Doctors and More Doctors

Two friends are scheduled for surgery in the next week.  One is happy.  One needs to stay optimistic.

G has had vision issues most of his life.  As I recall, he came to college with a goal of medical school, but dropped out because his vision would not tolerate the amount of reading required of a pre-med student.  Big Bummer.  As his dreams shattered, I suspect that some of his self-image smashed along with them, creating a huge ball that he's been dragging around with the proverbial chain ever since.   He still spends a lot of time muttering that he never lived up to his full potential.  Now a doctor is offering him a procedure that could bring his vision from the practically-blind-even-with-the-glasses to just-some-guy-who-wears-glasses.   He has the procedure on Tuesday morning.

M has been fighting circulatory issues for a years.  He's had bypass surgery that didn't work.  "But it's OK," he says.  "My body created a natural bypass."  He's had at least one angiogram.  He's a PAD (peripheral artery disease) patient, making even simple exercise like walking difficult.  His doctor says he has smaller-than-average arteries even when they are clean -- which his apparently haven't been for years.  He is a beef eater and a milk drinker -- both contributors to arterial congestion.  He has another angiogram scheduled for tomorrow morning, and expects it to be followed immediately by angioplasty so that he comes home with at least one stent.

M told me yesterday that he'd just go and have the procedure done, then call his daughter to pick him up when it was over.  I thought about all people I know who have had similar procedures, and all the people who care about them who hang out at the hospital and worry and read or do needlework or chatter mindlessly to a friend until the procedure is over, then hang out a bit longer until their loved one is ready to come home or be admitted to a "guest room" for one or more nights.  We're there to hold a hand, offer a prayer or an encouraging word, talk to the doctor as soon as he or she has something to report.  Sometimes we're there to support the spouse or children.  We're there, and we stay there, because we care -- and because that's what we hope someone will care enough to do for us.

I asked if his daughter wouldn't be there at the hospital with him. "Oh, no!" he said.  "She has to work."  So I was pleased this afternoon when he told me she -- and her husband -- would pick him up at some horribly early hour, take him to the hospital, and stay there until he was ready to leave.  He didn't expect that she'd do that.  I did.

Give thanks for the advancements in medical science that make these new diagnostic and repair procedures possible.  Give thanks for the doctors, nurses and technicians who use these procedures often, with skill and caring.  Give thanks for family and friends who care enough to be there in support of someone they love.

Don't forget to pray ....  

You never know

I should have visited my dad yesterday.  That was the plan.  He told people all day that his daughter was coming at 4:00.  I didn't get there.  Mother had a bad bout of vertigo and was afraid to get up and move.  It was not fair to leave her alone in that state.  But today she was feeling better, so off I went to visit my dad.

He greeted me warmly.  He called me by name.  I pulled up a chair, looked at his fingernails (he has been complaining because they were long), and pulled out the travel kit that holds my clippers, scissors, files and other paraphernalia for nail maintenance.  He was pleased.

"How lucky I am," he said, "to have a sister who has all the equipment and the willingness to do this!"  Sister????  I let it pass.

He is still pleased to share his new photo album with his friends at Oahu Care Facility.  "It even has pictures of me when I was 3 years old." he tells them.  "Don't you want to see?"   He is also pleased with the cat photographs, recycled from last year's calendar featuring the Ka'a'awa Cats of the Chesney-Lind household.  Nine kitty portraits overflow the bulletin board behind his head.  People must be commenting.  It makes him feel special.  That makes him happy.

Then, out of the clear blue sky, he commented, "Tomorrow I am being beheaded."

My eyebrows must have gone clear to my hairline.  "Excuse me?"

He repeated himself.  Then it dawned on me.  Tomorrow is haircut day.  He has missed haircut day for the last 2 months.  In December when I asked the staff why he had not been given his monthly haircut, I was told he "didn't feel like getting up."

I scolded him.  "Next time they come and tell you it's time for a haircut, get out of bed and go.  Your hair will be curling around the bottoms of your ears if you don't go this month!"    I've repeated the direction twice since, on separate occasions.  I have showed him on the calendar taped to his wardrobe door which Monday in January is Haircut Day.  Apparently, this is a message he remembers.  Tomorrow is indeed haircut day.  Will he follow through?  Will staff be sufficiently insistent?  Will they remember their suggestion that he be the last in line and not brought in until the last possible moment so he does not have to wait?

