Blogging is a lot like walking. It should be done every day and early in the morning. I have started a regimen of walking in order to overcome my bout with leukemia. I have never been a very athletic person. It doesn't come naturally to me. And I blog intermittently. This morning, during my walk, I had the idea that perhaps blogging about my progress might prove to be an impetus to walking. My two sons were also helpful. Chuck ran a hundred mile race and won on his first try! He also ran the Boston Marathon twice. And Dean has run triathlons and ironmans. So, at the age of 79, I am hoping to train myself!
The first thing that I bought was a pedometer. My first goal was to walk one mile, the approximate distance of walking to the entrance of Merrimack Meadows and returning, taking all the loops along the way. Three on the left and two on the right. It is the distance of one mile. I am amazed that I can now manage a mile! I added a "loop" this morning by going past my house.
My pedometer read 74 this morning. I don't have a clue to what that means! My pedometer measures distance or calories. I will be spending time today reading and trying to understand my instruction manual. I feel certain that knowing how far I've gone will add incentive to walking.
I am walking in black knit trousers and a t-shirt and, on days that are cool, I wear a gray sweatshirt. I have bought two pairs of athletic shoes, a black, red, and fluorescent green from New Balance, and a pair of silver sneakers by Calvin Klein, from Marshalls. I also have a pair of New Balance light weight, light gray sneakers, and purple Nike's. It always helps to look good!
I usually start from my condo at 6 o'clock in the morning. It is a very pleasant time to walk. A few cars leave for work at that time and there are always other walkers. One of the benefits is meeting other people and meeting their dogs! I frequently meet a woman named Linda, who lives right behind me and who has a small black dog who is very friendly. Yesterday I met a man who was walking a beautiful brindle colored greyhound and had a very interesting conversation. His dog was named "Earl Gray" but called Curly because of his tail. He was adopted from the greyhounds who race at Salem and Earl Gray had been a winner at the track. He is now eleven years old and his racing days are over. Today I met the man's wife who was walking Curly this morning.
The birds are still singing in the morning which is very pleasant and I am making progress. I am able to walk without my cane and am delighted that my balance is growing stronger. I am also walking at a faster pace. I hope that walking will help to improve my memory! I am enjoying nature, the lovely trees and beautiful flowers and a serenity of spirit.
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.
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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
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?"
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
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
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.
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.
