It always seems arbitrary. That whole setting goals/resolutions/crap. It also seems pressured. The kiss at midnight, champagne celebration, big party scene. Well, I've been through a ton of these (ok, only 33 of them, but still). There are some that stand out as my favorites, and others I wished never had happened. Here are a few:
Best:
2002 Had dinner with my parents, dear friends from New Orleans, and my husband (although this was technically our first date). We met at my apartment in the avenues, drove to my parents house for dinner of prime rib, mashed potatoes, and Caesar salad. Then we went downtown to see my brother's band play at a fun bar. There J picked up most of the liquor tabs, he didn't drink to be the responsible driver, Kristina and I ended up on stage singing with my brother, and then J and I had our first real kiss at midnight. We went back to my apartment where my friends slept on a blow up bed in the adjacent room while J and I talked until dawn. He left the next day back to medical school. The rest is history.
Other fun times:
2000 Went to my friend, Kara's, house where she was a wonderful bartender of cosmos and other martinis. Sushi was ordered in. I met a really nice Scottish guy who later ended up becoming a boyfriend of one of my friends. I drove home and spent the countdown to midnight alone in my bathtub with a bubble bath of plumeria from San Francisco. I listened to the fireworks from downtown and savored choosing to be alone.
1980's Being up at the ranch with my cousins. We got a little cream de minthe from Pop. At midnight (or 10:00) we would take pans and bang them outside to welcome the new year. Then we would cuddle into bed.
Worst time:
1997 Travelled home from grad school. Went out to the old Green Street with sorority sisters and fraternity friends with a large cover charge. At the time I was just beginning to date he-who-shall-not-be-named and really wanted to give it a solid go (aka not do anything to jeapordize the potential of a future relationship). I met my ex who wasn't particularly smokin' hot, but we had a lot of chemistry. He wanted to hook up and I denied him. When I went home he called multiple times during the night cursing me. My parents had learned to move the phone to the office where they couldn't hear it, but I could.
This year J is barely making it home from work at 8:00 PM. We will be lucky if we make it til New Years. We will probably do something easy for dinner, drink some Veuve Cliquot, kiss and go to bed. I doubt we'll make it until midnight.
Life is so much easier without the pressure. I used to think it was just the pressure of being single, but it also exists when you are married. Price fixed meals at savory restaurants, first night buttons, fireworks, hot musical acts at bars with high cover charges...none of it is worth it. For me, New Years is about new beginnings, but on a smaller more comfortable scale.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
My Christmas Gift
Christmas came a day late for me this year. The thrill of anticipation, counting down days, and getting details set up just right for the expected visitor. My visitor was a 60-some year-old jolly man with white hair, fantastic hugs, obscene humor, occupation as a children's hospital chaplain, and my former bridesmaid. He and his wife were traveling on the East coast for Christmas visiting family when they decided to invest in the journey of traveling to Boston. They did so just for the sole purpose of seeing me. It was exquisite delight.
These two have become integral parts of my chosen family. Michael has guided me through terrible breakups, family drama, love drunkenness with my husband, and work mishaps. I advised him through marital issues, adult children antics, work challenges, and personal discovery. I didn't know if I liked him when I first met him almost 9 years ago. He was ambitious, happy, extroverted, and reflective. It only took me a few months to discover how similar we were. In many ways we mirrored our desired characteristics and our personal flaws. We navigated a very close friendship despite the 30 year difference. One of my favorite memories was during the rehearsal for my wedding Michael blurted out to the Priest, "Are we going to sing the song, 'I gave her a ring and she gave me the finger?'" While I thought my MIL was going to faint, while laughing I said a silent prayer of thanks that Michael and Father Stan were good friends.
When J would come into town we made a point of having dinner with Michael and his wife. We made dinner a few times and went over to their house as well. One thing was for certain: Scotch was always involved. The man was a connoisseur. He would host tastings by donning a kilt, educating the masses about regions of Scotland and the people who made each brand whilst describing the nose and the flavors left on stinging palates. This visit was no exception. Talisker 18 from the Isle of Skye flowed freely.