You never know.
,
Give thanks for those moments when the dementia patient's memory finds something to hang on to.  Don't forget to pray .....

New Year, New Beginnings

January 1, 2010.  Only one 0 following that 2 -- how far we've travelled since the New Year when the world welcomed the 21st century....

Some parts of the US are buried in snow.  In Chicago the temperature didn't get to 20.  In Colorado and Utah it was in the 30's.  In Boise, ID and in Groveland, temps in the 40's were promised.  In Seattle it was 54 when I looked, with a forecast of rain all weekend.

In Honolulu, it's 80.   My mother is cold; she has the house closed up, and is wrapped in a fleece blanket.

As I look out across the back garden, I see masses of color -- oranges, greens, golds, reds.  This Red Ginger, blooming in the front garden under my bedroom window, missed being part of a Christmas bouquet by being the only red ginger in bloom.

There are Monarch butterflies in the backyard, probably drawn to the badly overgrown crownflower plants, which they love.  They also enjoy the Cup-and-Saucer bush.  A year ago this bush was so heavily pruned that it was nothing but 4' tall stakes.  Those top branches are now about 8' in the air!

Here's a close up-up of the flower so you can see how the plant gets its name.  The cup-and-saucer bush reminds me that plants grow stronger after occasional strong prunings.  People do, too.  I need to remind myself of that more often.  In a little book that has been on my bookshelf at home since college years, titled The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran writes on "Joy and Sorrow".  He says,

...Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain....


I must look for things about which I can be joyful, for which I can give thanks.  Today I give thanks for the sunshine, the flowers, and the butterflies. 


Don't forget to pray ....

A Matter of Hope

My sister, Jackie, recommended a book to me some time ago.  Three Cups of Tea turned out to be a compelling read, but then, in high school I was a reader of Dr. Tom Dooley's books about his experience as an American doctor working in Indo-China (what we then called Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam)  in the 1950's.

Now Mortenson has a new book out, Stones into Schools.  If you have any interest in alternatives to guns and bombs in the middle east generally and Afghanistan and Pakistan specifically, and if you have not read any of Mortenson's work, either title is worth your time.  If you are interested in the role of women in society, Mortenson's work offers a perspective most Americans don't consider.  If you are interested in education, Mortenson's determination is inspiring.    If you are interested in mountain climbing in the Himalayas, Three Cups of Tea might prove interesting.

These books are an example of the difference one person can make, of the concept that each mountain, each pearl, begins with a single grain of sand.  Even the US Army concedes that Mortenson makes a difference.  He has spoken to cadets at the US Military Academy, West Point.


"On Wednesday, July 15, 2009, Admiral Mike Mullen, U.S. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff paid a visit to Pushgur school, in a remote valley of Afghanistan, to inaugurate one of Mortenson’s new schools, to highlight the military’s new strategy to advocate empowering local communities, build relationships and the significance of education to promote peace.... " (Greg Mortenson - Wikipedia)


Would that I could find a way to make that kind of a difference in someone's life.  Can't do it sitting at home, or going to work and coming home every day, or otherwise caught in my comfortable ruts.  Making a difference means stepping out of the box, making new trails.  May I have the courage to leave my ruts.

Happy New Year!!!

Don't forget to pray ....

Surviving the Holidays

Normally I love Christmas.  I love the decorating, the scheming to create the perfect gift for someone else. I love the lights and outdoor decorations that we don't see much of in this neighborhood.   I love the sharing, opening my home, visiting friends.  The Advent wreath, marking those four Sundays before Christmas, reminding us of promise, prophesy, anticipation, love, candles bringing more and more light even as the days shorten and  the winter solstice nears.  Baking, and baking more.  Hauling out the fine china, polishing the silver, just the right candles on the table and around the house.  Ray was known to bring home the on duty Sheriff or Highway Patrolman for Christmas Dinner.  It was always a trauma for me to give up the cooking and trundle off to Kimo's house to celebrate Christmas with his family.

