The Crew

The nursing crew here at Spaulding is, generally, excellent. There is however one who actually scares me a little. Why? She doesn’t speak. Why, oh WHY, given that I’m deaf, would her not talking be a thing?

Because I need so damn much from them, I’m cranky and depressed — a little smile (as much as can be seen through the mask) would assuage my ever present guilt over all I ask/need of them.

So no, she doesn’t need to talk but some facial expression would help.

Granted, most have said, when I’ve apologized for my messy needs, ‘this is my job!’ Yeah sure but I don’t need to make it worse. Okay, biologically speaking, I suppose I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

This past Sunday’s crew seemed especially light. I know it’s a day off from therapy but nursing too? Ah no. Apparently there’s a big staff changeover going on and ‘issues’ are being sorted through. Huh. Good to know, I guess, but FIX IT NOW! I mean, I only have so much patience (i.e., next to none). 

This morning’s PT session begins in 30 minutes and, if it’s anything like yesterday (and it will be) it’ll be killah. Luckily, I’ll have an hour to nap between it and my Occupational Therapy hour. No rest for the wicked.

At least I got some FaceTime in with my sweet kitten this morning. Mega important!

Some Days

 There are no words. That’s today. See ya tomorrow.

Controlled Freaking

My friend Monica commented:

Part of what you write about is controlled freaking out, if I've got that right. I mean, having a really serious situation in which freaking out is the reasonable response but you have to sort of, budget that, modulate that. You can't be freaking out all the time if your situation is going to go on.

Spot on, Monica!

The past four+ years — with TAB getting hopelessly ill and croaking on me, followed by the past few with my own insane maladies and multiple neuro surgeries — could easily have been one looooooong freak out. That way holds madness tough. Mega crazification. I’ve had to pick and choose, create distractions and, just generally, chill the ever lovin’ fuck out. Not easy with the twice impeached former guy and that grredheaded ugly turtle in office, competing to see who can destroy America first.

Keeping a lid on freakage ain’t easy or always possible. I’m not a meditater or a yoga club type. I do that deep breathing shit when things get intense. Painting and photography help a LOT but haven’t been, during my worst times, possible. I've asked Jen to bring in my sketch pad and a few markers today. If nothing else, I can doodle.

What’d truly help is being able to float in my Icelandic heaven. Yeah, not gonna happen in these GQP sponsored COVID times. I doubt Spaulding has a warm, silica infused pool in which I can drift and glide but, hells bells, I can ask.

Caturday and Bridge Blogging

 

Yes, I FaceTimed with Coco again. Jen says she starts purring when she hears my voice. *sigh*

I guess this is my third day in rehab. No, I’m not walking YET. YES, that’s unrealistic at the same time it’s frustrating.

I was moved to a new even more posh HUGE room yesterday. Why? Dunno but perhaps it’s because I’m a long-hauler. In any case, I’ve got fab views AND have been told it’s safe to have my laptop here. Less annoying formatting (fer me anyway) to come!

Just finished my Speech Language session. Apparently, I’m still able to talk...A LOT. My math skills, however, continue to blow bantha wang //shrugs//

Up and Down

Yesterday was my first day of therapy—four full hours. Today’s plan is for an hour of occupational, one with the speech-language pathologist and another with the physical therapist. 

I was disappointed with my performance yesterday but my various teams say I’m doing well. Invariably I respond with ‘you’re just saying that to make me feel better.’ They say no.

I’ve GOT to keep in mind that I haven’t been out of my eleven hour marathon brain slice up for so much as a full week yet. The docs wheeled me out at nine PM just seven days ago.

I’ve had no increase in my left leg’s mobility and nothing more in the foot. Yep, I haz a sad. Slack? Was ist das? It’s what I’ve got to cut myself a big, fat, healthy slab of.

Shit WILL get better. OT’s focus today will be bathroom issues—bathing and such. It’s really weird to be so unable to do for myself. HATE it!

On the food front, everything continues to be YUM City though it’s unclear whether I’ll get a choice, apart from Vegetarian. The food service folk keep bringing me great stuff BUT also puzzling items like soda and coffee at night but NO cake! I’m trying to sort this out, particularly since I’m here for the long haul. I despise waste!

Fears Assuaged

 

Shit CAN change for the better—YEA!

For starters and most importantly, the nurses here at Spaulding are totes superhero-esque. When I buzz for an assist, they’re here almost instantaneously. Not only that, the team is all kinds of mega efficient, kind and have senses of humor.

Next—let’s talk food. MGH had a BRIEF flirtation with grub that wasn’t all bland, steamed (I repeat myself though) or otherwise in need of SERIOUS seasoning repair. During that all too short gastronomical experiment, the dishes were imaginative, well made and def mood elevating. Also, there were more vegetarian options than just a black bean burger or a grilled cheese sandwich.

Last night, here in food heaven, I had butternut squash/sage ravioli and roasted Brussels sprouts which were right up there with Jen’s. AMAZING!!! 