It was their 26th anniversary on December 26th and we were their invited guests for the celebration. I took an excruciating taxi ride downtown to the Union Club. They were staying in the 1863 establishment, originally designed to be a place of strategy during the Civil War. Its opulence and elegance was everything I could have imagined for it was on Boston Common, steps away from the Massachusetts State House. We talked and shared the liquid gold while J rushed from the hospital to meet us. A short walk to Winter Street and we entered Locke-Ober, a historic restaurant filled with dark mahogany corners, crystal stemware, brass railed bars, lush ruby carpet, and waiters in bow ties. We dined on Lobster Savannah, French white burgundy, bisque, and Caesar salad with fresh anchovies. Michael out did us all with the Baked Alaska. He also pocketed the cork to write down the occasion and date as a concrete reminder of great memories. Another shared quirk that was discovered. It was unseasonably warm for a Boston December night, but J offered Susan his coat for the walk back.
The following night I wanted to host them to dinner at our house. Its a tricky prospect given my recent surgery and unreasonable restrictions. But I was determined even if it meant defrosting soup my Mom made, throwing a salad together, but serving it with linen napkins by candlelight. It was our elegant invalid dinner party complete with a flannel pajama wearing hostess on pain killers and the others with colds. Susan was out for the count with her cold in full force, but Michael caught a ride with J after work. We finished off the small bottle of Talisker and opened a bottle of our collected wine selection (now we both have a cork). Alas the dinner ended early as we were all worried about Susan. I kept my tears in until the door shut as I do with all my good-byes.
These two have become integral parts of my chosen family. Michael has guided me through terrible breakups, family drama, love drunkenness with my husband, and work mishaps. I advised him through marital issues, adult children antics, work challenges, and personal discovery. I didn't know if I liked him when I first met him almost 9 years ago. He was ambitious, happy, extroverted, and reflective. It only took me a few months to discover how similar we were. In many ways we mirrored our desired characteristics and our personal flaws. We navigated a very close friendship despite the 30 year difference. One of my favorite memories was during the rehearsal for my wedding Michael blurted out to the Priest, "Are we going to sing the song, 'I gave her a ring and she gave me the finger?'" While I thought my MIL was going to faint, while laughing I said a silent prayer of thanks that Michael and Father Stan were good friends.
When J would come into town we made a point of having dinner with Michael and his wife. We made dinner a few times and went over to their house as well. One thing was for certain: Scotch was always involved. The man was a connoisseur. He would host tastings by donning a kilt, educating the masses about regions of Scotland and the people who made each brand whilst describing the nose and the flavors left on stinging palates. This visit was no exception. Talisker 18 from the Isle of Skye flowed freely.
It was their 26th anniversary on December 26th and we were their invited guests for the celebration. I took an excruciating taxi ride downtown to the Union Club. They were staying in the 1863 establishment, originally designed to be a place of strategy during the Civil War. Its opulence and elegance was everything I could have imagined for it was on Boston Common, steps away from the Massachusetts State House. We talked and shared the liquid gold while J rushed from the hospital to meet us. A short walk to Winter Street and we entered Locke-Ober, a historic restaurant filled with dark mahogany corners, crystal stemware, brass railed bars, lush ruby carpet, and waiters in bow ties. We dined on Lobster Savannah, French white burgundy, bisque, and Caesar salad with fresh anchovies. Michael out did us all with the Baked Alaska. He also pocketed the cork to write down the occasion and date as a concrete reminder of great memories. Another shared quirk that was discovered. It was unseasonably warm for a Boston December night, but J offered Susan his coat for the walk back.
The following night I wanted to host them to dinner at our house. Its a tricky prospect given my recent surgery and unreasonable restrictions. But I was determined even if it meant defrosting soup my Mom made, throwing a salad together, but serving it with linen napkins by candlelight. It was our elegant invalid dinner party complete with a flannel pajama wearing hostess on pain killers and the others with colds. Susan was out for the count with her cold in full force, but Michael caught a ride with J after work. We finished off the small bottle of Talisker and opened a bottle of our collected wine selection (now we both have a cork). Alas the dinner ended early as we were all worried about Susan. I kept my tears in until the door shut as I do with all my good-byes.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Catch-up
Y'all can stop holding your collective breath, holding candlelight vigils, and whatnot. I made it through the surgery just fine. I was just neglectful of posting the success on the blog. That is totally my bad.