It not the same in someone else's house.  There are 95-year-old short tempers to consider, others with their own traditions of celebrating -- or ignoring -- the holidays.  My "props" -- the seasonal decorations -- are all 3000 miles away.  Even if they were within reach, there would not be room for them here.

December 23rd was my parents' 70th wedding anniversary.  It was also the annual Christmas Party at Oahu Care Facility.  Mother and I made the trek to share the morning with my dad.  We arrived about 10 minutes before the celebration was to begin.  He was still in bed, asleep.  He did not WANT to get up.  He "didn't feel good" (a frequently used excuse).  He didn't recognize my mother enough to call her by name.  But with a little prompting he did remember that it was their wedding anniversary.

Christmas Day.  I went alone to Oahu Care.  Daddy was awake, and was thrilled with the album I had put together for him from some old photographs my brother Ian has been scanning.  All of them have come from my dad's old albums.  He nearly snatched the book out of my hands, he was so excited to look at what was in it.  He didn't remember that he'd seen all those pictures recently.  They are now in a book, and that makes them special and new.  The fish t-shirt -- he liked the fish, but it was just another shirt, and doesn't have a pocket.  The non-slip socks pleased him.  But photos in an album thrilled him.   When I admitted that my brain was in "forget" mode, and I'd forgotten to bring the Christmas cards and gingerbread that were set aside for him, he was alert enough to quip, "Welcome to the club!"

In the end, I survived Christmas.  It was far from a perfect holiday, but it was not a disaster either.    Although they are not gardeners, Ian and Meda seemed intrigued by the herb pot of basil, parsley and thyme I created for them.  Mother is slowly working her way through 2 lbs. of See's "soft centers only" chocolate, and was not offended by my favorite throw-it-in-the-pot egg timer I found her after she soft boiled the last batch of "hard boiled" eggs.  Church on Christmas morning, rather than our customary Christmas Eve, helped keep the focus where it belongs.

Reach out today to someone who is alone.  Look for someone alone in a crowd.  A smile, an acknowledgement of their existence, is a start.  Don't forget to pray.

Variation on the Theme.

The theme, in this case, is purchased strips of fabric in someone's idea of pleasing color combinations.    I had not intended to put any hand-quilting into this project, but in the end could find no design that I could successfully do by machine AND liked.  The overall design in the two borders is done by hand.  The callous on the left middle finger, which catches the needle on the downward stroke and makes the requisite tiny stitches,  is becoming permanent.  The stitches are getting smaller and more even.  I am fond of the purples in this project, with the pink and green accents.  Who would have thunk it -- purple and this wonderful bright green?!   The blue backing looks like many drops of water.  My mother says she loves that backing fabric.  

Give thanks for communication opening.  Don't forget to pray!  

Abuse ... and abuse

I detest men who treat women as (sex) objects, as servants, as pawns.  I detest men -- and women -- whose behavior illustrates that spousal abuse does not have to be physical to cause great harm.

A card from a friend, received today, shared the sad news.  A mutual friend was caught embezzling, perhaps as much as $500,000, from her employer of more than 20 years.   This isn't the first time; last time it was a different employer and over a much shorter period.

She doesn't do it for herself.  She does it because she is incapable of saying "No." to her husband.  She admits that she created a monster by catering to his every whim.  It's more than just money.  He doesn't help around the house.  He doesn't provide the tools to do the tasks that needed doing.  One day Ray caught her trying to shovel snow off her front steps -- with a boat oar.   For most of their marriage, Hubby made a minimal contribution to the household finances.  Yes, he did have a responsible, good-paying job for a few years.  Now he is disabled.  The disability could have been prevented; he didn't take the action necessary  for prevention.  Their relationship is not a partnership with give-and-take on both sides.  She does all the giving, and always has.  Thank goodness they never had children.

My friend is a sweet, intelligent woman.   Unless one knows the circumstances of her personal life, she is the last person you'd expect to steal anything.  Those who care about her believed she had learned from previous experience.  It's hard to learn that she didn't.  

Pray for my friend.  Call her Liz.  Pray for all victims of emotional or verbal abuse from partner or parent.  ...