On Fogo Island

While Jen and I were in Montreal, my friend Michie O'Day was, and still is, up on Fogo Island off the coast of Newfoundland. Michie and I have obscene amounts in common—we both have Nf2, we both paint, she was a triker before me, we face adversity in much the same way (with pragmatic machisma and humor), we're about the same age AND we're both mad about rocky shorelines. This was her note to me from her remote island escape.
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The view from Michie's room!

It's Sunday morning as I write these words.  I'll leave Fogo Island on Tuesday after nine amazing, wonderful, restorative and healing days.  I found just what I was looking for here—multiplied exponentially.

Living with Neurofibromatosis Type II  is both a challenge and an opportunity.  I've said, since the early days (I was diagnosed 31 years ago), it shows you the stuff you're made of.  I've also said that God didn't give me NF2  (my god is a loving god and just wouldn't do this to me), but he did give me the tools I need to live with it. I'm optimistic, resilient, funny and most of all pragmatic—all essential traits for dealing with the endless tests, the uncertainties, the long and painful surgeries; the life-altering and progressive disabilities that come with the NF2 territory.

Sure it's tough, but it's the only life I know.  It's also been my ticket to early retirement, my incentive to move to Maine—one of the most beautiful places in the USA—where I've been very happy and matured as an artist.  NF2 has given me perspective and peace. It has introduced me to some of the finest people I've ever met—friends with NF connections, who I wouldn't have met otherwise, and brilliant, gifted, kind medical professionals, among others.

Cuppa by Michie O'Day

But at age 58 my batteries were running low.  Mobility was (and still is) declining fast.  Deafness seemed easy (which it's not) by comparison.  And I honestly began to wonder if my life had peaked and it was going to be all downhill from here.  Was it still worth the effort?

Benediction by Michie O'Day

Then, last summer, some of my neighbors honeymooned in Canada—including a stay at the Fogo Island Inn.  I looked it up and knew I had to go there.  The place is expensive (and worth every penny!)  I looked at my budget and figured with careful planning I could go in 2017.  Then I looked at my mobility (I began using a wheelchair 9/21/2015) and decided there's no time like the present.  And here I am!

The view out my window for the past eight days has been magnificent slabs of granite and the powerful, beautiful North Atlantic Ocean.  The inn itself is a wonderful combination of informality and elegance. Think beautiful new hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows; handcrafted furniture and brightly colored quilts—all locally made.  The remoteness is welcome.  It's just me, the earth and sky.  But it's not uncivilized!  A gin & tonic with ice made from the millions-of-years-old icebergs that float by Fogo Island each spring is a marvelous thing.  And the food rocks—especially if you like cod.  Best of all though is the staff.  They are all friendly, warm (without hovering), helpful, kind, knowledgeable. A terrific and nurturing group of people.

I've been painting here.  I'm going to go home and paint a lot more.  I've also been doing chair yoga.  I'm going to go home and take better care of my body.  I've been eating like royalty.  I'm going to go home and diet!  I know that my disabilities are likely to get worse, but I'm not giving up yet.

I'm renewed and I'm happy.

With zest for living,