The surgery itself was uneventful with the small exception of it taking a bit longer than expected as the herniation was bigger than what my surgeon expected. I spent 2.5 hours in the OR and 2.5 hours in PACU. They gave me dose after dose of meds and my pain was still awful. I've learned to accept that I'll never be pain free so on a scale of 1-10, a good old fashioned 5 is quite manageable. I asked to be put on the floor of my original admission, but was denied the request and got put on the surgical unit. There the nurses were habitually late with pain meds requested 30-45 minutes ago. The aides never identified who they were and their, "Can I help you," had the tone of an impatient teenager. My 2 days there felt like an eternity.
During my 2 day stay there were eventful things happening outside of my realm. For one, Mom somehow got lost on the Mass Pike. I find this extremely interesting because the hospital isn't even near an on-ramp. She called lost and was giving me unfamiliar street names asking how to get home. Because I was in the hospital my signal was weak and my GPS never did find the network. I was quite the site standing by the window (for a better signal) tethered to the IV pole, cursing my phone and becoming anxious about my Mom, and an open gown in the back, when my nurse came in. I gave up and hobbled back to bed. She finally found a fire station and went in to ask the nice men how to get home. She made it and then poured herself a large pineapple and vodka, easy on the juice. Its kind of like how chips are just a mere vehicle for salsa to land in my mouth. You go for the good stuff. Hell, I could have used a cocktail at that point too.
Another choice event was my home health nurse calling the physicians assistant and telling him what the orders should be for my pain. Good times there. Upon discharge, I was handed two scripts for pain meds along with a laundry list of things I cannot do for 2 months. 2 months. I have to say it again because it blows my mind: 2 months. No lifting anything over 4 pounds, no twisting, no torquing, no bending forward (they even drew me a diagram with stick figures showing what this looks like...because apparently I am daft), no driving, no household chores, no cooking, no laundry, no baths, no walking Edgar (as he pulls). etc.
Mom and I ventured to the pharmacy only to be told that they couldn't fill the oxycontin right now. They had to wait 24 hours. Are you freakin kidding me?!? My anger wasn't directed at the pharmacists, but at that stupid nurse who discharged me and my doc who wrote the script in the first place. I called the nurse and played lawyer. It didn't get me far but I felt better pointing out that she knew of a hospital policy of faxing the script a day in advance of the discharge, but didn't follow it. Humph. So there. Thank God for my bossy home health nurse. I called her as a desperate crying patient looking for help. She somehow talked another pharmacy into filling the script regardless of the guidelines. God bless the Lucy's in this Charlie Brown world.
The days blur together. Things I think happened actually never took place. And things that were real get mistaken for dreams. Mom was awesome making meals, doing laundry, making homemade candy (as is the tradition of the Temple legacy at Christmas), walking Edgar, and the best part is she washed the floors. This seriously was one of my top wishes on my Christmas list and it came true!!! However all good things come to an end like the last piece of sweet almond roca or the last drizzle of (also sweet) boxed wine and Mom went off to the airport. I think she was happy to return back home. "Are you sure you don't want to reschedule now and go tomorrow when the conditions are better?" We'd ask looking at the weather reports of heavy snow. "Oh, no. I'm certain its fine," she said carrying a bag bigger than she was out the door. Sure enough her flight was canceled, but she got re-booked on another one 2 or so hours later, waited on standby in Minneapolis, and took a taxi home at midnight from Salt Lake International.