I’ve got an interesting  view (it ain’t Valhalla but what is?) and the room art, while not Basquiat or otherwise daring or radical, is sweet, easy on the eyes and not cloyingly odious.

Yesterday was all about intake interviews and today I’ll begin PT evals. Dunno how long I’ll be in but I’ve been told the average stay is two to three weeks.

I can do this!

Day 5...I think

 

In case you were unclear on the matter, most nurses are spectacular saints. I should know—I’ve spent a fuck-ton of concentrated time over these last couple years being catered to, calmed and cared for by these mostly gracious, ultra  wonderful, patient beings.

Having said that, how fun is it for them to work with a sad, cranky, scared-to-freak-out levels old broad? Yeah, yesterday was NOT one of my more mature ones.

Part of this is that I MIGHT be moved to Rehab as soon as TODAY! Too fast, too damn fast! I need more time. Why? It’s hard to adjust to new staff, new practices, new customs at light speed. I’m no supercomputer, ya know?

Also, I haven’t heard great stuff about the joint BUT my intell is conceivably outdated. The nurses have been raving about the place, saying folks “fight” to get in there. I’m in no shape for that shit but feel a little more at ease.

The surgical neuro team was just in to check on me. Naturally I was sleeping and don’t recall what they said apart from that I’m doing well and my incision looks good. It’s certainly, blaringly easy enough to see. MUCH more hair was removed than I’d anticipated. I look like a monk with an extreme tonsure. Yeah, There’ll be NO pics of this hot hair disaster.

I’m trying, honest, to refrain from obnoxious rudeness—though that’s one of my better developed skills, especially when I’m all tense and nervous.

Meanwhile, Jen is gonna try to set up a FaceTime session for Coco and me this morning! That could be helpful. Plus, all your comments and “likes”’over on ShoutyFace are truly appreciated and buoying. GRAZIE!

Just FYI, apparently you can only leave comments here if if you’re on Firefox versus  Safari. Dunno what if any other apps work for comments. 

Lastly...THANK YOU!!!

Sleep

You want some? DON’T stay in a hospital. That’s all I’ve got today. OK, that and I can now move my left thigh. Progress is progressing. Needs more M&Ms though.

Day Three

Please forgive the shit formatting as I’m blogging from the telefonino.

This pic is the first thing I saw when they rolled me into the OR. Yes, that’s me bean. No, I don’t know how I acquired a beard in the snap at the far left. Just FYI I am NOT a bearded lady.

How did I take a pic in the OR? Who’s gonna stop me? I was the star of the day!

Here in ICU Land my two absofave nurses are Sandy, my night nurse (who Jen told you about) Alyssa (yesterday’s day nurse). They’re BRILLIANTLY awesome! The absolute best. Why? Caring and careful to avoid pain, responsive, good communicators and they laugh. Laughing is good.

I don’t know why but Sandy and my pre op nurse (whose name, in all the stress, escaped me) both said I was their favorite and wished all patients were like me. I’m astoundingly flattered but I don’t get it really. All I do is joke obnoxiously, tell them what ancient tunes they SHOULD be putting on their playlists and proclaim that I deserve ice cream for every last little thing which may have inconvenienced me.

Speaking of obnoxious, post op one of the residents came up to me and asked how I was feeling. Fer fuck’s sake, I replied, I just got out of 11 hours of brain surgery, how do you think I feel?

I realized that this was quite rude of me. After all, he was there too and HE was working! I apologized but think he’d already walked off.

N.b:, immediately after brain slice and dice is probably not the best time to ask me this question.

Yesterday  I met with the PT lady and, while I didn’t perform fabulously there was slight progress and hope!

I’ll see her again at nine this morning for a try out with a walker. Now, I have soaring hope and know I’ll be disappointed when I’m not zooming the ICU halls. But still, slow and steady—I’ll win this race. Realistically, I’m just hoping I can at least stand up.

The nurses got me up outta bed yesterday to sit in a chair which felt good AND counts as exercise! They used a magic lift thingie. It was scary but worked. I didn’t fall. They also bathed me which always feels weird—being cleaned up by a stranger. A lovely, kind one but still...

The team of residents just stopped by to see how I was doing. They’re a reality based crowd, not a bunch of cheerleaders. I gotta do my own Rah, Rah, Go Donna Go shit.

What’d they say? If I’m remembering accurately, yes, I’ll walk again but how soon depends on how things go over the next week.

Patience—NOT one of my more strongly developed talents

Day Two Post Op

 Jesus Neurosurgery Christ, I’m an impatient twat. It’s not even been two days since they rolled me outta the OR and I’m already whining about wanting a shower NOW! Also fussing about not being able to walk for a few days/weeks.

Fer fuck’s sake, did the good Doc Barker NOT tell Jen it’ll be three days to three weeks before I’m on my feet again? Yes. Yes he did.

I gotta work on my chill factor. It, like my left leg, is WEAK!

Saturday Surgery Report!

