappointment I felt.
Several weeks later--the frog had been delivered in early February and now it was Palm Sunday--Cheryl and I stopped by Walmart's after church because I needed a larger wrench than I had to adjust the kitchen sink. She went to the tools department and I strolled down to the yarn department. When Cheryl joined me, she noticed that there was a huge display of scrapbooks behind us.
While I continued to look at the yarn, she picked up a scrapbook, opened it
and THERE WAS MY FROG!!!!! We were incredulous and I was so stunned and happy that I wanted to cry! It was a coincidence, the nature of which was so unlikely, that it cannot be logically explained.
I am now in possession of my FROG again and I have found a scrapbook that allows you to open the pages for viewing.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Too much. Too soon.
In spite of having a good report yesterday, I am not so good. I awoke this morning and wanted to go to A.C.Moore to find the special yarn that was being knitted yesterday into a spiral of scarf. I was determined to go! I was sure they would have it in muted colors of purple and they did. For whatever unknown reason I am excited about the color purple this year. Ironic that the color has been adopted to raise awareness of leukemia and lymphoma.
We didn't get started until late in the morning but drove to Salem after going to the bank and then sitting in a parking lot trying to orient myself on how to get there. My brain does not remember directions well and I am often confused. The Garmin was also rattled but after a few minutes of thinking clearly I remembered the route.
We arrived around 11:00 o'clock and should have stopped at the Weathervane for lunch before shopping but I was excited about the yarn and wanted to see it. The yarn was lovely and I bought two skeins. We spent quite a while browsing around, looking at patterns, planning projects.
They had a sale on t-shirts so we bought purple t-shirts for sleeping and bought purple photo books for $1.00! We were having a good time. Then we wandered into the bead department and I began to feel tired. Very tired. I walked up to get in the check out line and suddenly knew I was in trouble. I called Cheryl for help and after a few seconds she recognized that I wasn't quite right. I left the basket and headed for the door with Cheryl close on my heels. My balance was very poor and my walking stick wasn't keeping me on course.
We made it outside but I couldn't hold myself together to get to the car. Cheryl supported me under my arms and for a few seconds I don't remember anything. I slid to the walk and in a few seconds I was laying down and enjoying the breeze. A young woman had stopped to help. She was so very kind and said she had worked on an oncology ward. The paramedics were called, arrived and wanted to know if I had fallen, wanted to go to the hospital, and took my vital signs. They were young and very strong. I did not have the strength to get up on my own. However I was rational and when standing again I seemed to be OK. My blood pressure was low for me but not dangerously so and my blood sugar was normal. If my fever went up and I worsened I would go to Tufts immediately but I didn't think that Lawrence Hospital could help me.
The episode I had today was very frightening and humiliating. Being overcome by a physical condition is a total loss of control. I was embarrassed by my inability to control myself. I have had two similar episodes where I was overcome by the circumstances and I felt utterly helpless. The first incident happened during my first consolidation. Fortunately I was able to recover myself because I made it to the car and rested there.
There is something incongruous about a 78 year old woman lying on the sidewalk outside a busy store unable to get up! I want so much to be healthy and well and capable of living a normal life. I have been tired since Halloween. Please God, help me to be patient.
We didn't get started until late in the morning but drove to Salem after going to the bank and then sitting in a parking lot trying to orient myself on how to get there. My brain does not remember directions well and I am often confused. The Garmin was also rattled but after a few minutes of thinking clearly I remembered the route.
We arrived around 11:00 o'clock and should have stopped at the Weathervane for lunch before shopping but I was excited about the yarn and wanted to see it. The yarn was lovely and I bought two skeins. We spent quite a while browsing around, looking at patterns, planning projects.
They had a sale on t-shirts so we bought purple t-shirts for sleeping and bought purple photo books for $1.00! We were having a good time. Then we wandered into the bead department and I began to feel tired. Very tired. I walked up to get in the check out line and suddenly knew I was in trouble. I called Cheryl for help and after a few seconds she recognized that I wasn't quite right. I left the basket and headed for the door with Cheryl close on my heels. My balance was very poor and my walking stick wasn't keeping me on course.