Mom and J even got Christmas up while she was in town. It took 4 nights but who's counting, right? I am just so grateful that on the one Christmas without family we had a tree with lights all a glow and sparkling lights. They tried the first night, but I looked up the store hours only to find that it closed an hour before so they made the best of it and went to Costco. The second night it was race against the clock to get the tree, wreath, eggnog, and some cranberries to boot. J decided to saw the tree for better water uptake and began to drill the hole into the bottom when the electric drill lost power and he almost melted into a puddle of frustrated tears. The third night everyone was too tired so the tree just looked awfully pretty leaning up against the outside of our house. The fourth night we spiked the eggnog and the tasks were completed! The tree was a leaning spectacle of glory and J was ambitious enough to begin stringing the garlands (not my idea) when by garland #2, his frustration levels were maxed and now we (still) have a hanging garland draped from the ceiling over the TV, down by the candles, and onto the floor. That was over a week ago.
There was some miscommunication about the stockings. Ginny made my stocking for my first Christmas. It has a narrow patchwork front with my name and year of birth on the front and a red velvet backing. Its hung on the mantle every year and J got his own, also with his name embroidered, the first year of our marriage. I thought Mom was going to bring them, she decided to leave them home. I wondered if it was because my Dad was afraid he'd never get them back. Both he and Mom got theirs from Ginny after they married. In the dilemma of the missing stockings, Mom suggested we hang festive pillowcases. Pillowcases. I decided to embroider them. Its no pottery barn, but that class Mom made me go to after school when I was 6 paid off. J's looked like a lot of love went into it, something perhaps a 10 year old would do. They hung next to the fallen garland.
On Christmas Eve, we were invited up to our landlord's house (upstairs) for dinner with her family. I was excited, RSVP'd, and asked what we could bring. The dream was fun while it lasted until Jon reminded me that I'm not able to do stairs yet and my physical therapist agreed. The fear of me falling and wrecking my back caused me to cancel. She vowed to bring food down and said she felt so bad for me, but she understood. J came home that night in a puddle of goo. Some sort of virus was making merry in his sinuses and we settled on soup and bread for dinner. It wasn't the festive madness that Christmas Eve typically is for us. Usually we try to hit 2 to 3 family houses on Christmas Eve night. The best one we always look forward to is my dad's side of the family. Its low key, but high fun. Everyone still exchanges small gifts and its usually the dogs who make out like bandits. Treats, toys, etc. By report of my mom, this year was no exception and it was a blast.
I set my alarm for early Christmas morning. Even though I'm not supposed to cook (lifting and torquing issues), I had prepared a brunch casserole and wanted to give J a festive breakfast before he went off to see patients. Problem is, I slept through my alarms...3 of them apparently. J didn't. He got up and wasn't quiet about things (I heard the oven door slam in one of my dreams), but he got it in the oven. I woke from my slumber about an hour later. I could smell the eggs. A 30 minute casserole had been cooking for double the time. However, it was still edible. We both hoped for an early day which probably jinxed it. Poor J didn't come home until about 9:00. We opened presents and had a glass of wine. We talked to our parents and finally decided to do something for dinner. Hours before, I had made a Merlot reduction sauce (again, not supposed to cook and have a 2 -4 pound weight limit for lifting), and attempted salad dressing (harder than it looks with the shaking/whisking), and literally tossed potatoes into the oven for baking (can't bend forward). All of these were terrible ideas brought on by my compulsive need to make things special for Christmas. By 10:30, the steaks were mediocre (mine was awful), the potatoes were hard, and we decided a complicated salad would be too difficult but a handful of spinach would do just fine.
Usually I get the let-down feeling after Christmas just because of all of the activity is over. This year I just feel relief.
The surgery itself was uneventful with the small exception of it taking a bit longer than expected as the herniation was bigger than what my surgeon expected. I spent 2.5 hours in the OR and 2.5 hours in PACU. They gave me dose after dose of meds and my pain was still awful. I've learned to accept that I'll never be pain free so on a scale of 1-10, a good old fashioned 5 is quite manageable. I asked to be put on the floor of my original admission, but was denied the request and got put on the surgical unit. There the nurses were habitually late with pain meds requested 30-45 minutes ago. The aides never identified who they were and their, "Can I help you," had the tone of an impatient teenager. My 2 days there felt like an eternity.