This is the third Donna neurosurgery update I've written in just over one year! I'm sure you would all agree that our brave, kick-ASS, amazing, FEROCIOUS hero needs a serious break, one that lasts for at LEAST the next twelve centuries!  SHEESH!

Surgery went very well! Dr. Barker reported they were able to remove most if not all of the rat bastard tumor!! YAY!! Not his EXACT words, but close ;-)

The tumor was smaller than the last one but in a more difficult position.  Surgery lasted about eleven hours... if I was a nail biter, my nails would be shredded to their nibs (nail nibs: it's a thing! Look for them in the candy aisle next to the jelly beans!).

He said that post surgery Donna's left side will be weaker than it was presurgery, but that strength will come back over the coming days and weeks.  We weren't sure if that meant her entire left side or just her leg.  Well, I'm happy to report that Donna's left arm/hand was not effected by the surgery!  She can't move her leg, but as noted above, they expect this will be a temporary condition.

In the ICU last night, Donna's customary post surgery drink request to her nurse was shockingly, not a hot toddy OR a Sapphire martini; nope...she wanted straight-up, not shaken, not stirred WATER.  Sandy the sweet nurse said water wasn't allowed so soon after surgery, but Donna was persistent, and Sandy was an outside the box thinker.  She snuck Donna a glass of water and helped her one slow sip at a time. It was like watching a parched flower re-hydrate before our very eyes.  Donna was refreshed and glowing by the time that glass was drained :-)

I have no doubt at all, that she will again, stand tall before our very eyes... very VERY soon.

Donna wanted me to make sure to blog this morning that she's "NOT DEAD YET... MAYBE NOT EVAH! YOU HEAR THAT??!!".

Yes!  We hear you loud and clear, our FIERCE, WARRIOR BROAD!! :-)

The Big Day

That’s tomorrow mes amis. Jen will drive us in at five-ish in the AM. I’m due at six for prep work. Barker comes on stage at eight and has the OR booked for me, him and a half dozen or so residents for the next nine plus hours. Yeah, we’re doing stadium seating and the popcorn and beer vendors will be working the crowd.

I threatened to roll in scream-singing Humble Pie’s I Don’t Need No Doctor. He smilingly replied “I’m not a doctor. I’m a surgeon.” Note to self: though he laughed, it may not have been smart to roll my eyes and say “same/same Dude.” I allowed that I’d go with the Stones Start Me Up then.

He noted that I’d likely be asleep already and wouldn’t be able to make a grand entrance. OK, I can work with that too. My johnny is sequined, RIGHT?!

In any case, Saint Jen will post a How’d-That-Brain-Slice-up-Shit-Go on Saturday, most likely. Me, I expect to be doing a LOT of Zs between now and Monday. Anything and almost everything can happen in those 8-10+ surgical hours. I’m kind of hoping but not anticipating that I’ll come out with big fat angel wings, a smaller (yet still nicely rounded) caboose and pipes rivaling Grace Slick’s.

I don’t want much...right!?

Also too, if you’ve not watched WandaVision yet, do it, do it, DO IT! We watched the final ep last night and it was brill (NO spoilers here)! The show’s not perfect but, get past the first two meh eps and it’s wickedly, pull-you-in engaging.

OK then. Look for Jen’s weekend update and I’ll, likely, be back in a week.

Cheers all!

Be Well

That phrase and Stay Well, commonly used in place of a nice, to the point adieu annoy the shit outta me. What do they even mean? Are they reminders that I shouldn’t overeat or drink too much (if at all), exercise more, breathe deep, stay off the news and opinion sites which inevitably blow up my stress levels?

Cool, cool.

As consistently as I’m able, I’m already on that train. I don’t necessarily need the prompt but, if you’re a good friend, I get it. I understand that it’s meant in a caring, loving way.

As for my larger issues, I can’t magically, at the drop of a well meant Cheerio, shrink or delete my virulent tumor squads. Those fuckers have minds of their own and there’s only so much I can control through eating right and exercising more. I can and do keep after my tumor team — make sure they don’t forget about me or lose me in the stacks though.

On it and, again, I understand the affection, the intention when it’s coming from a chum.

If you’re not a tight pal or cherished aquantance though, it comes off as a tossed off empty-headed, thoughtless gesture  — more about burnishing the speaker’s caring-person cred than any real kindness.

Be well just feels like a weird, tone deaf, socially graceless, fluffy way to sign off, to say a simple so long to someone as medically compromised as yurs truly. Honestly, just give me a simple wave and a Cheers. That works great and isn’t in any way hollow or insensitive.

Maybe Be/Stay Well is just another, shorter way of saying ‘it was nice to see you.’ Possibly it’s a less affected, non-yoga club version of namaste. In current Hindi, by the way, this just means “greetings to you.’

Namaste was once defined to me as meaning  “the 'something' in my soul bows to the 'something something' in yours.” Or some shit like that. I don’t see backing for that anywhere but, hells bells, what do I know? Must be a yoga club thing, I guess.