We made it outside but I couldn't hold myself together to get to the car. Cheryl supported me under my arms and for a few seconds I don't remember anything. I slid to the walk and in a few seconds I was laying down and enjoying the breeze. A young woman had stopped to help. She was so very kind and said she had worked on an oncology ward. The paramedics were called, arrived and wanted to know if I had fallen, wanted to go to the hospital, and took my vital signs. They were young and very strong. I did not have the strength to get up on my own. However I was rational and when standing again I seemed to be OK. My blood pressure was low for me but not dangerously so and my blood sugar was normal. If my fever went up and I worsened I would go to Tufts immediately but I didn't think that Lawrence Hospital could help me.
The episode I had today was very frightening and humiliating. Being overcome by a physical condition is a total loss of control. I was embarrassed by my inability to control myself. I have had two similar episodes where I was overcome by the circumstances and I felt utterly helpless. The first incident happened during my first consolidation. Fortunately I was able to recover myself because I made it to the car and rested there.
There is something incongruous about a 78 year old woman lying on the sidewalk outside a busy store unable to get up! I want so much to be healthy and well and capable of living a normal life. I have been tired since Halloween. Please God, help me to be patient.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Nagging Fears
Today has been a mixed blessing. I had an appointment with the lab for blood work and a shot that helps my white blood cell count go up. The ride into Boston was pleasant with unusually low traffic and we arrived a little early. Harriet, the woman who runs the lab, was having a break and about four couples arrived in the waiting room. I have nicknamed Harriet my "Chief Vampire" since she has drawn vials from me! The people who congregate in the waiting room usually arrive in twos. One is the person who has cancer and the other is a loved one, a husband or wife, a sister or brother, a daughter or son. After the initial shyness wears off, they engage in questions and inquiries, sharing casual conversation. The female patients sometimes remark on each other's chemo cap and discuss the growth, or lack thereof, of their hair. The men are not as outgoing. Today, there was a woman who came with her brother, and she was knitting a lovely long curly scarf. Cheryl and I were much admiring it and wanted to know where she found the yarn. She told us and said that it was an easy pattern.
A brief encounter but a warm and friendly one. They were both from another country, I didn't recognize the language, and the brother spoke haltingly. There seems to be a very special camaraderie between the persons who have cancer and those who are concerned about them.
Harriet was back and I was called in for blood and a shot that helps reinstate my immune system. Then we waited for the blood to be sent to the blood analyzers. Today I was thrilled! My count was good and I did not have to go to the infusion center! We left and drove home--another pleasant ride with little traffic. I celebrated with a pair of earrings in the gift shop!
I was both elated and a little bit scared. I am more tired this time and I'm having some difficulty with my balance. I list to one side or the other and feel like an old battleship. Of greater concern is that I am worried about my eyes. I am using antibiotic eye drops for ten days. Two drops in both eyes every six hours. I have always been very protective of my eyes because I have worn glasses for most of my life. Until cataract and lasik surgery miraculously restored my eyes to near perfect vision and colors appeared brighter! Now my eyes are not focusing well and I'm having trouble typing on the computer.
On top of it all, the eye-drops are in a ridiculously small bottle and getting another prescription is a pain!
There is always the nagging fear that you will sabotage your own recovery by not having a positive attitude. It is an all encompassing disease.
A brief encounter but a warm and friendly one. They were both from another country, I didn't recognize the language, and the brother spoke haltingly. There seems to be a very special camaraderie between the persons who have cancer and those who are concerned about them.
Harriet was back and I was called in for blood and a shot that helps reinstate my immune system. Then we waited for the blood to be sent to the blood analyzers. Today I was thrilled! My count was good and I did not have to go to the infusion center! We left and drove home--another pleasant ride with little traffic. I celebrated with a pair of earrings in the gift shop!
I was both elated and a little bit scared. I am more tired this time and I'm having some difficulty with my balance. I list to one side or the other and feel like an old battleship. Of greater concern is that I am worried about my eyes. I am using antibiotic eye drops for ten days. Two drops in both eyes every six hours. I have always been very protective of my eyes because I have worn glasses for most of my life. Until cataract and lasik surgery miraculously restored my eyes to near perfect vision and colors appeared brighter! Now my eyes are not focusing well and I'm having trouble typing on the computer.
On top of it all, the eye-drops are in a ridiculously small bottle and getting another prescription is a pain!