During my 2 day stay there were eventful things happening outside of my realm. For one, Mom somehow got lost on the Mass Pike. I find this extremely interesting because the hospital isn't even near an on-ramp. She called lost and was giving me unfamiliar street names asking how to get home. Because I was in the hospital my signal was weak and my GPS never did find the network. I was quite the site standing by the window (for a better signal) tethered to the IV pole, cursing my phone and becoming anxious about my Mom, and an open gown in the back, when my nurse came in. I gave up and hobbled back to bed. She finally found a fire station and went in to ask the nice men how to get home. She made it and then poured herself a large pineapple and vodka, easy on the juice. Its kind of like how chips are just a mere vehicle for salsa to land in my mouth. You go for the good stuff. Hell, I could have used a cocktail at that point too.
Another choice event was my home health nurse calling the physicians assistant and telling him what the orders should be for my pain. Good times there. Upon discharge, I was handed two scripts for pain meds along with a laundry list of things I cannot do for 2 months. 2 months. I have to say it again because it blows my mind: 2 months. No lifting anything over 4 pounds, no twisting, no torquing, no bending forward (they even drew me a diagram with stick figures showing what this looks like...because apparently I am daft), no driving, no household chores, no cooking, no laundry, no baths, no walking Edgar (as he pulls). etc.
Mom and I ventured to the pharmacy only to be told that they couldn't fill the oxycontin right now. They had to wait 24 hours. Are you freakin kidding me?!? My anger wasn't directed at the pharmacists, but at that stupid nurse who discharged me and my doc who wrote the script in the first place. I called the nurse and played lawyer. It didn't get me far but I felt better pointing out that she knew of a hospital policy of faxing the script a day in advance of the discharge, but didn't follow it. Humph. So there. Thank God for my bossy home health nurse. I called her as a desperate crying patient looking for help. She somehow talked another pharmacy into filling the script regardless of the guidelines. God bless the Lucy's in this Charlie Brown world.
The days blur together. Things I think happened actually never took place. And things that were real get mistaken for dreams. Mom was awesome making meals, doing laundry, making homemade candy (as is the tradition of the Temple legacy at Christmas), walking Edgar, and the best part is she washed the floors. This seriously was one of my top wishes on my Christmas list and it came true!!! However all good things come to an end like the last piece of sweet almond roca or the last drizzle of (also sweet) boxed wine and Mom went off to the airport. I think she was happy to return back home. "Are you sure you don't want to reschedule now and go tomorrow when the conditions are better?" We'd ask looking at the weather reports of heavy snow. "Oh, no. I'm certain its fine," she said carrying a bag bigger than she was out the door. Sure enough her flight was canceled, but she got re-booked on another one 2 or so hours later, waited on standby in Minneapolis, and took a taxi home at midnight from Salt Lake International.
Mom and J even got Christmas up while she was in town. It took 4 nights but who's counting, right? I am just so grateful that on the one Christmas without family we had a tree with lights all a glow and sparkling lights. They tried the first night, but I looked up the store hours only to find that it closed an hour before so they made the best of it and went to Costco. The second night it was race against the clock to get the tree, wreath, eggnog, and some cranberries to boot. J decided to saw the tree for better water uptake and began to drill the hole into the bottom when the electric drill lost power and he almost melted into a puddle of frustrated tears. The third night everyone was too tired so the tree just looked awfully pretty leaning up against the outside of our house. The fourth night we spiked the eggnog and the tasks were completed! The tree was a leaning spectacle of glory and J was ambitious enough to begin stringing the garlands (not my idea) when by garland #2, his frustration levels were maxed and now we (still) have a hanging garland draped from the ceiling over the TV, down by the candles, and onto the floor. That was over a week ago.
There was some miscommunication about the stockings. Ginny made my stocking for my first Christmas. It has a narrow patchwork front with my name and year of birth on the front and a red velvet backing. Its hung on the mantle every year and J got his own, also with his name embroidered, the first year of our marriage. I thought Mom was going to bring them, she decided to leave them home. I wondered if it was because my Dad was afraid he'd never get them back. Both he and Mom got theirs from Ginny after they married. In the dilemma of the missing stockings, Mom suggested we hang festive pillowcases. Pillowcases. I decided to embroider them. Its no pottery barn, but that class Mom made me go to after school when I was 6 paid off. J's looked like a lot of love went into it, something perhaps a 10 year old would do. They hung next to the fallen garland.