If we’re gonna go deep on the farewell front, why not go with the Navajo phrase of ‘walk in beauty/balance?’ I like that MUCH better. Seems more down to earth, meaningful, tuned in.

Or, more simply (thank you, Ten!), Yá’át’ééh This literally means: it is good or it is well. Yá’át’ééh is the uszh for hello but it can also be used as an au revoir.

Possibly Be/Stay Well is just a verbal hug? I expect it depends entirely on who's saying it and it’s surely welcome. BUT, again, that depends entirely on whose saying it.

Frankly, I prefer Hang Tough...it feels like a hard edged but totally affectionate, caring-biker, fighter so long and thanks for all the fish. Daddy always used to say that (hang tough, not the Hitchhiker's fish line). 

 Works for me.

Flagrant Insouciance

Woke up with Diamond Dogs blaring in my head

As they pulled you out of the oxygen tent
You asked for the latest party

Oh yeah, Babies! This tune inevitably brings me back to my last year on the carnival road. Particularly to some bucolic spot well outside of Chicago (where we’d been playing South Side street corners all summer). I was so eager to get the fuck off the road, to start my next chapter. I’d play Bowie and Talking Heads at top volume on my little 8-track (yes, an 8-track), vibrating the walls of the pickup truck cap that was “home.”

I had to get through spots in Texas and Louisiana before I could, rucksack over my back, board that Trailways outta Lake Charles for Boston. I made it. Thanksgiving Day, 1980.


Insouciant
adjective
showing a casual lack of concern.

You need to be flagrantly insouciant.
You care way too much.
And because of that you will be paralyzed for life and miss out on everything.
~ Wendy Wunder, The Museum of Intangible Things

Study the past if you would define the future.
~ Confucius

What have I learned from my past to aid my future? Humor is good. Music — even if I can’t hear it outside my head anymore — is a lifesaver. Yesterday I was ‘listening’ to the Carmina Burana. AWESOME!

"Go back?” he thought. “No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!” So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

No, you can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime you find
You get what you need
~ Rolling Stones

I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them.
~ Roger Zelazny, The Courts of Chaos

This wasn’t prayer anyway, it was just argument with the gods.
Prayer, he suspected as he hoisted himself up and turned for the door, was putting one foot in front of the other. Moving all the same.
~ Lois McMaster Bujold, The Curse of Chalion

This morning is my pre-op COVID test. I’ll be stunned if I have the GQP Plague. I haven’t left the house (‘cept for MGH) in a month, have no symptoms and only see Ten, Jen and Oni, (also without symptoms and VERY careful).

One foot in front of the other, I draw closer.

Bandwidth

I’ve always disliked the cover art of Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse series. I find it annoying as all hell. It’s as though the illustrator was shooting for Naïve but, instead, hit full blown amateur-hour, junior high level, self-impressed crap, smack in the kisser.

It only occurs to me now that, what the artist may have been reaching for is a style which handily fits the main protagonist’s apparent artless makeup.

Sookie isn’t stupid by any means but, despite being able to read the minds of ‘normal’ as well as truly horrific folk, she’s sweetly childlike. Sounds great, right? Sure but she’s also the sort to use ‘super’ as an adjective (which has always bugged the shit out of me), as in ‘that’s just super cute!’

That feels pretentious and unfair of me though. I think what really put me off in my reading last night was her inability to walk a mile in another’s Timberlands. Was this just a plot device or is she just selfish and emotionally ungenerous? Dunno. She seems giving to other friends.

Maybe, when it came to these two, she was just clean out of giving.

I have (or had — we may or may not be in Past Tense City now) a close friend who, at the same time I entered this latest, heinous surgery-a-thon (two+ years ago), fell HARD into alcoholism. He made some startlingly awful life choices from which he may never recover. Gene had asked me for help on some issue. I had to demure as I was headed in for one of my big brain surgeries (of which he’d already been told). He said “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well” (???!) and then ghosted — totally ghosted.

I got it — his own issues, akin to West coast conflagrations — were/are rooted in long ignored and papered over depression. From what I ‘hear,’ Gene is now beginning to address shit. GOOD. I hope he can rebound and repair at least some of the damage he’s caused himself and others.

Will he and I ever be close again? Who knows? I know that, as Gene and I hike our respective Recovery Roads, neither of us has the bandwidth to help each other out. If I’m gonna come outta this, I need to focus on keeping my spirits and energy up, up, UP. Friday’s big event is just one round in the coming/continuing games.

Am I begging for sympathy here? FUCK no and FUCK that shit! All’s I’m sayin’ is that I get it — Gene doesn’t have room on his dance card. Sure, I’m disappointed but life’s not always a happy merry go round with room for all. I’m also clean outta capacity and that’s a wicked shame. I wish I could help him.