There is always the nagging fear that you will sabotage your own recovery by not having a positive attitude. It is an all encompassing disease.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Second Consolidation Completed
Today is the last day of my hospitalization at Tufts Medical Center. I am receiving my sixth and last chemotherapy at 3:00 o'clock which takes about an hour and a half and then I will be free to go! I am feeling a little tired and a little off balance because my immune system is destroyed and it will take a few days to build back up. I will be back on Tuesday for a shot to help the process and to give blood and on Thursday to see my doctor. I am anxious to go home but a little sad saying good-bye to the "saints" on the oncology ward! They have truly been wonderful and I will miss their camaraderie and care.
My next hurdle will be another bone marrow test! Then my name goes into the computer for random selection to one of two paths.
I am on an everything cooked diet until my white blood cells have returned to normal. No salads or other raw foods. I googled diet plans designed to promote health in cancer patients. After years of over-eating, I have to learn to be more concerned. No more pie or cake for breakfast!
I am fortunate because in spite of neglecting my health as I've grown older, I am strong and healthy except for the cancer. Now I'm going to try to get a little bit healthier.
Twice, Dr. Sprague has acknowledged the fact that I had a stroke and being taken seriously reassures me. And I am sure that she factors in my age as well.
I have said so many good-byes in my life-time of military moving and they are always difficult!
My next hurdle will be another bone marrow test! Then my name goes into the computer for random selection to one of two paths.
I am on an everything cooked diet until my white blood cells have returned to normal. No salads or other raw foods. I googled diet plans designed to promote health in cancer patients. After years of over-eating, I have to learn to be more concerned. No more pie or cake for breakfast!
I am fortunate because in spite of neglecting my health as I've grown older, I am strong and healthy except for the cancer. Now I'm going to try to get a little bit healthier.
Twice, Dr. Sprague has acknowledged the fact that I had a stroke and being taken seriously reassures me. And I am sure that she factors in my age as well.
I have said so many good-byes in my life-time of military moving and they are always difficult!
Growing Old!
I am re-posting a blog that I wrote on February 6, 2010 since it is very apropos to my cognitive impairment concerns!
Bemused & Befuddled
The following arrived in
my email.
[Illustrated with cartoon figures of old people]
My forgetter's getting better,
But my rememberer is broke
To you that may seem funny
But, to me, that is no joke
For when I'm "here" I'm wondering
If I really should be "there"
And, when I try to think it through,
I haven't got a prayer!
Oft times I walk into a room,
Say "what am I here for?"
I wrack my brain, but all in vain!
A zero, is my score.
At times I put something away
Where it is safe, but, Gee!
The person it is safest from
Is, generally, me!
When shopping I may see someone,
Say "Hi" and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away
I ask myself, "who was that?"
Yes, my forgetter's getting better
While my rememberer is broke,
And it's driving me plumb crazy
And that isn't any joke.
CAN YOU RELATE ? ? ? Please send this to everyone you know because I DON'T REMEMBER WHO I SENT THIS TO!
Have a great day who ever you are!
Have a great day in spite of the fact that I’m losing my mind? I am bemused and befuddled by the above. I believe that a sense of humor, especially the ability to laugh at ourselves, is essential to our health and well being, whatever our age, but is the loss of mental faculties really funny? My father suffered senile dementia and my mother’s death certificate listed the cause of death as “Alzheimer’s.” Needless to say, I am more than a little concerned about my risk factor as I grow older. Sometimes I laugh when I forget something but sometimes I feel sheer terror.
However, I think that I do not really find the above particularly humorous because it is a reflection of the stereotype of older people prevalent in our society. There are many persons who are advanced in years who are productive members of society, but in spite of ample evidence to the contrary, the stereotype prevails and often leads to the elderly being treated in a dismissive way. In many facilities for the elderly, residents are referred to as “Honey, Sweetie, etc.” Too often the elderly are treated like children. Children who are sometimes seen but not heard. Not listened to. Not noticed. Overlooked. Not taken seriously.
It is a subtle and pervasive discrimination and most people do not even realize they are doing it. Even some of us who are elderly, join in the joke rather than try to dispel the myth.
The next time you see an elderly person, remember, they are an adult inside an aging body hoping to be recognized and deserving of respect.