On Christmas Eve, we were invited up to our landlord's house (upstairs) for dinner with her family. I was excited, RSVP'd, and asked what we could bring. The dream was fun while it lasted until Jon reminded me that I'm not able to do stairs yet and my physical therapist agreed. The fear of me falling and wrecking my back caused me to cancel. She vowed to bring food down and said she felt so bad for me, but she understood. J came home that night in a puddle of goo. Some sort of virus was making merry in his sinuses and we settled on soup and bread for dinner. It wasn't the festive madness that Christmas Eve typically is for us. Usually we try to hit 2 to 3 family houses on Christmas Eve night. The best one we always look forward to is my dad's side of the family. Its low key, but high fun. Everyone still exchanges small gifts and its usually the dogs who make out like bandits. Treats, toys, etc. By report of my mom, this year was no exception and it was a blast.
I set my alarm for early Christmas morning. Even though I'm not supposed to cook (lifting and torquing issues), I had prepared a brunch casserole and wanted to give J a festive breakfast before he went off to see patients. Problem is, I slept through my alarms...3 of them apparently. J didn't. He got up and wasn't quiet about things (I heard the oven door slam in one of my dreams), but he got it in the oven. I woke from my slumber about an hour later. I could smell the eggs. A 30 minute casserole had been cooking for double the time. However, it was still edible. We both hoped for an early day which probably jinxed it. Poor J didn't come home until about 9:00. We opened presents and had a glass of wine. We talked to our parents and finally decided to do something for dinner. Hours before, I had made a Merlot reduction sauce (again, not supposed to cook and have a 2 -4 pound weight limit for lifting), and attempted salad dressing (harder than it looks with the shaking/whisking), and literally tossed potatoes into the oven for baking (can't bend forward). All of these were terrible ideas brought on by my compulsive need to make things special for Christmas. By 10:30, the steaks were mediocre (mine was awful), the potatoes were hard, and we decided a complicated salad would be too difficult but a handful of spinach would do just fine.
Usually I get the let-down feeling after Christmas just because of all of the activity is over. This year I just feel relief.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Red Light, Green Light
When I was little I never understood the game, "red light, green light." The person in charge knows that they will be tagged and really it is to their advantage to just keep everyone on "red light." As an adult I still don't get it and yet somehow I keep playing the game.
After the big scare of an emergent admission Thanksgiving weekend, J sent out an email on Friday asking his attendings and program directors who they would seek out for a second opinion. Within hours the head of trauma spine surgery at one of the big teaching hospitals wrote he would be happy to see me on Monday in between surgeries. GREEN LIGHT. Talk about fast results.
On Monday J managed to get a block of time free to come with me to this appointment. For a doc, he spent a considerable amount of time explaining the mechanics of the back, what the surgery would do, and a few options in where to go from here. His pager went off numerous times and yet he didn't answer them. I was impressed eventhough he spoke doctor-speak most of the time and did most of the consulting with my husband. Hellloooo? I'm the patient? Right? When we pressed what he would do, his reply was: "If it were me, I'd have the surgery. (GREEN LIGHT) But if it was my wife, I'd have her do a nerve block." RED LIGHT Before I knew it, I had an appointment for a nerve block for later in the month. GREEN LIGHT
I told my home health team what happened and my pain nurse pointed out I already had 2 nerve blocks already. Why would I need a third? RED LIGHT They suggested I call my doc to see when surgery could be scheduled. The "biddys" as I like to call them, are the gatekeepers of the neurosurgeons office. The two older ladies are cordial to patients on the phone, but if you are sitting in the waiting room you hear them talk bad about whoever just called: "Whatever Mr. Wilson, like you will ever get another prescription refil,." or "Yeah sure Mrs. Montgomery, I'll jump right on it," as they crumple up the memo note. My faith was low, especially after one of the biddys told me that they were booked through the holiday season, but she'd talk with my neurosurgeon and call me back. BIG TIME RED LIGHT
When I didn't hear back from them in days and days my pain nurse joined forces with my primary care doc. They told me the plan was to just show up in the ER with a bag and be admitted. That way I would be forced onto the schedule. GREEN LIGHT Logical, right? Well, thank God I know the medical system because I know it doesn't work that way. I called my primary care directly to ask whose service I was going to be admitted to (hospitalist, neurosurgeon, ward team, her private patients) and why would I go to the ER vs. admitting? She paused. RED LIGHT. I suggested she do a doc to doc phone call and see if that would move things forward without me hanging out in the ER for 9 hours while they played "hot potato" with my care.