Back to Sookie though — is she inconsistently drawn or just your average erratically behaving human? I find Harris’s other series and characters more engaging, consistent and mature. I believe, as long as I’m doing the escapist reads, it makes sense to dive into those instead. Eh?

Monday, Monday

According to Mr. Martinez, there’s an old Orc saying:

That which does not kill me can kiss my ass.

Yeah baby, tell it!

At this time, in four days, I’ll be suiting up for my, happily unconscious, day of BRAIN surgery (that should, like totally, always be in all caps).

Here’s the deal, I used to be out like a light before they wheeled me into the OR. Lately, and I’m not sure why this is, they keep me awake.

Possibly, the staff figures, I’m such an old hand, a nine time (more or less — I’ve lost count) neurosurgery vet, that I wanna greet the crew, say g'mornin', before they knock me out. Yeah, that’s cool and shit. The first time they did this, saying ‘don’t you want to be awake to see the doctor beforehand?,’ I allowed that I trusted Fred was gonna show up and wouldn’t need my blessings to start up. What was I gonna say? It was kind of an awkward moment, eh? What DID I say? ‘Hey man. You get a good nights rest? Bonne chance and shit. Now, could someone please knock me the fuck out?’ 

Yeah, I’m a real treat.

This time, when they wheel me into the OR, I’d like some pre-show entertainment. How’s about they get a scrub suited Cerberus, (AKA great hound of Hades) or a nice sea monster like Scylla, this’d be WAY more fun for ME and this is ALL about me. Dig?

How’m I spending my pre-show days? Attempting to cram in MORE physical therapy exercises, read more wildly escapist fun stuff, spend quality time with the fam which, natürlich, translates to LOTS of Coco lap time AND trying NOT to eat everything in the damn house.

This is hard. As Sherman Alexie, possibly, once said, ‘I’m an emotional eater — I have an emotion, I eat.’ Yup, das ist mich.

I’m working on avoiding the news, though it IS fun to look at 45’s de-oranged, obvs sinking farther into Dementiaville’s visage. No, I seriously doubt he’ll ever do time. I expect his lawyers are trying to run out the clock — obstruct and delay until the old fuck’s dead or obvs too deranged (something clear to most humans eons ago) to stand trial.

Other good news? As of yesterday, 69.8 million people have received at least one dose of a Covid-19 vaccine. Predictably, vaccination rates are lower in the high rube red states. Just gives me another reason to never set foot in Arkansas, Utah or Mississippi. When will yurs brain-tumor truly be inoculated? As soon as my cutter gives me the all clear — sometime post-op.

Remember, just ‘cause you’ve had the vaccine doesn’t mean you can go all Spring Break, Saint Paddy’s Day crowded bar crazy! Read the CDC’s advice and pay some fucking attention.

I’ll get through Friday’s slice-up but, do me a solid — I’d like to live a few more years — don’t risk giving me the GQP Plague.

Grazie…and shit.

Total Randomness

Don’t forget to set your clocks an hour forward today. Yes, yur welcome.
~~~
This morning, Ten’s voice to text app ‘terped him as saying there was π and coffee for breakfast. Huh. Was this an ominous augury for the day ahead? I’ve decided to consider this deeply over my apple pastry and cuppa joe.
~~~
Last night, in Dream World, Ten and I got officially, legally-beagley hitched. It was a BIG white wedding. Yeah, NOT our style BUT the cake was very good and it was a great excuse to have Billy Idol scream-singing in my head.
~~~
Yesterday was a good day, physically speaking. I was getting around better — didn’t need the walker as much though I still required a shoulder to steady myself as I made my way around the house and over to Jen and Oni’s for Tea Time (yeah, door to door it’s MAYBE 10 feet). What’s this improvement about? My strength building exercises along with the absence of those essence zapping seizures (I believe it’s been a few weeks now, maybe FOUR(!), since the last) AND the glorious brain-swelling quelling steroids. God, I love steroids!
~~~
I’m rereading A. Lee Martinez’s  fab, escapist tale, Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest. Helen’s an acerbic Enchanted Human (minotaur), Troy’s an overachieving, everyone’s-dreamy-boy hottie. This is their summer before college and they’ve been cursed to quest by an old god. Dude couldn’t be bothered to spare them any details beyond ‘find the five or seven magic items within some unspecified short time or die.’ Real helpful.

Lucky them, they run into Castor Pollux who gives them a fuck-ton more help than the National Questing Bureau. By the by, Castor should NOT be confused with Castor and Pollux, sons of Leda, who were the savers of sailors, soldiers and folks in general ferocious danger.

Nope, this Castor is a single entity, an oracle and the owner/cook in a food truck named The Meat Wagon (Nooooo, not a speck of foreboding here, none at al!).

Biggest load of bull you’ll ever hear. Mortals who think they’re smarter than the gods above. Not that the gods are any better. Bunch of clueless morons, every single one of them.

Ah, sorry for the rant. I’ve been on this job too long. You can only gaze into the future and all its possibilities for so long before it gets to you. Now, why don’t you give me a minute to fix up an order of brisket.