It is quite wrong to think of old age as a downward slope. On the contrary, one climbs higher and higher with the advancing years, and that, too, with surprising strides. Brain-work comes as easily to the old as physical exertion to the child. One is moving, it is true, towards the end of life, but that end is now a goal, and not a reef in which the vessel may be dashed. George Sand
[Illustrated with cartoon figures of old people]
My forgetter's getting better,
But my rememberer is broke
To you that may seem funny
But, to me, that is no joke
For when I'm "here" I'm wondering
If I really should be "there"
And, when I try to think it through,
I haven't got a prayer!
Oft times I walk into a room,
Say "what am I here for?"
I wrack my brain, but all in vain!
A zero, is my score.
At times I put something away
Where it is safe, but, Gee!
The person it is safest from
Is, generally, me!
When shopping I may see someone,
Say "Hi" and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away
I ask myself, "who was that?"
Yes, my forgetter's getting better
While my rememberer is broke,
And it's driving me plumb crazy
And that isn't any joke.
CAN YOU RELATE ? ? ? Please send this to everyone you know because I DON'T REMEMBER WHO I SENT THIS TO!
Have a great day who ever you are!
Have a great day in spite of the fact that I’m losing my mind? I am bemused and befuddled by the above. I believe that a sense of humor, especially the ability to laugh at ourselves, is essential to our health and well being, whatever our age, but is the loss of mental faculties really funny? My father suffered senile dementia and my mother’s death certificate listed the cause of death as “Alzheimer’s.” Needless to say, I am more than a little concerned about my risk factor as I grow older. Sometimes I laugh when I forget something but sometimes I feel sheer terror.
However, I think that I do not really find the above particularly humorous because it is a reflection of the stereotype of older people prevalent in our society. There are many persons who are advanced in years who are productive members of society, but in spite of ample evidence to the contrary, the stereotype prevails and often leads to the elderly being treated in a dismissive way. In many facilities for the elderly, residents are referred to as “Honey, Sweetie, etc.” Too often the elderly are treated like children. Children who are sometimes seen but not heard. Not listened to. Not noticed. Overlooked. Not taken seriously.
It is a subtle and pervasive discrimination and most people do not even realize they are doing it. Even some of us who are elderly, join in the joke rather than try to dispel the myth.
The next time you see an elderly person, remember, they are an adult inside an aging body hoping to be recognized and deserving of respect.
It is quite wrong to think of old age as a downward slope. On the contrary, one climbs higher and higher with the advancing years, and that, too, with surprising strides. Brain-work comes as easily to the old as physical exertion to the child. One is moving, it is true, towards the end of life, but that end is now a goal, and not a reef in which the vessel may be dashed. George Sand
Friday, June 8, 2012
Mary Had a Little Lamb
Mary had a little lamb,
whose fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
the lamb was sure to go.
It followed her to school one day
which was against the rules.
It made the children laugh and play,
to see a lamb at school.
And so the teacher turned it out,
but still it lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
till Mary did appear.
"Why does the lamb love Mary so?"
the eager children cry.
"Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know."
the teacher did reply.
I loved this nursery rhyme as a child and I have loved it as an adult because of the 23rd Psalm and because "Mary" was the Mother of Jesus and "loved the lamb!"
So I bought the lamb and decided he would be my traveling companion to the hospital and that I would sleep with him at night. He doesn't exactly have a name. I call him the Lamb of God and he comforts me just as Sleepy Head and Cuddles did.
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4 comments:
I stumbled upon your blog by lucky chance. I was searching Blogger for "Episcopal Deacon" and you were there, somewhere towards the bottom of the list. Is that because of fewer hits? What a shame, yours is what I was looking for - sort of. There are lots of blogging Episcopalians and lots of blogging priests, but deacons are few and far between.
Don't believe for a minute that age has prevented you from ministry. We are all baptized into ministry and yours shines brightly! Please keep illuminating the manner in which we see our elders. I will continue to read your posts with delight!
~Charlotte
You have a wonderful voice!
Thanks for your very encouraging words. I could be close to the bottom of the list because I began the blog recently. I am not an ordained deacon. I went through the discernment process and was recommended to go forward but canon law was changed and I am the mandatory retirement age! [Read my entry "Too old"] Welcome to my blog! Sarah
I read that post ;)
More's the pity that the canons were changed - as I said, you have a wonderful ministry!
Pru