In the meantime, I thought I would let my school advisor know what was going on so we could figure out what to do about the upcoming weekend-in-residence. I got an email from my professor and the program director to "just take care of myself and we'll worry about school after." GREEN LIGHT
I heard back from one of the biddys within hours of the doc-to-doc and sure enough, my surgery had been scheduled. GREEN LIGHT It was scheduled for 12/11...the same week J was on vacation and booked to go to Utah. RED LIGHT He hasn't been home in almost a year and we decided almost two months ago that he should take advantage of the time off and go alone. I couldn't sit for 5+ hours on the plane. I asked, cautiously, if the surgery could be moved to the following week. It was a risky move as it seemed highly greedy of me. It felt like, 'Hey, can you rearrange the world just to put me onto the surgery schedule, but then can you also do it on my terms?' It was met with a resounding No. Ok, surgery on the 11th it is! GREEN LIGHT
Back in October after my original hospitalization, Mom offered to come out to help me the week after my surgery if one was needed. There was a condition: I kept down. I was hoping to see if she would be willing to extend the time and cover the surgery day and 1-2 days in the hospital. I even offered to buy her plane ticket for her. I'm telling you, this woman is a saint. She is currently on her way for a 10 day stay with yours truly.
J had another huge decision and it had the theme song of The Clash's, "Should I Stay or Should I Go." The man was angry he was forced into this decision, but I decided to isolate my real need first. I needed someone here with me who loved and cared for me greatly. Someone I could trust. Both my husband and my mom were solid choices. Once I got my needs met, he could decide what felt best to him.
When I tell you that he still hadn't made his decision until 3:00 AM and his supposed flight's scheduled departure was at 6:00 AM, I'm not kidding. That isn't an exagguration. The stress of it all left me with a little case of the sniffles, which I'm not labeling a "cold." We processed this decision for over a week with high intensity. He hasn't seen his mom, sister, or grandparents in over a year. As I lost both of my remaining living grandparents this year I completely understood the draw and pull of seeing them. BIG time. My grief probably got in the way and pushed the point of the importance of connecting with them. But, then again his wife is having surgery. His wife. Spinal nerve surgery. Then you layer all of society's conventions, otherwise known as "the shoulds," on top of the decision and what you end up with is just a plain big emotionally laden mess. I finally started packing for him at 11:00 last night. That way the man could do it his way and make the decision the very last possible minute but at least I knew he had things like socks, Christmas gifts for his family members, and his cell phone charger.
Even this morning as he was sitting on the plane he called to ask if we made the right decision. Mom and J will cross paths today in the skies. Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow at 12:20 and I'll be staying in the hospital for at least one night, maybe two. GREEN LIGHT
After the big scare of an emergent admission Thanksgiving weekend, J sent out an email on Friday asking his attendings and program directors who they would seek out for a second opinion. Within hours the head of trauma spine surgery at one of the big teaching hospitals wrote he would be happy to see me on Monday in between surgeries. GREEN LIGHT. Talk about fast results.