Have I mention? This is some wildly entertaining, escapist shit.

~~~
Jen helped me clean out, (mostly, finally done now) my bedroom closet and dresser drawers. Three HUGE garbage bags full of clothes, table cloths, blankets and shoes are out the door and headed for Donationville. Another giant amount is going to Recycle Land. HOW is this even possible — that I have this much stuff to shed. I mean, fer fuck’s sake, I did a big purge a couple years back before Ten moved in.

It takes time to let go of possessions. Shit remains meaningful — memories cling. After awhile though, having the space, the daylight, takes precedence.
~~~
What’s on for today? More PT exercises, more elliptical action, more get-out-of-my-stressed-head reading and MORE quality time with Coco. I expect I’ve already mentioned that Jen and Ten tossed for it — it’s Jen’s job to smuggle the cat into MGH and rehab. No fucking way am I goin’ a month without my beastie!

Drama Llama

I was at my neuro-opthalmogist’s office yesterday, mostly just a check up (my cornea’s good — YEA!) but also to ask her to enter my eyeball med needs into the system for the post-op neuro-ward team. So many loose ends to attend to before I enter this next game!

Now then, I’ve long felt that referring to these procedures as BRAIN surgery, sounds ridiculously melodramatic — like “at least it’s not brain surgery.” Well actually, yes, it is. Still, sounds kinda over the top, no? Lately I’ve taken to calling them “craniotomies” — technically accurate AND less drama mamma-y.

Doc Jacobs surprised me by using that term — brain surgery — to refer to next Friday’s fun time. Huh, maybe it’s not such a Histrionic Harry term. It’s just my weird-ass reality.

Right now, I feel like I’m waiting at second base. The batter who’s up will hit one that'll get me to third but probably not home. That’s mostly on me, not him. He’s gotta deal with the pitch he’s thrown. My pitch, my wonk-ass brain.

There are no promises BUT my cutter is brill, I trust him—he’s not gonna take stupid, ego stroking chances. This really is the only instance when I like the term conservative. Barker won’t be timid by any means but he’s no showboater. Fucking PHEW!

I feel bad for the folks who love and worry about me. They’re stressing right now too. A LOT! I wanna help, put their minds/hearts at ease but there really is only so much I can do. Ultimately, this shit’s in the hands of the Fates, S’ok though, I slipped in a bribe — fancy, high, grade yarn and shit from my brief “oh yeah, I’m gonna join the knitting brigades” days.

I can’t be magically well for them (YET!) but I can refrain from wallowing in fear. I can be realistic without engaging in doom scenarios. I can just be my usual obnoxiously silly self. Best thing I can do is accept my physical limitations (both immediate and, possibly, upcoming), NOT overdo, rest when I’m tired, strive for chill-age AND let them help. Self care helps all of us. While there are days when I want to just have everyone else take the wheel, this is my fucking bus to drive. And, with their help, I will.

Bon bons help. Not those horrid ones with pink insides though— those are always a stone disappointment. The fuck they supposed taste like? Cherry? Raspberry? Strawberry? Jen gets me bon bons from a talented, high toned local chocolatier but STILL, the pink filled ones are more redolent of chemicals than fruit.

Hmmph.

Below is this morning's dawn. Hopefully, in another month or so, I'll be able to get out to take my own pics again. Meantime, mega grazie and shit to Ten!

Assorted Short Bits

Ya know what my fantasy (maybe one day reality) ticket is? Harris/Duckworth Oh yeah babies!

I understand Biden hit it outta the park last night WITH real actual facts, no schoolyard slams or fascist bloviating. It is SO good to have a real president again!

At right is is Girlfriend, named such because, we think she and Umlaut had a thing going on last year. We suspect she’s got a home as she’s not been spotted (by me anyway) over this winter. Our boy Ume’s doing well having chubbed up nicely under Ten and Jen’s generous care. Once I’m mobile again, extreme spoiling (TREATS and more of ‘em) will return.

Coco and Skitter are enjoying the hell out of the longer days of sunshine. They strike poses like they’re just waiting for Fernand Fonssagrives to show up and snap a shot.

I’m actually leaving the house this morning. I have to sign my amended will. That’s one part of all that depressing pre-surgery, just-in-case bullshit). Afterward I'll see my cornea minder (follow up and more pre-slice prep) and check in with my surgeon’s support staff re: all the pre-op shit I gotta do. I’m, officially, one week out from my fourth BIG, BIG neuro surgery of the past two years. WhooHoo — do I know how to par-tay or WUT?

One nice thing is that, I’ve just been told, since I always get a refund/never owe, I don’t need to do my tax prep pre op. I, likely, will though — one less pile of undone crap waiting for me at home.

While I’m qualified to get the vaccine now (and have been since Phase II began) I can’t as it MAY conflict with the billion and one half drugs I’ll be on for surgery and post-op recovery. I’d like to find out, today if possible, a general, projected date for my shot.