On Monday J managed to get a block of time free to come with me to this appointment. For a doc, he spent a considerable amount of time explaining the mechanics of the back, what the surgery would do, and a few options in where to go from here. His pager went off numerous times and yet he didn't answer them. I was impressed eventhough he spoke doctor-speak most of the time and did most of the consulting with my husband. Hellloooo? I'm the patient? Right? When we pressed what he would do, his reply was: "If it were me, I'd have the surgery. (GREEN LIGHT) But if it was my wife, I'd have her do a nerve block." RED LIGHT Before I knew it, I had an appointment for a nerve block for later in the month. GREEN LIGHT
I told my home health team what happened and my pain nurse pointed out I already had 2 nerve blocks already. Why would I need a third? RED LIGHT They suggested I call my doc to see when surgery could be scheduled. The "biddys" as I like to call them, are the gatekeepers of the neurosurgeons office. The two older ladies are cordial to patients on the phone, but if you are sitting in the waiting room you hear them talk bad about whoever just called: "Whatever Mr. Wilson, like you will ever get another prescription refil,." or "Yeah sure Mrs. Montgomery, I'll jump right on it," as they crumple up the memo note. My faith was low, especially after one of the biddys told me that they were booked through the holiday season, but she'd talk with my neurosurgeon and call me back. BIG TIME RED LIGHT
When I didn't hear back from them in days and days my pain nurse joined forces with my primary care doc. They told me the plan was to just show up in the ER with a bag and be admitted. That way I would be forced onto the schedule. GREEN LIGHT Logical, right? Well, thank God I know the medical system because I know it doesn't work that way. I called my primary care directly to ask whose service I was going to be admitted to (hospitalist, neurosurgeon, ward team, her private patients) and why would I go to the ER vs. admitting? She paused. RED LIGHT. I suggested she do a doc to doc phone call and see if that would move things forward without me hanging out in the ER for 9 hours while they played "hot potato" with my care.
In the meantime, I thought I would let my school advisor know what was going on so we could figure out what to do about the upcoming weekend-in-residence. I got an email from my professor and the program director to "just take care of myself and we'll worry about school after." GREEN LIGHT
I heard back from one of the biddys within hours of the doc-to-doc and sure enough, my surgery had been scheduled. GREEN LIGHT It was scheduled for 12/11...the same week J was on vacation and booked to go to Utah. RED LIGHT He hasn't been home in almost a year and we decided almost two months ago that he should take advantage of the time off and go alone. I couldn't sit for 5+ hours on the plane. I asked, cautiously, if the surgery could be moved to the following week. It was a risky move as it seemed highly greedy of me. It felt like, 'Hey, can you rearrange the world just to put me onto the surgery schedule, but then can you also do it on my terms?' It was met with a resounding No. Ok, surgery on the 11th it is! GREEN LIGHT
Back in October after my original hospitalization, Mom offered to come out to help me the week after my surgery if one was needed. There was a condition: I kept down. I was hoping to see if she would be willing to extend the time and cover the surgery day and 1-2 days in the hospital. I even offered to buy her plane ticket for her. I'm telling you, this woman is a saint. She is currently on her way for a 10 day stay with yours truly.
J had another huge decision and it had the theme song of The Clash's, "Should I Stay or Should I Go." The man was angry he was forced into this decision, but I decided to isolate my real need first. I needed someone here with me who loved and cared for me greatly. Someone I could trust. Both my husband and my mom were solid choices. Once I got my needs met, he could decide what felt best to him.
When I tell you that he still hadn't made his decision until 3:00 AM and his supposed flight's scheduled departure was at 6:00 AM, I'm not kidding. That isn't an exagguration. The stress of it all left me with a little case of the sniffles, which I'm not labeling a "cold." We processed this decision for over a week with high intensity. He hasn't seen his mom, sister, or grandparents in over a year. As I lost both of my remaining living grandparents this year I completely understood the draw and pull of seeing them. BIG time. My grief probably got in the way and pushed the point of the importance of connecting with them. But, then again his wife is having surgery. His wife. Spinal nerve surgery. Then you layer all of society's conventions, otherwise known as "the shoulds," on top of the decision and what you end up with is just a plain big emotionally laden mess. I finally started packing for him at 11:00 last night. That way the man could do it his way and make the decision the very last possible minute but at least I knew he had things like socks, Christmas gifts for his family members, and his cell phone charger.
Even this morning as he was sitting on the plane he called to ask if we made the right decision. Mom and J will cross paths today in the skies. Surgery is scheduled for tomorrow at 12:20 and I'll be staying in the hospital for at least one night, maybe two. GREEN LIGHT
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