When I’m far enough down Recovery Road, I’d really like it if Ten and I motored up to Maine to see my pal Michie. She also has Nf2 and has done the rehab tango. She’s  been giving me hot rehab tips — like how to get ice cream (clearly a schedule I drug) from the nurses four times a day. “Try this: I cannot get that huge pill down with water. Apple sauce doesn’t work either. It has to be ice cream.” Michie is OBVS brill!

Also in Maine is my cousin Gary and his fab wife Dawn. I’ve not seen them in WAY too fucking long!

I’ve been inside for so long, avoiding people, I’m a bit skittish about, post vaccine, going out. I look forward to seeing friends and family again, I truly hope to get back to my Icelandic, silica, infused heaven, I want to take pics of all the blooms in the Public Garden BUT easing back in may be a long process. At this point, I can’t imagine flying or eating INSIDE a restaurant. There are still far too many die hard MAGAt morons in the country.

Finally, HAPPY FRIDAY!

Decades

WandaVision — the show would’ve made more sense, in the beginning if I'd seen all the Avenger movies. I suppose. Having said that, after episode three I’m utterly intrigued — hooked even.

No spoilers here (for once) BUT, despite my new GOTTA WATCH, attraction, I’m still not groovin’ on each show’s decade style and concept.

I’ve talked about this already — I know, BUT last night’s’80s themed show was, stylistically, a crime against nature.

The ‘80s should feel all warm and nostalgic for me, right? After all, I was in my 20s then — more interested in fashion and shit, right? Yud think!

At 23 I had my first craniotomy. I had long hair then which, post-op, meant that I was sporting a decidedly off beat, punkish look — head half shaved/half covered in straight, very dark brown hair with a killah long-ass scar. I liked it. It fit the neighborhood at the time — Kenmore Square where The Rat, comic book stores, head shops and used record emporiums still dominated.

Lest you think I was a full-blown punk, over the off-brand T shirts and unripped jeans (why rip my jeans? am I made of money? fer fuck's sake, these gotta get me through the Boston winter withOUT freezing my knees and ass!), I wore my Guatemalan vests and Goodwill men’s suit coats. Fitting in? Style homogeneity? Sorry, no can do.

All I’m saying here is that WandaVision’s ’80’s show was a ghastly reminder of the bad, BIG, overly gelled hair, disturbing clothing choices and MBA enrollments of so many aerobocizing acquaintances and friends.

Jen just noted that “at least you were spared hearing the soundtrack.” Yup, I had hearing in the ‘80s — I don’t need to have the Top Ten from that abysmally “cultured” decade buzzing on my internal turntable right now.

‘80s “style” horrified me so much that, I believe, I tuned out. I honestly don’t recall the sartorial statements of the ‘90s through now (aside from a disturbing amount of ‘camo,’ worn even by otherwise intelligent, non-RepubliQan assholes). As I, pre-surgery, rehab and whatevs, clean out my closet and drawers, I’m finding much of what I’d expect from me – vintage, hand-me-downs, TOO MUCH tie dye, funny Ts, cheap Sears crap and yoga pants.

What I’ll need, after I get home from rehab are shirts with wide, cavernous even, necks, pants that I can pull up one handed, oversized sweaters (hence, easy to put on) and my slippers. Today I’ll attempt to gather all these in a couple, reachable without bending over, top drawers. It’ll be full blown spring by the time I get home so pulling on socks won’t be an issue — YEA.

Yeah, I’m all about the planning.

Day of the Hump

 It’s really ALL about Coco, don’cha know. My little princess, as the shelter put it eons ago when she rescued TAB and I, is a lap cat. That's just how she rolls.

In TAB’s final, less active, years that’s where I could always count on finding her (when she wasn’t pulling one of her Houdini acts, that is). Now, with me being decidedly UNmobile, she’s reliably ensconced on my lap OR around my neck.

What to do when her lap (she holds the deed, ya know) becomes more active?! Granted, this is a couple months off BUT I’m a planner. Catnip toys maybe?

I feel stalked

~~~
Someone named Piers Morgan is being Twitted about left and right lately. I had no idea who he was. My first thought was that this was a new, mebbe upscale brand of men’s under drawers OR, possibly, an investment banking firm. Ah…no. He’s some idiot morning chat show host in Britain who went out to dinner ONCE with Meghan Markle. He's obvs still in his sads that she ghosted him afterward. In fact he's so broken up (OR just a colossal shithead — yeah, I'm bankin' on option two) — that he’s gone off about not believing her when she spoke of feeling suicidal while up the spout with her first child. 

First off, if I was a men’s underwear brand I would not go 'round acting like a complete twat about someone else’s personal struggles. Fer fuck’s sake, if you can’t be supportive of another’s deep pain (or just not be a total dickwad about it), how the fuck you gonna make a nice fella’s tackle feel cozy? Pretty damn hostile and bad marketing there Sport.

Second, you should work out your blindingly obvious hurt fee fees with a shrink or, perhaps, through some creative pursuit like art, dance or pottery maybe. Hint: passive aggressive, mean-girl hosting of chat shows doesn’t count as creative therapy. Get a blog, Dude — they’re all the rage.
~~~
Do you know how much I LOVE that the height/depth of doomscrolling is now:

• Some overblown, massively misunderstood, weasel shit about Dr. Seuss (puh-LEEZE read the facts — NOT the RepubliQan propaganda/lies — before you post all this 'cancel culture' nonsense. Also, try to avoid making a complete moronic fool of yourself like House minority 'leader,' Kevin McCarthy. The laughably dim, mouse hearted boob showed off a vid of himself, sanctimoniously reading Green Eggs and Ham (NOT one of the books with offensive illustrations that won’t be published any longer). Yep, no craven desperation to see here, folks.
  
• Crap about Biden’s dog, Major. A VERY minor incident and NO the, usually, very good boy was NOT banished. Again, read before you shitpost!
• Oh and 45’s ‘low class’ rioters? Apparently he was expecting Brooks Brothers besuited violent dullards. Please — the spears and horned helmets ruin the line of the suit. These lower class types don't seem willing, interested or able to shell out the big bucks to stay in his overpriced hotels or play golf on his ridilculously billed courses. Such a pity — NOT!
  
• Much more seriously, while COVID numbers are generally going down Spring Break is coming up. There'll be thousands of unmasked idiots heading to the beaches. Afterwards the inevitable huge spike of cases and deaths and, oopsie, grandma's dead. Vaccinations are on the rise, thanks to Biden but, remember, the vaccine is NOT a get out of COVID hell totally free card. There are still risks and precautions to take.

I can seriously get used to the world not being burnt down around me every day by a fuckwitted fraud who's still looking for his daddy's love and approval.

Let’s get Morbid

I got my date. The old bean’s gonna be cracked open AGAIN next Friday, the 19th. I’ll be in hospital for a week, more or less — depending on how things go. After that, I’ll hit a rehab joint for two weeks to a month, again, depending on how shit flows.

Despite this all being expected news, it still hit me hard. No longer a potential reality but a definite, immediate future. My first reaction, aside from morosely sitting in bed, was to make a list of all I gotta get done, such as:

1. Do all my tax prep and send it off to the preparers
2. Update my will and have my legal dude make the amendments happen
3. Make sure all my bills that can be paid now, are. Arrange it so Jen can pay the ones which come in over the next month. Why?

• NO one wants tp pay bills from a hospital bed
• What if I don’t live through this (Yes, that Hole album is in my head now)? I don’t need late fees coldly sucked out of my dead self. Yeah, if I die, who the fuck cares? ME, I’m not gonna get fucked over by some rude-ass corporation just ‘cause I had the misfortune of farm purchasing.
  

In case I don’t make it home?

Make sure the cats are taken care of

Make sure Ten, Jen and Oni will be OK

Clean out my damn closet and dressers. There’s so much that I don’t wear anymore because:

• Gotta lose 10 more pounds (a constant refrain)
• I just don’t go to fancy places anymore
• How much tie dye does one woman REALLY need to own!?
• This would really look MUCH better on Celeste!

Yup, I’m in a mega morbid frame of mind. While I DO want to be prepared for all eventualities. I don’t need to focus on the ultimate goodbye.

I asked Jen, “am I always like this before big surgeries.” Apparently, yes. Goddamn, I’m fun! I only mention it BUT, considering the number of big fucking-ass slice ups I’ve had in the past year and a half alone, I’d of thought I’d be all out of loose ends and shit to plan. Nope.

I gotta shake myself out of this melancholy mood but how?  I seem to NEED to plan/be in motion. OK, fine. For starters, I can prep for being deaf in MGH Land and Rehab World. Instead of snark-ass words/cards about what deaf means (in my particular case) and how lipreading is NOT a get out of communication hell card (for nurses and interns) I can come up with a diplomatic short list of best, most effective ways to communicate with me ESPECIALLY in these masked up days.

The undiplomatic semi-snark versio

I can start with how pantomime is your friend and go on to suggesting Live Transcribe (for NON iPhone users) or just opening a Notes doc and speaking into the mic. I can also bring pad and pen in my hospital bag and just hand those to the staff.

Considering how long I’ll be in, maybe I should get Jen to print up 100 of these suckers?

Here at home, I believe I'll go through my sock drawer today — pull out all the ones with holes. As much as I intend to darn them, let’s face it, that ain’t gonna happen. Jen’s found a place which recycles cloth. Dunno what they do with it — resell as material for masks or funky, cool clothes? Plus there’s another place that takes shoes. It’ll be nice to come home to a  more tidy, cleaned out space.

Another thought — maybe it’s time to lose myself in the boob tube. Ten has suggested bringing the telly up here to the boudoir. I can binge watch old eps of Big Bang and Star Trek.

So, planning/doing but not focusing on death. This MAY just work!